Page 44 of A Prudent Engagement

Charlotte’s eyes brightened. “That would save an expensive and long hunt for a tenant. And we would receive universal agreement upon the point that it is a very appropriate thing to do.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You would think of it as a business matter.”

“I do not promise that Mr. Collins will accept a low offer,” Charlotte said laughing. “I would rather encourage him to do the opposite—I dare say that Mr. Darcy rather hopes to not have your mother so close to him.”

That made Elizabeth frown. “Yes. He can still annoy me. That is how I know I am not yet in love with him. He thinks of himself as superior. He said that quite directly when we talked about matters—he told me why he had delayed for so long.”

“I quite seriously advise you to dwell on how he makes you feel safe rather than how he annoys you.”

“I do!” Elizabeth replied instantly. “Only—I feel guilty. I should approve of him wholly.”

“Why?” Charlotte replied with amusement in her smile.

“Because…” Elizabeth found great difficulty in determining what words might express her deep discomfort at the knowledge that Mr. Darcy loved her, ardently admired her, and thought better of her than she deserved, while she only…

Elizabeth did not know what she thought of Mr. Darcy.

She was not simply marrying him for his money.

If there had not been that sense of security and safety with him, a sort of security that had nothing to do with material conditions and a great deal to do with her trust of his character, she could not have accepted his offer. Even staring down the maw of poverty would not have made her accept a man like Mr. Collins.

Or, Elizabeth realised with an odd sense of confusion, a man like Mr. Wickham.

But his feelings for her were certainly deeper, of longer duration, and more certain than hers. And he did not know that.

It was a little like lying to Mr. Darcy, and she hated it.

“I do not think that anyone, even the happiest couple who have made a match of the deepest mutual affection, will like everything about each other,” Charlotte said.

They had reached Lucas Lodge and stood for some minutes in the garden by a fine oak tree that Elizabeth had sometimes climbed as a girl.

Lady Lucas and Maria came out of the house, having at last noticed that Charlotte had returned.

They gave Elizabeth another of the many, many speeches of condolence that she had received—they had started to seem like meaningless sounds. Elizabeth thanked them for their kindness, embraced Charlotte once more, and then returned home.

Chapter Ten

After arriving back at Longbourn, Elizabeth found that all the guests, except for Mr. and Mrs. Phillips and the Gardiners, had left.

Her mother looked lost and tired—and smaller.

Elizabeth had never seen her that way before. Her mama had always been grand and confident and full of vigour, despite the ways that Elizabeth often thought her to be silly and ill informed. Her nerves were ridiculous and nonsensical. But she had always been active, even when she retreated to her rooms to demand that Mrs. Hill listen to all her complaints.

Today her mama had been her usual self as a grand hostess during the funeral feast. Despite the fact that it had been a tragic event for her, Elizabeth’s mother was always moving, talking, ensuring that every guest was amply supplied with food, drink, and conversation.

And now that was over, and her mama was sitting on the sofa, staring through her hands and looking sad and empty.

“Oh, Lizzy,” her mother said as she saw her enter again. “Now what shall I do?”

“Mama.” Elizabeth sat next to her and put her arms around her.

“Everyone said so many nice things about Mr. Bennet. They all appreciated his worth. Not that he would have ever cared. He never”—her voice caught—“cared about such things.”

Elizabeth found it hard to speak. She should announce her engagement immediately, but something about the task felt unpleasant rather than happy.

Jane would certainly disapprove, and Elizabeth was frightened of her mother’s delight. Delight for the wrong reasons—or maybe her mama would be delighted for the only reason that truly mattered. Elizabeth wanted to pretend to herself that she was not abusing Mr. Darcy’s sentiments and not behaving as the worst sort of mercenary creature.

What she expected her mother to say would make it harder for her to believe in that pretence for herself. It would be about how her clever girl had saved them all from want and ruin. And she had.