Page 6 of A Prudent Engagement

Charlotte embraced her tightly.

Elizabeth shook her head and pulled away. “I am not crying. I am only being sensible. Like you always wish me to. I apologise, my dear Charlotte, but we shall rob you of anything that is not nailed down or clearly labelled as belonging to the estate.”

“I shall miss Mr. Bennet as well.”

“No time for that.” Elizabeth stood. “I do not want to cry here! Not—not—not when that husband of yours might return suddenly to hear and rejoice.”

Charlotte drew back, her expression wounded.

Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes.

She knew rather than felt that she should apologise. She tried to say it. But instead, she saw her dear papa, the way he had looked when he said to her that he would miss her and not hear a word of sense until she and Jane returned home. And how he had mentioned in his last letter that he was rereading Xenophon’s Anabasis.

Elizabeth hoped he had finished it before he died.

It would be terribly sad if he was not able to ever finish it, and if he would always have to wonder whether he remembered correctly what happened next. If he…

She had written a letter to him only yesterday. It was in the post now. It would not have arrived yet.

He would never read her words.

How?

That was terribly impolite, and very unlike him, to not even read her letter.

She had not expected him to reply since she was due to return home in only two weeks. But he had no right to refuse to read it.

Charlotte embraced Elizabeth again. “I am so, so grieved to see you like this, my dear Eliza.”

“Do not make me cry. I will not.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were not wholly dry, but at least she was not dissolving into stomach-shaking sobs. Not yet.

After a little while, Elizabeth pulled away.

She pressed her lips together.

Sensible. She would be sensible. “I should go by post to London, leaving early tomorrow—no not post. By stage, to save the money. Can you lend me a maid to maintain respectability? That would be best. Cheaper. You see, I can be sensible about such things. What little is in my purse from my allowance is likely the last of my own money I shall see for some time. And then—”

“You can go with us when we set off.” Charlotte winced at her own words.

“No!” Elizabeth’s voice screeched out. “No, by no means. And I must be there soon. Before they bury him. I must see the body. Else it will never be real. I can go tonight. Yes, that would be best. And-and—”

There was a knock on the door.

Mr. Darcy stood awkwardly in the aperture. He was tall, solemn faced, and wholly unwelcome.

Except…that was not true.

His dark eyes regarded her with deep sympathy and an understanding that made Elizabeth feel seen—and almost like she did not need to pretend that it did not hurt so much.

He stared at her for a long time, and she looked back.

Then Mr. Darcy hurried forward, his hand out. “Miss Bennet, I am more saddened than I can possibly say. I did not know Mr. Bennet so well as I hoped I one day would, but you loved him dearly, and—” He touched a hand to his chest. “I have felt what it is to lose a most beloved parent.”

It was impossible for Elizabeth to hold back the tears.

She had tried so hard to not sob.