Page 42 of The Widower of Pemberley

“He told me the story of what happened to his wife. It assured me that he is an honourable man. I am confident he will not deal with me with any harshness—not with what I would consider to be harshness. At least not if I act in accordance with the marriage vows. Emily is a delightful child. You will like her when you meet her. And Georgiana is my dear friend. She has come every day to sit with us…I have hopes of being happy.”

“Do you admire him?”

“Yes.”What? Elizabeth had not known that. “But I do not know what that means. I only think highly of his character. Even his flaws are noble, though they scare me. They ought to scare me, as I shall live under his control. But he is not cruel. I do not even think he is cold. Oh, I fear loving him more than I fear indifferent amiability with him. He said that he cannot love, and I half believe him. He was hurt terribly. I do not know what our domestic life will be like—at Netherfield I liked to sit about and play with Emily while he played with her as well. He has a good mind, a well-informed mind. He is clever like you are. He will try to be kind. I do not…I do not think you need to fret.”

Her father frowned. He wiped his hand over his forehead. It was the weak hand. “If only I had not…blockhead. I have been…a blockhead. But I can hope. Always will fret. But Lizzy. My blessing. Whatever it is worth. Send him in. I may never be…better able.”

“Oh, Papa.” Elizabeth kissed him on the forehead.

Chapter Ten

Upon his entrance to Mr. Bennet’s sickroom, Darcy discovered the older gentleman looking less decrepit than anticipated. One side of his face was sunken, but not so deeply as he had imagined. The gentleman’s eyes were alert, and his skin had a healthy appearance to it.

He held a book in his lap.

Darcy looked towards the tome to discern the title on the cover.

Mr. Bennet said, with a one-sided smile, “Pretence. Can’t hold it to read. Easily. Better every day.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

“Might die. New attack. Any day. Know. Will or won’t. Will die…someday. No matter what.”

“Yes.”

The ailing gentleman closed his eyes. He took a slow breath. He opened his eyes. He then said in an almost clear voice, with only slight slurring, “Why do you marry my daughter?”

“I trust her to be good for Emily. And because I must marry someone.”

Mr. Bennet frowned. “Speak honestly. That all?”

“I shall not say I love her, but I do like the look of her. I did not want her to be forced to marry Mr. Collins. The prospect of that made my sister most unhappy.”

“That is…better. Will you be kind?”

“Yes, as kind as I can be.”

“No matter what?”

“Mr. Bennet, I cannot promise that. I can swear that whatever rumours you have heard about my first wife, that I committed no crime. Beyond that, I do not believe that your daughter would betray me in the way that Mary did. I would not marry her if I feared that.”

He had not known that he did not fear a betrayal from Elizabeth until he said this.

It was not that her doing so would not hurt. It would hurt intensely. He just…he did not believe that she could do it. He did not understand the sensation. It was nonsensical. Yet it was deep and firm. Whatever else she would do—he could imagine them having terrible arguments—he was sure deep in his heart that she would never violate her vows.

Mr. Bennet slumped a little and closed his eyes for several seconds. “Are you quick? In judging?”

“I believe that I am slow and deliberate, that I am cautious before I believe rumours or evil about another.”

“Then I cannot…refuse.”

Darcy had an odd sensation, one which had struck him also during the conversation in which he had proposed. It was as though he was somehow forcing her into this marriage, as though he were using her and taking advantage of their great disparity in wealth to gain something from her that he could not honestly obtain.

Nonsense. He had done her a great favour, an enormous kindness, and she knew that and had said as much.

Darcy shook Mr. Bennet’s hand.

The man looked not only sick but tired and worn.