Page 23 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“He will not do it.” Elizabeth was practically jumping up and down with frustration. “Papa, you do not understand him. He is arrogant, presumptuous, and utterly insufferable, but he does not deserve to be humiliated. If his pride is to be his weakness, then I would rather find a way to use it that does not destroy him in the process.”

Darcy’s heart thumped at the contradiction while Cleo resumed her struggling. Elizabeth was concerned about his standing, wanted to rid him from Longbourn, but did not wish to destroy him? He crept further out on the limb, and the branch emitted a disturbing crack.

“You have not answered my question,” Mr. Bennet said, glancing about him now, alerted to the possibility they were not alone. “What will you offer him to consider your proposal?

“Why, I do not…”

“Lizzy.” Her father took her hand. “Have I not taught you well? You must offer him what he wants in exchange for getting what you want.”

“But, Papa, you hold the entail.”

“And it is you who wishes to change it. Now, Lizzy, tell me, what is it you want exactly? You seem remarkably concerned,” Mr. Bennet said gently, “with Mr. Darcy’s dignity, for a woman who wishes him gone.”

Darcy saw her shoulders tighten, saw her chin lift—the posture of a woman who had been seen through and resented it with every fiber of her being.

“I do not wish him—” She stopped. Started again, more carefully, her voice steadier but no less fierce. “I wish him to have a choice, Papa. The same choice I am asking for myself. Not to be trapped by a document written by a man who died a century before any of us drew breath. Is that so unreasonable? That both of us, Mr. Darcy and I, should be permitted to determine our own fates, rather than having them arranged for us by a dead man’s handwriting?”

“Very admirable, Lizzy, except you are not trapped by any document, and I fear you have not given Mr. Darcy any incentive to change the entail to benefit Jane, for if he wished to, he could simply request her hand in marriage, and she would be both mistress of Longbourn and mistress of Pemberley.”

“Papa!” Elizabeth’s breath drew sharply. “Would he not change it for me? You said he wished to marry me!”

Her father stared at her, one hand on his chin. “Lizzy, my dear, I do not recall saying anything like that to you.”

Darcy, who had been stretching for Cleo as far as he could, felt the branch give a loud crack. Cleo’s claws found his shirt sleeves, and the branch collapsed under their weight. The cat howled, and Darcy did not wish to admit that he screamed.

“Good Lord!” Mr. Bennet stumbled backward, yanking Elizabeth from the path of carnage.

Man and cat tumbled, crashing through the canopy in a shower of bark and dead leaves, landing on the bare hawthorn hedge of considerable age and thorns. Pain from a million points pricked Darcy’s back and arms, stabbing, scraping, and the cat’s claws as Cleo clung onto Darcy as if his skin were made of leather and his shirt consisted of chain mail—neither of which was true.

And then, once Darcy saw enough stars, Cleo sprang free of Darcy and what remained of his shirt, landing on the frozen ground with her tail held high and her dignity entirely intact. She scampered off to her next adventure without nary a look back.

Darcy lay in the ruins of the hawthorn hedge, staring up at the grey December sky, taking stock of his situation. His shirt was torn from collar to waist. His chest was exposed to the elements and, more alarmingly, to the Bennets. His arms were decorated with an impressive collection of scratches, several of which were beginning to bleed with enthusiasm. And his back was embedded in approximately forty-seven hawthorn thorns, each of which was making its presence known with pointed insistence.

Two faces appeared above him.

Mr. Bennet’s was alight with the delight of a man who had just witnessed the finest entertainment of his entire life. His eyes sparkled, his mouth twitching behind a hand as he coughed to disguise a spasm of suppressed laughter.

Elizabeth was harder to read. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide, and she was staring at the exposed portion of his chest with an expression that hovered between horror and something else entirely.

“Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Bennet’s voice emerged strangled. “I had not realized that eavesdropping was quite so sporting in Derbyshire.”

“The cat,” Darcy managed, though the word came out somewhat breathless. “She was unfortunately situated.”

“So I observed. And now you are situated in my shrubbery.” Mr. Bennet made no move to extend a rescuing hand. “How wonderfully the tables have turned since you arrived to instruct us on estate management. I suppose this is what is technically known as dropping in unannounced.”

“Papa, he is injured. We must help him.”

“Must we?” Mr. Bennet tilted his head, considering. “I confess I find the current arrangement rather instructive. A gentleman of ten thousand a year, sprawled in the shrubbery, bleeding decoratively onto the frost. It has a certain… poetic justice, would you not say?”

“I can extract myself,” Darcy muttered, attempting to wrench his shoulder away and instantly regretting it.

“He is bleeding, Papa, and whether you find his humiliation amusing or not, he is our guest,” Elizabeth insisted. “Mr. Darcy, is anything broken?”

“Nothing more than his pride, I’d say, and perhaps his willingness to change the entail,” her father remarked dryly. “Now, Lizzy, perhaps you can give him an incentive since he is currently trapped on our hedge.”

“We must help him first.” Elizabeth reached for his arm with her gloved hands. “Stop thrashing about; you are making it worse. Papa, help me⁠—”

“I am providing moral support and witty commentary.” But Mr. Bennet moved closer, and between the two of them, they managed to haul Darcy upright and out of the hawthorn’s embrace.