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Nonetheless, I would ask you to take pity on my niece who must make her way in the world after this unfortunate incident. The squire passed away on the night of the Netherfield ball. Due to the entail on the estate, Elizabeth and her sisters have been left in a state of considerable distress. You and I both know what a blight these entails are upon gently born females who are often sadly neglected by their relatives. Indeed, Elizabeth and her sisters cannot hope for succour from their cousin, Mr Collins, who has inherited the estate. A contribution to her dowry would surely help potential suitors overlook these rumours. I will leave the sum at the discretion of your conscience but will undertake to assure you that the money will be held in trust until Elizabeth’s betrothal.

I remain your humble servant and admirer of your contributions to science,

Edward Gardiner FRS

Elizabeth spent some time afterwards gazing into the hearth, wondering what she should do with the missive. She did not greatly care about her reputation in Meryton, knowing the gossips to be self-righteous busybodies who had nothing better to do. She had hoped that some new ‘scandal’ would divert their attention, but Meryton had apparently been remarkably dull of late. Besides, surely a man of discernment would not be influenced by such stories? But the knowledge that Mr Darcy had been imposed upon twice now by her relatives was mortifying. Only the fact that this third petition, softening their demands, was offered by way of apology stopped her from tossing it immediately into the fire.

What to do? Her pride revolted at the demand for money, despite the fact that she had heard such payments were reasonably common. If only she knew just exactly what ‘misunderstanding’ had occurred during her uncle’s interview, she might be able to judge whether the letter would improve what Mr Darcy thought of her or worsen it. Asking her uncle was clearly out of the question. When she walked out of Mr Darcy’s life in two weeks’ time, she wanted him to remember her fondly as the sprightly and witty lady he had danced with at the Netherfield ball not the mercenary female who had imposed upon him in Hertfordshire. Finally, Elizabeth decided it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie.

Standing up, she dropped the letter into the hearth.

Chapter 31: In a pickle

After the trauma of intercepting her uncle’s letter, Elizabeth spent a miserable night reminiscing on what might have been with Mr Darcy. The night of the Netherfield ball had taken on a weird dream-like quality in her memory. She supposed the upheaval of her father’s death afterwards had something to do with it, but it had been an unusual evening in itself. At an ordinary Meryton assembly, she reasoned, she would have danced a country dance with Mr Darcy, scored her petty points on him, and never seen him again. But Netherfield had taken on an aspect of Cinderella’s ball. The fact that she had waltzed with Mr Darcy, fallen off a balcony with him, been carried up the stairs, across the threshold and been gently laid on a bed by him. Well, it was more in keeping with the weird stuff that occurred in dreams. Why, there had even been that incident with the slipper—albeit not a glass one. Were it not that they had been surrounded at all times by others, there might have been some validity to her mother’s demands. Yet these people were only vague in Elizabeth’s memory. In retrospect, it seemed like they had been the only two people in the world that night.

Elizabeth had never viewed herself as much of a romantic. Indeed, until Mr Bingley and his friend had arrived on the scene, she had always imagined herself staying at Longbourn as a companion to her father in his old age. Her parents would not, of course, have begrudged her occasional visits to Jane and her progeny to help with any outbreaks of childhood diseases.

While good-looking gentlemen sometimes entered Elizabeth’s orbit, none of them had encouraged her to think of matrimony. They generally had only to open their mouths to disgust her by saying something stupid, usually within the first half-hour of their acquaintance. Mr Darcy had been the first attractive man to engage her interest. Granted, he had also said some things that had enraged her, but she considered that to be in a completely different category of sin to the unforgivable ‘boring’—one could at least argue with an intellectual.

In the clear light of day, Elizabeth admitted that any dreams she harboured of a future with Mr Darcy based on their light flirtation at the Netherfield ball were as fantastical as her mother’s schemes for him. Yet how vividly those few times when they had been alone together were burnt into her memory: when he had held her stockinged foot in his warm hand on that night as he returned her cameo; or when he had tried to kiss her after he had been knocked senseless in the field. What did it mean? Who knew? Regardless, she could not regret burning her uncle’s letter the previous night. She would rather make her way in the world based on her own merits than force a reluctant man to the altar on such a slim pretext. But still...

After she made her way down to breakfast, rested but not refreshed, Elizabeth ate her tea and toast in silence while Mr Gardiner read titbits from The Morning Post. When the Darcy carriage arrived at the arranged time of nine, she absently kissed her aunt and uncle goodbye.

Greeting Clara with a polite ‘good morning’, Elizabeth settled into the squabs and continued her reverie. Now that they had met again by accident, she could not help but continue to admire Mr Darcy. Their duel of classical quotes on her first day conjured a daydream of marital felicity, of a pleasant conversation over tea in Longbourn’s library during a visit by Darcy and herself to her father. The gentlemen traded quips as they vied to outdo each other while she watched them fondly and occasionally put in her own mite. She knew she really ought to stop daydreaming. Her father was gone. Pulling herself back to the present, Elizabeth imagined stuffing these errant thoughts into the plush upholstery to put them away. That made her smile.

She forced herself to think sensibly only of the present. Mr Darcy was now a little tetchy; more so than she had ever known him to be in Hertfordshire, but that was perfectly understandable given the frustrations of his infirmity. If, as Georgiana seemed to think, Mr Darcy had lost his sight permanently, then there would be a difficult period of adjustment. The most important thing was for him to conquer his new circumstances and put his anger behind him.

When Elizabeth arrived in Grosvenor Square, she found her employer anxious to go over the details of the tradesmen’s quotes for the townhouses in preparation for a visit from his man of business at eleven. A gate-leg table had been arranged at Darcy’s bedside. The plans had been unfurled upon it, pinned down with various heavy objects. Elizabeth duly extracted the quotes by group, summarised them aloud to prompt Mr Darcy’s memory, and ordered them as to acceptability based on his instructions, adding notes here and there in pencil when he raised queries.

Thus, by the time Mr Stewart was ushered into Darcy’s bedchamber at eleven, Elizabeth had developed a rudimentary understanding of the project. She was quite puzzled therefore when Mr Stewart unfurled his own set of plans onto the table which differed quite substantially from Mr Darcy’s, underneath. Granted, both sets of drawings contained eight townhouses—this much she could understand—but Elizabeth was quite at a loss to explain the differences. Perhaps Mr Stewart’s drawings were a different projection to those of Mr Darcy’s? As Mr Stewart explained the details of sourcing the stone for the foundation, Elizabeth twisted and turned the drawings in her mind, trying to find the congruence. Finally, she could contain her curiosity no longer.

“Excuse me for asking a silly question but are these perhaps the workmen’s drawings of the unadorned townhouses before the architectural features like the porticos have been added?” she asked, indicating Mr Stewart’s plans.

“I do not understand the question,” replied Mr Stewart.

“The differences between the plans...,” explained Elizabeth. “Are these drawings,” she said, indicating the ones on top, “the initial phase of construction? And these ones,” sliding the other plans out from underneath, “detailing the second and final phase?”

“Ah, no!” exclaimed Mr Stewart, suddenly appreciating the nature of her query. “The plans underneath are the original plans we agreed upon several weeks back and the ones on top are the revised plans the earl approved a fortnight ago.”

There was a momentary silence.

“Revised plans?” asked Darcy softly.

“Well, yes. You will remember that we originally considered two very different designs for the townhouses.”

“Yes, the ones drawn up to my specifications and those drawn up to my uncle’s.”

“My understanding was that monetary considerations had belatedly necessitated the adoption of the simpler set of plans. The earl signed off on the beginning of construction two days ago. I was able to negotiate only a small penalty for reducing the order of sandstone, as I am also handling the construction of Lord Axelby’s Palladian manor at Richmond and was able to redirect the stone there.”

“I’m afraid there has been a miscommunication,” said Darcy stiffly. “I had no idea the plans had been changed and certainly cannot approve of it. All construction must be halted until I can discuss the matter with my uncle.”

“Oh, dear,” replied Mr Stewart.

“Are you implying this is not possible?” asked Darcy.

“Not at all, Mr Darcy. I will give the order right away. I know there has been some, errh, discussion between yourself and the earl on the details of the construction, but I thought I was proceeding with your consent. Indeed, sir, perhaps it would be best if I went off to give the order to stop work right away, as I believe they have already broken the sod.”

“Certainly, please do so. I will send a message to you once I have discussed the situation with my uncle.”