This Disconcerting Happiness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Christina Morland

  “Bingley—”

  “No. It is apparent what you and my sisters think of the Bennet family, but I find them charming. Mrs. Bennet, I will concede, can be ridiculous at times, and Mr. Bennet should be more involved in his daughters’ education. Yet when I consider their station in life, I can see nothing that makes their situation inferior to my own. Indeed, she is a gentleman’s daughter, whereas I am only the son of a tradesman. If I were from a family as exalted as yours, such a marriage would be insensible, but—”

  Cringing at the reappearance of that word, Darcy held up his hand. “But when did you ask her? Has she accepted?”

  “Ah! Had you spent more a brief moment at the ball last night, you might know the answer to that.”

  His appearance at the ball had not felt particularly brief to him. It had been a painful experience; he had not known where to look or how to behave. Had he been a man who acted on emotions, he would have gone directly to Elizabeth and asked her to dance (the only proper way to touch her in public, after all). Had he been a man who gave in to instinct, he would have found Wickham and called him out (the only proper way to kill a man in public, after all).

  Darcy, however, prided himself on restraining his impulses (or most of them, at any rate), and so he stood stupidly by Bingley and his sisters, half listening to their prattle while wishing he were anywhere else in the world. Only twice had he given in to the more irrational parts of himself: upon entering the dining room for supper, he had cast one fleeting glance at Elizabeth, who had flushed and looked away; and, upon leaving the ball, he had met Wickham’s curious gaze with a scowl. Neither interaction had pleased him.

  “Do you mean to say,” Darcy asked his friend, “that your engagement is public knowledge? Did you announce it after I left?”

  “No, I was not so improper as to propose in front of an audience.” Bingley sighed. “I was only attempting to make you feel guilty for being so unsociable.”

  “I have disappointed you,” Darcy realized aloud. “I should have made more of an effort at the ball.”

  Bingley shrugged. “I know how little you care for such gatherings. I am not truly concerned about the ball, Darcy. It is much more important to me that you approve of my engagement to Miss Bennet.”

  “Then she has accepted.”

  Bingley could not contain his grin. “With alacrity! Just after supper, I was able to manage a few moments alone with her—yes, I know, it was very improper of me, but I did not want to wait another moment! I told her that I would visit her father first thing this morning.”

  “That explains why you are awake so early after such a long night.”

  “It is not the only reason,” Bingley said. “I was also hoping to speak with you before I left for Longbourn. I knew my sisters would not yet be awake, but I suspected that you would be. I thought it would be the ideal time to explain myself, without Caroline and Louisa’s protests. Though, to be frank, I care little for their opinions. They are motivated more by the status of our family than my happiness.”

  Darcy raised an eyebrow. “That is a more cynical view of your sisters than I would have expected from you, Bingley.”

  “I may be cheerful, Darcy, but I am not blind. I do not hold it against them. Our mother was determined that no one would snub her daughters the way she had been snubbed. They learned my mother’s lesson a little too well, I think. While I would never attempt to bring dishonor to our family, I cannot see how marrying the beautiful daughter of a country gentleman harms the family’s interests.”

  “You sound very certain about all of this.”

  “Yes. Absolutely. I was hesitant before the ball; I was uncertain of Miss Bennet’s regard for me. She was always very kind, of course, but I could not tell if she truly cared for me. Yesterday, however, when we met outside Longbourn, her manner was so open and so affectionate that I began to believe she truly did love me. After dancing with her at the ball, I had no doubt that she was meant to be my wife.” Bingley met his friend’s eyes. “I was more doubtful, however, about your views on the matter.”

  Darcy had no idea how to respond. Had Bingley made such an impetuous proposal the day before, he would have had no trouble at all explaining to his friend why such an action was foolish. Now, however, he knew not what to think; his head was so full of Elizabeth and his own proposal—Sensible or stupid? Right or wrong? Yes or no?—that he could offer his friend no advice at all.

  It struck him, then, that Bingley was not asking for advice; he had already made up his mind.

  Finally, Darcy said, “Why do you need my approval? Do you think I would throw you off for marrying Miss Bennet?”

  “Throw me off? No. But you are a very rational man; you approach every decision with such thought and care. I feared you might not understand my choice.”

  “I understand it better than you imagine,” Darcy muttered. “Still, I do wonder if it is the best decision.”

  “Because of her family?”

  “In part, yes.” He himself had spent half the night wrestling with the issue of the Bennet family. Would he be able to find a house in the neighborhood where Elizabeth’s mother and sisters could remain after Mr. Bennet’s death, thereby allowing them to remain close to their friends (and far from him)? Or would Elizabeth want them near Pemberley? If so, how would their presence impact his suit for Georgiana?

  “I also wonder how you can be so certain of her regard for you—and of your regard for her.” Darcy leaned forward, his voice becoming urgent. “Is it not too sudden for you to be sure of your feelings?”

  “Too sudden? We have known each other now for nearly two months.”

  Darcy studied his friend, wondering if he had decided to take up sarcasm now that he had promised to give up bachelorhood. But the younger man appeared as earnest as ever.

  “I see no merits to waiting,” Bingley explained, “now that I am convinced our feelings for each other are sincere. The engagement will be lengthy enough as it is.”

  “Yes, but how did you become convinced of your feelings?” Darcy insisted. “I have seen you enamored with young women before. How can you be certain this particular infatuation should end in marriage?”

  “It is not a mere infatuation. As for how I can be certain…” Bingley shrugged. “I simply know.”

  “You simply know?” Darcy felt his shoulders slump.

  “You cannot expect me to explain love with a rational proof. All I can say is that I am very happy.”

  “And how can you be certain,” Darcy continued without concern for his friend’s increasing agitation, “that her feelings are true?”

  “Are you accusing Miss Bennet of lying?” Bingley demanded, his ears becoming red. “She has said that she loves me, and I do not doubt her word.”

  Darcy sighed. He felt as if he were, in a strange way, repeating all of his conversations from the day before, only this time with Bingley playing the role of Elizabeth. Quickly putting that disturbing thought from his mind, he muttered, “That is not what I meant.”

  “I hardly see how you could mean anything else.”

  “Her mother has made it very clear how much she wishes for such a marriage. Perhaps Miss Bennet is acting more out of concern for her family than—” Darcy stopped, realizing quite suddenly that he was no longer speaking of Miss Jane Bennet.

  The younger man took a deep breath. “Listen, Darcy, I do appreciate your concern. Your advice on so many matters—financial and social—has been invaluable. You must forgive me, however, for placing my feelings above your concerns when it comes to this. I realize that you do not think love should be a major consideration in such a decision, but—”

  “What makes you think that?” Darcy frowned. “I do not think love should be the only factor, but I am not one of those cynics who thinks love is a ruse or that marriage is a mere exchange of money between families.”

  “I have been informed by several reliable sources that your engagement to Miss de Bourgh is imminent. As I have never heard you
speak of her with any degree of affection, I assumed—”

  “And have any of these reliable sources actually spoken to me about the matter?” Darcy interrupted. “Shall all of my family, friends, and acquaintances have a say as to how I should live my life?”

  Bingley held up a hand. “I did not mean offense!”

  He took a deep breath. “No, I know you did not. It is only…” With a shake of his head, he said no more.

  “Are you unwell, Darcy? You have not been yourself as of late.”

  Standing abruptly, Darcy strode toward the window. It was a favorite tactic of his, staring out into the world when he wished to avoid introspection. Yet he could not concentrate on the scenery; his reflection, pale and half formed in the windowpane, distracted him. What had happened to the decisive and self-assured gentleman he had been before Ramsgate?

  “I have not been myself,” he said finally, turning back toward his friend, “and that is the problem. I cannot be certain if the decisions I am now forced to make are the ones I would make if I were myself.”

  Bingley shook his head. “I do not understand. What decisions?”

  “Suffice it to say that my family is facing a series of obstacles,” he replied, scowling at how cold he sounded.

  “I do not mean to pry, but if there is anything I can do to assist you, you know that you only have to ask.”

  Darcy met his friend’s troubled gaze. “I know. You are a true and generous friend, Charles, and I have abused your kindness during my stay here.”

  “Abused? That is being a bit melodramatic! You have only been a little out of sorts. I only hope that you will find happiness.” He paused. “As I have.”

  “Ah, yes, Miss Bennet.”

  “You must admit that she is everything that is lovely.”

  “Now it is you who are being melodramatic.” Then, in a gentler tone, Darcy added, “She does seem to be a respectable young lady.”

  “Then I have your blessing?”

  Darcy said nothing, realizing with a growing sense of dread that he faced a quandary: if he supported Bingley’s choice, he was, in effect, harming his own. After all, Bingley could provide some measure of security to the Bennet family after Mr. Bennet’s death. Had that not been Elizabeth’s primary motive for considering his proposal?

  In the hours since the ball, Darcy had asked himself dozens of questions: Would her family hinder him? Would his family insult her? Would Georgiana like her? Would she like Georgiana? Would she prefer London or Pemberley? Would he be sociable enough for her? Would they have the same tastes in food? Did she like to ride? Could he keep up with her wit? Was she an early riser? Would they be able to have children? And for that matter, would she enjoy the act that made children possible? (There was no question in his mind regarding his enjoyment.)

  The one question he had not considered was the most obvious question of all: would she accept him?

  Despite her many protests from the evening before, he had never really supposed that she meant to refuse him. She said she was not coy (and he did not think her anything like the many heartless debutantes of the Ton), but he had truly believed her hesitation was more ruse than reality. He had been so certain that her arguments against the marriage were her method of testing the depth of his feelings. Proud and vain as he was, he had never truly considered the idea that she had been expressing her doubts about him.

  Only now did he realize that he had not been listening to her. (Had she not accused him of that last night?) Perhaps she did not truly want to marry him, but had been unable to find a sensible way of refusing him while her family was in need. Bingley’s engagement to Miss Bennet would materially lessen that need.

  “Darcy?”

  Still silent, he studied Bingley, uncertain whether to despise him for dashing his hopes—good God, he really did care for her—or thank him for saving him the pain and humiliation of marrying a woman who did not want him as much as he wanted her.

  “I know you do not particularly care for the family,” Bingley said, “but I should hope you would support me.”

  “Do you need my approval?” he hedged.

  “No, but I should like to know I have it all the same,” Bingley replied, smiling ruefully.

  “Then…then you have it.”

  Bingley grinned and called for his horse while Darcy, who had also made a promise to visit Longbourn, remained exactly where he was.

  Chapter Ten

  “What is this?” Mr. Bennet asked, hobbling into the breakfast room. “My wife, awake before me? And on the morning after a ball?” The gentleman of the house settled into his chair, waving away Elizabeth’s attempt to aid him. “I must still be asleep. Either that, or Mr. Bingley proposed to Jane and is expected at any moment to obtain my permission.”

  Jane, who had been cradling her teacup for the last minute without taking a single sip (she had been too busy gazing dreamily out the window), nearly dropped the under-utilized piece of china.

  “Well! I have deduced the cause of this topsy-turvy situation, have I not?” Mr. Bennet smiled. “Pass me the potatoes, will you, Mrs. Bingley?”

  Mrs. Bennet stared at her oldest daughter. “Is it true?”

  Jane’s blush seemed confirmation enough.

  “Oh, my dear! Two proposals in such a short period of time!”

  Elizabeth caught her sister’s eye, and Jane said, “I am sorry, Lizzy, I wanted to tell you last night, but you seemed eager to retire—”

  “Two proposals?” Mr. Bennet asked, setting the tureen of potatoes onto the table with a thud. He gave Elizabeth a sharp look before turning to his third child. “Mary, are you getting married as well?”

  Not bothering to glance up from her book, the middle Bennet girl merely scowled.

  “Do not tease, Mr. Bennet! Not Mary! Lizzy! Mr. Collins asked for permission to speak with her this morning! We all know what that means! Is it not wonderful? Oh, and Jane, Jane! Mr. Bingley! Oh, the lace on your wedding gown—”

  Mr. Bennet held up a hand. “Lizzy, you cannot mean to—”

  “Oh yes, she can,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted. “Lizzy, remember what I said.”

  “Lizzy, whatever she said, ignore it.”

  “Thomas Bennet,” his wife warned with a glare. Then, turning to her daughter, she said, “If you do not marry Mr. Collins, I will never see you again!”

  “An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do. However, considering the circumstances, I suppose that is not much of a threat on my part, is it?”

  “Circumstances? What are you on about, Mr. Bennet? I cannot believe you would rather see her an old maid than become mistress of Longbourn.”

  “She would never be able to live up to your standards, my dear,” Mr. Bennet replied with a cutting smile.

  “Did I not tell you that your father is a dreadfully teasing man? I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you take it into your head to refuse this offer of marriage, you will never get a husband at all—”

  “A very tempting prospect, if this is what I am to expect of marriage,” Elizabeth said, causing her father to smile.

  “—and I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your father is dead,” Mrs. Bennet continued, wiping the smile off her husband’s face.

  A tension so thick settled over the family that no one knew what to say. No one, that is, except Mary, who had a talent for uttering the right thing at the wrong time: “We ought not speak ill of the dead.”

  “I am not dead yet!” Mr. Bennet declared, and he would have risen to his full height to prove his liveliness had their man, John, not come into the room and announced the arrival of Mr. Bingley.

  “He would like to speak with you privately, sir,” John added with a bright smile for Jane.

  “Did he come alone?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Why yes, Miss, he did.”


  “Why should he not come alone?” Mrs. Bennet asked as Elizabeth busied herself with her plate. “He would not be much of a suitor if he brought his sister with him on such an occasion!”

  Pushing himself out of his chair, Mr. Bennet gave Elizabeth a strange look before asking, “Well, Jane, should I accept him?”

  “I love him so, Papa!”

  “I will take that as a yes.”

  Mrs. Bennet waited until her husband had left the room to cry, “Oh, Jane! You have made me the happiest of mothers!” She then glanced at Elizabeth, which Elizabeth took to mean that she was a different matter altogether.

  “But when did he find time to propose to you?” Elizabeth asked as their mother ran to the other side of the table and threw her arms around her now-favorite daughter.

  “Last night,” Jane managed to say as Mrs. Bennet pressed kisses to her cheeks, “just after supper, he pulled me aside…”

  “That was very improper,” Mary declared.

  Jane was unable to stop smiling. “Yes, I know it was, but it was so very romantic.”

  “What was romantic?” Kitty asked, yawning as she made her way to the table. She was preceded by Lydia, who appeared far too sleepy to be aware of anything other than the tea placed in front of her.

  “Mr. Bingley has proposed to Jane!” Mrs. Bennet declared, returning to her seat, “and now Mr. Bingley is speaking with your father!”

  “Oh, Jane!” Kitty exclaimed. “May I be your bridesmaid?”

  “Bridesmaid?” Lydia asked, looking up from her cup. “He has not asked me to marry him yet, Kitty!”

  “Not you, Lydia! Jane!”

  The youngest Bennet frowned at her older sister. “Mr. Bingley has proposed already?”

  “Just last night!”

  “But I wanted to be the first to marry!”

  Mrs. Bennet clucked her tongue. “You will have your turn, Lydia, sure enough. Now, Jane, I want to hear exactly how it occurred.”

  “Well,” Jane said, leaning forward eagerly. “Just after supper, when we were leaving the dining room—we were amongst the last to leave, and Mr. Bingley had offered me his arm—we passed an open door. Quite suddenly, Charles—I mean, Mr. Bingley —”