by Jann Rowland
“That is good news,” said Elizabeth. I had worried about Lady Catherine’s actions, for her opposition would continue to muddy the waters if nothing else. However, I believe you have activated Lady Catherine’s desperation by informing her, so it would be prudent for you to take care.”
“I shall,” said William. “Neither Lady Catherine nor anyone else will cheat me from heart’s desire.”
“Then I suppose there is no choice but to wait until matters improve,” said Elizabeth with a sigh.
“There is one other possibility,” said William.
Elizabeth shot him a searching look, which William took as an invitation to explain. “Come away with me, Elizabeth. Let us go to Gretna this very afternoon and we shall be wed. Then your father and mine must accept it or we will retire to Blackfish Bay.”
“Elope?” gasped Elizabeth. “Can you imagine the scandal if a daughter of the Arundel barony and the eldest son of the Darcy family were to flout all propriety and steal away to Scotland?”
“I care nothing for their gossip or their disapproval,” declared William. “We shall achieve our happiness; that is all that matters.”
It was tempting—oh, so tempting. The thought of being bound to William without the possibility of anyone ever separating them again was the fondest wish of Elizabeth’s dreams, and she came near to accepting at once.
But the thought of her father’s disappointment, her brother’s bewilderment, her family’s disapproval all gave her pause. Jane, in particular, would be affected by her actions, as would Mary, both of whom were engaged to good men. Could she throw the relationships with all her family away in so selfish a manner? Elizabeth could not fathom it. There must be some other way to have what her heart desired without putting herself before the needs and desires of so many.
“Nothing would please me so much as to be your wife forever,” said Elizabeth, gazing up into his well-loved face. “But I cannot do this to all my family—at least until we have exhausted all other options.”
William chuckled. “It was my suspicion you might say that. Though Bingley suggested it would be agreeable to him to have me as a brother, I suppose he must wait.”
It was impossible for Elizabeth to avoid laughing at this characterization of Mr. Bingley. “It seems my sister’s suitor is turning into quite the wolf in sheep’s clothing. What would my father say if he should learn of his future son-in-law’s betrayal?”
“Bingley does not consider it a betrayal,” replied William. “And I think it would not cause him an instant of distress. As the engagement is public and, from what I understand, the articles already signed, there is nothing your father could do other than allow the wedding to go forward. Given what I know of the baron, I think he might find it a great joke.”
“In that, you may be correct,” said Elizabeth with a laugh. “My father’s sense of humor is enough that he would see the ridiculousness in it once his offense had dimmed.”
“Let me inform you, Elizabeth,” said William, as he leaned forward to kiss her forehead, “I wish for nothing more than to give you everything in the world, including a wedding without equal in all recorded history. But if I have no other choice, I should rather have you for a wife through the auspices of the blacksmith in Gretna Green than to live without you.”
“I feel the same,” whispered Elizabeth, overcome with emotion. Trying to keep the happy tears at bay, Elizabeth willed her emotions to allow her to speak again, and when they did, she managed to say: “But I should prefer not to take that step unless there is no other option. Let us give our families time, William—with recent events, I think they will come to accept us.”
“I shall abide by your wishes,” replied William. “Know, however, that you have only to say the word and I shall whisk you away to Gretna and ensure nothing will ever separate us again.”
Having resolved that question between them, they stayed in that attitude for several moments longer, enjoying each other’s company. Elizabeth, though she was loath to confess it, was storing up the memory of his presence to sustain her through the expected long days without his company. The mere thought almost prompted her to agree to his proposal then and there, but in some manner, she prevented herself from speaking. When they separated, it was with great reluctance on both their parts. Perhaps Mr. Bingley would continue to be a willing intermediary, for even the occasional letter would be preferable to the loss of all contact.
When Elizabeth pried herself away from Mr. Darcy’s company, she thought to wander a little longer, preparing herself to meet her party again. As she had been with the gentleman for some time, however, she decided instead to make her way back to their picnic site.
As she stepped into the clearing, Elizabeth shook her head clear of thoughts of Mr. Darcy. Then she heard the sound of a large splash, mixed with the roar of the river, along with the scream of her most beloved sister. The horror would haunt her dreams for days and weeks after.
“Thomas!”
Casting about wildly, Elizabeth noted her sister running toward the river. In an instant, she followed Jane to see a horrifying sight: Thomas’s dark jacket bobbing in the river as the boy struggled to keep his head above water. Elizabeth moved forward, intent upon jumping into the water after her brother.
Then the most wondrous sight she had ever beheld presented itself before her eyes. From the woods further on down the river, Mr. Darcy burst from the foliage and jumped into the water. As the boy swept past him, he reached out and caught hold of Thomas’s jacket and held fast.
The water was high and strong, pushing against the gentleman, darkening Mr. Darcy’s jacket up to his chest, even along the edge of the river, and as he struggled to maintain his footing, Elizabeth could see him slip more than once on the slick rocks on the riverbed. Then Mr. Bingley, who had been further from the edge of the river, along with Mr. Collins, rushed down along the edge of the bank, throwing themselves in the water when they reached William, and the three men, using each other to maintain their balance and footing, forced their way to the bank.
“That is it,” said Mr. Bingley, panting but grasping the nearby branch of a tree to steady himself. “Out you go, Master Thomas.”
Elizabeth had moved to the point along the stream where the gentlemen were attempting to climb from the river, Mary appearing by her side with a picnic blanket held in one hand. And the gentlemen passed one soaked and bedraggled little boy up to the waiting arms of the ladies.
When he was safe within their grasp, the four sisters hovered around him, drying him with the blanket as much as they could. Though warm for spring, the weather was still cold when one was soaked through, as evidenced by Thomas’s uncontrollable shivering.
“Let us get him out of these wet clothes,” said Elizabeth, beginning to strip off his jacket.
While the gentlemen pulled themselves from the frigid water, the sisters undressed their brother, leaving him in his smallclothes, but wrapping him in a second blanket. At length, Thomas’s shivering lessened and he settled. The men seemed affected in the same manner as the young boy, but as they were not wet from head to toe, it appeared they were better able to withstand the effects of their impromptu swim.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” whispered Elizabeth to the man she loved, every bit of her heart contained within her eyes. “You have saved my brother, and for that, I can never repay you.”
“This is Mr. Darcy?” demanded Thomas, gazing at the gentleman with such a look of wonder that it set them all to chuckling. “He does not appear to be a scoundrel like our father says.”
This time open laughter met his declaration, though Mr. Darcy contented himself with stepping forward and clasping the boy’s hand.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your service, Master Bennet. I have never considered myself a scoundrel, though I suppose those who do not know me might disagree.”
“What are you doing here?” asked Thomas.
Though William’s eyes flicked to Elizabeth for a brief instant, she thought m
ost of the rest of the party did not see it. “It seems fortunate that I was nearby, Thomas, for I was in the perfect position to reach you when you fell into the river. Now, will you give me your promise you will take great care around rivers from this time forward?”
Thomas gave him a solemn nod. “I shall. I have no desire to be swept away, never to see my sisters again.”
“Excellent!” said William. “Now, perhaps it would be for the best if you returned home and acquired dry clothing. It would be best if I did the same.”
The company all agreed they had seen enough excitement for one day, and Elizabeth’s sisters began to make their way back toward the carriages. Mr. Collins, seeing the difficulty Thomas had in walking, swept him up in his arms and carried him, while Mr. Bingley shook William’s hand, offering his own thanks. Elizabeth saw all of this only peripherally, for her focus was on William to the exclusion of all others.
When Mr. Bingley turned and made his way back himself, Elizabeth even ignored the wink with which he favored her. Once alone, Elizabeth burrowed herself into his breast heedless of his wet state, wondering at having attracted this wonderful man’s affection.
“Though I think the image will be fetching,” said he, a rumbling chuckle in his breast, “I believe you should return too, Elizabeth, for your dress is wet. The picture you present is not one I would wish any man to see, and I would not have you catch your death of cold.”
“Thank you, William,” said Elizabeth, pulling away and sharing a watery smile with him. “A can never repay what you have done here today in saving my brother.”
“Repayment is not what I desire. The only thing I desire is you.”
“And you shall have me before long,” replied Elizabeth with a grin. “I shall make sure of it.”
Then she curtseyed and turned to join her family, her heart full of love. Never had she been so certain of her choice as she was now.
Chapter XXXI
Henry Bennet, Baron of Arundel was a man not given much to introspection. While a quiet man, one who enjoyed books and port in equal measure, he also did not second-guess himself much, being, at heart, confident in his position, his intelligence, and his sense. Arundel well understood his own foibles; more apt to laugh at those about him and tend to his own affairs, he also possessed a streak of pride in his family name and history and possessed little patience for the foolish.
At present, however, Arundel was feeling more than a little foolish himself. For weeks, his cousin, his most intelligent daughter, and even other members of society including the earl in their community had been urging him to mend fences with the Darcy family and allow the difficulties between them to rest. But the familiar was a comfortable place to be, and there was little more familiar to the Bennet family than that the Darcy family were proud and disagreeable, untrustworthy and false. And yet the Darcy family’s eldest son had saved Arundel’s own heir from injury if not death.
Thomas seemed to be none the worse for wear despite his experience. Once outfitted in dry clothes, his heir had been more than eager to recite the story of his rescuer’s bravery, the tale becoming more embellished with every telling, than to take to his bed or submit to his mother’s worried ministrations. Ah, for the resiliency of youth! Arundel could do with a bit of Thomas’s youthful vigor, when he felt nothing like a respected baron, more like a foolish old man.
When matters had settled an hour after luncheon and the boy was sent to bed—for the excitement gave way to exhaustion after a time of repeating his tale—Arundel sent for Elizabeth. There was a certain task he knew he needed to perform, but he was loath to do it until he had spoken with Elizabeth and heard her account of the events of the morning.
“Well, Lizzy,” said he when his daughter was seated in his study, “it seems you have had some excitement this morning.”
“Yes, we have,” was Elizabeth’s quiet reply.
“My gratitude for Mr. Darcy’s presence is beyond what I can express, though I will confess I cannot account for it. One might think a most beloved daughter, whom I instructed with no possibility of misunderstanding to avoid a certain gentleman, somehow found a way to ignore her father’s strictures.”
When Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, Arundel raised a hand and chuckled. “Do not concern yourself, Daughter, for I have no intention of accusing you of any wrongdoing. Given the few pointed words Bingley spoke to me after your return, I suspect he was the author of Mr. Darcy’s presence. I must give Bingley credit, for he has proven himself to be more a lion than the puppy I made him out to be, or at least he is when he feels he has good cause. Given his actions—and those of his friend—have resulted in the continued good health of my son, it would seem ungrateful to me to take him to task, would it not?”
“I am also grateful Mr. Darcy was there,” replied Elizabeth. “His actions relieved me of the need to follow my brother into the river, for there was no one else close enough to assist and Jane cannot swim.”
“Then I am doubly grateful to the gentleman.” Arundel paused and fixed his daughter with a look, though of some nonchalance. “Might I also assume you saw and spoke to Mr. Darcy before Thomas’s adventure?”
Elizabeth’s blush told Arundel all he needed to know, though she attempted to explain: “I had no notion of seeing him there. When he presented himself as I walked, I could not refuse to acknowledge him.”
With a laugh, Arundel allowed it to be so. “No, I suppose you could not at that. I know little of these Darcys as individuals, and I will confess I have been proven shortsighted, given the events of the morning, but it seems your Mr. Darcy is a man of honor.”
“Mr. Darcy is among the most honorable men I know, Papa,” replied Elizabeth. “If Mr. Bingley is a good man—and he is—do you not think he would choose to surround himself with other good men as friends?”
Again, Arundel chuckled at the continued evidence of his daughter’s intelligence. “That is not an aspect I considered, though I must submit to your good sense. I hope the elder Darcy is the man his son has established himself to be, for your sake, Lizzy.”
Arundel could see the hope well up in Elizabeth even as she said: “What do you mean, Papa?”
“It is my thought, Lizzy, that the older we grow, the more obstinate, stubborn, and set in our ways we become. I am more than willing to own to my fair share of these traits myself. Thus, the most likely obstacle to your union with Mr. Darcy is the man’s father.”
Tears welled up in his beloved daughter’s eyes. “You mean to support us?”
“Of course, I do.” Arundel grasped Elizabeth’s hand. “How could I not? It is clear that you love the young man and will not live without him. Logic, therefore, dictates that I must give way, or lose you, for I doubt you will be content to continue on this course for long. And if that sounds like an old man selfishly refusing to give up the company of his daughter, then I will own to it without disguise.”
“Oh, Papa,” said Elizabeth through happy tears.
“I want nothing more than your happiness, my dear. Please forgive a foolish old man for only remembering this after so serious an event as that which happened this morning.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Papa,” said Elizabeth.
“Forgiveness is required, I think, and I thank you for offering it without reserve.” Arundel paused, his thoughts going down another path which might not be so easy. “This, however, depends on Mr. Darcy, Lizzy, for if he takes it into his head to oppose your union with his son, matters will still be difficult.”
“Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam Darcy that is—possesses his own estate which he did not inherit through his father,” ventured Elizabeth.
“Your discussions have proceeded to that point, have they?” asked Lord Arundel, giving his daughter a smile. When she confirmed it, he said: “Then that removes the problem of the gentleman being unable to support you. Might I suppose the estate is not a large one?”
“It is not, Papa, but we shall be well enough if it comes to th
at.”
With a nod, Arundel replied: “With your dowry added, you will be comfortable, though it will not be the Darcy legacy. Then again, if what I suspect of your young man is true, it is very possible he will simply create a new Darcy legacy.”
“I believe, Papa, we will set our minds and create a new family situation for ourselves if we must. Then again, I imagine we would do that at Pemberley too, should his father accept me.”
“True,” replied Arundel. “Then I would ask you to leave it to me, Elizabeth. I shall do what I can to persuade your future father-in-law of the inevitable. Know, regardless, that you have my permission and blessing.”
Elizabeth rose and with great affection embraced him, which Arundel returned without hesitation. Seeing her so happy after she had been so despondent these last days—and had hidden it so well for the sake of her family—was a balm to his old heart.
“Thank you, Papa.”
“It is the least I can do, Elizabeth. Now, get along with you, for I have a call I must make.”
When Elizabeth departed, Arundel squared his shoulders and set about his task. There was little point in delaying, and every reason to act as soon as may be. It seemed his daughter’s happiness depended on his ability to convince his neighbor to reconcile.
Robert Darcy was a man who was feeling far too much glee at the prospect of his old nemesis visiting Pemberley, though the situation had been reversed only a few short days ago. His son, Fitzwilliam Darcy, who sat by his father in his study, waiting for the baron to attend them, watched his father for signs of the pride which afflicted every member of the Darcy family—in this, the Bennets were not incorrect. His father would remember his manners soon enough, but it may not be before he offended the baron, an incident Darcy intended to prevent if he could.
