As Mr. Gardiner had directed him to do, Mr. Darcy returned to Gracechurch Street the next day. He came on horseback, though there was a very light rain—for nobody so in love as himself could be expected to bear the restriction of a carriage. When he ascended the steps, he was aware of how odd he must look—with hair damp and clothes sprinkled with rain. Yet he was too determined; his purpose could no longer be delayed.
The family was all gathered in the drawing room. For the first time since he had met her, Elizabeth looked tired. Her eyes were swollen, as though she had slept very little—yet when she saw him, she smiled so sincerely that his courage rose.
“Good morning,” Mr. Darcy said, bowing slightly to the master and mistress of the house.
“How do you do?” Mrs. Gardiner said. “I am delighted at last to be at home for your visit, for my husband told me this morning that my niece and I have missed you the last three times you have called.”
This information was evidently new to Elizabeth, for she turned toward Mr. Darcy in some surprise. “Indeed? When was this?”
“About a week ago,” Mr. Darcy replied, “and again three days ago. Once more yesterday.”
“Oh,” she said softly, turning away. He believed he saw her blush, and he smiled to himself.
Mrs. Gardiner rose to her feet. “I am sorry, however, to say that I cannot stay. I promised Mrs. Elm that I would come to her house today to taste her cured meat. However, I know that Eliza would be happy to see you, and therefore I pray you would not shorten your stay on my account. I may return,” she added, “before you are gone away.”
Elizabeth watched her aunt away with a look of mild alarm, and when her aunt’s departure was shortly followed by Mr. Gardiner’s walking to another part of the room and looking for a book, she turned to Mr. Darcy with so charming an expression on her beautiful face that he could not help smiling again.
“I did not know you called yesterday,” she said. “I was at home, but I was not well.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Mr. Darcy replied, and his smile faded. “Are you better today?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied. He could see how she was attempting to act like her usual self, despite the obvious distress she was under. “I am sure I shall be well before long, if I am not perfectly well now.”
“I do not believe the book we were talking of is here, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Gardiner suddenly said. “It must be in the library. Would you be so kind as to excuse me?”
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder as he left, and when she turned back to Mr. Darcy, she appeared to notice his looks for the first time. “Does it rain?”
Mr. Darcy self-consciously brushed a hand over his wind-tousled hair. “A little,” he replied. “Perhaps it was unwise to ride here.”
The lady smiled. “I certainly should not have ridden in the rain, if a carriage were an option.”
“Yet I understood it to be beneficial exercise,” Mr. Darcy said, and he was rewarded with a laugh, tired though it was.
“I am surprised to see that you came so far to call on us, Mr. Darcy, for I know that I am no longer in a neighborhood that is convenient for you to visit.” She looked away from him as she spoke, and Mr. Darcy began to understand some of the embarrassment she had been lately showing.
“Oh, that is nothing at all,” he replied. “I hardly think a ride through town inconvenient.”
“Yet I know your regular connections cannot bring you to Cheapside,” she pressed.
How her earlier words had haunted him, when she had said she would vastly prefer a person who would dance with her despite all her connections. He longed to prove to her that this was exactly the man he was—that his admiration of her had nothing to do with the Radcliffe family. In fact, his brief acquaintance with Lord Norwich had proved that her opinions on the matter were exactly right. She was wise not to value that which had no substance above that which did. For his own part, he would never think well of that family again.
“Perhaps that was true formerly,” he replied, “but I have learned that a person’s address is of very little consequence. Good connections and bad can be found in any part of town.”
She smiled. “Have you learned that?”
“Yes,” he said, “and sometimes the very best of people can be found in every part of town—changing from month to month.”
Now her eyes were brighter, and she said, “That is an odd observation, sir. What makes you think of it?”
“Recent experience,” he replied.
“I suppose it must make some difference, however, that those in one part of town have certain advantages—fortune, for instance—which others do not.”
“I cannot agree with you,” he said. “She who is worthy in one part of town is not less worthy in another, regardless of fortune.”
Elizabeth drew in a breath, holding his gaze with such close attention that for a moment he was almost too enchanted to speak. Her beauty could overwhelm him one moment, and propel him to act in the next.
“You must allow me to speak plainly to you,” Mr. Darcy said. “I had not a single thought of matrimony, Miss Bennet, until I met you. I was overwhelmed by my duties, absorbed by my own concerns, never considering the thoughts or feelings of any other person. One so sympathetic as you can never understand the depths of my selfishness then—nor the change that you initiated in me. From you, I have learned that there is a better way of living. I have learned that I can be happy—and what is better—that perhaps I can make you happy, as well. How I long to do so.”
While he spoke, the lady began shaking her head. “Sir, lest you speak in haste, you ought to know that I am no longer acknowledged by my stepmother. Circumstances in that quarter…” But she paused, evidently too exhausted to attempt to explain that which she did not realize he, in fact, already knew.
“I am sorry,” Mr. Darcy said, “exceedingly sorry, that so unjust a circumstance should befall you—but it has no bearing on my feelings, nor my wishes. I have loved you for many weeks, Miss Bennet. A man who changes his mind would not deserve you, and I am not a man who changes his mind.”
Elizabeth finally met his eyes, and her artless response of, “Really?” was so irresistibly sweet that Mr. Darcy came to her at once, taking her hands in his.
“You are perfect to me,” he said. “And I will tell you what I think of your connections, as well. You have an aunt and uncle who are highly respectable, generous people. A sister whose principles rival only your own. And, most of all, the sense to know what a good connection is, and to position yourself among the very best of people. I hope,” he added, “that you, whose judgment is impeccable, will come to consider me a person not unworthy of the same good opinion you have granted to them.”
“You have my good opinion,” she said with fierce honesty, and the broad smile he then gave her must have convinced her of how important to him her opinion truly was.
There was nothing left to the business but that he should offer his hand, and that she should accept, and this was done with so little hesitation on the part of either as convinced them both that their love, so long kept in suspense by distance and discrepancy of station, had withstood any trial their circumstances, families, and friends had subjected it to. In fact, Mr. Darcy had hoped to confess his love for her her much sooner, but had found it very difficult to secure an audience with her.
He said, “It has long been important to me to see you as often as I could. I was sorry when you went to the Campbells that we were no longer in the same circle of friends, yet I was hopeful that if you continued to hint to me of your whereabouts, I would be able to meet you in town.”
“Had I known more of the Campbells’ plans for us, I daresay this would have been a good method,” she replied.
“Yes,” he said, “for I cannot tell you how many concerts I attended hoping to find you there, and never with any success.”
Elizabeth laughed heartily at this, and though he was slightly discomfited at being teased, he was mostly pleased.<
br />
“My methods may have been odd,” he admitted. “Yet, are not all people odd in some way or other?”
She smiled broadly at the memory of her own words. “Why should you say so?”
“I must have heard it somewhere,” he replied.
“We ought to do a better job of forgetting what each other has said before,” Elizabeth replied, laughing. “A good memory in some cases is unpardonable.”
“Yet if it makes you laugh, what can be the harm?” he returned.
“I am glad you think so,” she replied, “for I love to laugh.”
The Gardiners returned home delighted to find their niece engaged to Mr. Darcy. Even the children, though too young to understand what was happening, were pleased to see their cousin laughing again. Mr. Gardiner, for his part, had kept the gentleman’s affection for his niece—disclosed to him about a week before—secret from his family out of respect for his wishes. Mr. Darcy was now able to declare openly, with great happiness, that he was truly delighted to make permanent his connection to a family whom he now acknowledged was perfectly deserving. He departed for the day with promises to return on the morrow, and Elizabeth’s first business upon his departure was to call on Miss Watson and share her happy news with her.
“Good heavens! Lizzy, can it be true?” Miss Watson cried, holding her dearest girl’s hands as she learned of her very good fortune in securing one of the most eligible men in London to be her husband.
“Yes, we are to be married,” Elizabeth said. “I know you shall like him, Miss Watson, for he is so very good. His opinions and interests are just what they ought to be. Moreover, he has said that my standing in my family makes no difference to him, and he would marry me with no connections at all.”
This comment confused Miss Watson, and Elizabeth realized that she had not yet had an opportunity to share with her former governess the events of yesterday. She did so now, and when she finished, Miss Watson was shaking her head vehemently.
“No, Lizzy. That cannot be true. I am very certain that your father never consented to any such thing.”
“Lady Sarah said—”
“Lady Sarah lies, Lizzy. Have not you long known that she has no qualms about being dishonest, where it serves her purposes? She has never spoken of such a thing to her husband, and he would be horrified were she even to suggest it.” This was a great departure from the respect Miss Watson had always shown toward Lady Sarah, and Elizabeth began to perceive that her stepmother’s position of absolute authority in her own family may be changing at last.
In a softer voice, Miss Watson continued, “Dearest Lizzy, do not you know how much your father loves you? He does not always oppose his wife as perhaps he ought to do when her plans are unjust, but for you he would exert himself when he would for no other reason. You must be deceived, Elizabeth. There is simply no possibility of the family truly throwing you off. Your father would never allow it.”
Miss Watson was so certain that Elizabeth began to doubt Lady Sarah’s words herself. In the high emotions of the previous weeks, she had been apt to expect the worst—but there was too much truth to Miss Watson’s words to remain in a state of deception. Perhaps it was truly an outburst of Lady Sarah’s, spontaneous and reckless in nature, that had resulted in the horrible proclamation under which Elizabeth had suffered for the past four and twenty hours. Being now much happier than she had been in recent memory, having the security of a temporary home with her beloved aunt and uncle, and the promise of a future in which she would never again be without a home, she found it unlikely that her stepmother’s words were the result of any premeditated conversation with Mr. Bennet. She was probably so angry that she spoke out without realizing what she said.
Elizabeth returned home to Gracechurch Street so light of heart that she was feeling charitable to all. She would pen a letter to Jane, of course—and how delighted her sister would be! Never more should she worry about marrying someone she did not love, for Elizabeth could now afford to provide a comfortable home for all her sisters, should she ever need to.
Elizabeth even had sympathy for Miss Whipple, whose desperation to become the wife of Lord Norwich had led to her to behave in a manner that Elizabeth did not believe was consistent with her true character. She would be sure, if ever she was in Lady Radcliffe’s presence again, to mention Miss Juliana Whipple as a most deserving young woman. This would not be a lie, for Elizabeth was not quite so charitable toward her friend that she could avoid thinking Miss Whipple and Lord Norwich deserved each other.
With amusement, Elizabeth recalled an earlier carriage ride when she had reflected on marriage in a very different light. Now, she was certain that the marriage state she was to enter would be far happier than any of her earlier imaginings had been. With Mr. Darcy, she would not lose her freedom. Rather, she would gain so reliable, steady, and worthy a partner as would benefit her and all who knew her forever.
In the weeks that followed, it was revealed that all was just as Elizabeth had surmised. Mr. Bennet had had no idea of his wife’s treachery toward his favorite daughter, and when he learned of it via a letter sent express from Mr. Gardiner, he told his wife in no uncertain terms that she was never to visit Elizabeth again without himself present. He then wrote a very long letter to Elizabeth in explanation for what had passed—but he found it so difficult to put into words all he felt that he ultimately decided against sending it, and instead he rode to London himself to make amends for Lady Sarah’s horrible behavior. There, he had the great pleasure of finding his daughter much better than the account Mr. Gardiner had given of her. When he learned the reason for this improvement, his joy was complete—for not only had he no longer any reason to worry for his daughter’s future, he now had the pleasure of sharing this happy report with his wife. He was confident that nothing less than a very prosperous marriage could reconcile Lady Sarah to her stepdaughter. Though Elizabeth was quite justified in never condescending to see her stepmother again, he was pleased to find that Lady Sarah ceased to speak ill of her. If his first wish was to see Elizabeth safe and happy, his second was still for the domestic peace of his household.
“I knew she would not throw herself away,” Lady Sarah said when Mr. Bennet broke it to her. “I knew she had something in mind. I could not comprehend why she would not marry Lord Norwich, save that she must have loved this—what is his name?”
“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Mr. Bennet replied. His wife, having met him at the doorway upon his return from London—eager to restore his good opinion of herself by whatever means she could deploy—now went inside the house, still speaking vaguely about her foresight in predicting Elizabeth’s prosperity. Mr. Bennet stayed behind her, giving the horse to a servant before wandering behind the house to the garden where he often came when he missed his second-eldest daughter. The memory of her playing there as a girl filled his mind, and he was exceedingly proud of her. “Mrs. Darcy,” he said softly to himself. “How well that sounds.”
Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were married, and when Elizabeth removed to her new home at Pemberley, she was delighted to have the power of bringing Jane with her. For her part, Jane had not been nearly as unhappy at home after Elizabeth’s engagement to Mr. Darcy had been discovered. Mr. Bennet, feeling guilty for the passivity that had allowed Lady Sarah’s behavior to get as bad as it had done, would not allow any mistreatment of his eldest daughter, and his wife—either through increased happiness, fear of her husband, or some other motivation—had readily complied with her husband’s wishes. Yet Jane dearly missed her sister, and Elizabeth’s wish of having Jane by her side for the pleasure of both was enhanced by her belief that, through the society her marriage afforded, she would be able to find for Jane a better husband than anybody Lady Sarah might have selected. Elizabeth’s first criterion would be love, and if there was a man who also had a good fortune, all the better. Perhaps one day, Jane might meet with a gentleman among Mr. Darcy’s acquaintances who fit the purpose exactly.
Elizabet
h’s home was happy, at last. She loved making her home at Pemberley, assisting her husband in his decisions, and providing a pleasant repose for both her sister and his—for as soon as Elizabeth was established in Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy’s sister Georgiana came to live there, as well. The only alloy to Elizabeth’s joy was that she was far away from her oldest friend—her beloved governess, Miss Watson. Yet her marriage to so rich and important a man was infinitely gratifying to the woman who, for all Elizabeth’s life, had pronounced the value of such blessings to her. Miss Watson and the younger girls loved calling on Mrs. Darcy in Berkeley Square whenever she came to town.
Yet nobody’s pleasure was greater than that of the Gardiners and the Darcys when they were together. That the family with such importance and so many high connections should be intimate with one living in Cheapside was perhaps a small oddity, but to each of the families, the connection brought endless sources of happiness. Though one couple was young and the other old, one from nobility and the other in trade, they proved by their friendship that many oft-coveted blessings cannot compare to the steadiness of principle and the warmth of love.
The End.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear reader,
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Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth Page 30
