Page 16 of A Prudent Engagement

Elizabeth pressed a hand against her chest. “The simple question makes me think of it. Poor, poor Papa.”

“Tell me about him,” Mr. Darcy said. “If you wish. I would like to know him better, and this is now the only way that I might. He loved to read—I know that. And he loved to observe those about him and sketch their characters. Like you do.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, feeling the tears in the corners of her eyes again. “He was exceedingly kind to me. He loved me dearly. And he always had a smile for me—when something amused him, he looked at me in a particular way. He expected me to share in the joke, and in company I often had to suppress a wide grin, and— Oh, I shall miss him. Longbourn will be empty without him—but I forget that we shall be banished from Longbourn.”

Mr. Darcy made a low hum of consideration as Charlotte took Elizabeth’s hand.

“Do not say that you are sorry that your husband now possesses an estate,” Elizabeth said to her friend. “That would be ridiculous. Besides, I am quite aware that I have made my own bed and must now lie in it. It would be absurd for me to resent your good fortune when it might have been mine.”

“I can honestly wish that my dear friend did not suffer!” Charlotte replied. “Even though I did marry in the hope of a good situation, I never, ever, ever hoped that it would come so soon—even when…”

Elizabeth laughed as Charlotte’s words faded. “Mama really was right that you all speculated upon Papa’s health.”

The only reply that her friend could offer was a shrug and a chagrined expression.

It felt good to joke about it, even though the hopes in those speculations had been met with a far better outcome—in Charlotte’s case, at least—than the Lucases could have imagined.

“But, Miss Bennet, do you mean to marry to gain an estate as well?” Colonel Fitzwilliam suddenly asked, his eyes lit up in a manner that suggested to Elizabeth that he was amusing himself. “It would only be natural for you to hope to do so, especially now that your family will be, as I understand it, in a great deal of distress.”

Warmth bloomed in Elizabeth’s chest. “What a question. And when we have already established that as the younger son of an earl you are required to marry for at least fifty thousand pounds.”

The colonel grinned at her. “It was at most fifty thousand, since my brother is in excellent health, and there is, to be precise, already a son to inherit after him. What is your asking price?”

Charlotte laughed. “Higher than Longbourn. She refused Mr. Collins—you did not know the story, Mr. Darcy? It was quite to my benefit, as you can see.”

Mr. Darcy sat straighter and frowned. “Mr. Collins offered for your hand? He hardly could imagine that you would accept him.”

“Why not?” Elizabeth asked, a little amused. “It was a most eligible match. I have been informed many times, the first by Mr. Collins himself, that I might never receive such an excellent offer again.”

Mr. Darcy smiled at her manner. “To think—” He shook his head. “I had no notion. None at all. But yes, it would have been an eligible match. Yet he is...different from you in spirit and manner. I cannot but imagine that you would have become most unhappy with his conversation over time.”

“What sort of conversation do you believe would please me?” Elizabeth asked.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes went to hers again. “You are clever. Well read. Thinking... Your mind is leaping and quick. It is your own mind. You delight in clever phrases, in jokes, in understanding...in...”

She flushed and looked down. “In what?”

She hardly knew what she was talking about. At least they were not discussing her father’s death.

“I only hope…” Mr. Darcy replied. “I...wonder. I wonder what really would best constitute your happiness. How to assure it.”

“I do not mean to marry—not even now—without some affection. At least I do not think I would.” Elizabeth looked seriously at Mr. Darcy, feeling something between them that was not supposed to be there. “I would refuse every Mr. Collins—even if he had a great deal more wealth.”

“No one should marry without affection,” Mr. Darcy replied solemnly.

Elizabeth’s face heated, full of some strong emotion that she did not understand. She disliked Mr. Darcy. She was quite certain that she had wholly despised him that morning.

That morning was a long time ago.

To change the subject, Elizabeth looked at her friend. “Charlotte, would you agree that your husband does not delight in clever phrases.”

Charlotte laughed. “It was to my benefit that you did not take your opportunity with him.”

“I am surprised,” Mr. Darcy said then, “that your parents did not make it difficult for you after you refused him.”

“Mama was quite angry with me,” Elizabeth said, “and she appealed to Papa to force me to marry him. I imagine that she assumed he would support her. She had us both in Papa’s library, and…and he listened to her, and Mama finished her demand by saying, ‘and if she does not, I shall never speak to her again’, and then—”

Elizabeth could not tell the rest of the story.