Page 3 of A Prudent Engagement

“Her father died.”

A sick shock knotted in Darcy’s stomach. “No! But how? Mr. Bennet is dead?”

“I gained no clear description of how. It does not matter greatly, does it?”

“Does not matter!” Darcy exclaimed. “But certainly it does. Mr. Bennet looked to be a healthy man. Grey-haired but vigorous. How did she find out?”

“I was in discussion with her. I wanted to puff you up a bit by praising you—I know you look at the girl a great deal. The parson’s wife ran up waving a black letter. We were close to the parsonage already, and Mrs. Collins hurried her friend with her into the house after delivering the news. Miss Bennet stared at the letter with such an awful expression. I promised to do anything in my power to serve her in this time of grief, but I do not have any notion how either of us can help her.”

Darcy stood. “By George. And she is presently at the parsonage. Her cousin and even her friend cannot be wholly congenial companions at such a time. I must go to offer help. Yes, grief must be suffered by each of us on our own, but the presence of our friends can lighten the load. I shall also offer her some material aid. She will wish to be with her mother in Hertfordshire as soon as possible.”

“You mean that we shall finally leave? But to go to Hertfordshire directly, instead of London? And only if you can convince Miss Bennet to accept your escort?”

“We shall go via London,” Darcy replied. “The best route is through the capital in any case, and we can retrieve her sister, if Miss Jane Bennet is still with her aunt. I shall see you as far as town.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Jove! Just before Mrs. Collins ran out to us, I had jested about your tendency to always arrange matters for your own satisfaction.”

“I do not,” Darcy replied with some stiff pride and a little confusion. “I always attend to my duties and the comfort of those around me.”

The colonel raised his eyebrows.

Then the officer sighed. “Poor girl. Poor, poor girl. Utterly shocked. She scarce understood the information for half a minute. I imagine they were particularly close.”

“She was certainly exceedingly fond of her father. It was clear that she was always Mr. Bennet’s favourite—you heard what she said to our aunt about how her father could not spare her.” Darcy paced back and forth. “Yes, I shall conduct her to Longbourn myself, departing this evening, if she wishes.”

“Always the gallant,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. I have no doubt that she will appreciate that kindness, even if you have arranged matters to your own satisfaction.”

Darcy had a sense that his cousin mocked him a little, despite the seriousness of the situation.

However, he stepped out of the room quickly and prepared to walk out with his mind in such a disordered state that at first he put his foot into the wrong boot.

He walked half the short distance to the parsonage before turning into the lane that meandered under their grove of trees, where he paced back and forth for some minutes.

His mind whirled, thinking about her, considering how she must feel, and wondering what he could say to help ease her sadness even a little.

He needed to see her happy. A warm tenderness filled his heart.

Poor Elizabeth. He would do anything to remove her pain, to make it better. Nothing else mattered.

The way that he had hesitated, and all his concerns, seemed stupid.

A human lived so much of his life in his mind, everything filled with words, words, words.

And then brute reality, the thing itself, forced its ugly way into a life and utterly changed it.

Such was Mr. Bennet’s death.

And such also, for Darcy, were the feelings he had for Elizabeth Bennet.

It was a thing in his chest; it was a glow in his hands. It was a warmth filling him.

It was a need, a desperate need for Elizabeth to be happy.

What did the sneers of his family matter?

The way that his aunts and uncle would say that he had married beneath himself?

It did not matter that he would marry beneath himself.