“They did. Their son passed away in ’05, leaving the branches of our family tree rather sparse.” She smiled at a remembered quip. “Papa often remarks that while other families boast mighty oaks for family trees, the Bennets must make do with a slender sapling.”
“Cousin Elizabeth, I still struggle to understand why I will not inherit this estate.”
Elizabeth swallowed the sharp retort that pressed against her lips and regarded Mr. Collins with the sort of patience one might reserve for a particularly obtuse child.
“Our joint original ancestor, Henry Thomas Bennet, possessed two estates and three male heirs – Philip, Timothy, and Stephen. His firstborn, Philip, received the Bedfordshire estate, Tetherwood, while his second son – our direct forebearer, Timothy – was granted the Hertfordshire estate, Longbourn. The youngest, Stephen, remained unwed and childless.” She looked up, meeting her cousin’s gaze directly. “Tetherwood’s entailis in fee tail male. Your link to the family tree, through your great-grandmother, excludes you from any inheritance from Philip Bennet’s line.” When Mr. Collins puffed his chest in indignation, her tone grew frosty. “The irony does not escape me, sir. You showed perfect contentment at the prospect of my mother and sisters being turned out of their home upon myfather’s death. Yet here you sit, aggrieved and bemoaning the withholding of property to which you never held a legitimate claim.”
“Well, I never—” Mr. Collins began, only to be interrupted by Sir William.
“That is enough, Mr. Collins. Miss Eliza is correct; you have no say in how an estate is bequeathed, and I kindly ask you to cease importuning your cousin in this matter.”
Rare was the day Sir William Lucas lost his temper, and Elizabeth was glad he had taken his son by marriage to task. She gave Sir William a grateful smile, then stood.
“I think it best if I retire to my room and answer some of my correspondence.” She looked at Charlotte and smiled. “I shall see you at dinner.”
Elizabeth departed swiftly, giving no opportunity for further discourse, and retreated to the sanctuary of her chamber. There, she extracted her portable writing desk and composed a letter to her father regarding Mr. Collins’ discovery of their newly acquired property. When the dinner hour arrived, she found Charlotte’s husband had adopted an air of frigid politeness towards her, an arrangement she found entirely agreeable. Alas, his commitment to such restraint proved as enduring as sugar dissolving in hot tea.
“I have written to your father to express my displeasure,” he began. “Lady Catherine has offered to provide a solicitor to question the legalities of this ‘bequest’.”
Elizabeth’s fork clattered against her plate.
“Upon what grounds would Lady Catherine concern herself with matters entirely outside her sphere?”
“Her ladyship’s discernment extends to all matters of value,” replied Mr. Collins with an air of smug satisfaction.
“While such vigilance may serve her family and tenants well, sir, it becomes mere impertinence when directed at my father’s private affairs.”
The heat rising to Elizabeth’s cheeks matched the indignation swelling in her breast. She pushed her chair back with such force that it scraped loudly against the floor. Only Charlotte’s gentle touch upon her wrist stopped her from rising to her feet.
“Please, Eliza, I beg you not to leave.” She turned a gimlet eye towards her husband. “Mr. Collins, you are making my friend uncomfortable. The facts laid before you earlier were clear and concise. You are not entitled to the estate in Bedfordshire, and Lady Catherine is not entitled to meddle in Mr. Bennet’s business.”
Mr. Collins, his eyes widened at his wife’s tone of voice.
“But…” he began.
“I will not have you harangue my guest.”
“I must beg your pardon, but there is a matter requiring my immediate attention. I shall retire to my chamber.” Elizabeth stood, and a glance at Charlotte confirmed her friend understood the purpose of her hasty retreat — to dispatch an urgent warning to Bedfordshire.
Her father would receive her express days before Mr. Collins’ grievances reached him, misdirected as they would be to Longbourn first. With quill in hand, Elizabeth amended her earlier correspondence, releasing a weary breath. Although her father’s carefully laid plans for a gradual revelation now lay in tatters, she found herself relieved. The burden of concealment had grown heavy, and she feared what Charlotte might think when she learned how much Elizabeth had withheld from their confidences.
The evening dragged oninterminably as Darcy endured yet another society gathering, where he stood like a prize stallion at auction while mothers with marriageable daughters circled him with predatory smiles. He had sought refuge beside Lady Matlock, believing her sensible enough to shield him from such transparent machinations, but his strategy failed spectacularly when she had practically bubbled with enthusiasm over society’s latest darling. She spoke of meeting Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the newly elevated Earl Rumley, at Lady Meadowbrook’s ball, and how the sparkling young woman had not only impressed her, but also her close-knit circle of friends.
“Mark my words, Darcy, she will be this season’s diamond of the first water.”
The name echoed in Darcy’s mind, and his hand drifted to his chest, curled fingers pressing against the fine wool of his waistcoat.
“You look like my grandfather just before they called the physician,” Ashton remarked, his gaze wandering to a young lady across the room even as he observed his cousin. “That is the third time you have clutched at your chest and winced.”
Darcy dropped his hand immediately, drawing himself up with rigid formality.
“I had not realised.” A sigh escaped him despite his best efforts. Ashton’s casual manner belied his sharp observations; there would be no peace until he offered some explanation. “Last autumn I encountered a woman who... affected me deeply. Her station made any connection impossible, yet I find myself unable to banish her from my thoughts.”
“This woman – her name is Elizabeth, I presume?” Ashtonstudied Darcy’s face intently. “A gentleman can only cure his heart by finding a more captivating lady to occupy it.”
“If only it were that simple,” Darcy muttered, his eyes fixed on the dancers.
Ashton’s lip curved into a smirk. “So that explains your sudden appearances at every ball this season. The matchmaking mammas are practically swooning at the idea that you might favour their daughters with more than just a dance.”