A Favorite Daughter

by P. O. Dixon

  “With three younger sisters grown up,” replied Elizabeth, smiling, “your ladyship can hardly expect me to own it.”

  Elizabeth’s response must have mortified Mr. Collins. “Pray, Cousin Elizabeth, her ladyship’s question deserves a more fitting response, does it not?”

  “You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure; therefore, you need not conceal your age,” her ladyship added.

  “I am not one-and-twenty.”

  “How difficult was that to admit?” Lady Catherine asked. “I suppose it is the fashion to be unnecessarily contrary merely for the sake of it.” She threw a glance at Mary. “Although I do not suppose you would employ such stratagems, young lady.”

  Mary retrieved her linen napkin, ostensibly, to brush it across her lips. Elizabeth knew what her sister was really about. No doubt, Mary was searching her memory for an antidote - one from Fordyce’s sermons - to support her response.

  Clearing her throat, Mary said, “I am ever mindful of the danger that lest young women should lose in softness what they gained in force. The pursuit of such elevation should interfere as little as possible with the plain duties and humble virtues of life.”

  “You see, Miss Bennet, that is precisely how a young lady ought to feel.”

  Elizabeth wanted to roll her eyes, not at her sister, for Mary would not be Mary if she were not espousing Fordyce’s, however convoluted her analogies. But Elizabeth was sure that Lady Catherine had never once given herself the trouble of reading Fordyce’s sermons.

  I would sooner expect her ladyship to claim she had written them or, at the very least, she would have written them if she had had the chance.

  What a relief that a brief lull in the conversation was soon interrupted by Lady Catherine’s focusing her attention on her nephews.

  “How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?”

  “My sister is getting on very well,” Mr. Darcy replied, darting his eyes toward Elizabeth as if speaking for her benefit.

  “I hope she is not neglecting her playing.”

  “No, she is not.”

  “I am delighted to hear such a good account of her,” said Lady Catherine. “Pray, tell her from me that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a good deal.”

  “I assure you, madam,” he replied, “that she does not need such advice. She practices very constantly.”

  “So much the better. It cannot be done too much. When I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account. I often tell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice.

  “I have been told Miss Mary already adheres to this advice. I am sure we shall all be delighted to have you exhibit for us after dinner, young woman.”

  Mary nodded her acquiescence to her ladyship’s scheme. As her sister was always eager for such chances to demonstrate her prowess, Elizabeth was sure Mary would exhibit on the pianoforte every waking moment if she thought she could get away with it.

  “And what of yourself?” the colonel inquired, speaking to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth would have given the gentleman a look that shot daggers if they had been better acquainted, for this was not a conversation she wanted to be drawn into. As they were mere hours into their acquaintance, she did not do so, however. Elizabeth discerned the colonel to be an amiable man who fell quickly into conversation wherever he went. She supposed she would have time to be entirely at ease with him soon enough.

  Her mind wandered to earlier that afternoon when she first made Mr. Darcy’s acquaintance. She had most certainly not exercised such caution with him. The reason she felt so reserved with one gentleman and so uninhibited with the other was something she was looking forward to finding out.

  “It seems Miss Bennet’s musical acumen is not on par with her sister’s,” Lady Catherine replied in the wake of Elizabeth’s silence.

  “And why is that?” Mr. Darcy asked.

  “I fear I have no one to blame but myself, Mr. Darcy,” she replied. “You see, sir, I never take time to practice.”

  When he could, Mr. Collins approached Elizabeth in the hallway leading to the drawing-room after dinner.

  “Cousin Elizabeth,” he began in earnest, “if I may, pray, allow me to caution you on your behavior toward Lady Catherine. One who would ever dare to trifle with so much dignified impertinence is not likely one who would garner her ladyship’s good opinion. Need I remind you of the reason for your being here?”

  Without awaiting Elizabeth’s response, Mr. Collins turned on his heel and went away. It was good riddance so far as Elizabeth was concerned. The last thing the gentleman needed to hear, and indeed, the last thing she needed to say was what was really on her mind.

  I must think of my sister Mary, Elizabeth reminded herself as she entered the drawing-room. I must think of Mary.

  Chapter 9

  Day after day passed, and yet Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had not taken their leave from Kent even though Lady Catherine had repeatedly lamented that they would. The gentlemen’s continued presence in that part of the country was a boon for Elizabeth. She liked them very much, and even though they were residing under the same roof, rarely did they have a chance to get better acquainted with each other. Not under Lady Catherine’s watchful eyes.

  Elizabeth’s frequent walks about the park not only afforded her much-needed escapes from her ladyship’s company, but they also afforded the company of one or the other of the lady’s nephews, who often joined her.

  On that particular day, she encountered Mr. Darcy. He seemed an entirely different man when outside his haughty aunt’s presence. When in her ladyship’s company, he was taciturn, rarely giving himself the trouble to speak unless called upon directly to do so. When walking about the grounds with Elizabeth, he talked with abandon. His speech was both elegant and purposeful, even though what his purposes might be, Elizabeth could not always discern.

  Mr. Darcy was clever – a man of sense and education. She liked that about him. Few men of his acquaintance exhibited such admirable traits.

  I posit Mr. Darcy is very much like my father in that regard.

  Mr. Bennet, when he was alive, was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humor, reserve, and caprice. Few understood and appreciated him as much as Elizabeth did—an admiration on her part that had been the means of their special bond.

  Though she and Mr. Darcy were barely acquainted, she suspected he and her father would have had many things in common. The most significant exception being capriciousness, she supposed.

  Mr. Darcy is far too serious for one to mistake him as being impulsive or fanciful.

  However, conversations with the gentleman were the closest thing to talking with her father – something she had been missing even more than she knew.

  The topic of her family’s situation evidently weighing on his own mind, Mr. Darcy said, “Pray, forgive me if what I am about to ask sounds unfeeling, but you must tell me how securing your family’s future is your responsibility?”

  For a second, Elizabeth was taken aback by his inquiry, wondering what its impetus had been. Then she recalled having spoken of her responsibilities at Longbourn in the wake of Mr. Bennet’s passing. She had no idea that Mr. Darcy had been listening so intently.

  “Is securing your own family’s future not your responsibility, sir?”

  “Of course, it is, but our situations are not comparable.”

  “Oh! And why is that? And do not tell me it is because you are the heir of a vast estate and its master, whereas I am a lowly female whose family’s estate is entailed to the male line of the family, specifically a stranger who appeared at Longhorn’s doorstep out of nowhere.”

  “The differences in our situation have less to do with gender and everything to do with connections and fortune. It is not my wish to argue with you but to merely point out the obvious. Besides that, you are much too young to be tasked with such a heavy burden.”

  “Well, such just happens to be my fate—
a consequence of my being my late father’s favorite daughter. Besides, someone had to step into my father’s shoes. Who better than his favorite daughter, or in his own words the son he never had?”

  “Forgive me if I am speaking out of line, however, do I correctly understand you to say you are effectively the head of the family?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “For all intents and purposes, that is correct, sir. Does this come as a surprise to you? It is not unheard of that a woman should find herself in such a position, I am sure.”

  “What of your mother? Or perhaps your older sister? If I recall correctly, you are the second eldest daughter.”

  “Well, sir, to know my mother is to know precisely why not her. And as far as my older sister is concerned, I know that were she in the position to do so, she would gladly shoulder what you perceive is my burden. Fate, however, had other plans for my sister Jane.”

  “Fate? Do you care to elaborate?”

  “I would rather not if you do not mind. Perhaps it is a subject that we might discuss once we are better acquainted with each other.”

  “Fair enough. As for your father, I take it that you and he were very close.”

  “Indeed. We were as close as a father and daughter could wish to be. He was the best man in the world. I do not mean to say Papa was not without fault, however. I am sure no one could boast of such a trait. Aside from Lady Catherine,” she added in jest. “However, apart from my older sister, Jane, my father was everything to me.”

  Elizabeth could not imagine why she was saying all these things to Mr. Darcy – aspects of her personal affairs she had never spoken about to anyone, not even Jane.

  I suppose there is something about confiding in a stranger that makes it so much easier to expose one’s innermost thoughts.

  If Elizabeth thought it was something more than Mr. Darcy’s merely being a stranger, she was not in a position of admitting it to herself. She had only known this man for a short duration, and yet she felt as though she had known him all her life.

  On another day, Elizabeth was engaged as she walked, perusing her friend Charlotte’s latest letter. If only she could have received such an intelligible correspondence from one of her own family. Alas, it was not to be. Mrs. Bennet’s primary concern was Elizabeth’s possible courtship with the heir of Longbourn. How disappointed she was that Elizabeth was determined to keep them all in suspense. That Elizabeth might receive another such offer of marriage was impossible for the lady to conceive. Therefore, Elizabeth had much better get Mr. Collins to the wedding altar before he died, and the search for the next heir ensued once again. Such was Mrs. Bennet’s thinking.

  Mrs. Bennet was as excited about the pending arrival of the Netherfield party as Elizabeth suspected her to be, but the former could only imagine Kitty or Lydia as a prospect for such an advantageous alliance. She did allow in her writing that Jane, too, might have been a viable candidate, were it not for her particular affliction.

  Thank heavens for dear Charlotte, Elizabeth considered. Her younger sisters were certainly of no use, for they never took the time to write.

  Charlotte had also made mention of the recent arrival of the militia in Hertfordshire. Indeed, they were camped just outside of Meryton. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth imagined all the glories of the camp - its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet. To complete the view, she saw her youngest sister, Lydia, seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.

  Opening her eyes, Elizabeth shook her head to ward off such thoughts. My consolation is that Lydia is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody. At most, she will be perceived as little more than a common flirt. The officers will find women better worth their notice.

  Still, a part of her could not help but be a little concerned. She was dwelling on those passages regarding the militia’s presence, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said,

  “This is a pleasant surprise seeing you, sir.”

  “I assure you the pleasure is all mine. Are you going much farther?”

  “No, I should have turned in a moment.”

  And accordingly, she did turn, and they walked towards the manor house together.

  “Do you intend to remain here in Kent much longer?” she asked.

  “That I cannot say. It is entirely up to my cousin. As a point of fact, we should have taken our leave a while ago; however, the days continue to roll by with no sign of my cousin wishing to depart. This is quite uncharacteristic of him if I must say so myself, for he usually does not remain here in Kent very long once Lady Catherine’s business concerns are settled. This time seems to be different. I can only surmise his reasoning has to do with you.”

  “Me?”

  “What else can it be? Not that I fault him one bit. Your lovely presence has added an element to Rosings Park that has been genuinely missing for a long, long time.”

  “As flattered as I am by your generous speech, I find it hard to fathom. Indecisive is not exactly how I would describe your cousin.”

  “Oh? How exactly would you describe him?”

  A thousand ways to describe Mr. Darcy immediately came to Elizabeth’s mind – an alluring mixture of reserve and intrigue, dark and brooding, at times, yet charming and engaging at others.

  How might I begin to describe Mr. Darcy to another when I have not quite figured him out for myself?

  “Sir, surely you are in a better position than I am to describe your cousin.”

  “Fair enough,” the colonel said. “Darcy is by far, one of the best men I know. He is an excellent master, a loving and protective brother, and a most loyal friend. There is nothing he would not do for those whom he considers most important to him.”

  “A man without fault?”

  “He has his fair share of faults. Who among us does not? In my cousin’s case, he likes to have his own way very well,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But, then again, so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence.”

  “In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When has want of money prevented you from going wherever you chose or procuring anything you had a fancy for?”

  “These are sound questions, and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.”

  “Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do.”

  “Our habits of expense make us too dependent. There are too many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”

  Is his speech meant for me?

  Elizabeth was more than a little bothered that he may have meant it as such. She hoped she did not show it.

  “And pray, what is the usual price of an earl’s younger son?” she said in a lively tone. “Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds.”

  He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed, she soon afterward said, “In all sincerity, bearing such self-serving marital burdens is not solely the purview of a second son, sir.”

  “Why do I suppose we are no longer speaking hypothetically, Miss Bennet?”

  Because we are not, Elizabeth thought but did not say. Perhaps if she were speaking with Mr. Darcy, she would have attempted to fashion a fitting response. However, Elizabeth was nowhere near as forthcoming with the colonel as she was with his cousin. She preferred to keep it that way.

&nbs
p; The view of the manor house looming ahead put an end to the discussion as well as the walk, but it hardly settled her busy mind. The colonel had never been an object for her for anything other than amicable conversation. This knowing raised the question, the answer to which she did not know.

  When exactly did I come to expect something more meaningful with Mr. Darcy?

  Chapter 10

  Perhaps if Elizabeth had been paying more attention to where she was going, as opposed to having her head buried in her book, she would not have taken a wrong turn, and she assuredly would not found herself in her current predicament.

  And what a predicament in which to find herself.

  She gulped, thus catching Mr. Darcy off guard - standing there in his own room - stepping out of his bath with a towel in both hands, drying his hair.

  Part of Elizabeth knew exactly what she must do. Turn away, of course, begging the gentlemen’s pardon for the unintentional intrusion.

  But, did one turn away when first espying a marble statue of Hercules? Did one turn away when beholding a statue of Zeus? Or any of the many other ancient marble statues? Mr. Darcy, in all his glory, was as close to a magnificent work of art as Elizabeth had ever beheld. A living breathing Adonis.

  Though he stood there, as if frozen in time, his telling response amid her silent inspection spoke volumes.

  Turn away, she silently beckoned in vain.

  Back away, her silent thoughts beckoned instead. A command which Elizabeth heeded. First, a step. Then two, and finally, she dropped her book, she turned, and she hurried away.

  Moments later, she found herself out of doors. Elizabeth’s self-reproach would not be repressed.

  What was I thinking of staring at him when I accidentally walked into his room just as he was stepping out of the bathtub?

  She knew she should have turned away sooner, but instead, she stood frozen in place, allowing her eyes to take a full measure of the tall, handsome Adonis-like creature in all his glory. It was only his body’s telling reaction that made her look away and finally run away as fast as she could down the long hall and out the door.