Page 5 of The Crown’s Gift

She stopped just inside the door, surprised.

"Come here, Lizzy."

She approached. He drew a second chair near his own rather than making her stand.

"You asked why we had to see the King," he said. "Do you remember?"

"Yes, Papa."

"I told you it was a story for your grandchildren. I believe we must improve the ending before you tell it."

Her brows gathered. "How?"

Thomas looked at the shelves surrounding him, at the safe and orderly retreat he had mistaken for a life.

"I shall have to begin by leaving this room more often."

Before winter, the Bennets left Longbourn for Netherfield. Jane was twelve, Elizabeth ten, Mary eight, Kitty six, and Lydia five; the move altered their address before it altered any of their habits.

* * *

Ten years later, in September 1809, Sir Thomas Bennet stood in the library at Netherfield with a lease in one hand and his youngest daughter's muddy boot in the other.

"It was not muddy when I put it on," Lydia said.

"An admirable defense. Was the mud lying in wait?"

At fifteen, Lydia had grown tall enough to look him nearly level in the chin and remained young enough to believe that dignity was principally a matter of volume.

"Dancer shied at a pheasant. I stepped into the ditch only because Kitty pushed me."

"I did not push you," Kitty protested from the window. "I caught your sleeve. That is the opposite of pushing."

Miss Harwood sat beside the fire with her hands folded over a closed book. She had been governess to the Bennet girls for eight years and could express entire moral treatises through the position of one eyebrow.

Sir Thomas set the boot upon a folded newspaper. "You left the path after being told the lower meadow was wet. You took Dancer without asking Mr Glover. And you have interrupted my meeting with Mr Morris because you hoped to reach me before Miss Harwood did."

Lydia's confidence diminished by degrees.

"Yes, Papa."

"You will clean the boot yourself, apologize to Mr Glover, and remain out of the saddle for three days."

"Three!"

Miss Harwood's eyebrow moved.

"Four," Lydia amended hurriedly. "I mean—yes, Papa. Three."

She took the boot. Kitty followed, pausing to kiss her father's cheek and murmur, "I truly caught her," before the door closed behind them.

Mr Morris, the Netherfield steward, concealed a smile by examining the lease again.

"You were saying that Mr Bingley's references are excellent," Sir Thomas said.

"Very. His London man of business answered every inquiry. The income is sound, and he has authorized his solicitor to pay a year in advance if you prefer it."

Sir Thomas moved behind his desk. The room was larger than the library at Longbourn and possessed a handsome prospect over the east lawn, but he had resisted filling it with unnecessary furniture. The old desk from Longbourn stood beneath the windows. His familiar books lined the nearest shelves. The remainder contained estate ledgers, agricultural reports, maps, and the records of ten years' determined attention.