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“I always loved that one,” Lizzy said, plainly elated by his newly discovered talent. “This is marvellous! You see, your words are all there, within your mind! It will just take time to set them free.”
He gave her a look. “Pogy…no…poetry-spouting…madman.”
She laughed, the sound of it shivering down his spine. “It could be very useful! A well-placed sonnet or two at just the right time, and the ladies will leap from admiration to love within a moment. ‘My love is like a red, red rose…’” she began slyly.
He refused to take the bait but could not help smiling at her impertinence. “You…know Shakes-per…from memory? Governess…bloody strict?”
“Oh, we never had a governess.”
“No?” He was much taken aback by this. “Chick-a-biddy…neglected,” he managed.
“The Bennet henhouse.” She laughed but then grew thoughtful. “I suppose…there was plenty of ‘feed’ scattered about, for my sisters, at least—had they wished to learn, they never lacked the means. They were always encouraged to read and had all the masters that were necessary. Or if they chose to be idle, they certainly might.”
“Not you? Enc…encour…”
“Was I encouraged? Not exactly.”
He frowned, and a situation he had foolishly failed to even consider overtook his thoughts. “Ben…Bennet par-ents…s-search for you? Why not home, Liz-zy?”
She sighed, and for several minutes, she stayed silent, biting her lip and obviously fretting. Finally, as if reaching a conclusion, she asked him to wait. She was gone for a bit, returning with an old leatherbound copy of The Pilgrim’s Progress. She showed him its inscription then told him an incredible story of its history and how she had obtained it.
“My father…my father was unconvinced of—of the legitimacy of my birth.”
He could only gape. There had never been a word of gossip uttered amongst her Meryton neighbours suggesting this, and certainly Caroline Bingley would have uttered it, had there been.
“He did not like me to—to share in the privileges of my sisters; however, he could not do much without alerting the neighbours to my mother’s supposed shame. My mother was usually good to me. For the most part, I did not go without. But he did not encourage my learning, or much of anything in me, I suppose.” She shrugged and grinned, as if this revelation of the unfairness of her entire life meant little. “In trying to make my own place, however, I only sought more diligently for every advantage. It has not been easy, but since when are the best goals easily achieved? We none of us have wealth enough to make a good match, and I have even less. I truly never thought to marry, and even my sisters must rely upon character and providence. Jane was fortunate indeed.”
“No…son of a…no…settlement? Noth-ing?”
Her smile disappeared. “There is a little from my mother, but I have been informed it will not come to me—just this book, as I told you. I am no longer welcome at Longbourn and am hoping to make my home with Jane in the future. Mr Bingley foreswore Jane’s portion to leave a bit more for Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. He is the best of men.”
Darcy shook his head. How many times had he told Bingley that it was just as easy to fall in love with an heiress as a cookmaid? And now he had fallen in love with a girl who had less than nothing. The fates must be laughing uproariously.
Despite his confident words to Lizzy earlier, his own estate was in a precarious position, with so many of his business interests neglected for weeks, not to mention his family believing him insane and doing all they could to destroy him. To take an impoverished bride of uncertain birth would be more proof to them of his weakness. It was imprudent, at best—and dangerous at worst—to give way to this love burning in his heart. Even if she could recite Shakespeare and had, quite probably, saved his life. Not even then.
