“As I might have thought,” agreed Elizabeth.
“I am not opposed to it, for we would honor your family. If you do not wish it, then I am pleased to choose some other name.”
For the rest of their time walking, they discussed the possibilities, their likes and dislikes, and agreed on several options. While they did not decide at that time, Elizabeth thought they would settle on a name with tolerable ease when the time came.
Upon their return to the house, several matters awaited them, the most taxing that of Mrs. Bennet and her displeasure at their activities.
“Lizzy!” exclaimed she when she caught sight of her second daughter. “You must not exert yourself so much in your condition.”
The younger girls did not know of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, so it was fortunate they were not present. Mr. Bingley, she noted, looked on them with curiosity, far enough away that he did not catch the words so much as the sentiment. Mr. Bennet andMrs. Darcy were united in their amusement at Mrs. Bennet’s disapproval.
“Not at all, Mama,” said Elizabeth. “I feel as well as I ever have. You know me well enough to understand that I will not remain indoors and confined to a chaise at all hours of the day.”
“As I recall,” said Mrs. Darcy, “Mr. Jones advised me to remain active until my confinement.”
Mrs. Bennet regarded them all with pursed lips. “Well, I suppose an occasional walk is not prohibited. Sometimes you walk further than advisable; you should eschew such exertions for the good of your child.”
“Given the current situation, I cannot walk so far as I might wish, so there is no need to discuss it.”
“Very well,” agreed Mrs. Bennet, capitulating in defeat. “It is well that you have not experienced the sickness that many women endure. As I recall, my confinement withyouwas a most disagreeable time, for I was nauseous without cessation.”
“Idoremember something of that,” mused her father, though with a sly wink at Elizabeth. “I nearly moved to a tenant cottage to escape for a time—no one in the house was unaware of your suffering.”
Mrs. Bennet directed a glare at her jesting husband, but Mr. Bennet took no notice of it. “There is a matter of some interest that has arisen, one that concerns a subject we have discussed at length.”
William regarded Mr. Bennet, his interest plain. Before they spoke, he guided Elizabeth to a nearby sofa and ensured she was seated before turning his attention back to his father-in-law.
“Might I assume this concerns the disposition of your estate?”
“Perhaps peripherally,” agreed Mr. Bennet, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “The letter was from Lord Matlock, andin it, he details the recent developments regarding a certain reprehensible cousin of mine.”
“Mr. Collins is amostodious man,” sniffed Mrs. Bennet with disdain.
“With that, I cannot but agree, my dear. If Mr. Collins were not quite so odious, I might almost consider him a comical sort of fellow. Any such feelings dissolved when he tried to accost your daughter.”
“Then his bishop has taken action against him.”
Mr. Bennet’s satisfaction answered William’s question. For Elizabeth’s part, she harbored no resentment against the parson, though she did not wish to be in his company again. A man must have some means of supporting himself, and their actions—brought on by his, of course—may render him unable to do so. That such a man had no business serving as the spiritual guide to a parish was not beyond Elizabeth’s ability to understand, though to a certain extent, she pitied him. After all, her experience informed her that William Collins was nothing more than a weak man who had done his patroness’s bidding with no consideration for the potential consequences.
“He did,” said Mr. Bennet. “Though he has been removed from the living at Lady Catherine’s estate, the church did not take away his ordination altogether, and Lord Matlock writes it was because they deemed him to be nothing more than a dupe for her ladyship, too willing by half, but a man beholden to a woman without scruple. Instead, they have reassigned Mr. Collins to Merton College, where he will receive additional training and guidance. There is, perhaps, some hope that he will gain much-needed perception, though I must suppose his chances of getting another parish are nigh nonexistent.”
Mr. Bennet shrugged. “If he learns something of the error of his ways, I have nothing more to say, though if he ever approaches my family again, it will go ill for him.”
A distracted nod was William’s response. “Given his troubles in the church, I must suppose the suit to end the entail is no longer in question.”
“According to your solicitor, it never was. The matter should be settled before the end of summer.”
“Long before then, unless I am mistaken.”
“It is long overdue,” said Mrs. Bennet, a sense of smugness hovering about her. “I always said it was a hard thing that your daughters should be denied inheriting Longbourn after you are gone. Now it will not happen, I feel nothing but vindication.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet, fixing his wife with a fond smile. “You are correct.”
ANTHONY FITZWILLIAMwas not a man to waste time once he had a plan of attack, and he proved that upon returning to his father’s house. The earl was ready and waiting and joined him without comment as they moved to the carriage for the brief journey to the prison where Mrs. Younge was being held. In the coach, Fitzwilliam explained what he had learned to his father, and they planned what they would do to induce Mrs. Younge to talk. In both men, the indignation at what they now suspected was a deliberate murder of a member of their family burned within them. Mrs. Younge would be the first to discover how perilous it was to cross a member of the quality.
The prison was bare of creature comforts as most such places were, though larger than a country lockup one might encounter in a market town. It was little more than a holding location for prisoners awaiting trial and was not a more substantial penal location such as Marshalsea or Fleet Prison. Most of those incarcerated within were petty criminals, or even the occasional man accused of a more serious crime. Mrs. Younge was a swan in a sea of ducks, for she would be one of only a few women there,and Fitzwilliam suspected her circumstances were not pleasant because of it. The woman should appreciate the bars separating her from other prisoners, for they were the only barrier between her and significant harm.
When the warden brought her into the room Lord Matlock had requested for their use, Fitzwilliam peered into her face, seeing the hints of strain in her features, though she continued to carry herself as haughty as a duchess. Dismissed the moment he arrived, the warden left them alone with Mrs. Younge, knowing a woman could not overpower two large men and make her escape. The earl instructed her to sit, and she did without comment, though the light of resentment shone in her eyes. Fitzwilliam fixed a grim smile on her, knowing she would be singing a different tune before long. The woman could not hold his gaze, looking away, though her erect posture did not change.
