Chapter 16

"And how is your young man?"

The flush rose on Elizabeth's cheeks, and Mr. Bennet laughed. "Mr. Darcy is not my young man," she demurred.

"Oh, I certainly think he is," her father replied, "It does not require a person of extraordinary cleverness to see that he is completely taken by you, and only awaiting his moment; he has attended you here every day now for the past two weeks. To brave your mother's matchmaking stratagems for so long without retreat shows either a distinct preference or a foolishness as yet unknown to man. As we both of us have been convinced of your Mr. Darcy's sense and discernment, it shall not be long before I am allowed to tease him and threaten to withhold my blessing, and then listen to him rant and storm about how much he loves you."

"Papa! You would not! You promised to be more polite to him."

"Of course I would. And I daresay I am more polite to him, especially given the consideration that he is about to steal my most able secretary and favorite daughter from me."

"I see you mention my use to you as a secretary first."

"It is the only part of our relationship that will change. You shall always be my favorite daughter, though I suppose it is not the thing to admit to such a preference. But you are a young woman now, with a young man courting your favor, and I shall be relegated to the second-most important man in your life. And when you have sons … I shall continue to decrease."

"You shall always be my dearest papa," Elizabeth said, coming around the desk to kiss him.

"Yes, yes, well," Mr. Bennet said in a gruff voice, embarrassed by his show of emotion. "Is your Mr. Darcy to visit again this morning with his friend?"

She blushed prettily again, the joy shining in her eyes. "He is. He had a letter from his sister yesterday that he said he would bring for me to read. She wrote that she is excited to meet me."

"Introducing you to his sister, even, if only by letter," Mr. Bennet mused. "The man is clearly far gone. Two daughters to be married, and another well on the way. Your mother will go completely distracted. And how are your other sisters, Kitty and Lydia? Any men in the offing for them?"

"I think not for a very long time, now. Lydia is improving; she and Kitty took a turn in the garden the other day when it was not quite so cold and windy as usual."

"I know," Mr. Bennet said with a note of melancholy. "I had joined them there, and we strolled in silence the while. I heard not one silly remark to amuse me."

"They are neither as they once were," Elizabeth agreed, though with less mischief in her tone. "As she grapples with her understanding of what Mr. Wickham did and her own judgment, Lydia has become more cautious, and Kitty as usual has followed her into a more sedate manner. They sit together and talk most days and still read their novels, but Kitty has also taken to teaching Lydia to sketch, which I think has helped her. You should get to know them again, papa."

"I suppose I shall have to," he replied with a rueful smile, "or I shall be left with strangers when you are taken from me, and then who shall tease your papa out of his moods? I have begun, and it is a start. But I think I hear the bell, so I fancy that may be your suitor, as eager as ever. You had better make haste, for I am certain your mother is seeking you out even now."

Elizabeth smiled and made for the door, but her father caught her hand and held her back a moment. He appeared to struggle with what he desired to say, but when she tipped her head curiously at him, his mouth curved slightly and he said, "You must forgive your father for the poor blind man that he is where his daughters are concerned, but I shall have to ask directly: You are happy?"

"Every day, papa. And every day, a little more."

He nodded his head and released her hand. She moved quickly, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and rushed out the door in the direction of her mother's delighted voice. Mr. Bennet watched silently as the door swung closed.

When Murray knocked at the study some hours later, he found Mr. Bennet reclined in his comfortable armchair across the room, his legs stretched out on a tuffet and a book open across his stomach. The older man looked the very picture of a country squire at his leisure. "You have returned earlier than I expected," he said without opening his eyes.

The undersheriff bowed and came into the room, closing the door behind him.

"You had success?"

Murray lifted his chin. "I regret to inform you, sir, of an unfortunate occurrence."

Mr. Bennet looked up and cocked an eyebrow.

"I must report that the accused, Mr. Wickham, attempted an escape during his transport from magistrate's court to gaol. He managed to loose his restraints and, while we slowed to turn onto the King's Highway, he opened the door of the carriage. As he exited, I was able to catch him by the tail of his shirt, but he slipped and fell and I was forced to release him. He was dragged for some yards before falling beneath the wheels. He did not survive his injuries."

Mr. Bennet did not so much as bat an eye at the recital, delivered in an even monotone. He gazed steadily at his assistant, who stood ramrod straight before him, until finally nodding and releasing a small sigh. "As my under-sheriff, you have the power of the county, should you find resistance in executing a writ. There was no needless violence, I trust?"

"No, sir."

"You know, of course, that I shall have to note this in your file?"

The other man bowed his head in understanding.

"But then," Mr Bennet continued musingly, "I am notoriously unreliable in my note-taking, and my usual secretary has been very distracted lately."

The two shared a look for a moment, but no words were exchanged until Mr. Bennet nodded and asked, "You have made all the appropriate arrangements with Mr. Fletcher and the undertaker?"

"They have been put in order, sir."

Mr. Bennet nodded and sat up, setting his book on the table beside him. "Then, as there shall not be a trial, I trust it will not be necessary to speak of this again, so long as you truss the next criminal you transport much more securely."

"It was a tragic error on my part, sir, and one that shall be as a black mark upon my conscience for all eternity."

Mr. Bennet pursed his lips tightly, then sighed deeply. "Ah, well. I suppose it is fair enough, as I should have hated to have my Lydia relive any of her trauma for the sake of a trial, even if only a deposition were required."

"You love your daughters, sir."

"I do, in my own way," he replied softly, and looked at his undersheriff with a small smile. "You know me well, Murray. Perhaps better than I know myself. I thank you for your service."

The other man bowed. "It was my pleasure, as always."

Mr. Bennet nodded, and Murray turned to go, but the older man called out to him once more as the nondescript little man slipped from the room: "Do not make it a habit, Murray."

There was no answer, and Mr. Bennet was left to himself in the silence of his study. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, then stood and walked to the window, where he remained for some time gazing out on the hoary grounds of Longbourn and listening to the faint, muffled sounds that filtered in vaguely from the rest of the house: the laughter and frequently shrill tones from the parlour, the tinkling notes of the pianoforte in the music room, the occasional thump from someone moving about in the rooms above. It was perfectly familiar and comforting and not in any way mysterious, and he was glad of it.

"Tis done," he murmured, "and 'tis done for the best."

Then, rubbing his hands together, he pulled on his coat and went to join in the merriment in the parlour. He had some suitors to investigate.

The End.