Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(3)

“Elizabeth,” her father interrupted, “I can’t go against your mother’s wishes where your future is concerned.”

Both father and daughter sat up marginally straighter, as if simply mentioning Mrs. Bennet might summon her from thin air. The idea was quite absurd, since Lizzie couldn’t remember her mother ever setting foot in Longbourn & Sons. The very act of entering the business might actually bring on one of those dizzy spells she was always on the verge of succumbing to.

“Mama means well,” Lizzie said, which was really a generous way of saying Mrs. Bennet didn’t know Lizzie at all. “But I don’t wish to marry a barrister. I wish to be one. And I wish for your support, more than anyone’s.”

Mr. Bennet gifted Lizzie with one of his small, delighted smiles. Lizzie was certain she was the only one who saw this side of her father: lively and amused at small rebellion.

It was not spoken of, but it was no secret that Lizzie and Mr. Bennet had a special bond. Oh, her older sister, Jane, was lovely and polite and considerate and, if Lizzie were quite honest, the only one of the lot who would never embarrass their father. Her younger sisters, Mary, Lydia, and Kitty, were not interested in anything beyond the drawing room. Lizzie was certain that her father secretly wished she’d been born a boy, and while Lizzie had no complaints about being a young woman, sometimes she wished she weren’t a young lady.

“It would be an unusual situation,” Lizzie acknowledged. “But I’m seventeen now, and if I were your son, you wouldn’t hesitate to offer me the position.”

Mr. Bennet regarded her for a long moment, and Lizzie hardly breathed in the hope that he was considering her point of view. If he gave in on this one thing, then perhaps, perhaps he would allow her to one day train as a barrister. She would show up Collins in every way, if it would convince her father.

“I’m not overlooking your argument,” he said finally. “Although your mode of persuasion relies a bit too heavily on pathos.”

Lizzie would have laughed if their conversation had a different tone. Her father had been the first one to teach her about Aristotle’s methods of persuasion—pathos, ethos, and logos. Pathos was a method of appealing to her father’s emotions, which was exactly what she had been attempting to do. The barrister picked up on it, of course.

“Considering I have no authority or experience and cannot use ethos, I assume you would have me rely on logos,” she said.

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “If you can convince me that I should hire you using logic and facts, then I shall consider it. Which is a good offer, considering how much your mother will berate me for doing so.”

She wasn’t sure if he was simply humoring her, but Lizzie began to mount an offense anyway. “I solved the Davis case! Mr. Collins took my work. I am more than competent.”

“I assigned the case to Collins,” her father countered. “No, prove to me you are suitable for this job, and leave your contempt for Collins out of it.”

Lizzie turned this proposal over in her mind, torn between excitement at an opportunity and resentment that she must work doubly hard to prove herself worthy for something that Collins had merely been handed. She knew she should just accept it—it would be the best offer she would receive—but her instinct to argue kept her from doing so.

As if sensing Lizzie’s inner turmoil, Mr. Bennet leaned across his atrociously cluttered desk and added, “I do appreciate you, and your work on contracts is invaluable. And who knows? Perhaps marrying a barrister—one day, in the far future—wouldn’t be such a bad fate?”

Lizzie folded her arms across her chest. “I won’t marry Mr. Collins.”

Even Mr. Bennet looked terrified at the thought. “Oh heavens, no!”

Lizzie stopped at Charlotte’s desk on her way out, pausing to adjust her bonnet and pull on her gloves.

“Is he sending you home?” Charlotte asked quietly.

“Not precisely.” Lizzie knew that was where her father fully expected her to return. But she’d never convince him to hire her if she simply sat in her room and worked on her needlepoint. “He said that he’d hire me for the position, if I can convince him using logic.”

“Well, that should be easy enough for you,” Charlotte said, unflaggingly supportive.

Lizzie sighed. “The problem is that I’ve provided him with ample examples of why I am the best candidate. I do most of Mr. Collins’s work, I already know how the firm functions, I read most of the contracts. . . . What more must I do?”

Charlotte cast her gaze about for any lurking clerks and then whispered, “What if you take a peek at the incoming cases, the ones that haven’t been assigned yet?” She slid open the drawer where she kept the inquiries for representation, filed by complaint type and sender. She waved Lizzie to come behind her desk and look for herself. “If you could find a few moderately difficult cases, preferably by those who could pay . . .”

“You’re very sly,” Lizzie said approvingly, and began flicking through letters. “This is why you’re such an excellent secretary.”

“I hardly think your father hired me for my ability to sneak about,” Charlotte said.

“He hired you because he needed someone reliable and organized.” Lizzie extracted a letter and scanned it before discarding it. Fidelity cases were so boring. “Now if only he’d extend his daughter the same consideration.”