And in conclusion, Elizabeth wrote, I must beg you to send Mr. Darcy and I every amusing detail of Lady Catherine’s behavior. Though it shames him to admit such a relation, she has been valuable to us, and we hope, by providing amusement, she will continue to be such.

I now sign, my dear Charlotte, my name one last time as,

Yours affectionately,

E Bennet

 

Elizabeth put her quill down beside her ceramic ink pot and dried off the end on her blotting paper. She closed the little lid to her inkwell. Elizabeth then put the inkwell and quill in a box that sat in the corner of the room, waiting to be packed up to go to Pemberley with her. She’d written so many letters with this small pot over the years that the pot felt almost like a friend.

She loved Darcy. She wanted to see Pemberley, explore the halls, the parks, the rooms and attics, and offend the sensibilities of the ghosts.

Everything would be different tomorrow.

Elizabeth sat on the chair nearest the window, surrounded on both sides by tall, familiar bookshelves. Every book on those shelves was a friend.

Papa watched her with an unfocused gaze. He said slowly, “Letters complete?”

Elizabeth returned to the desk. But before she could sit, Papa stood and gave her an embrace, and she embraced Papa tightly as well.

They smiled together, and Elizabeth tried to memorize the feeling of her father’s dressing coat, and the smell of his sideburns, and the flickering candlelight, and the happiness she had known with him in this room.

“I shall miss you. Terribly.”

“I know, Papa. I know.” Tears clouded Elizabeth’s eyes. “I shall miss you more.”

“That I doubt.”

“I will miss you very, very much. Write many letters to me — no matter how you hate the practice. Dictate to a servant if you must — I will write many letters to you.”

“You must care for yourself. And keep your young man’s high ears pinned down. What is the purpose of a grand estate and a clever mind if not to be confounded often?”

Elizabeth squeezed Papa again. She closed her eyes as they stood embraced. She remembered Papa two decades ago in this room, his hair completely dark, and with the smile in his eyes as he asked her to sit on his lap and recite what she’d learned from the book she’d just perused. She remembered him reminiscing about university. Their enthusiasm when he purchased a particularly fine rare book.

Growing older. She sat in the chair as a vivacious young woman in a fine dress. His hair partly grey. How they talked before she left on trips to London, or to Charlotte, or to visit one of her married sisters. Every time, every single time Papa told her he would miss her until she returned.

She wouldn’t be returning. Not like before.

“How can I ever leave? So happy here.”

Papa patted her head. “I shall keep your chair exactly as you ordered it — do you recall? You were most insistent — and you shall discover in a few years how insistent a child of five can be — that your chair be exactly like mine.”

Elizabeth giggled wetly.

“I had no choice except to obey, even though you could not fit in the chair. You curled up in it, with your feet on the seat. During winter you disappeared under a fuzzy blanket, only a pert nose sticking out.”

“Oh, Papa.”

“Those were my favorite days. I…”

Elizabeth laughed. “I thought your days at the university arguing with other young scholars were your favorite.”

“No…it was certainly after your birth. I loved those years, when you were old enough to cease crying to get your way — you had me wrapped round your finger. I fulfilled your every reasonable demand; at a certain age, you could be talked round to agree unreasonable ones need not be filled.”

“I was a good daughter?”

“Do not expect your own children to be like that. I expect them to have something of the Darcy spirit and manners. I cannot imagine him being talked out of a tantrum.”

“I know how, now.”

“And he knows how to put you into a tantrum. High strung girl. I have loved you so.”

They sat together as they had for many years. Papa looked distant, sad. Elizabeth did not like to see it. “I wish he moved to live with us, rather than I leaving to live with him. Another unfairness women must endure.”

“Have you asked Mr. Darcy if he would take up residence in Hertfordshire? Ideally in the guest room, but another building in the neighborhood might do almost as nicely. I hear High Court is vacant.”

“You have not seen Pemberley, if you can suggest such an exchange.”

Papa smiled and then he tapped his fingers on the desk and mumbled something to himself.

“What, dearest father, are you thinking?”

“I merely calculate the earliest date I might visit this vast estate and its remarkable library — I wrote letters, when it first became clear in what direction matters were headed, asking what my acquaintance knew about Mr. Darcy. I believe many believed I desired to learn about his library.”

“You did! Of course you did. You have always done what you must to care for me.”

“I have tried.”

“If you wish to live with us, you have my permission. And so long as you do not bother us overmuch, I am quite sure I can convince Darcy not to object.”

“He has already invited me to have a bed dragged into the library so I might sleep in it.”

“The best man! Except you, for you are both my best men.”

Papa laughed. “I shall only visit. Someone must keep your mother company now that she is bereft of children to worry over.”

The two smiled at each other.

“You are happy this time. I can see.” Elizabeth smiled.

“I am, this time.”

Elizabeth crumpled up and flicked a piece of blotting paper that sat on the desk from when she had been writing at his nose. “You did not stop me from entering the engagement last time.”

He flicked the ball of paper back. “I did the closest I could with such a daughter as you.”

“Mr. Darcy and I will be the happiest couple in the world. You see how I laugh.”

“I do. But I still worry.”

“You need not worry. You have raised me well.” Elizabeth embraced her father. “I hope Darcy and I raise our children as well as you raised me.”

“Better than I raised some of my children. But, Lizzy, children choose for themselves much of who they are. A parent can only help or harm so far.”

“You mean Lydia chose for herself, even if you were negligent in sending her to Brighton.”

“My word itself.” Papa took out a pair of glasses and a decanter from their desk. “A celebratory toast. I do worry — any marriage might progress poorly.”

Elizabeth groaned. “A useless statement. It neither reassures, nor worries me.”

“When you are a parent, even when you expect the best…you will always worry for your child. Lizzy, I will always worry for you.”

“I… Papa, I shall miss your presence so much.”

Papa poured the cognac into the glasses. “You already travel from home on occasion. You and Darcy shall come south with frequency, and I shall make the expedition north oftener. We shall spend ample time together. Though, this room will no longer be our special place.”

Elizabeth nodded, teary eyed. “I am so entirely happy, but I could not be happy without your happiness.”

Papa handed her a glass and he raised his. “To my Elizabeth and her Mr. Darcy; to your future and to your happiness.”