by Janet Aylmer
While pretending to admire her work, Darcy said in a whisper, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.”
* * *
His anxiety in her absence was hard to bear, and it seemed to him a very long delay before she returned.
After so many difficulties over the past few months, he was far from complacent that her father would agree to the match without demur. There might well yet be some objection that he might put to his favourite daughter, which could carry some weight with Elizabeth.
At last, when the evening was almost over, and it was close to the time that he and Bingley must go back to Netherfield, she returned to the room and resumed her seat. When the time came for them to leave, Mrs. Bennet and the rest of the family were busy with Bingley and Jane, and Darcy took the opportunity to speak to Elizabeth.
“Your father...,” he began, sounding more anxious than he had intended, and finding that he could not go on.
Elizabeth answered the unspoken question for him. “He is willing to accept my assurances,” she said simply, and then suddenly smiled so happily that Darcy nearly forgot the others in the room standing close to him.
For once, he was grateful for Mrs. Bennet’s intervention.
“Mr. Bingley is waiting for you in the coach, Mr. Darcy,” she said sharply, and he took his leave.
36
After saying goodnight to Bingley, Darcy went to his room at Netherfield, but found himself disinclined to sleep.
The events of the past two days had given him little time for reflection.
Although not of a disposition which relied on the approbation of others, he wished at that moment that he had someone to whom he could confide his joy in the happy future which now lay before him.
Bingley was a good friend, but he was not someone to whom Darcy had ever displayed his innermost feelings, and his cousin Fitzwilliam was elsewhere. Then he recalled his conversation with his sister when they were last together.
She had been so much more perceptive than he had expected when she had asked him,
“You need to return south, do you not? Is it to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Is she likely to become someone you... more than value?”
He had paused, before deciding to answer her honestly.
“That is already the case, in truth. But as to her views, I am not certain...I do not know, Georgiana. I do so wish that I did. But it is a possibility. Would you wish me well in that direction?”
He recalled his surprise when she at first made no reply, but instead came across the room and took his hand, and then said,
“There is nothing I would like better. But do not worry, I shall keep your secret, whatever happens.”
Perhaps Georgiana would be more than the young sister he needed to protect from now on. Someone who would be close both to himself and to Elizabeth. Darcy drew up a chair to the desk, took paper and pen, and began to write.
The clock in his room had struck the hour before he concluded the letter,
...I hope, therefore, my dear sister, that you will wish us both well, and happy.
Should you hear from our aunt in Kent, do not be surprised if Lady Catherine takes a different view. I shall also be writing to her.
I will send this to Pemberley by the post tomorrow, and will write again, as soon as there is more news to tell.
Your affectionate brother,
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The following day, Mr. Bennet had made the announcement to the rest of his family before Darcy arrived with Bingley at Longbourn, and he and Elizabeth were the centre of many happy congratulations.
Mrs. Bennet appeared to be so in awe of her intended son-in-law, that she ventured not to speak to him, unless she was able to offer him some attention, or mark her deference for his opinion. She confined her conversation to such queries as “Tell me, Mr. Darcy, what dish you are particularly fond of, so that we may have it this evening?”
Soon after their arrival, his host took him aside into his study.
“I understand from Lizzy that you took the major part, Sir, in bringing about the marriage between my youngest daughter, Lydia, and that fellow Wickham. I am most exceedingly obliged to you for your trouble. You must let me repay you, as soon as maybe.”
Darcy had given some thought to how he should reply to this request, should it arise. He had concluded overnight that it would give him the best opportunity of convincing Mr. Bennet of his real attachment to Elizabeth, of which her father had seemed to be in some doubt on the previous day.
“I have, as I believe you know, Sir, more than sufficient means, so that the expenditure is of little concern to me. But even if I had been in a different situation, I would have done every thing just the same, for Elizabeth’s peace of mind. In all that I had to do, to bring the marriage about, she was always in my thoughts. I did nothing without her being foremost in my mind. And without her beside me, there can be no happiness for me in the future. So let there be no more talk of repayment, I beg of you. Your consent to our marriage is more than enough compensation for me.”
Mr. Bennet had never appeared to Darcy to be a man lost for words, but this seemed almost to leave him without speech.
When he did recover, it was to say, quite simply, “Jane is a good girl, but Lizzy is my favourite child of all my daughters. Without her I shall have little comfort here. I hope that you will not object if I visit her at Pemberley, especially when Mrs. Bennet is busy elsewhere, perhaps a little more often than I ought.”
Darcy replied, “I shall be happy to shake your hand on that.”
Later that morning, Bingley agreed that his carriage should be sent to Longbourn on the next day, so that Miss Bennet and her sister could take luncheon at Netherfield. It was arranged that Mary Bennet should accompany them, as Bingley had made her the offer of playing on the piano-forte, which she had last seen on the night of the Netherfield ball the previous November.
When Elizabeth and her sisters arrived at Netherfield on the next morning, this occupation soon took Mary away from the rest of the party, and Bingley and Jane went off with the housekeeper to discuss the decoration of the rooms to her taste prior to their wedding.
Darcy and Elizabeth made their way to the drawing-room, where he took the first opportunity of asking what Mr. Bennet’s reaction had been when she spoke to her father about their marriage.
Elizabeth gave him that lively smile that was sure to set Darcy’s heart racing, as she said,
“I told him that you have no improper pride—that you are perfectly amiable. I assured him that you really were the object of my choice, and explained the gradual change which my estimation of you had undergone. I told him that I was certain that your affection for me was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months’ suspense.”
Elizabeth added, with an even more mischievous smile, “And, of course, I enumerated all your good qualities, and finally convinced him that we should be the happiest couple in the world!”
It was with some difficulty, at the end of this recital, that Darcy retained the measure of composure appropriate to his situation in the company of an unmarried lady without any chaperone on hand.
“And did you,” he said, to steady himself, and seeking to echo her own bantering tone, “tell him that you cared a little for me?”
“Yes, I did,” she replied and, in a much more sober manner as she turned to face him directly, she said, “and I do, though not a little, as I hope you know by now.”
37
The next day, at Longbourn, Elizabeth and Darcy sat by the window at the far end of the parlour, and she asked him to account for his having ever fallen in love with her.
“How could you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”
Darcy was already discovering that he had difficulty in maintaining a proper decorum when she addressed him in this playful fashion, but it was perhaps a question deserving a
serious answer.
“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
But it seemed that she was determined to make him smile.
“My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners, my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”
He had to succumb at this, and laughed with her as he said, “For the liveliness of your mind, I did.”
“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.”
Elizabeth then took a more serious tone, as she continued.
“The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of defence, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you.”
He refused to be provoked into agreeing with her.
“There, I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me, but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.”
“Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was ill here at Netherfield?”
“Dearest Jane! Who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be.”
She smiled bewitchingly, and then was suddenly more serious as she said, “I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined at Longbourn? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”
“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”
“But I was embarrassed.”
“And so was I.”
“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”
“A man who had felt less, might.”
“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the subject? This will never do.”
“You need not distress yourself,” said Darcy. “The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine’s unjustifiable endeavours to separate us, were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of yours. My aunt’s intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.”
“Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed? Or had you intended any more serious consequence?”
“My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister was still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.”
“Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to befall her?”
“I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.”
“And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.”
For above a quarter of an hour, there was a companionable silence in the room as they pursued their correspondence. Darcy finished his letter long before Elizabeth completed hers, and sat quietly, secure in the pleasure of watching her. Slowly, she became aware of his attention, and turned to smile a little.
“Before I seal the letter,” Elizabeth said, “may I add an invitation for my aunt and uncle to stay with us at Pemberley— I know that my aunt especially would welcome that.”
“By all means,” he said. “We are, you know, to be wed soon after the end of November. Would you like to ask them to join us, with their children, for the Christmas festival?”
He needed no more answer than the wonderful smile which came over her face.
“But,” Darcy added in a tone that attempted to sound sombre, “there is one condition!”
Elizabeth looked at him a little warily. “And, pray, Sir, what is that?”
“I recall that there is a young lady with whom I first disdained to dance who, on other occasions, twice refused my invitation to do so, including once to dance a reel of which her elder sister has since told me she is very fond. Then when at last she did dance with me at Netherfield, I recall that she insisted on advocating the claims and qualities of a certain Mr. Wickham, and trying to establish my own character.”
She looked somewhat embarrassed at this, and even rather apprehensive.
Seeing her expression, Darcy could maintain his assumed severity no longer.
“All I mean to ask you is whether you will join with me to hold a ball for our neighbours at Pemberley on New Year’s Eve. It was a happy custom of my parents to entertain their friends from the county on that day—a custom which ceased on my mother’s death.”
He was silent for a few moments as he said that, and then recollected himself, and gave her a teasing smile.
“Then,” he continued, “you could not escape the opening of the first dance with me, and the occasion would give me the opportunity to introduce you to some of our Derbyshire neighbours. As Bingley and Jane are to spend Christmas in Hertfordshire, visiting your family at Longbourn, they could travel up in time to join us. And perhaps my cousin Fitzwilliam also?”
And so it was settled, and the arrangements put in hand.
38
Georgiana wasted no time in replying to her brother’s letter. The joy which she expressed on receiving the news of their forthcoming wedding was so great that four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight.
On the same day as her letter was received, the family at Longbourn heard that unexpected visitors were suddenly come from Hunsford to Lucas Lodge—Mr. and Mrs. Collins.
The news from Mrs. Collins that his aunt had been rendered exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew’s letter did not trouble Darcy. Elizabeth soon heard from Charlotte that, although herself very happy about the match, she had decided that it would be very wise for them both to get away from Kent for a time. The reason for the Collinses’ arrival was soon confirmed by a letter for Darcy, which arrived from Lady Catherine by the next post. It was angry and abusive of Elizabeth to the highest degree, and he resolved to send no reply.
Darcy could see that the arrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though having Mr. Collins parading and addressing Darcy with obsequious civility was a trial which the latter did his best, for Elizabeth’s sake, to bear calmly.
He found Mr. Collins no more wearing than Sir William Lucas, who complimented him on carrying away the brightest jewel in the country every time they met, and expressed his hopes of their all meeting frequently at St. James’s. Eliza
beth’s aunt in Meryton, Mrs. Philips, was a greater tax on his forbearance. Though she regarded Darcy with too much awe to speak with the familiarity which his friend Bingley’s good humour encouraged, yet, whenever she did speak, she must be vulgar.
Elizabeth did all she could to shield him from these embarrassments, and was anxious to keep him to herself, and together with those of her family with whom he might converse without mortification.
However, Darcy was aware that her concern about the uncomfortable feelings of all this took away for her from what should have been the pleasures of courtship. They both looked forward to the time when they should be together at Pemberley.
Matters continued in this fashion until, one morning a few days later, and about six weeks before their wedding, Elizabeth came to him.
She spoke rather hesitantly.
“My father tells me, Sir, that you are intending to make a most generous settlement on me on the occasion of our marriage.”
“My dear, it is no more than you deserve, or than I would wish for your comfort and security,” he replied, taking her hand.
And then an idea came to him. He wished nothing more than to be in her company every day, and a few days away from Hertfordshire would not be unwelcome.
“Elizabeth, it is several weeks since I saw Georgiana, and she is still in Derbyshire. She will, of course, be at our wedding. But a thought occurs to me. I must instruct my attorney to draw up your settlement, and your father says that Mr. Phillips can act for him on your behalf.
“However, rather than my travelling to town alone, Mr. Bennet could use your uncle Gardiner’s man in London, who was of great assistance to us in the matter of Lydia and Wickham. Would you be willing to accompany your father, if he is agreeable, to be in town for a few days, whilst these matters are settled? If so, I could write to Georgiana, and she could join me from Pemberley. Would the Gardiners be willing to receive you? I could then also show you our house in London.”