Elizabeth Bennet whistled as she completed her morning walk. Fine brisk day, without the real cold of winter, yet having something of stark beauty. She walked through the little shrubbery behind the front entrance of Longbourn and up to a backdoor which opened into her father’s study. She quickly opened and shut the door. A cold gust of wind followed her, shifting the papers upon Papa’s desk.

“Pray, shut that door, dear.” Papa shivered theatrically and smiled her. “The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.”

Elizabeth laughed at the line from Hamlet. “It is a nipping and an eager air?”

“What hour now?”

“I think it lacks of twelve — by most of the day — you are the one with the clock in your room.”

“Come sit here.” Papa gestured at her chair. “You were supposed to let me say ‘No, it is struck.’”

“The clock struck twelve? Indeed I heard it not… uhhh… the season wherein the spirit walks.”

“You have forgotten your Shakespeare.” Papa laughed good naturedly. “But sit here. Help me with these figures — I made some mistake adding the accounts.”

Elizabeth laid a friendly kiss on her father’s forehead right beneath the wool cap he wore for warmth. She laughed when he recoiled.

“Your lips are frozen, Lizzy. You may love winter walks, but I prefer to be warm.”

Papa then pulled her head down so he could kiss her cheek.

Elizabeth settled into the brown leather chair which always sat next to her father’s chair for her use, and she pulled in front of her the account book he’d been looking through, and the paper to the side where he’d attempted to add up the entries for the last month in pencil.

Papa looked at her with the pleased smile he always had when they were together. His eyes were bright and alert, and his dark grey sideburns bristled several inches out from the sides of his face. He wore a thick red cap that had been tipped back by Elizabeth exposing the front of his bald area. His hands were encased in a pair of gray wool half gloves that left his fingers free to easily manipulate the quill, but kept his hands somewhat warm.

While the air in the room was hot in comparison to the freezing outdoors, Papa had kept his room chilled so far this winter. It was a small economy to save on coal that he had adopted when the crash following the end of the war reduced their rents substantially only a few months after the fund Mr. Bennet had set aside for his daughter’s dowries had been depleted by Kitty’s marriage. There still was a substantial amount set aside for Elizabeth, which Mr. Bennet intended to grow once more, but it was insufficient to be really comfortable upon.

“You completely missed this purchase of feedstock for the horses — and the purchase of the new grey to replace Molly when she died. Also, when you added up the income, you incorrectly added the value of Mr. Green’s rent.” Elizabeth took a bite of a juicy apple from a bowl Mr. Bennet kept on his desk, so he would not need to interrupt his studies by calling for a servant if he grew hungry before dinner. “There. Correct now.”

Papa grinned at her, pulling the account book back towards himself. “What would I do without you?”

“Hire a steward.”

As Papa looked at the figures himself again, muttering quietly as his finger jumped from number to number, Elizabeth looked back out the window again. Today was beautiful, gray, overcast; the bare sticks of trees looked sharp in the pale sunlight, and the background of clouds promised rain or flurries of snow. In places little dustings of snow from yesterday’s surprisingly early winter snow remained unmelted.

Elizabeth never complained about the weather. There was so much beauty in it.

And she was returned to her favorite place in the world: Papa's study while Papa was also there.

“Very, good. Very good.” Papa now wrote the final sums into the big account book, and blotted the ink before closing the accounts. “Your walk? Did you call upon anyone?”

“I speak too often on the delights of leafless trees and cold air for you to wish to listen to me enthuse about that.” Elizabeth frowned, rather displeased by what she had learned. “The Lucases told me the committee which manages the assemblies, you know — Lady Lucas, Mama, Mrs. Long, Mrs. Goulding — they absolutely will not allow Jane’s female guest to be admitted to the rooms tonight. Sir Lucas had set off a bare quarter of an hour before I called to inform Bingley, Jane and the Darcys.”

“Poor girl. To be given the cut direct by the whole of the neighborhood at the first expedient date after her arrival.” Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows. “Mrs. Bennet told me nothing of the matter—"

“Mama will be quite displeased to find the other ladies dared such a thing in her absence.”

Papa smiled. “Her nerves will be disordered for some time — they have been present much less of late, since Mary and Kitty both married last year — perhaps it is time for a return visit.”

Elizabeth and her father shared a smirk. Neither held much sympathy for her mother’s damaged consequence.

“It was kind,” said Elizabeth, “insofar as kindness can be attributed to such an occasion, her daughter hosts Mr. Bingley’s friend and his scandalous sister. My mother could not be an uninterested party in pursuing the duty of the committee to maintain propriety and protect the moral standards of the neighborhood.”

Mr. Bennet laughed. “Standards? Propriety, defense of the community. A brave stand against the moral degeneration of this late age? That makes it sound disinterested and…effortful.”

“A woman who has become a Matron need not cease to be Missish. And young ladies! Think of those girls, such as Maria, or I — I am not yet old enough a maid for my eyes to survive sight of a fallen woman without smudge.”

Elizabeth finished her apple and tossed the core into the undecorated waste bin next to Papa’s big writing desk. The apples were stored in Longbourn’s cellar, and because of how cold the year had been, it would be at least several months before they lost their juiciness and flavor.

"My dear” — Papa patted her hand and smirked — “you are not old at all. You may trust the word of a man who is."

Elizabeth knew perfectly well she was not an old maid. She appeared more beautiful than ever in the mirror. But she possessed no desire for men and their controlling ways — most men, her father was perfectly indulgent. Elizabeth Bennet had neither need nor want for marrying. And at four and twenty she now possessed too much cleverness and wisdom to ever feel the sort of insane passion Lydia or Jane's Miss Darcy had felt for Wickham. 

“I am old enough in this matter,” said she. “A woman of twenty and four could not be polluted by conversation with a shy, reclusive girl of twenty. Miss Darcy is barely past being a child.”

“You, my dear, are more likely to pollute her with your opinions than the reverse.”

“Jane enthused about Miss Darcy: sweet girl, modest, shy, unassuming, repentant, accomplished, intelligent, elegant, etc, etc — the child likewise. And then they send a delegation to inform her immediate upon her arrival she is not welcome. For a single mistake, made many years in the past.”

“She has a child.” Her father held his hands open with a wry expression, as though to say he did not make the rules. “A product of an illicit connection she openly lives with. The young woman cannot expect to be freely received by respectable company.”

“Unkind,” Elizabeth replied. Papa also had some sympathy for poor Georgiana Darcy, but Papa relished clever arguments, especially when Elizabeth brought him to admit he was wrong. “If she should expect to be excluded, there is no need to send out a messenger to inform her of that exclusion.”

Papa’s eyes had his combative gleam. He removed his spectacles and leaned towards Elizabeth. “Jane did not expect such, and she knows the neighborhood—”

“Pray! Use not our Jane as the exemplar of what a person ought to know — she never imagines ill!”

“Your sister is merely one instance of the principle: Oft persons recognize not the obvious. Kinder for a single person — a violently inoffensive one, such as Sir William — to be sent to ensure she does understand. Thus she can avoid the deeper embarrassment of being cut by an entire community at once.”

“A certain slight to avoid chance of an even worse insult? Were I in such a situation, the insult to my good sense would be as great an annoyance as anything else.”

“You mean greater than everything else.” Mr. Bennet grinned. “You have a great sensitivity to any slight against your cleverness.”

Elizabeth laughed. “No — I do not approve of how society treats Miss Darcy. Her sin is no different than Lydia’s: an action undertaken under promise of marriage. And with the same man.”

“Mrs. Wickham married her seducer.”

"Perhaps she should not have. You never visited her. Lydia was miserable and she nearly died with the babe. Our wellbeing required them to marry, but Lydia only benefited from his early demise.”

Mr. Bennet grimaced. “I am delighted Wickham had himself shot before he was in service long enough for my son-in-law to be obligated to pay for more than his captaincy. If only I could recover the three thousand I settled upon Lydia. The girl shouldn’t have the stuffing to flit to London when she prefers.”

“You have changed. The problem occurred because you wished her elsewhere.”

“I proved to be a poor father. I know.” He shuffled the papers in front of him into something a little like order.

“You might like Lydia today — she is hardly the same girl she was four years ago.”

"Deuced young, a fool, and too happy in the company of gentlemen for my comfort. I don't trust her discretion."

Elizabeth pinched her lips together and nodded. Lydia was very fond of the company of men. Her younger sister had explained to Elizabeth, when she visited her at Newcastle, everything she now knew about how to please and be pleased by a man without risk of pregnancy.

"I do wish," Papa added, "I could receive the money again — for your sake. You are like to marry — but no certainty there."

"And leave you? Nonsense. In fairness — Lydia has as great need of independence as I ever will."

"Lydia can marry again, if she must — you are unsuited for ordinary marriage. I always saw. From when you first crawled about after me, you would study my books with me before you could properly walk.”

“I know.” Elizabeth had always felt special, more tightly attached to her father than to anyone else. Her affection was reciprocated and she was treated unfairly by both her parents. When Mr. Bennet came to the conclusion he would have no sons after Lydia’s birth, he decided money must be saved, not to ensure the future of his daughters and wife, but almost solely for her interest. Near five hundred pounds were cut from the estate's annual expenses, and while Mr. Bennet sold his hunter and the pack of foxhounds, most feeling of deprivation came from her mother.

Mr. Bennet had never been much of a sportsman. Mrs. Bennet wished an extra pair of footman, to dress Jane in new expensive and fashionable gowns each season, and to have the most impressive delicacies on her table when she entertained.

Mrs. Bennet, correctly, blamed Elizabeth for this diminution of her consequence and, she claimed, her happiness. Mrs. Bennet scolded Elizabeth for turning her father against her, begged her to convince her father to let them spend money more freely, and railed against Elizabeth for thinking she was better than her sisters.

At that age Elizabeth fully shared her father’s every opinion. So Mrs. Bennet’s conviction that Elizabeth was wrong for thinking herself better than her sisters only fed a belief she was in fact better.

Elizabeth had been rather spoilt as a child.

Likely she still was.

“If I had ever realized I would have to pay out such a large sum to see Lydia married…” Papa sighed. “It seemed at the time a cheap and convenient means for her to find some pleasure. You were right, and I have long since admitted it.”

Wickham had agreed to marry Lydia in exchange for Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet providing him one thousand pounds apiece, to cover his immediate debts. Mr. Bingley undertook to purchase a commission for Wickham each time he become eligible to purchase a higher rank, and Mr. Bennet settled an additional three thousand upon Lydia, and fifty pounds income as her share of Mrs. Bennet’s fortune.

Fortunately, when Wickham’s captaincy was purchased he transferred to a regiment which would a year later be posted to defend the Hougoumont farmhouse during Waterloo.

“Lydia has not abused what independence she has.” Elizabeth kicked her foot deeper under the desk, wriggling into her chair.

Mr. Bennet shrugged.

Papa wished a different topic of conversation, so Elizabeth returned to the earlier one. “The difference in how Miss Darcy and Lydia are treated is fashion not morality.”

Mr. Bennet tapped his finger on the dark wood of his desk. He nodded decidedly. “Allowing such a woman to participate fully in a community would provide a bad exemplar for younger ladies, such as yourself. They say it themselves. Neither morality, nor fashion, but practical reason drives the unfortunate creature’s exclusion.”

Papa winked and Elizabeth giggled. “This commits you to the claim that Mrs. Wickham provides a good example."

"Aha! I see what you mean to do — my disapproval of that married woman is well known to you."

"Unkind! Your own daughter!"

“I confess my former mistake; Lydia is a fine example for the women of other families. She shows the importance of marrying for love and affection and adolescent whim.”

Elizabeth opened a compartment in the desk to take out her dainty stationery so she could write a letter to Mary, who was the wife of the vicar who lived thirty miles from Longbourn in Essex. She began to sharpen the nib of her pen. “I can have nothing further to say. Except if the purpose is to prevent imprudence, the presence of a girl who will preach against such behavior is likely to be more salutary than Lydia’s advice.”

“How does Lydia advise her unmarried sisters? I have always wondered since the first time you mentioned such advice.”

Elizabeth flushed. “An indelicate subject. Enough on her.”

“Defeat admitted. My victory, again.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her father’s crowing. She dipped the quill into the ink and began to scratch out her letter.

Mr. Bennet stood and browsed the bookshelves. As he pulled down Cicero’s letters, he asked, “Pray, give your opinion, your true opinion. Do you wish to befriend Miss Darcy?”

"I know not, not yet." Elizabeth glanced up and returned her eyes to her work. “Jane likes her very much. I ought to need no further recommendation."

"But we all know Jane only sees the good."

"Miss Darcy is a darling shy and sweet creature, I am sure. But the imprudence! Imprudence demonstrated by all involved. Especially in how her brother left the young Miss unguarded. The bare facts of the story leave me prejudiced against the participants.”

"Her brother ought have made her marry Wickham or another?"

"Goodness! No!"

Mr. Bennet smirked, showing he’d known Elizabeth would reply with such horror.

"Such a permanent solution as marriage! And to a man she did not love? That should never be considered as a solution to anything, not even an equally permanent scandal and an illegitimate babe. Perhaps marriage would have benefited the child, but Miss Darcy’s daughter has privilege enough. That superficial appearance of legitimacy cannot be a requirement for her happiness."

“You were enthused by Pemberley’s grounds when you visited them before Lydia’s misadventure with my ill mourned son-in-law.”

“The delight of the well-designed grounds perhaps reflects only upon Mr. Darcy’s designing ancestors—”

“Or perhaps,” Papa smirkingly interrupted Elizabeth, “poor guardians make good gardens.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Not even a pun.”

Mr. Bennet looked unpleasantly smug nevertheless.

“Mr. Peake spoke highly of Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth added, “and Mr. Darcy’s affection for his sister is clear from how he kept her and her daughter with him — their presence at the house at all times meant we could not tour the house, but only the grounds.”

“Oh, yes, Gardiner acquired Peake during your Northern trip.”

“We did not go past the midlands.”

Papa waved his hands as though that was a triviality. “How did Gardiner meet Peake again, I never had the story quite straight.”

“At Darcy’s estate itself — he was an under steward at Pemberley, and because he was Mrs. Gardiner’s cousin, he gave us our tour of the estate, and then he called at our lodging in Lambton, and Mr. Gardiner convinced him to leave his position and join Mr. Gardiner’s firm.”

“Piece of good fortune for us all to match the ill fortune of Lydia’s misbehavior. Gardiner says that without Peake’s help he would have gone under within the last two years.”

“Mr. Gardiner told me as much.”

"A balance of expectations and stories — you plan to see Miss Darcy with your own eyes, and then make a judgement?"

Elizabeth smiled impishly. "Given my advanced age, I have no need to fear what harm may come to my reputation when it is known I consort with such women.”

Rather than laughing Papa sighed and pulled off his wiry spectacles. “Lizzy. You are only twenty and four — not an old maid, not on the shelf. Had your goal been to marry expeditiously, you would have good reason to be shamed for having reached such an advanced age unmarried, but your goal never was to snag the first eligible bachelor.”

Elizabeth laughed, made uncomfortable by Papa's serious tone. He could not intend to suggest, like Mama often did, that it was time for her to marry. “Since my goal never was to entrap any bachelor, eligible or otherwise, I can socialize with a scandalous woman without worrying what Mr. Several Thousand a Year thinks.”

“Your age is not where your freedom derives from.” Mr. Bennet paused, Elizabeth looked at him. He had an expression of wishing to say something, but uncharacteristically lacking words. “Do dismiss all thought of marriage.”

Papa hurriedly added, “There is no gentleman who could interest you in this neighborhood, but widen your circle of acquaintance, maybe in London—”

“You wish me to leave you alone to face Mama’s nerves? Never. You would be lonely without me.” Elizabeth rubbed her hand harshly over the edge of their desk. She remembered Lydia, swollen with child, complaining about marital duties. Jane and Bingley’s bland friendliness. Despite her cleverness and sensibility, Mrs. Gardiner always deferred to her husband.

“Lizzy, I shall not live forever.” Mr. Bennet’s voice made Elizabeth look at her father, almost unwillingly. He was no more than five years past fifty and a healthy, if not vigorous, man. But in the lines and gray hair, time was slowly catching him. “Understand what you truly want. You do not need to marry. Were I to die tomorrow, there is already sufficient in the funds for you to be almost comfortable, but…someday I shall not be here, and I fear, my dear girl, you will be lonely as well.”

“Most husbands I have seen would hardly make a good companion.”

“Find a gentleman who is unique, as you are unique. I ask you only to be open to fortune’s bringings. This is your happiness which concerns me.”

Elizabeth’s heart glowed with tenderness towards her father when he showed his deep concern for her wellbeing. She did not want a husband to come between their closeness. If Papa had his way, he would do nothing but spend endless hours with his books, but affection for her had led him to work to make the most of the estate and to control his wife enough to allow economies to be found.

They had always, for as long as Elizabeth could remember, been bound close. She’d spent nearly as much time in this room with her father as she had asleep.

“Papa—” Elizabeth held her father’s arm and kissed him on the forehead. “I am not made for unhappiness — or loneliness — you know I am not. You are healthy and will live another twenty years. At least! And when you do die, many, many years from now, I shall cry a long time, and then I will find some other spinster old maid who is quite clever and who loves to laugh as much as I do, and we shall combine our resources and be very happy together. You have my oath: I love you too much to ever allow myself to be really unhappy.”

“My dear daughter.” Papa kissed her on the cheek. “I only worry for you — that you will miss forms of happiness. Do not close yourself.”