Page 24 of Fortuitous Encounters

“If you never return, he might put it about that you are dead, but that would be rather inconvenient if you did.”

“The easiest lie in the world to disprove. All I need do is write to someone.”

“Exactly! But he could simply put it about that you are married. Your sisters’ reputations are at risk from the scandal now, though I doubt it is all that much worse than it already was. Yours can be restored with a marriage. If you are not here to call his bluff, it is easy enough for him to say you married someone you knew from London, as he had been saying all along. Nobody would question it, and if you eventually returned sans husband, everyone would assume you are just widowed, or he is busy elsewhere. In that case, he assumes you would protect your own reputation by going along with the ruse.”

Elizabeth considered it for quite some time, undecided whether she appreciated the deviousness of the scheme, detested the cold-heartedness of her father’s machinations, appreciated that he had worked out a way to keep her sisters from suffering from her disappearance, or was sad that her father was not only not the man she thought he was, but not a man worthy of respect at all.

Everyone sipped their tea while she weighed the implications; brandy and cordials may or may not have circulated while she considered her options.

When she finally returned to her senses, two things shocked her—no, three. The first was that Mr Darcy had placed his hand over hers while she ruminated. The second was that the Herberts did not seem to mind.

The third was that she did not mind.

The Back Office

Elizabeth found surprising contentment in taking over the bookkeeping for the Herberts.

It was not something she was trained for, but it was not exactly advanced mathematics. In practice, it was little different from managing the household accounts for an estate—or at least an estate where the mistress bothered and did not just leave it to the housekeeper and her eldest daughters. It required attention to detail and simple addition—not the greatest challenge in the world.

Receiving new shipments and shelving them also brought satisfaction. For obvious reasons, she only did that at night. There was little chance one of the villagers would recognise her in her borrowed shopgirl’s dress; but there was every chance she might meet Mary, who did not even keep a subscription but sometimes spent an hour or two reading the latest sermons.

Mr Darcy appeared four more times in the fortnight after his first visit. He had little to share, but they found they could happily while away an hour or two sitting in the Herberts’ back parlour speaking of anything and everything.

While she loved the Herberts with all her heart, it was comforting to have a friend closer to her own age who was unmarried but could not possibly create expectations. Being able to talk with a better-educated man who treated her as a rational human being, had much to recommend it. She wondered if she would ever marry, and if so, if she could find other similar friends afterwards. Both seemed unlikely, but when she inevitably became a spinster, she reckoned that it could be easily done as a shopkeeper.

Over time, she came to appreciate Mr Darcy’s wry sense of humour and loved to hear stories of Pemberley, which sounded glorious. She was appalled to learn the massive scale of the responsibilities he acquired when he was Jane’s age, then doubly impressed that he came out of the ordeal with nothing worse than the occasional bout of moderately objectionable behaviour. She was even more entertained by his descriptions of the cutthroat social life of the ton, which he very sensibly did not care for.

She gradually concluded he was in no hurry to throw her to Mr Bennet’s or Mr Collins’ wolves, nor to end the acquaintance—and for that, she was very happy.

In the end, much to her surprise, she found that she liked the man very much. Oh, he was still curmudgeonly from time to time, and his vaunted pride-regulation was sometimes uneven, but he was a good man—a very good man—and she thought he would make some lucky lady an exceptional husband one day.

They spent an entire day discussing Miss Darcy, of which about twenty minutes were consumed explaining in detail what a scoundrel Mr Wickham was, and another half-hour making full use of some of the more colourful words Mr Fletcher taught her.

Elizabeth wondered if having such a wolf among the lambs was something she could let stand. He was apparently paying particular attention to Lydia, and Elizabeth thought they might make a good couple—mostly because it would save the rest of the world from being attached to either. Mr Darcy told her that Lydia’s behaviour had descended even further into madness since the ball, and she was impressed that he said it without grinding his teeth (though she was not so lucky).

She gave the idea of forcing Lydia and Wickham due consideration the next time Mr Darcy called, but he spoiled her fun by revealing he grew tired of the man being a blight on the world, so he called in his debts and sent him to debtors' prison. He clearly felt guilty about doing such a thing to his father’s favourite, but returning to her `hard things are hard’ rule, she thought it appropriate. Needs must, and all that.

It was a case where she took his hand rather than the converse, and even though she felt both brave and foolish for it, she did not repent the action… not really.

Thoughts of Miss Darcy occupied her for most of a day otherwise spent reading a new novel. They had discussed her in depth, and Elizabeth mostly concluded the girl needed more friends her own age. She expected that if Mr Bingley ever worked up his nerve, then Jane could fill the bill. She also thought she would like to befriend the girl—if she ever escaped the library.

She wondered if he was working his way up to proposing a more permanent solution, such as setting her up with a shop, or hiring her as a companion. It was exactly the sort of kind-hearted thing he would do.

Mostly, she wanted the bad parts of her life to be over so she could start the good.

The Sorting Room

Elizabeth was loading books for shipment in the sorting room when Mr Darcy burst in.

The man seemed nearly manic, so bad that his hair was almost in disarray, and his cravat was short of perfection. It was Friday at ten o’clock, so who knew what mayhem he had endured?

“Elizabeth, I must speak with you urgently.”

“Mr Darcy! What has happened?” she gasped. She barely noticed his use of her Christian name but had long-since determined he could call her anything he liked.

“My apologies… Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his breathing heavy.

“Elizabeth is fine. You have earned it. Even Lizzy would please me.”