Page 84 of A Different Impression

William looked at her with concern, whilst her father regarded her with faintly mocking indifference. Her husband moved to stand behind her, and Elizabeth appreciated his quiet support.

“Well, you know how engrossed I become when reading a good book, my child.”

The familiar dismissal exhausted the last of Elizabeth’s patience.

“Perhaps we ought to restrict your access to books in our home so that you might take greater notice of your daughters. You have certainly spent more time in this room than with any of us.”

Her father lowered his book but said nothing.

“My husband has borne the expense of clothing two of your daughters for the past several months, in addition to providing their room and board. How much have you saved towards their dowries while they have been cared for elsewhere? You have had only Mary at home, and with Mama residing in the dower house, you ought to have been able to save a considerable sum.”

She held his gaze. He shifted slightly in his chair before closing his book.

“You are being quite impertinent, daughter. I can imagine how Mary would chastise you were she to hear you address your father in such a manner.”

The rebuke sounded to Elizabeth like an attempt to place her upon the defensive, but instead of unsettling her, it nearly made her laugh.

“So you would delegate the task of reprimanding me to my younger sister. Even in this, you cannot be troubled to take a stand yourself. Not that her disapproval would alter anything. I am no longer under your dominion, and my husband will not chastise me for speaking truths that are long overdue.”

“What can you mean by that?” her father demanded, his face darkening.

“Since entering this house, you have ignored me and the rest of your daughters. You primarily speak to my husband at dinner and then retire to your rooms or this library. Were this an isolated occurrence, I might think little of it, but it has always been thus. Since leaving Longbourn, I have written you countless letters without receiving a single reply. Any answers to my questions have come through letters addressed to my husband, to whom you readily respond—usually when you desire his advice.”

William remained silent, but when his hand settled at the small of her back, his steady support strengthened her resolve.

Elizabeth steadied herself and continued. “The same was true at Longbourn, although I did not understand it until I left. I once believed you educated me and sought my company because you loved me and valued my conversation. I have since realised that you needed someone to speak with because you could not find companionship in your wife. Jane was not interested in your books or the estate, whilst I was, and so you fashioned me into the companion you wanted.”

The admission hurt despite the anger sustaining her.

“You educated me as you might have educated a son and taught me to perform duties you preferred to avoid. I mistook usefulness for affection. Even I, your supposed favourite, did not escape your ridicule. You called us all ‘the silliest girls in all England’ and distinguished me only by conceding that I possessed ‘a little more quickness than my sisters’. Did you ever consider how such words might affect us?”

Her father’s expression had lost some of its amusement, but Elizabeth could not stop now.

“You mocked Mama rather than restraining her until the consequences of her indulgence towards Lydia could no longer be ignored. I appreciate that you finally acted, but what has truly been accomplished? Lydia remains at a school she despises. So far as I know, you have never written to her, and she still does not understand why she was sent away. Mama has been banished to the dower house, but does she understand why? Are you attempting to help either of them learn from what has occurred, or have you merely removed the disturbances to your own peace?”

Silence followed.

Her father looked towards William as though expecting him to assume command of the conversation. Even now, he would not treat her words as deserving an answer until another man required one of him.

The last of Elizabeth’s uncertainty vanished.

“I hope you have enjoyed your visits to our library, Father, for this will be the last. You will not set foot in this room—or in any of our homes—again unless I choose to invite you. As my husband has already informed you, I determine whom we welcome, and I do not anticipate extending another invitation to you in the near future. My sisters, however, will always be welcome whenever they require respite from your indifference. Consider our libraries closed to you from this moment.”

Having said all she intended, Elizabeth turned towards the door. At the threshold, she glanced back once before summoning a footman from the corridor.

“The library is now closed to Mr Bennet. Please escort him to the drawing room or to his chambers. Any books belonging to this library that have been taken to his room are to be returned here.”

As the footman entered, her father turned towards William.

“Are you going to permit your wife to address her father in such a manner?” he demanded, his voice sharp with outraged disbelief.

Elizabeth paused in the corridor. Some wounded part of her still feared that William might attempt to soften what she had said, although she knew him better than to expect it.

“Yes,” he replied simply.

The single word settled something within her. She continued down the corridor and, a moment later, heard the connecting door to William’s study close and the lock turn.

The following morning, Elizabeth learnt that her father had departed before anyone else arose, leaving neither an apology nor a farewell. Mary had chosen to remain until the Darcys left for Pemberley and quietly told Elizabeth that their father had made no effort to persuade her to accompany him home.