To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  To Teach the Admiring Multitude

  Jane Austen’s

  Pride and Prejudice

  Continued

  Eleanor Wilton

  She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was a union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved; and from his judgement, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity was.

  Jane Austen

  Pride and Prejudice

  BOOK ONE

  Going on Charmingly

  Chapter 1

  A Walk to Oakham Mount

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at the foot of the staircase waiting for his bride to descend changed into travelling clothes and ready to depart for London.

  The wedding breakfast had concluded and he had been made to suffer relatively little mortification on the part of some of his bride’s less estimable relations and neighbours. He had certainly had to bear Sir William Lucas compliment him on carrying away the brightest jewel of the county on various occasions, but Mr. Darcy found that for the most part guests were more inclined to harass the morning’s other bridegroom, his far more affable friend, Charles Bingley. Nevertheless, it had all been borne easily enough, for he had learnt in the weeks of courtship to tolerate such behaviour with comparatively good composure and humour, if not always with smiling forbearance. Such temporary discomfort and the untiring civility required had certainly merited the effort to sustain. After all, on this day Miss Elizabeth Bennet had become his wife and as they began their life together far from Longbourn they would have time enough to cultivate the ease and comfort that had sometimes been lacking in the days of courtship.

  Lamentably, the last few weeks had been rather trying with so many tedious teas and dinners before the wedding. Mrs. Bennet had once proudly boasted of the four and twenty families with whom they dined and it seemed that in the last fortnight’s time they had been entertained by the entirety, each wishing to congratulate Elizabeth and her sister Jane on their engagements to two such notably eligible gentlemen. Throughout, Elizabeth had consistently and wordlessly attempted to shield him from some of her more boorish relations and neighbours. He regretted that she had felt it a necessary task, but was grateful nonetheless for her delicacy.

  Not all had been a proof of his civility. There had been as well many delightful and treasured moments when they were left to themselves and which had filled them both with joyful expectation for the time when they would be wed and removed from society so little pleasing to either.

  As Mr. Darcy’s eagerness for his bride’s arrival grew evident, he was begun to be the object of teasing for his impatience. Not a gentleman inclined to indulge unwelcome attentions, he stepped away to the window that looked out to the lane that turned at the end of the garden and led to Oakham Mount. As he gazed out into the late autumn morning, he recalled the morning when he had returned to Longbourn as Elizabeth’s accepted bridegroom and the family were yet in ignorance of their engagement.

  His back to the chattering gathering of people at the foot of the stairs awaiting his bride’s appearance, they could not observe the small, contented smile that lit his countenance as he recalled the enchanting walk to Oakham Mount filled with unguarded affection and free from the strains their past misapprehensions had imposed upon their former intercourse. And then, there had been that moment that he would forever cherish when Elizabeth had so simply declared herself and he had experienced such a powerful rush of pleasure and exhilaration.

  They had been walking together for some time down a hedge-trimmed lane at a leisurely pace. Elizabeth’s hand rested in the crook of Darcy’s arm and they were beginning to know what it was to be together as an engaged couple. It had seemed to them both that the clear, cool morning was perfectly suited to their desire for intimacy and calm that they might settle into their new understanding.

  “It occurred to me as I was so happily thinking about us last evening,” Mr. Darcy had said, “over the course of our acquaintance we have learned much about one another’s characters. We have a better understanding than many can boast upon becoming engaged, yet of our many small predilections we know very little.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Elizabeth had inquired.

  “Your favourite flower. I wondered what is your favourite flower and does it grow in Pemberley’s gardens? What is your favourite flower, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth stopped and turned to face him. She smiled, for the concern struck her as disarmingly sweet and solicitous. It surprised her. “Peonies,” she declared. “Their fragrance is so heady. When they are in full bloom, they seem to me so vibrant, so full of life.”

  “As are you,” replied Darcy, looking upon her with unmistakable affection and admiration.

  Realizing how rarely she had observed him with an expression so free of reserve, she had been enchanted and suddenly professed, “I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” her voice quiet, but earnest.

  He smiled as openly and tenderly as she had ever seen and his countenance glowed with a hitherto unknown joy at her spontaneous declaration. On the previous day when he had once again declared himself she had been too overcome, too embarrassed for equal expression and had not declared her affections so directly. Unlike in that moment of his renewed addresses, today she could look at him and did see how becoming were the feelings of profound happiness defused across his face.

  Indeed, the simple words and the quiet, confident manner in which she spoke them had flowed through him like a thrilling wave of joy. How obstinately he had resisted his attraction to her in those first weeks of acquaintance; thereafter their intercourse had been plagued with so much misunderstanding and disagreement, so many unprofessed confessions after finding each other in Derbyshire. To have it so easy between them now felt a precious, promising gift.

  He removed his hat, took one of her hands within his own and drew her near, bent his head to her and kissed her, embraced her. “Dearest Elizabeth.”

  She lifted her eyes to his and smiled. Blushing, to be sure, but all open, warm affection.

  “Do you give me leave to speak with your father this evening?” he inquired. “This one morning that we may be together unencumbered by the attention of others is quite sufficient for me. For my part I have no wish to keep our engagement private any longer.”

  “Nor have I,” Elizabeth replied, her expression growing troubled.

  “What concerns you? Do you believe your father will object?” asked Darcy, bemused by such a possibility, yet cognizant as well that the inimitability and independence with which she had so forcefully rejected his first, misbegotten proposal had in no small part been learnt from her singular father.

  “It is not that.” She paused, taking his hand within her own, lowering her gaze and toying nervously with the cuffs of his greatcoat. “Will you tell him all you did for my sister, Lydia?”

  “I will not,” he replied emphatically. “I do not wish for him to assume an obligation. Moreover, I would find it unseemly to speak of it whilst I am seeking his consent to our marriage. I leave it to your discretion to communicate all or some of the circumstances to him if you believe it necessary to do so, but I will not volunteer the information. Most certainly not at the moment I am seeking his consent. You must apprehend how it could appear.”

  Elizabeth sighed deeply in regret. “How openly did I speak to my family in those days when I did not understand you. How
I had misjudged you and how eagerly did I speak of how little I liked or esteemed you. I have been silent in my rectification even to Jane. How I regret my earlier expressiveness and my subsequent silence. I have shared only with Jane what passed between us in Kent and in Derbyshire. I am afraid my father will be entirely unprepared for your proposal and equally unprepared for my happy, grateful acceptance.”

  “His surprise will be no greater than that of most of our relations and acquaintances. There are few who have taken the trouble to observe us so closely. I have similarly only confessed to one person all that has passed between us. Before leaving Pemberley I did open my heart to my sister Georgiana but without sharing the entirety of our history. I am not concerned to learn you have kept your feelings private as well. I am rather more pleased than not.”

  “Pleased?”

  “I am not accustomed to exposing my deepest feelings lightly and with caprice. If our feelings were less precious they would be easier to expose to the scrutiny of others. Or so it seems to me.”

  “You are dearer to me with every passing moment,” she had replied with warmth.

  Smiling together they had continued to Oakham Mount, at every turn more grateful for the circumstances which had allowed them to correct past misapprehensions, seek and receive forgiveness, and claim the love and understanding that between them promised a connubial felicity that would be so strongly to the benefit of both.

  Now on the morning of their wedding, as Mr. Darcy stood at the window recalling that delightful, cherished walk, he smiled to himself in anticipation of the life they were to share and the companionship that was to be his.

  He felt a hand place itself gently upon his arm. He turned to see his sister Georgiana at his side, glowing with her own glad anticipation for the new sister she had gained. It was but another powerful reason for gratitude and optimism.

  “Brother, your bride is ready.”

  He turned immediately, looked up and beheld Elizabeth standing on the landing gazing at him, her fine eyes bright with affection and a smile illuminating her lovely countenance. He felt a rush of happiness as she descended the stairs to his side.

  “I am ready, Mr. Darcy.” With that Elizabeth was suddenly drowning in a sea of silks and dresses as sisters and friends and mother and aunts offered words of congratulations and farewell and they all moved as if on the current of a stream to the door, outside and to the waiting carriage. Mr. Darcy received his own share of the same, his new brother Bingley especially effusive in the discharge of congratulations. As the newly married Darcys were for London, whilst the Bingleys were to go directly to Netherfield not three miles away, the attention was now solely upon the Darcys.

  In the confusion of leave-taking, Mr. Darcy found Mr. Bennet and saw at once the elder gentleman’s conflicted sentiments to be saying farewell to his much beloved daughter. Indeed, the child who had so obviously been his solace in a domestic life so little gratifying as a whole.

  “Pemberley is open at your convenience, Mr. Bennet,” Darcy offered as they shook hands.

  “I will be sure to arrive when I am least expected,” replied Mr. Bennet with his usual drollness.

  Mr. Darcy sensed the man’s melancholy and was kind. “Sir, I would have you recall what I told you once before. I will unfailingly do all that is in my power to ensure Elizabeth’s happiness and peace of mind.”

  “I shall hold you to that, Mr. Darcy,” he affirmed with none of his customary irony.

  “You have my word.”

  Mr. Bennet smiled. He was unavoidably sorry for his daughter’s departure. He would miss her exceedingly, but he was satisfied with her choice. It had not been the case when they first sought his consent, but he had taken the effort to know better the gentleman who had so unexpectedly won the esteem of his favourite child. He had learnt that beneath the reserve and proud manner was as fine and honourable a gentleman as a father could ever wish for his daughter. He only wondered if that reserve would prove too great an encumbrance for his affectionate, warm-hearted daughter in their daily life.

  Mr. Darcy turned to his sister and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who would escort Georgiana back home to Pemberley, and finally walked to the carriage, waited patiently as Elizabeth said her own final farewell to her beloved sister and fellow bride, Jane, and at last to her father with tears welling.

  Mr. Bennet kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Be happy, my child,” was all he said.

  “That is certainly my intention, Papa.”

  “Go now, your husband is waiting.”

  Elizabeth smiled, nodded, embraced him once more and turned to Mr. Darcy. She came to his side and placed her hand into his as he helped her into the carriage. He followed. Sitting beside her he pressed her hand gently.

  “Shall we, Mrs. Darcy?”

  “Indeed we shall, Mr. Darcy.”

  The carriage pulled away and Elizabeth looked wistfully out the window at the slowly passing scenery of her life. She knew every structure, every lane, every bush, every turnstile, had walked the length and breadth of all they passed with assiduousness and pleasure. She did not know when she would see these environs again and for all her happiness and expectation could not escape a feeling of loss mingled with trepidation.

  Mr. Darcy leaned forward and took hold of a package that lay on the opposite seat. “Elizabeth,” he said bringing her attention back inside. “I have something for you.”

  “A gift?” she inquired with surprise as he placed the package in her hands.

  “Something to keep you warm and comfortable as we travel.”

  Unwrapping the package, she found inside a luxurious cashmere travel rug. She lifted it to her cheek and delighted in the extraordinary softness.

  “In deep winter it will not perhaps be sufficient, but it ought to be suitable now,” he continued, suddenly self-conscious.

  Elizabeth unfolded the blanket and gasped in admiration and surprise. In the centre it was embellished with a finely embroidered floral motif of peonies and ivy, in the heart of which stood the initials ‘ED’. She caressed the contours of the letters, lingered on the sweeping curves of the ‘D’. She lifted her face to his, so close to her own in the tight confines of the carriage.

  “I am grateful that you should think of my smallest comfort. Peonies. Is this why you asked?”

  He shrugged his shoulder; made no reply.

  “And then, ‘ED’.”

  “Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.”

  She smiled, her eyes bright with joy. “I believe I shall be very happy as Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.”

  He gazed at her lovingly, silently, and a small, expressive smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

  “I am tired,” Elizabeth declared quietly. Overcome at last by the emotions of the day, by the sometimes taxing civilities of the season of courtship, she rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes as he gathered her hand into his own. As the carriage moved at a smooth, quick pace towards London and their new life together, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was sure he had never before known such a joyful expectation for the future.

  Chapter 2

  As Only Husband and Wife Ought

  Mr. and Mrs. Darcy arrived in London and entered into the house on Portman Square[1] to find the household staff assembled to congratulate the master and welcome the new mistress. As they removed their outerwear and Elizabeth passed a rapid, encompassing gaze across the sizeable, handsome entrance hall—the rich blue-papered walls, the sweeping staircase, the fine furnishings perfectly placed—and saw the smartly uniformed staff dutifully at attention, she silently reflected on the extraordinary reality of her new situation. She had no time to indulge such wonderment. Standing beside and slightly behind her, with his customary calm, authoritative demeanour, Mr. Darcy presented the staff to her, declared his expectations of them; throughout the introductions his hand lingered at her waist with a new assurance. Although when she spoke a few words herself her voice indicated no perturbation of spirit, she felt a thrilling energy
emanating from the weight of his lingering hand.

  Now again as he helped her to her seat at the table, so elegantly but simply laid for their meal, his fingers brushed softly over her shoulder and across her back as he moved away and took his own seat at the head of the table. She flushed with an invigorating amalgam of expectation and nervousness.

  They sat together occupying the corner of the table and as he took his napkin and laid it upon his lap, she blushed unexpectedly. The entire day, since the moment of meeting at the church, they had shared a delightful, heartening easiness between them. Yet suddenly, just as the servants began to pour the wine, Elizabeth was forcefully aware that her life was now at his side. She was now Mrs. Darcy, a wife, the mistress of a distinguished estate and a house in town, and all that it implied for both the private and the public rushed through her with a dizzying swiftness.

  Once before she had felt a similar apprehension—when she had sat in her father’s library to learn the details of the marriage settlement. Until that moment she had confidently held to the assertion she had so forcefully conveyed to Mr. Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, that as a gentleman’s daughter she was entirely Mr. Darcy’s equal. Whilst between them they had let alone without further expiation the ill-conceived sentiments expressed during his unfortunate Hunsford proposal, as well as the disapprobation in some quarters to their engagement, Elizabeth’s uneasiness would rise at the clear, business-like discussion of his worth in pounds and pence. Nothing revealed during the discussion of the settlement was surprising, yet the reality of their disparate circumstances, the insignificance of her own material situation, had left her feeling, for the first time in their history, inferior. The stark truth that she brought only her charms to their union was manifested in a most discomfiting manner.