Darcy's Tale, Volume III_The Way Home

by Stanley Michael Hurd

  “There is not the slightest need,” he answered. “I swear it to you, on my honour. In truth, it almost seems more my fault, when one realises that any one I love is bound to fall prey to Wickham’s lies. It is my fate, I am convinced it is. But I have hopes that he will now no longer be able to impose so freely on others.”

  “Do you think, then, he will be genuinely steadied by his marriage to my sister?” she asked, her surprise but poorly concealed.

  “No, not precisely,” he admitted. “I have taken certain steps to ensure he will do right by her, and by your family…” he smiled and said with a certain satisfaction, “now my family, too—although at the time I had no idea of that ever being possible. It gives me even more reason to be pleased with the measures I have put in place.”

  “Whatever have you done?” asked she.

  Darcy supplied a summary of how he had managed Wickham, omitting entirely the violence associated with the campaign, emphasising the financial arrangements, and the provisions for keeping track of him. Elizabeth was aghast. “You have done all this! I heard from my aunt that you had paid his debts and purchased his commission, but I had no idea of the extent of it! How can we ever repay you?” She seemed quite seriously distressed.

  Darcy took her hand in his, saying, “First, bringing Wickham to justice was something I was going to be forced to do at some time or other; this merely provided a sufficiently exigent reason to do so. And second, we is now you and me, Elizabeth; had I had any inkling that the one would lead to the other, I would have stopped at nothing to bring it off, and I would have been a hundred-fold more eager in the pursuit of its execution. And,” he went on more practically, “in all honesty, I seriously doubt it will be necessary to keep the men on too very long; I shall have one of them, Corporal Sands, at Lambton from now on as constable, and after a time, a periodic foray to let Wickham catch sight of him as a reminder, should be all that is required.”

  They carried on in this manner for miles, drawing forth all their transgressions for the mutual benefit and pleasure of being forgiven and of being able to forgive. Which one felt the most culpable for their history of mischief and misconstruction might be argued, but by the time the afternoon was gone, they had forgiven each other every misunderstanding several times over, and laughed over most of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On their return to Longbourn, Elizabeth went to directly her room to change, leaving Darcy in the drawing-room with Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Bennet was silent, as was his wont, although he glanced curiously in Darcy’s direction. Mrs. Bennet was engrossed in conversation with his friend, so there could be no occasion for Darcy to speak to Bingley about what had transpired. When Elizabeth came down with her elder sister, her father asked quite pointedly where she had been, and the query was echoed by the rest; Darcy saw her conscious blush as she made her halting excuses, but no one else seemed to notice it, or to be overly concerned by their long absence; it was a delicious sensation to share her consciousness without any one else being the wiser. As they all sat down to dinner immediately though, the topic was soon forgotten.

  Later that evening, Darcy sat quietly in a corner in a highly bemused state, trying with little success to bring some degree of tranquillity to the great perturbation in his mind, and to accept his astoundingly good fortune. He glanced often Elizabeth’s way, and was rewarded more often than not by a secret smile, and a long, warm, open look. The room before him was full of light and colour, in a way he had never before experienced; he was in a mood of charity and sympathy with each and every member of the company, rejoicing most especially in the good humour and happiness of his friend—soon to be his brother! —and Miss Bennet. Often he found himself wanting to smile: a foolish, befuddled, euphoric smile; but each time he satisfied himself by merely looking in Elizabeth’s direction again.

  On the ride back to Netherfield that night, he broached his news with his friend in the following manner: “Bingley, tell me: having now enjoyed the prospect of your nuptials for going on a fortnight, how do you regard the thing?”

  “How do you mean, Darcy?”

  “Does it strike you still as being a sound notion? Given your history of falling in love with some regularity, have you had any thoughts of leaving off?”

  “Do not joke about this, Darcy,” Bingley warned his friend. “I was pleased to forgive, but I have not yet forgotten, I assure you; this is dangerous ammunition for your wit.”

  “No, no,” Darcy asserted jovially, “I have no intention of sporting with your devotion, on my honour; I am well assured of your constancy towards Miss Bennet. It is only that I have since committed to joining you in the matrimonial state, and wished to know how I could expect to regard the decision in the fullness of time.”

  “Darcy!” cried his friend. “Are you in earnest?”

  “Indeed I am,” said he. “I hope I may count on your blessing, brother dear?”

  Bingley let out a whoop of delight, leaning across and alternately pumping Darcy’s hand, and thumping his back. “This is excellent! I cannot say how delightful this is! But is it done, really? How on Earth did you win her over? Jane and I have said how we wished it might be so, but her sister’s dislike of you was so marked that we believed it impossible.”

  “As did I,” Darcy admitted. “In all honesty, I do not know myself how it all came about. But she has forgiven me the past, it seems, and has made representations of esteem for me that I cannot but believe sincere. I know not why or how it should be so, but she has convinced me, on my oath she has. I made such a lovesick fool of myself this afternoon that I am wholly convinced that she is sincere, for she did not laugh at me—not once.” Bingley did laugh at this, but Darcy went on: “My primary purpose, as you know, was to apologise; but somehow, I am not sure how, it all changed: instead of apologising, I proposed, and, miraculously, she accepted.”

  “It does not sound like your famous logic was of much effect,” Bingley teazed.

  “None whatever,” Darcy said wryly. “If I had trusted to logic, I should never have said a word. I swear, I feel I should be apologising to her still; in my wildest imaginings, I was absolutely certain that nothing less than a decade’s worth of penitence would suffice: but here I am, happily engaged to be married.”

  “Only think—it was quite nearly a year ago that we first came: that first assembly was Tuesday, October 22nd. Imagine, all this time gone, and here we are, back at the beginning; I was right, was I not, when I said we should meet some one special that night?” Darcy could do no more than nod his head in wonder.

  Back at Netherfield, he could not retire without sending off an express to his sister to announce the news.

  Netherfield

  Sunday, September 28, —

  My dear Georgiana,

  I have to write you straight away regarding the most wondrous and amazing news; Miss Elizabeth Bennet has agreed to be my wife! Yes, quite true, I assure you. How or why I have been so blessed is still a mystery to me, but I wanted to share it with you as soon as possible.

  I returned to Netherfield, you must understand, to apologise to Elizabeth (as I am now admitted to the honour of calling her) for a visit she received from Lady Catherine. That good lady had heard a rumour that Elizabeth had agreed to marry me, apparently based on the assumption that, as her sister was to marry my friend, naturally she would be next, and I was fixed on as the lucky man. However it may have come about, Lady Catherine went to Hertfordshire to forbid the banns, as it were, and gave Elizabeth quite a substantial piece of her mind. She then proceeded to Grosvenor Square to give me one, too. The upshot was, I left for Meryton yesterday, intent on making every apology in my power to Elizabeth, and determining whether I might ever have a chance to succeed with her. This, I know, will surprise you, but now I must tell you something that will surprise you even more: I had actually proposed to her before, when we were together at Rosings. She turned me down in a decided fashion, for which I was solely to blame, I admit.
It was this that was troubling me throughout the spring; I could not bring myself to tell you of it, Dearest, as I knew it must pain you, too—and there could be no point in upsetting you with what could not be mended. So, when my aunt’s retailing of her interview with Elizabeth gave me some suspicion that she might not be as resolutely set against me as she was before, I was compelled to return, both to apologise and to see what hope I might ever have.

  Arriving at Longbourn last night, and contriving, with Bingley’s connivance, to be alone with Elizabeth this morning, before I could so much as mention my aunt, let alone my more pressing interests, Elizabeth gave me to understand that she knew of my involvement in her younger sister’s elopement and marriage—imagine my horror and chagrin! But somehow, I know not just how, my apologies and expressions of contrition turned into a declaration of my continued regard for her. And, miraculously, Elizabeth made representations to me of her own regard, and is now to be my wife, and your sister. Is that not a wonderful and staggering piece of news? I would stake anything that you had no more idea of it than myself. I could wish for a more imaginative word, but I am absolutely dumbfounded; I am constantly having to stop myself from grinning in the most idiotic way. There: I have just had to stop it again. I am persuaded that those men who declare themselves the happiest in the world must know nothing at all of the matter, as, in the main, on the point of their ladies’ esteem they are moved no farther than from near-certainty, into certainty—which surely can be no great source of exceptional wonder or joy—whereas I was transported from despair to amazement and bliss in the space of a few heartbeats. To have scaled such heights from so great a depth is to truly know happiness.

  It is already late, and I wish this to go out tonight, so I will leave off here, Dearest. I expect to hear from you soonest.

  Your affectionate, and bewildered brother,

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Darcy and Elizabeth’s second day together began with the gentlemen’s arriving at Longbourn just after breakfast. Miss Bennet smiled warmly at Darcy, and laid a hand on his arm in welcome as she gave him a gentle “Good morning,” letting him know that Elizabeth had shared the good news with her. Bingley again suggested a walk, and this time he neatly cut out every one but the two courting couples. Darcy could see his own lady blush at such bare-faced design, which brought another fatuous grin to his face. He quickly smoothed his features, however, patiently and quietly waiting while Elizabeth went to get her things for a walk. Once free of the house, the two couples soon took different paths, and Darcy allowed Elizabeth to lead him into distant lanes and fields until they were quite alone. They stopped by a hedge-row, where he once more admired her as she was framed with green in the morning sun, as he had done in the grove at Rosings; and there he received his second real kiss, although it could certainly be maintained that it was more accurately his first, as it was so much sweeter and more affecting than even fond reminiscence could render the other, as to displace it forever from his memory. When they resumed their walk, Elizabeth asked, “Did you truly never stop loving me?”

  “Not for an instant,” he replied with conviction. “No sooner had my anger passed than I realised you had been entirely right, and I, entirely wrong. And even in the midst of my bitterest recriminations, I never stopped thinking of you—never really stopped regretting you.”

  “You have a remarkable ability, Mr. Darcy,” said she, “of answering questions with the most singularly disarming replies! How fortunate for me that you keep it so well hidden, or some Town-bred lady would surely have taken you by now.”

  “And would I have had nothing to say in the matter?” Darcy wanted to know. “If it were as easy as ask and have, then I dare say some one might have done; but by that same token, I should have been rewarded with your hand much sooner, as well.”

  “Are we to congratulate ourselves, then, on our mutual obstinacy?” asked Elizabeth. “Is the source of our present delight the fact that we are both ungracious, unfeeling beasts who turn our noses up at others’ hearts? After all, I have turned down two-thirds of the offers I have received—and what, pray tell, is your tally?”

  “I shall compose a singularly disarming and very cautious reply to that presently; who was the other one you refused?”

  Elizabeth, colouring, answered, “My cousin, Mr. Collins.”

  “Ah!” cried Darcy. “I feared as much! One of the visions that plagued me, last year when I quitted Netherfield for London, was that you might, for the sake of your family, be persuaded to accept him. Having seen him married to his present wife, however, had driven it from my mind. Good Heavens, what a job he must have made of a proposal.”

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth with a heavy sigh. “It was quite nearly the worst proposal I ever received.”

  Darcy brought both hands to his chest. “Oh! —you pierce me to the heart! But, as you have accepted me now, I shall endeavour to forget what an awkward fellow I was then.”

  “I envy you the compliancy of your memory, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “Not every one is privileged to be able direct their recollections with such exactness. Would that I were so fortunate, that I might forget what a clumsy fellow I have attached myself to.” So saying, she gave him a playful push that nearly made him miss a step. Laughing first, he then gave a growl like a bear and reached out with both hands as though to seize her, to which she responded by lightly springing out of reach with a joyful shout of laughter. He dropt his threatening attitude, tipped his hat and bowed, then offered her his arm again. She hugged his arm to her, and they walked on together in harmony and contentment.

  A little while later, after wandering and talking over several back lanes, Darcy’s curiosity was again awakened on a point that he had longed to know in the months between his devastating awakening at Clereford and the present: “When you told me that you had formed your initial disapproval of me in the first moments of our acquaintance…” Here the lady stopped him, exclaiming, “You really must not dwell on past offenses! I beg you will not pain either of us by intruding these recollections on our present contentment.”

  “But I must know,” he insisted, “if you happened to overhear that which I have been most ashamed of; and, if you did, well…I therefore beg you will tell me quite candidly: there was a moment that first night, at the assembly in Meryton; Bingley insisted I should dance, and out of a momentary ill-humour, I made a most disobliging comment; did you happen to overhear us?”

  Elizabeth did not speak, but her colour rose, which answered for her. “You did!” cried he in an absolute fever of distress and shame. “Oh, dear God above! Shall I grovel? Here and now—say the word and you shall have me at your feet. Most gracious woman! Even this you have forgiven me?”

  “I have; but remind me of it again, Sir, and I shall not be so merciful,” she said sternly. Then, with a smile to confer absolution, she tugged on his arm to emphasise her words and told him: “We have both learnt better of each other, surely.”

  “As you would have it,” said he, shaking his head in amazement at the flawless excellence of her temperament. How he could ever deserve her, he could not conceive.

  The topic was dropt, and they spent the afternoon thus, wandering about and talking; the only thing they resolved on, however, was that he should approach her father that evening after dinner. They returned to Longbourn, where they spent the time until dinner in pleasing and easy conversation in the little hermitage to one side of the greensward.

  In accordance with their plan, that evening after dinner, when Mr. Bennet retired to his library, Darcy shortly rose to follow him; as he left the room he offered Elizabeth a reassuring smile, as she appeared rather apprehensive at his going. He knocked on the library door, and Mr. Bennet bade him enter.

  “Mr. Darcy,” said he, rising from his chair, “are you in search of a book, or is there anything I can do for you?”

  “In truth, Sir,” Darcy began, “I have come to speak to you on a matter of some conseque
nce: I wish to ask you for the hand of your daughter, Elizabeth, in marriage.”

  Mr. Bennet sank slowly back into his chair, his face showing a rare discomposure. “Elizabeth? Surely you cannot...that is, this seems rather sudden, Mr. Darcy, and you catch me unawares…I do not wish to suggest you do not know your own affairs, but are you quite certain you have the lady’s approval?”

  “Indeed, Mr. Bennet, I do not wonder at your surprise: I share it, in fact. I do not blame you for doubting, but I am quite certain of having reached a proper and complete understanding with your daughter. You will wish, of course, to speak with her before making any final determination, but, on the assumption the situation is as I represent it, may I count on your consent to court her?”

  Mr. Bennet, still looking alarmed and puzzled, very shortly replied: “Of, course, Mr. Darcy. We are, naturally, honoured by your interest. Now, Sir, as I presume you to be going back to the drawing-room, might I ask you to send my daughter to me?”

  Darcy said tentatively, “I am prepared, Sir, to discuss a possible settlement, if you wish.”

  “Eh? Oh…the settlement; not just now, Mr. Darcy; after I have spoken with my daughter, perhaps….”

  “Of course, Mr. Bennet,” Darcy replied. He took his leave directly, and found Elizabeth still at her needle-work in the drawing-room. She looked anxiously his way, and he smiled again to communicate his successful application; he had no doubt of Elizabeth’s endorsement of their engagement, and that Mr. Bennet would be satisfied thereby. After a few moments’ pretence of examining a picture hung behind her, he went to her and, bending over to express his admiration of her work, he whispered, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.” She was out of the room without a backward glance at him.