Rebellion at Longbourn

She had never expected to find a man she could trust enough to consider marriage. But if she could trust any man, it would be Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth froze, her fingers still plunged into the dough. I want to accept his offer. That truth cut into her with a searing realization. I want to be his wife, although I cannot accept. That truth settled like a heavy weight around her shoulders.

Longbourn would not thrive without her. The tenants and the Bennet family needed her here. Nobody else could obtain equipment the tenants required. Nobody else could ensure that everything remained concealed from Collins.

And yet her heart longed for the freedom to tell Mr. Darcy yes. She had never been to Pemberley, but she could imagine it was very grand—grander even than Rosings Park. As the mistress of such a place, Elizabeth would not need to draw water from the well, hang laundry, or knead dough.

She would be cherished by her husband rather than reviled by her cousin. She might raise children of her own rather than wistfully admiring Charlotte’s son. Best of all, she would see Mr. Darcy…William…every day. Speak to him over the papers at breakfast, share dinner, go to his bed…

The beauty of this dream crashed over her like a wave on a beach. Why did I not see this before?

I am in love with him.

The realization brought tears to her eyes. With her hands coated in flour, she had to wipe them on the shoulder of her dress. I am in love with him, and yet my responsibilities keep me at Longbourn.

Just the thought of loving such a man was overwhelming. She had all but given up on love in the past two years. Accepting his proposal was a frightening prospect, and yet she could not imagine refusing and allowing him to drift out of her life.

Finally giving up on the dough, Elizabeth wiped her hands on her apron so she might draw a handkerchief from her pocket. Falling onto a tall kitchen stool, she wept freely.

I am in love with Mr. Darcy, and we will be apart forever.

Chapter Sixteen

Darcy had only arrived at Rosings Park an hour ago and already he imagined he might die of sheer boredom. He was bent on asking Aunt Catherine a few pointed questions about Weston and persuading her to recall the man to Kent. Then he could return to Hertfordshire, where he could resume the far more important—and pleasant—work of convincing Elizabeth to accept his suit.

But one could not rush his aunt or attempt anything resembling a straightforward conversation with her. If she suspected Weston was the main impetus behind Darcy’s visit, she would refuse any request outright out of sheer stubbornness.

Therefore, Darcy gritted his teeth, drank tea, observed niceties, and listened to her complaints about their relations. Once she had exhausted that subject, she launched into a lengthy description of improvements upon the estate. Without pausing for so much as a sip of tea, she then described her plans for “improving” other people’s lives; she had a cure for her current rector’s gout and knew the best marital prospects for a local squire’s daughter.

He nodded in the right places while wondering how his future felicity had come to depend upon his aunt’s whims regarding another estate’s steward. Then something caught his attention;

his aunt had uttered the word “steward.” He did not recall the context, but he seized the opening.

“Speaking of stewards,” he said, as though stewards were actually the topic under consideration rather than a fleeting mention, “I was wondering how Mr. Weston came to be Mr. Collins’s steward at Longbourn.”

Aunt Catherine shifted in her chair, a sure sign of uneasiness. “Why are you concerning yourself with Longbourn’s affairs, William? I would think you are far too busy for any sojourns in Hertfordshire.”

Darcy refused to react. “I have taken an interest in the Bennet family’s affairs,” he said calmly. “I feel somewhat responsible for their current plight.”

“Nonsense.”

Darcy repressed his irritation. It mattered not if his aunt dismissed his sentiments without knowing the reasons behind them. After a pause, he prompted, “Weston?”

“I have known Patrick Weston all his life, as you well know,” she said. “They treated him despicably in the army; he was quite wrongfully discharged. He arrived at Rosings, desperately in need of a job.”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “Richard investigated the event. He was discharged for seducing a superior officer’s wife.”

Aunt Catherine waved her hand. “Well, I am certain it was not his fault.” Darcy managed not to inquire how the man might be innocent in the matter.

“I had no need of his services here,” she continued. “But his father was so concerned about the boy…” She shrugged.

“Why not give him a position at Rosings?”

Aunt Catherine cleared her throat and arranged the blanket on her lap. “We did not have a suitable opening here. And I recalled the dreadful conditions at Longbourn. Quite shocking! I am very fond of Mr. Collins, you know. He was at Hunsford for only three years, but so attentive…such a delightful companion at dinner. Not like Mr. Robbins. And that wife of his—!”

Darcy had already heard a list of the new rector’s faults. “Mr. Weston,” Darcy prompted before she digressed further.

She shrugged her bony shoulders again. “I knew that sending Mr. Weston to Longbourn would be a tremendous boon to Mr. Collins. And so it has proven. You should hear what he wrote in his latest letter.” She glanced at a pile of papers on a nearby table. “I believe I have it here—”