By the time the house was quiet again, Mr. Bennet had given his consent and absolutely refused to countenance any marriage between Elizabeth and Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet had retired to her room in a rage at the destruction of all her plans and only slightly mollified by the details of the settlement, and Mr. Collins had repaired to Lucas Lodge for dinner, mortally offended.
Luckily, the captain had returned to Netherfield before the worst of the uproar. He had kissed her hand, obviously greatly cheered by her acceptance, promising to return on the morrow to make all the arrangements.
Eventually, exhausted by the excitement, Kitty and Lydia’s squeals, Jane’s concern, and Mary’s relief, Elizabeth went to her room, stretched out on her bed, and wept as though her heart would break, muffling her weeping in a pillow for fear that her sister would hear.
Chapter Nine
By the next morning, Elizabeth had scolded herself into a more sanguine state of mind. She could not imagine why she had wept, for the worst had been averted and the future looked much brighter than had seemed possible only hours before. No doubt, it was merely the relief of spirits overwhelmed by worry.
She had always prided herself on her common sense and practicality, and it would be the height of childishness to pine for the sort of declaration found in novels that the Bennet daughters were not supposed to read. No. She was engaged to marry a gentleman she could esteem, look up to even—a gentleman who seemed disposed to appreciate her and to repose his trust in her. That was a great deal more than many young ladies could look forward to.
Breakfast took place in stony silence, and Elizabeth escaped to her father’s library as soon as she could. Mr. Bennet had said little to her the previous day and took the opportunity to congratulate her on her conquest. Although he was still weak, Mr. Bennet was obviously cheered by the prospect of his favourite daughter’s marriage to an excellent gentleman. “I would welcome the chance to talk to him again,” he said, “for he seemed to be a man of good sense and proper feeling.” He smiled and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Although I suspect I should regard any man as such who was not Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth was about to protest when the captain was announced. He too appeared much improved in health since the previous day, there being no accompanying sailor to take his arm. He had brought with him a copy of the letter to his attorney in London, detailing the terms of the settlement that had been agreed upon. Although she was somewhat embarrassed, Elizabeth insisted on staying with the gentlemen while matters were decided, it being further agreed that, in view of the need for haste, Mr. Gardiner should be authorised to deal with the attorney in any minor matter that might arise.
As the captain said, “I am due aboard by the twenty-sixth at Portsmouth, so I must leave here not later than the twenty-third, and there is much that must be arranged before then.” The date for the wedding was set for two weeks hence on the twenty-first. Meanwhile, the captain was to see about leasing a house in Hatfield. “Should you prefer to be nearer to Meryton, I can easily arrange it; however, I know how difficult it is to set up a new command when you are surrounded by people who knew you as a child. I shall never forget my first ship as captain. I went aboard to find the bosun, the gunner, and the carpenter had all known me as a youngster, and I could never shake the conviction they still saw me as such.”
Elizabeth was glad to see that he was prepared to consider her wishes; in all the haste, she could see only too well how easily they could be set aside. “No,” she said. “Hatfield would suit admirably—near enough to call for advice should I need it but not so near that I have to take it.” Mr. Bennet’s laughter had the unfortunate effect of making him cough, and once he was settled, Elizabeth and the captain resolved to take a brief ride in the Netherfield curricle.
It was a bright sunny day, if somewhat cold, and as they trotted along the country lanes, accompanied only by a single groom behind, Elizabeth determined that it was time she came to know the man she had agreed to marry. “It occurs to me, sir, that I do not know your Christian name, and I really cannot marry a man I know only as Captain Darcy.”
He looked at her, apparently a little startled, but answered readily enough. “I do not think anyone has called me by my first name since my mother died. It is Fitzwilliam. It will be pleasant to hear it again after all this time.”
They rode a little further, Elizabeth pointing out such small sights of interest as the locality afforded. After a few minutes, he spoke again. “I am sure you must have many questions; I have many myself. We have so little time to settle everything that, while question and answer is hardly a polite form of conversation, perhaps we should dispense with the formalities in favour of exchanging as much information as possible.”
“Very well,” she replied. “May I start by asking what ails you? You seem very well today, but yesterday you needed the support of a strong arm. Were you wounded or is it an illness?”
To her surprise, he laughed. “I think calling it a wound would be stretching the definition. It was merely one of those mishaps common on board ship. The vangs of the b—that is to say, a portion of the rigging parted. The free end swung free and struck me from behind, quite knocking my wits astray.” He drew the curricle to a halt and looked down at her. “You must not worry about it. I am well on the way to recovery, and the problem grows less every day. When it happened, I was unconscious for two days and spent a fortnight in my cot with the world reeling about my head. Now, it is merely a question of feeling dizzy occasionally. It is worse when I am tired and, for some reason, worse when I am unsure what I ought to do.” He slapped the reins and the horses moved off again. “Perhaps, that is why I continue to suffer on land. I am rarely at a loss at sea.”
“And the spectacles?”
“The surgeon’s prescription. They are supposed to help the balance, although I have never understood why. They cannot hurt, and so I wear them.” They passed the Reverend Carter in his gig at this point and stopped to exchange courtesies and to broach the subject of their wedding. Elizabeth had known him since her childhood and received his heartfelt and kindly blessings, which for some reason made her feel rather shy, although she did her best to respond appropriately.
The parson drove on, and as they left him behind, Elizabeth said, “Now it is your turn to ask a question.”
“Very well. Do you think your father strong enough to travel to the Mediterranean with me?”
This was not at all what she had expected, and she hesitated long enough for him to elaborate. “I understood from your mother that the doctor considers that he needs a warmer climate. Although my mission is confidential, my ship is currently refitting at Gibraltar, and it is generally expected to join the Mediterranean fleet. I shall be travelling out on the Renown, a 78-gun ship of the line, which must also call in at Gib. The captain is a particular friend of mine and will be happy to take along my guest. There would be room for your father and his man, Starkey can look after all of us, and I happen to know the new Physician to the Fleet is travelling with us, so your father would not lack medical attention.”
“But what would he do in Gibraltar? He does not speak the language, and Jessup most assuredly does not.”
“You need not concern yourself on that score. There is a large English community at Gibraltar or even, if he wishes to sail further with me, at Malta. All the servants, shops, and lodgings he might want, even books and concerts and such if he is of a mind.”
“I am not at all sure he is well enough to travel.”
“Might I suggest then that we consult the doctor? Nothing can be decided without his opinion.”
They drove a little further in silence. “Have I distressed you with this idea?” he said eventually.
“Oh no!” She turned to him. “It is merely that I am not accustomed to sharing the burden of decision. I seem to have spent the last few months trying to decide what ought to be don
e from an ever-narrowing selection. It is a great relief to share that burden and yet I feel oddly…” She struggled to find the words.
“Resentful?” he suggested cheerfully. “I know the feeling well. I have sailed on independent cruises, thinking that nothing would be quite as comfortable as having someone with whom to discuss the various decisions I must make, only to find when I returned to the fleet that I deeply resented having someone over me making those decisions.”
It was, thought Elizabeth, very cheering to be understood. Even dear Jane would sometimes look blank when Elizabeth tried to explain her feelings. “Very well,” she said. “We will ask Doctor Wallace and then, if he thinks it fit, we can ask my father. For I do not trust my papa not to decide he ought to go merely because he thought it might be better for us all at home if he went.” She put a hand on his arm. “It is very good of you to think of this. I am quite sure you are discounting a great deal of trouble and inconvenience.”
Doctor Wallace, when applied to, seized the idea and recommended it to the hilt. Mrs. Bennet vacillated between declaring that he should not go and that they should all go together. Elizabeth and Jane had considerable difficulty in getting her to understand that four unmarried daughters and a wife could not possibly be accommodated on a battle ship.
Mr. Bennet declared that he was eager to go, had often wished to travel, had been to Ireland as a young man, and had not suffered from the motion at all. However, in view of his condition, it was agreed that the party should leave a day earlier, the day after the wedding, to allow longer for the journey.
A house was found in Hatfield next to the church, with a garden and a space to keep hens. They all travelled out to see it one day, and even Mrs. Bennet had to agree it lacked for nothing. A cook and a housemaid were engaged, and Hill’s cousin Maria came from Netherfield to look after the ladies.
It seemed to Elizabeth that the days before the wedding vanished before her eyes. She saw Captain Darcy—Fitzwilliam—only every other day or so, hardly long enough to discover that he liked cake and apples and, despite a life at sea, could not abide the smell of fish. It did not seem nearly long enough to come to understand him more deeply, and she wanted to understand him more as each day passed. She had never met anyone with whom conversation was so easy or whose principles, at least as far as demonstrated in those conversations, so nearly matched her own. As she watched Mr. Collins guzzling his meals, making unnecessary work for the servants, and fawning after Lady Catherine, her heart filled with what she told herself was gratitude and relief. One day, as they walked in the garden with Jane as attendant, Elizabeth asked whether he was sure that he was well enough to go back to sea. “What if you become unwell when climbing around the masts and such?”
His reply was light-hearted enough. “Luckily, we captains are not expected to go aloft, having a ship full of men and junior officers to do that for us.” If she was not wholly reassured, she was at least cheered by his promise to find her some books to help her understand his life at sea. She knew she was lucky to be marrying a man so ready to consider her worries and do his best to assuage them and did her best not to repine at the lack of time they would have together. She wondered whether he too regretted their imminent parting but found herself reluctant to ask, although the reason for this reluctance quite escaped her. Her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner and their children came for the ceremony, bringing a delightful dress and bonnet for her trousseau. The inn at Meryton filled with such of the captain’s friends who were at liberty, including an immensely tall Captain of Marines and his tiny, doll-like wife, two sea captains so absurdly alike they had to be brothers, a man who looked like a prosperous farmer but turned out to be the new sailing master of the Achilles, and a deeply shy young man called Playford, who was to be its new third mate, having recently passed his examination for lieutenant.
The night before the wedding, Mr. Bingley held a dinner in honour of their marriage. All the guests from the Netherfield ball and more were there; Miss Darcy and Mrs. Darcy came down and did their best to express their hopes for their future happiness. Miss Darcy even followed Elizabeth into the ballroom to say how very glad she was that her brother had found her and then found herself being introduced to Lieutenant Playford, who summoned his courage to solicit his captain’s sister as a dancing partner.
Elizabeth danced with Mr. Bingley, she danced with Jack Catteral whom she had known since childhood, and finally she danced with her intended. She was so proud of him, so tall, handsome, composed, active and successful in his profession and in scenes of life so far from anything she had ever known. He was attentive and considerate to her and patient with her mother and Mr. Collins, who could not politely be missed from the invitation.
Over supper, as her friends and acquaintances interrupted to congratulate them, he told her something of his travels, of Africa and the Orient, of strange people and animals, of friends and enemies made and lost. She saw him fully as a man of consequence and power and regretted ever more deeply that he must leave so soon after she had come to know him.
They closed the ball together, and every time they touched hands, her heart warmed. He had a slight smile on his face as they danced, and she hoped that he was feeling as happy as she was. They hardly spoke; it did not seem necessary. All had been decided, and all that remained was the ceremony; she refused to consider the parting that would follow.
As he bade her farewell at the door of Netherfield, he kissed her hand and then bent and kissed her cheek. She felt his warm breath and the pressure of his lips and could not restrain a small sigh of happiness. As the coach took them back to Longbourn, she relived their dances and that moment at the door and did not feel the cold at all.
Chapter Ten
That night, Elizabeth got in bed with Jane, as she so often had as a child, and they whispered the night away. In all the bustle and preparations, she had almost forgotten how much she would miss her elder sister, and it took Jane some time and considerable effort to reassure Elizabeth that she did not resent being left behind at Longbourn. “I know Mama can be difficult,” said Jane. “But now that Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are to take Lydia back to London, I am sure Kitty, Mary, and I will be able to live in something like rational peace.”
“And Kitty or Mary can always come and stay with me for a while,” replied Elizabeth. “I fear we have neglected them somewhat, and Mary in particular seems never to have had a confidential friend.”
“We shall do better, shall we not?”
“Yes.” She looked at Jane slyly. “And now there is no need for hurry, perhaps you and Mr. Bingley will have time to become properly acquainted.” Even though they had only candlelight, Elizabeth could see her sister blush deeply before Jane brought the conversation to a halt by attacking her sister with a pillow.
Mrs. Bennet woke them at a ridiculously early hour and then confused them both with a murmured lecture on the duties of marriage, a lecture that required a further discussion with Mrs. Gardiner to become intelligible. Considerably relieved, for she had known nothing for certain before, and her imaginings had all been based on farm animals, Elizabeth suffered her mother to weep over her while she dressed and ate what little breakfast she could manage.
It had been intended that her Uncle Gardiner would give her away, as the trip to the church was considered too arduous for her father. However, about an hour before the service was due to start, an elderly sedan chair arrived—carried by Captain Darcy’s two men—that had apparently been found in the Netherfield stables. It smelt a little of smoke due to the attempts to air it through but was completely dry, and Mr. Bennet announced his intention of going to church, and nothing anybody could say would dissuade him.
So Elizabeth walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, the pews filled with a gay company of family, friends, and dress uniforms. The captain stood waiting for her, gallant in navy blue, the Nile medal on a ribbon in his buttonhole, gold lace an
d epaulettes gleaming. She hardly heard the service, except for his deep voice repeating the vows. Everything else was drowned out by the beat of her heart, a sense that time and place were not entirely real and that she might wake at any moment and find herself once more in bed with Jane.
Afterwards, it was the smells she remembered: the flowers in her bouquet and bonnet, the smoke from the candles, the charcoal from the brazier someone had placed in the family pew for her father, and when the captain bent to kiss her cheek again, the soap he had shaved with.
When they left the church, all the naval guests and their servants had formed up to make an arch of their swords and they bent their heads and ran laughing through them to the coach that was to take them back to Longbourn, only to find that the horses had been removed and her father’s tenants had taken the traces to pull them home in a shower of dried flower petals and good wishes.
The wedding breakfast was scarcely more intelligible to her. Her mother had done her proud, and there was ample food and drink, including real French champagne, a wedding gift from Mr. Bingley. Perhaps it was the champagne, for despite the fact that there were so many strangers present, there was no awkwardness or polite silences. The two Captains Hanson made themselves particularly agreeable and were invited to stay for a few days longer to go hunting with Robert Lucas and his friends. Elizabeth passed amongst the guests on her new husband’s arm, feeling his warm, living strength beneath her hand, and she could not remember afterwards who had spoken to her and what they had said, save that they were happy for her and confident in his care for her.
The only thing lacking for perfection was her father’s presence; exhausted by the ceremony despite the accommodations made for him, he soon retired to his bed. She went to see him in his chamber, wrapped in his nightshirt and shawls. At his command, she bent over and he kissed her forehead. “I am so very happy for you, child,” he said softly. “I have worried for many years that you might not find a gentleman who would appreciate you. If anything happens to me on this voyage, I can at least be satisfied that you are safe.”
Fair Stands the Wind Page 8