Page 28 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

Elizabeth set down her pen, noticing that Moira had resorted to her heavy Gaelic accent again as she normally did when she was upset. The ink had begun to blot anyway. “This is your home too now, Moira. After all, your Papa is the rightful heir to Longbourn. You are not a visitor.”

“Doesnae feel like home.”

“No.” Elizabeth closed the account book. “I suppose it would not. But perhaps, in time...”

“Everyone stares.” The words came out hard, defensive. “Your sisters. The servants. Even Mrs Hill looks at me like I'm something strange.”

Elizabeth rose and crossed to the window seat, settling at a careful distance from the child. Close enough to offer comfort, yet far enough to respect Moira's evident need for space. “My younger sisters mean no harm. They are curious, that is all.”

“They ask questions.” Moira's fingers twisted in the dark wool of her gown, more suited to Highland winters than Hertfordshire Novembers. “About Da. About why I was sent for. About my ma.” Her voice dropped on the last word.

“And you need not answer if you do not wish to. You may tell them I said so.”

Moira looked at her sidelong, testing the sincerity of the offer. Before she could respond, the parlour door flew open.

“Lizzy! Where is Lizzy? Mrs Hill, you must fetch her at once! Oh, my nerves, my poor nerves cannot bear another hour of this! And... oh, I cannot breathe!”

Elizabeth exchanged a look with Moira. “Brace yourself.” Her mother had spent the night with her sister, Mrs Phillips, and thus had not yet heard the news of the engagement. Although it seemed, she had now.

Mrs Bennet burst into the room like a ship in full sail, her black bombazine rustling, her cap ribbons flying. “There you are! And dear little Moira... how well you look, child, quite the proper young lady. Lizzy, I saw Mr MacKinnon in the village and he told me the news! Oh, your Papa would have been delighted.”

She seized Elizabeth's hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks, whether of joy or distress, Elizabeth could not determine.

“Mama, please sit before you make yourself ill.”

“Ill? I am the happiest woman in England! Or I would be, if only I could stop thinking of your poor dear father, barely two months in his grave, and here we are planning weddings! Weddings, Lizzy! Is it too soon?”

“Mama...”

“But what choice do we have? Oh, my heart!” Mrs Bennet pressed a hand to her bosom.

Elizabeth guided her mother to the sofa. “Mama, you must calm yourself.”

“Calm? How can I be calm when my daughter is to be married? When we are to be saved from destitution? When Longbourn will remain ours after all?” Mrs Bennet's voice rose to a pitch that made Moira flinch. “But people will understand, surely they must! Necessity softens all expectations, does it not? A quiet ceremony, very modest, nothing improper... oh, but what will we serve at the wedding breakfast? We cannot afford...”

“Mama.” Elizabeth spoke more firmly. “We will manage everything appropriately. You need not distress yourself. In January, it shall be near three months since Papa’s death.”

“Six months is the proper time for children to mourn a parent, a year for a widow,” she corrected.

“Yes, but when there is a pressing need such as this, three months is acceptable.”

Her mother sighed. “I shall have to wear black; it is too soon even for lavender hues.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth said and nodded.

Mrs Bennet clutched at her hand. “Your dear father would have wished to see you married. He would have given you away with such pride. And now...” Her voice broke entirely.

Elizabeth felt her own throat tighten. She had not allowed herself to think of that, of walking down the aisle without her father's arm to steady her. “I know, Mama.”

They sat thus for a moment, grief and joy tangled together in the impossible knot of their circumstances. Then Mrs Bennet rallied, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief.

“But we must not dwell on sorrow. Your father would want you settled and safe. And Mr MacKinnon is so very handsome, and a laird besides! How fortunate we are, how very fortunate, even in our distress. Lady Lucas will be green with envy when she hears. Her Charlotte got nothing but a parson and a parsonage, whilst my Lizzy...”

“Mama, perhaps we might discuss the arrangements later. When you are calmer.”

“Calmer? I shall never be calm again! There is so much to be done, so many preparations...” Mrs Bennet rose abruptly, seized by fresh purpose. “I must consult with Mrs Hill about the menu. And we must write to your Aunt Gardiner. And Jane must help me determine what you shall wear, for we cannot afford new, but perhaps your best gown with some alterations... Lizzy, come, come. We must assemble the household. There is much to prepare.”

A few moments later, Elizabeth found herself in the parlour once more, this time with the entire family assembled. The sound of a carriage on the drive drew everyone's attention. Mrs Bennet flew to the window.