Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything, which he condescended to ask."

One would have thought a gunshot had cracked, for all the ringing silence. This man— this beau— stood stiffly in the library, the picture of civility and, to Mr. Bennet's recently upset eye, lack of deference.

"Mr. Darcy, I—" Mr. Bennet grasped for words. "I need a moment."

"Of course, sir."

The door closed, taking the young man with it. Mr. Bennet sat down heavily and pressed his head into his hands.

Was this the price of his indolence?

For days, Mr. Darcy had come to call. For days, Mr. Bennet had hid in his book room. That he should know nothing, suspect nothing, understand nothing when his favorite daughter was being wooed! That is, if she had been wooed in the first place. He knew Lizzy. She was stubborn, and her heart would not have been won so easily. What if this was a decision not of the heart but of prudence? The whole ordeal with Lydia might have simply driven home the necessity of marriage and the precariousness of her place in society, of the situation of their family.

His shoulders, so tense, sagged.

He had already lost Lydia, for all his pretense that he was unaffected. Was Lizzy trying to escape Longbourn now, too? A husband was certainly the way to do so. And Lizzy... Lizzy had attracted Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Bennet could not like this.

Had Mr. Darcy been genial and tractable like Bingley, it would have been an easier image to swallow. But Mr. Darcy was forbidding, austere, formidable. He was not only physically Mr. Bennet's superior, but socially and financially. He was rich with a capital R, and he was powerful.

Could Mr. Bennet really give his daughter over, for the rest of her life, to such a man?

His fingers clenched, mirroring his heart.

A knock at the door interrupted. It peeked open, and in slipped Lizzy. For a fleeting, precious moment, he could see her as she used to be, small and slight with her brown hair tumbling around her shoulders, big dark eyes wide as she sought out her father. "Papa," she said softly. He blinked, and the image dissolved. She was not a skinny preteen girl. She was a beautiful young woman. Worry creased her dainty brow. Worry for whom? Him? Herself?

"Lizzy," he said, indulging in the need to fill the aching cavity in his chest. He opened his arms. "Lizzy, come here."

Footfalls padded to his side. Slender, firm arms wrapped around his waist. He let his own fall around her and breathed in her scent.

"Papa," she said, and he knew he could not simply bask in the embrace. "You will have Mr. Darcy wear a footpath in the hall with his pacing."

"Let him," he replied scornfully. "It does a young lover much good to suffer a little anxiety now and again."

Elizabeth blushed. "'Tis not only him you are causing anxiety, Papa."

Silence cloaked them like a woolen blanket.

"How long?" he croaked when his mind could allow the lack of information no longer. He buries his head in his books for a few hours, and the next thing he knows, his Lizzy's heart is engaged? To a near aristocrat no less! Anger bubbled in his breast, hot and growling. "Did you not always hate him?"

She drew away from his arms, leaving him bereft. "Please do not pain me by reminding me of my old opinions. I was a fool! Truly, Papa, once I let go of my prejudice and saw him for who he truly was, I realized he is the best man I have ever known."

The best man I have ever known.

"If you truly feel that way, I wonder that you need my consent," he said coldly.

"Papa—"

The words stuck in her throat, but he saw the hurt in her eyes.

He sighed and shook his head, chastising himself. "Forgive me, Lizzy. I am... I am merely trying to absorb this all."

Her expression softened. She placed a beseeching hand on his wide back. "I am sorry to have surprised you so. But you may comfort yourself with this knowledge — no one could have been more shocked than myself when he first proposed."

"First?"

"In Kent. I refused him then, convinced of my own self-righteousness and his blameworthiness. Then I learned, and he learned... and he asked me again this morning."

There was a story there, but it was not in his inclination to hear it. "You are resolved to have him, then?"

She nodded.

"You would be rich, to be sure, but will that make you happy?"

"It was never about his wealth, Papa. I love Mr. Darcy for Mr. Darcy."

There it was. She loved him.

She was still talking, but in his pain, the words washed over him. He could not focus.

"Love, Lizzy," he, at last, spoke in a gruff voice, "is a deceitful little devil. Love causes us to do things which we soon regret. I married your mother for love, or the appearance of it."

"Papa," she said, biting her cheek. "With all due respect, Mr. Darcy and I are not you and Mama."

"No," he sighed. "No, you are not."

Her hands wrung in anticipation.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth, but I..." He could see her readying to argue, fingers fisting, color rising in her cheeks. He raised a hand to forestall the words. "I am not refusing my consent. I simply need the time to observe and consider. I wish to see the proof of this devotion and respect myself."

She opened her mouth to speak but, thinking better of it, sealed her lips and bit her cheek. As her pouting mouth trembled, Mr. Bennet prayed that Mr. Darcy was not often treated to such a sight.

Oh, dash it.

"Lizzy," he began, leaning forward and taking her reluctant hand. "Mr. Darcy is a great man. Which is precisely why I cannot give you up to him until I am assured that he is also a good one."

"Is not my word enough?" she said petulantly.

"Your word has been rather contradictory as of late." She pursed her lips but could not deny it. Defeated, she sank back into her chair.

"Why must you choose now to become involved? 'Tis so inconvenient."

"If Mr. Darcy is truly as good as you say he is, he will not begrudge me this."

"No, he will not." Her tone was convicted. Guiltily, Mr. Bennet hoped that she was really apprehensive.

Chapter Text

"We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him."

The door closed once again in the library the next morning, and the guest sat primly in the extra armchair. Always prim and proper, Mr. Darcy was when he was in front of Mr. Bennet, as the latter was sure he was not when he wasn't around to check him. What kind of sweet nothings had he been whispering in Lizzy's ear? Irrational though he knew it may be, Mr. Bennet could not help but dislike him.

"What would you have me do, sir?"

Mr. Bennet took his spectacles off his nose and wiped them with the cloth, taking his sweet time. It was a tried and tested tactic almost guaranteed to make a man sweat. Unfortunately, it appeared to glance off Darcy, accustomed to silence as the quiet man must be. "First," said Mr. Bennet. "I would like a detailed account of all that has transpired in your relationship with my daughter."

Finally, Mr. Darcy reacted. He began twisting his signet ring. The older man catalogued it as a nervous tick. "Well?"

"I am not sure that would reflect creditably on either of us," Mr. Darcy admitted.

Something cold and ugly rose within Mr. Bennet. "If you mean to say that you have taken liberties—"

"No!" he shouted, raising his voice for the first time in Mr. Bennet's hearing. He continued quickly and more calmly, "No, sir, I have not. The most that has transpired in that quarter is a kiss— on her cheek, sir, on her cheek!"

Mr. Bennet glowered.

"It will not happen again, sir, without your consent to wed."

"It had better not. I know what you are thinking when you look at her, and I will not have you even thinking it."

"Yes, sir," said Darcy meekly. Mr. Bennet felt all the satisfaction of having cowed such a man.

"I require your reasons for choosing my Lizzy. Surely a man such as you has far more glorified markets from which to take his pick?"

His lips seemed to struggle for a moment before he took a deep breath. "I love her," he said.

"Hmph. So you claim. I am not quite convinced, but that is not the most important thing. Do you esteem her? Do you respect her?"

He had started sometime in the middle of his speech. At the end of it, he glanced down at his feet before honestly looking up. "Once, I did not. Not enough. I saw her lowliness and lack of fortune and connexions and resented her. However, she has since taught me a valuable lesson on respect, one that I cannot forget. For that, my respect for her could only grow. There is no one, save perhaps my own late father, that I esteem so much as she."

It was a convincing speech, but after a long night of replaying the worst scenarios in his head, Mr. Bennet was prepared to give no quarter. "How do I know that these are not the determinations of a jilted man bent on revenge?"

Darcy blanched.

"Why would a..."

"To have her favors perhaps? Her subservience, so long denied you, surrendered and under your control?"

Abruptly, Darcy stood and began pacing. "Sir, I would ask you not to speak of her in that manner!"

"Hmm. How many women have you had, Mr. Darcy?"

"Sir!"

"I require an answer."

Darcy looked away. The tension boiled, hot and thick. "I have not... dallied in the acts of sexual congress, if that is your meaning."

"None?" Mr. Bennet was incredulous.

Disgruntled, Darcy retook his seat. "I have been raised on Christian principles and St. Paul's teachings. I have seen families broken by a bachelor's indiscretion. I have seen peers fall, one by one, to prostitution and gambling and into dissipation. If you require me to produce more practical reasons, the dangers of syphilis and producing a natural child should be more than sufficient."

"Well."

"Indeed," replied Darcy darkly.

Mr. Bennet could not resist. "I suppose you are simply hankering to couple with my daughter?"

"Mr. Bennet," said the young man exasperatedly, "I know this is your prerogative as a father, but I really must protest at this invasion of privacy."

"Yes, yes."

Silence descended once again, but after the mirth of the last exchange, it was, oddly enough, more comfortable.

"I was younger than you when I married my wife."

Darcy looked at him curiously.

"It is unkind of me to say, but it was a poor decision. I was in the flush of youth. She was the most beautiful woman for miles."

Darcy hesitated. "Sir, as tempting as Miss Elizabeth is, her mind and manner are my main attraction."

He said firmly, "Good."

They both sank into their thoughts, separately musing on the one, wonderful woman who held both of them in her palms.

"Well then," said Mr. Bennet at length. "I will have the full account."

Chapter Text

"I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy."

Mrs. Bennet was peering out the window.

"My dear," he said, for once reading in the sitting room. As it turned out, the light was very good. "Your watching is more assured to slow them down than to hurry them along."

"Oh, hush, Mr. Bennet, a mother likes to hope." She bent her knees to find a proper viewing angle. "That Mr. Darcy looks very well today in his blue coat."

"I thought Mr. Darcy was disagreeable and detested?"

She waved her handkerchief dismissively. "That was only because he slighted Lizzy, which he could very well make up for if he chooses to marry her."

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

Unexpectedly, Mrs. Bennet turned around to peer at him.

"What?" he said, suddenly flooded with anxiety that his querulous wife had found him out. If she had, he might have to give in just to escape her wailings and wheedlings.

"Where is your comment?"

He was lost. "What?"

"Your comment! Your ironic little witticisms. The replies that Lizzy believes are so clever and laughs at with her eyes."

Mr. Bennet was speechless.

"There you are at it again, being all silent and stupid!" she huffed. "I do not particularly like your comments, but they are the only manner by which you can be induced to talk and express yourself."

"Oh."

She huffed again and turned back to the window, staring out the glass's very edge. "It is fortunate that Mr. Darcy seems to like Lizzy's comments. Why he enjoys her impertinence, I shall never understand, but if it causes her to ensnare the most eligible bachelor in all of England, I shall not complain. If he does marry her, it might even be your victory. Her cleverness is to your credit, I am sure."

Stunned speechlessness seemed to be the order of the day. "...Thank you."

"He likes the plum cakes, I have observed," she continued obliviously. "And coffee — black, with one sugar. And hot chocolate, surprisingly, with a dash less milk. I daresay her prefers Hill's biscuits to any other pastry. It is a great compliment that a man of ten thousand a year should eat so regularly at our table."

"You always set a good table," said Mr. Bennet honestly. Mrs. Bennet half-turned to beam at him, and in the light of the golden sun, he realized that she was quite beautiful.

"He and you are much alike, you know," she continued with a happy hum, tracing her fingers along the curtain's pattern. "Always silent, but when he does deign to open his mouth, saying things that confuse me, or things that might be complimentary. And favoring Lizzy above all else, obviously. I do not understand it, but I am glad you have someone who understands you. Lord knows after four-and-twenty years I have never quite got it right, but I do believe we get on well enough." With that statement, she gave him a blithe smile, patted his arm, and left to shout at Hill about afternoon tea.

Mr. Bennet stood and walked to the window himself, book abandoned in his seat.

The sky was bleak, but not devastating.

It was not long after his dreary musings when Darcy and Lizzy came in, along with Bingley and Jane and Kitty and Mary. Mr. Bennet had sent the latter two as chaperones, against Mrs. Bennet's wishes. Normally Mary would be enough for the job, but he did not want to be seen as singling one couple out over the other.

He paused. Was there... laughter in the hall? It was not Lizzy's. Kitty's?

They came into view not a minute later, and he could see the commotion. Kitty was chattering excitedly with Bingley, as she hadn't done since Lydia went away. Mary... Mary was speaking to Darcy, who, amazingly, appeared to be listening to her attentively. He asked her questions, too. Her eyes were shining.

He had not seen Mary that happy since... ever. Or at least, since she was a very small child.

Later, after a dinner (the men were very often staying for dinner) where he was quieter than usual, he called Darcy into his library.

"Sir?" said the young man peered in, all apprehension. The last time he had been here was already a week past. It had been all silence from the front since.

Mr. Bennet was taking a rare drag on his pipe, blowing the curling grey smoke around him with a deep sigh. It was a hazard for the books, which is why he smoked so infrequently. Though, lately, he had been coming to wonder if his abstinence was a reason for his good health. He should mention it to Bingley and Darcy— but. He was stalling.

With great trepidation, he snuffed out his pipe, met Darcy's eyes, and asked, "You will take care of her?"

"With my life," he breathed.

"You have my consent,"—Mr. Bennet hesitated, and added—"Son."

He stood, still and silent for a second, before raising a hand to his mouth. Then — he was not quite sure how this happened — he whooped in a decidedly un-Darcy-like manner. Then he shook Mr. Bennet's hand and actually pulled him into an ardent one-armed hug before leaping out the library to find his betrothed.

Mr. Bennet, spectacles askew and stunned from the experience, righted the frames on his nose before giving a half-hearted chuckle. Then he sighed and settled heavily onto his armchair, vowing that should someone offer Mary or Kitty, he would not test them so long nor ask nearly so many questions.

He could hear Lizzy's shriek of joy and Darcy's laughter from the hall.

It had been quiet for minutes before there was another shriek. Mrs. Bennet's. It was higher than he'd ever heard it. He resolved not to imagine the scene she must have come upon.

Mrs. Bennet burst into his sanctuary, all flutterings and nervous agog.

These next few weeks were going to be very long.

Chapter Text

"My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about."

On the night of his eldest daughters' double wedding, Mr. Bennet could be found sipping whiskey in his bookroom. The house had finally settled down, and, save for the comforting hum of the crickets, all was quiet. Mr. Bennet's thoughts were too far away to focus on the pages in his lap. The burn of alcohol down his throat was his only grounding point.

Normally, Mr. Bennet kept reading into the wee hours of the morning by the firelight. He'd fallen asleep in his armchair often enough. But tonight, he found that he longed for company. The loss of his daughters left a gaping maw of a hole that needed to be filled, a painful reminder that he was growing old and they were growing away from him. With a groan, he peeled himself off the armchair and came into a bedroom.

Fanny was asleep.

Thomas Bennet sat slowly on the bed beside her.

The dim, silver light of the moon cast about her evenly breathing form. They were newlyweds when he last did this, just sat and watched her sleep. It was such a tender, vulnerable thing.

Inexplicably, a surge of gratitude coursed through Thomas's veins. Crude as they were, if it hadn't been for his wife's schemes, Elizabeth might not have found the man who would love, respect, and provide for her above all.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bennet," he said quietly, brushing a lock of her blonde hair back tenderly as he hadn't done in a long time. A very long time. He had barely touched her since Lydia was born.

His wife stirred. "Mr. Bennet," she mumbled softly. "Our oldest girls are married. Are you happy?"

"Yes, my dear. I... I will be."

"I am glad," she whispered back with a faint smile. Drowsiness claiming her, she sank back into sleep.

Mr. Bennet laid awake for much longer afterward, but when he did succumb, it was with a hand holding his wife's and peace.

Laughter rang through the light stone halls, accompanying the happy music of a piano and the pitter-patter of feet. Mary's playing had improved significantly in the last years, and they were all enjoying the effects immensely.

With his feet raised on the ottoman, Mr. Bennet was, as could be expected, lounging in the library. The grand shelves stocked high with leather-bound volumes and rare editions were enough to get lost in for months, but in recent times, Mr. Bennet found that he did not mind the odd interruption.

"Grandpapa, Grandpapa!" said a little girl with bouncing pigtails, bounding up to his seat.

He lowered his book and smiled indulgently at the child now clutching his knee. "Yes, my Annie-Bunny?"

"You hafta hide me!"

"Hide you?" he said with a mock gasp. "Why, is the Annie-Bunny being naughty?"

"No!" she giggled. "We're playing hide-and-go-seek!"

"Hide-and-go-seek? Whatever for? Who could possibly be looking for the Annie-Bunny?"

"Grandpapa!" she whined and pulled his book away impatiently. "Come on! We hafta hurry!"

"Alright, alright. There's a very clever nook by that window in which I'm sure your hunter will not think to look."

He arranged her curtains, retook his chair, opened up his book. Not a moment too soon, for his son-in-law strode through the great library doors.

"Annabeth..." he called in a carrying voice. "Mr. Bennet, did you see Annie come into the library?"

"And what if I did?"

The curtain gasped.

"Then," said Darcy solemnly. "I would have to interrogate you, dear Father, for every scrap of information you hold on Annabeth Darcy's most secret location."

The curtain gasped harder.

"Mercy, Son, I am a frail old man who would break at the beginnings of torture."

"Then it should be easy to bludgeon out of you. I wonder how you like boxing?"

More gasping. "Papa, no!"

With that, a blur of pink and limbs came barreling out of the window seat to run at her father. Darcy bent and caught her, swinging her into the air with a victorious "Aha!" and shrieking laughter.

As if drawn by the noise, Mrs. Bennet then toddled in. Her hair was nearly white by now, and, compared to his grey, and it was a striking thing. She bounced Baby Bennet on her bosom, pressing kisses to his fair head and cooing to his gurgles. "So this is where you men have got off to. You ought not to leave little Bennet here alone so, you know, lest he should feel neglected by his paters."

Lizzy stepped around from behind her mother to squeeze in with her father on his chair. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and cuddled a warm arm around his aged paunch.

"How do you like being a grandfather, Papa?"

He smiled and reminisced, glad to be past the fatherhood stage. He did well enough by some of his children, he supposed, if he could share in their happiness like this. Darcy and Annabeth giggled among the novels, and Mr. Bennet wondered if he would live long enough to derive entertainment from that quarter. When little Annie-Bunny became old enough for suitors, Darcy would surely be a very difficult father to please.

He sighed, snuggling Lizzy closer. Those days were past for him. "I like it very well indeed."

Chapter Text

After Chapter 1

"I do not see why we cannot simply tell him of Lydia and be done with it," she said with an unfairly adorable pout of petulance. "Surely he would not withhold his consent then."

"Elizabeth," he said, savoring the privilege of rolling her name like that aloud. How a hard-earned right it had been! "You know very well that I do not wish your hand be given me out of a sense of obligation or gratitude."

"You already have my heart," she replied, and his own felt like bursting. Since that would be detrimental to their ever getting married, he settled for kissing her hands — most heatedly — instead.

Eventually, speaking resumed. She mused, "Perhaps we should apply to Mama. She would rail against Papa's decrees. With all of us united, Papa would succumb to the inevitable."

Darcy would have liked to say something along the lines of, "And have your mother hound us with her machinating?" He did not.

Elizabeth turned to him. Her pert mouth lifted mischievously. "I can hear your thinking."

Apprehensively, he said, "You cannot."

"Oh, yes, I can," she said, leaning closer and closer with every word. "I could not in the past, but it is a skill I magically acquired when we reached our understanding."

He severely doubted she could read his mind. If she could, she would be blushing and squealing and running away for how he was very, very, very tempted to pull her in by the waist, cup her pertinent jaw, and kiss her.

He was then very, very, very grateful for his decision to refrain like a saint the next morning when Mr. Bennet called him to interro—ahem—interview him in his study.

After Chapter 2

Lizzy hovering anxiously outside the library.

"Of what did you speak?" she said when the tall form of Darcy reappeared, looking morose.

He grunted. She waited, knowing he often took time to compose his sentences. However, it seemed that he had no intention of replying for once.

How bad had it been? "Will you not tell me?"

"Elizabeth, I..." He rubbed his face drearily. The lines on his forehead were pronounced. "Maybe some other time. Please, once was enough."

Her heart reached out to him as did her hands. They wrapped around him and rubbed at his back. "Poor Fitzwilliam."

He tensed and pulled away, groaning.

"What is it?" she fretted. Was she not supposed to embrace him?

"I am sorry, Elizabeth, it is only that... I cannot..."

"Do you not like my touching you?"

He buried his face in his hands. Elizabeth had a feeling that that was not it.

"Sometimes," he said at length, voice muffled because he was still not raising his head. "The things your father says can be counterproductive. He warns me not to do something; now I cannot stop thinking of it."

Confused by this turn of the conversation, she replied, "Yes, that is the unfortunate effect of his sarcasm."

He barked a laugh that echoed in his hands. "Believe me, Lizzy, he was not sarcastic about this."

Puzzled, but no other information forthcoming, she took one wrist and pulled it away from his face. He sighed, letting her, and slipped through her fingers to entwine them warmly with his.

They remained like that, feet apart, hands between.

He spoke at last. "How long till he grants his consent, do you think?"

"I have never known Papa to be so unreasonable. If I know him at all, it should take a few weeks, at most."

"A few weeks!" His grip tightened around her smaller fingers. "I do not know how long I can do this."

A chill impaled Lizzy's spine. "If that is how you feel, I could release you from your obligation..."

He looked at her with a heart-wrenchingly confused expression before realization hit. "No! Elizabeth, that was not what I meant. I am willing to wait. I simply do not know how I can endure the waiting."

"Why? What did he say?"

The tips of his ears pinked and his gaze darted to his feet. "He decreed that I could not kiss you, not even on the cheek."

"Oh."

He did not respond. All of a sudden, she was all-too-aware of his presence. His form. The touch of their hands burned.

"Well then," she said bravely into the awkward silence. "He did not say that I could not kiss you."

She led him out into the garden. Whatever did not involve his lips touching, she considered fair game.

Lizzy found she very much enjoyed taking liberties with her beau.

After Chapter 3

His face was warming; a mirror of her own. The cool night air was little consolation.

"Why did you not stop me?" he whispered, frantic.

"I?" she squawked. "You picked me up! It can hardly be considered my fault!"

He tousled a hand through his hair and made a soft groan. "'Twas our first kiss. In the hallway. Interrupted by your mother."

"Do not remind me," said she, "of that part, at least. I should prefer to recall the past only as it gives me pleasure."

He lifted his head then. His eyes were dark and heavy.

"We could try it again," he said lowly.

"Rewrite the past?" she whispered.

He leaned closer and closer. The reply was nonverbal.

They were hard-pressed to recall quite anything through the pleasure.

...

Mr. Bennet gave Darcy a very disgruntled look when they finally reappeared in the hall, but otherwise made no protest. He was well within his rights, after all.