by Eliza Gordon
"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"
"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses."
"My manners must have been at fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?"
"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction."
"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?"
"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise."
"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due."
"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past. I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves, I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you."
He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption. Naturally leading to the cause of that interruption. She soon learnt that his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he quitted the inn. That his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.
She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.
After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know anything about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.
"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!" Was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of it.
"I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.
"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."
"That is to say; you had given your permission. I guessed as much." And though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much the case.
"On the evening before my going to London," said he, "I confessed to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him. As I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."
Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.
"Did you speak from your observation when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?"
"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made here. I was convinced of her affection."
"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him."
"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his judgement in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made everything easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now."
Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable, but she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall, they parted.
Chapter 56
"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" asked Jane.
Elizabeth had only to say in reply, that they had wandered about, till she was beyond her own knowledge. She coloured as she spoke; but neither that nor anything else awakened a suspicion of the truth.
The evening passed quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed; the unacknowledged were silent.
Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth. Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather knew that she was happy than felt herself to be so. Besides the immediate embarrassment, there were other evils before her. She anticipated what would be felt in the family when her situation became known. She was aware that no one liked him but Jane. She even feared that with the others it was a dislike which not all his fortune and consequence might do away.
At night she opened her heart to Jane.
Though suspicion was very far from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here. "You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be!—engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible."
"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was on you; and I am sure nobody else will believe me if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are engaged."
Jane looked at her doubtingly. "Oh, Lizzy! It cannot be. I know how much you dislike him."
"You know nothing of the matter. That is all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself."
Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and more seriously assured her of its truth.
"Good Heaven! Can it be so! Now I must believe you," cried Jane. "My dear, dear Lizzy, I would—I do congratulate you—but are you certain? forgive the question—are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?"
"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already, that we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother?"
"Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more delight. But we considered it; we talked of it as impossible. And do you love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! Do anything rather than marry without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to do?"
"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than I ought to do when I tell you all."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, I must confess that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry."
"My dearest sister, now be serious. I want to talk very seriously. Let me know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him?"
"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley."
Another entreaty that she would be serious produced the desired effect. She soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances of attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing further to wish.
"Now I am quite happy," said she, "for you will be as happy as myself. I always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you; I must always have esteemed him. Now, as Bingley's friend and your husband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me. But Lizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all that I know of it to another, not to you."
Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been unwilling to mention Bingley. And the unsettled state of her feelings had made her equally avoid the name of his friend. But now she would
no longer conceal from her his share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged, and half the night spent in conversation.
"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window the next morning, "if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion, but he would go a-shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him? Lizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's way."
Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal. Yet was vexed that her mother should always be giving him such an epithet.
As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information. He soon afterwards said aloud, "Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?"
"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," said Mrs. Bennet, "to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view."
"It may do very well for the others," replied Mr. Bingley; "but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty."
Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently consented. As she went upstairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her. "I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it. It is all for Jane's sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking to him, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself to inconvenience."
During their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet's consent should be asked in the course of the evening.
Elizabeth reserved to herself the application for her mother's. She could not determine how her mother would take it. Sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur would be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether she were violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it was certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit to her sense. She could no more bear that Mr. Darcy should hear the first raptures of her joy, than the first vehemence of her disapprobation.
In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw Mr. Darcy also rise and follow him, and her agitation on seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her father's opposition, but he was going to be made unhappy. It should be through her means—that she, his favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be filling him with fears and regrets in disposing of her—was a wretched reflection. She sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when, looking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes, he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty. While pretending to admire her work said in a whisper, "Go to your father, he wants you in the library." She was gone directly.
Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious. "Lizzy, what are you doing?" said he. "Are you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?"
How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give. But they were now necessary, and she assured him, with some confusion, of her attachment to Mr. Darcy.
"Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane. But will they make you happy?"
"Have you any other objection, than your belief of my indifference?"
"None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him."
"I do, I do like him," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms."
"Lizzy," said her father, "I have given him my consent. He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything, which he condescended to ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. 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."
Still more affected, Elizabeth was earnest and solemn in her reply. At length, she conquered her father's incredulity, and reconciled him to the match. Not before repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the object of her choice, and explaining the gradual change her estimation of him had undergone and enumerating with energy all his good qualities. Also relating her certainty that his affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months' suspense.
"Well, my dear," said he, when she ceased speaking, "I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy."
To complete the favourable impression, she then told him what Mr. Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with astonishment.
"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did everything; made up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow's debts, and got him his commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid him; but these violent young lovers carry everything their own way. I shall offer to pay him tomorrow; he will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter."
He then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on his reading Mr. Collins's letter. After laughing at her some time, allowed her at last to go. As she quitted the room, he said, "If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure."
Elizabeth's mind was relieved from a very heavy weight. After half an hour's quiet reflection in her room, she was able to join the others with tolerable composure. Everything was too recent for gaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away. There was no longer anything material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would come in time.
When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she followed her and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary. On first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. It was many minutes before Mrs. Bennet responded, showing comprehension of what she had heard. Not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself.
"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it true? Oh! My sweetest Lizzy! How rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane's is nothing to it—nothing at all. I am so pleased—so happy. Such a charming man!—so handsome! So tall!—Oh, my dear Lizzy! Pray, apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Everything that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me? I shall go distracted."
Mrs. Bennet’s approval need never be doubted. Elizabeth rejoiced that such a heartfelt chatter was heard only by herself, soon went away.
Before she had been three minutes in her room, her mother followed her.
"My dearest child, I can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! 'Tis as good as a Lord! And a special licence. You must and shall be married by a special licence. But my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it tomorrow."
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br /> This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the gentleman himself might be. Elizabeth found that, though in the certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations' consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than she expected. Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to him unless it was in her power to offer him any attention or mark her deference for his opinion.
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get acquainted with him. Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising every hour in his esteem.
"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," said he. "Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane's."
Chapter 57
Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin? I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?"
"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."
"My beauty you had early withstood. As for my manners—my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil. I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?"
"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."
"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approval alone. I roused and interested you because I was so unlike them. Had you not been amiable, you would have hated me for it. In spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just. In your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it. 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."