He sat down by a table and lifted a newspaper, but his eyes were not on the words. Having Mr. Bennet’s consent had been a subject of some trepidation, as he knew him to be of uncertain humour, and could not be confident just how his application might be received. Now that that was past, provisional though his consent had been, Darcy had little to fear; on his side, based on how his aunt had spoken at Clereford, and the questions his uncle had asked in London when he first mentioned the matter to him, he was now reasonably sure he could count on their support; and, while she could certainly be obstreperous, Lady Catherine could hardly forbid his marriage. He therefore saw little to concern him, and sat back in the delightful conviction that his marriage to Elizabeth was nearly assured. The second or third time his absurd grin made its appearance, he laid down the paper and went to where Bingley sat with Miss Bennet.
Elizabeth’s sister smiled warmly on him, and he told them in a low voice what was going forward. Miss Bennet started to rise, then sat back down. “I feel as though I ought to do something, but I hardly know what,” she said.
“Give your sister what time she needs,” said Bingley. “She will come to us when she feels able.” She placed her hand on Bingley’s arm and smiled. “You always seem to know what others need most,” she said in warm admiration.
“Yet I hope, Miss Bennet, that yours is a more practical turn of mind,” Darcy teazed, “as my friend here is somewhat lacking in that area.”
“Please, you must call me Jane now,” she told him.
“Jane,” he acknowledged with a bow from his seat. “Has he ever told you how long he deliberated before taking Netherfield?”
“Yes,” she replied, “but perhaps that was again an instance of the wisdom of his heart, as it has brought so much happiness to every one.”
When he paused to consider, Darcy could not argue the point.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next day was marked by rather a different beginning: when the gentlemen arrived at Longbourn for their morning visit, they already found the house abuzz with activity. In the hall, Darcy could see the door to Mr. Bennet’s library firmly shut, which was unusual for this time of day; Mrs. Bennet’s sister, Mrs. Phillips, was at the house, and Mrs. Bennet was flying about in quite a state; on their appearance, all her energies and attentions switched to them: “Oh, Mr. Darcy, good morning, good morning! I am so pleased you are come!” Mrs. Phillips, whom Darcy had found to be rather simple woman, was simpering in a most unbecoming manner and echoing her sister’s sentiments in her rather shrill voice. Mrs. Bennet gushed on: “We are so honoured! So happy! Please tell me what dish you most like, and I will have cook see to it for tonight. Oh, good morning, Bingley; how d’ye do? Please, Mr. Darcy, do sit here.”
At this point Elizabeth entered the room and, seeing her mother’s attack under way against Darcy, immediately effected a rescue. Taking him by the arm, she told her mother, politely but firmly, that they would be out for a walk around the grounds, bid her aunt good morning, and escorted Darcy out of doors.
Darcy began chuckling as they rounded the corner of the house, headed for their favourite seat in the hermitage. “Hush!” cried his saviour, giving his shoulder a light slap.
“No, no—I am all gratitude,” he protested, still laughing. “The stories have it all wrong, with knights rescuing maidens! —I know no more delightful experience than to be rescued from the Termagant by a maiden fair.” He kissed her hand in thanks, then led her by it to their bench.
When once they were seated, in softer tones he said, “Good morning, Miss Bennet.”
She smiled warmly at him, replying, “Yes—good morning to you, Mr. Darcy. Did you sleep well?”
“How can I tell?” he said, shaking his head. “It feels as if I have been dreaming these last two days.”
She squeezed his hand. “Is that real enough?”
“It will do for now,” he said. She coloured, but held his eye, and they sat quietly for some time, wanting nothing more than to be holding hands and watching the morning open into day.
“But, now,” said she after some little while, “I have been thinking: tell me, when did it occur to you that your first proposal was at all flawed? Was it while you were still at Rosings, or later?”
“Much later, I fear. It was over a month gone before I gained sufficient distance to look at it from your side; and even then it took my aunt’s guidance before I became aware of just how poorly I had represented my wishes.”
“Your aunt?” asked Elizabeth in surprise. “Lady Catherine?”
“Oh, no: there, I fear, we still have a good deal to overcome. No, it was my other aunt, Lady Andover. It was she who first told me what a fool I was, and how thoroughly I had insulted you.”
“I am in her debt, then,” said Elizabeth with impish good humour. “Shall we meet?”
“Yes, certainly; I trust that you will like each other very well. I believe she will be every bit as taken with your wit and address as was I. Perhaps we can go down to see them at my uncle’s seat, Clereford, in Hampshire, although they are in Town just now.”
Elizabeth looked a bit concerned as she began to adjust to the stature of her relations-to-be: “You are the grandson of an Earl; I had never fully made that association before.”
“Yes, I fear there is no escaping it. But do not trouble yourself: most of my relatives are fine people; and I certainly will not bother with any of them who cannot see your qualities.”
“I hope you will forgive me if I worry just a little,” she answered in a light tone, although her eyes were sincerely doubtful. “I have never tried teazing an Earl before; I am not entirely sure I am up to the task.”
“You have already got a good start on his son, Colonel Fitzwilliam, so you are well on the way,” he smiled at her. “Continue to practice on my cousin until you feel comfortable: it will be good for both of you.” They both laughed, and Elizabeth was reassured.
Darcy returned to a thing that had puzzled him. “But I should like to know: when did you learn to feel anything for me? I detected little warmth at Lambton, and when I brought Bingley back to Meryton, we barely spoke; what could have altered your heart so completely with so little going forward between us?“
Elizabeth looked up at him askance. “Perhaps you recollect a set of particularly fine Queen Anne chairs, that sits in your entrance hall?” she asked.
“I do; is that in some obscure way responsive to my question?”
“It is,” attested Elizabeth. “It was the chairs.”
“The chairs made you love me?”
“Indeed,” said she positively. “It was seeing those chairs, so casually disposed amongst the very first impressions your home offers, not treasured away in some secret corner, that made me realise how sinfully rich you were, and I decided I loved you at that very moment.”
Darcy sighed; the only trying thing about a lively intellect was when one wanted a straightforward answer.
“But now it is your turn,” said his lady. “What set you off? How could you begin? I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”
“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
“My beauty you had early withstood,” she gave him a piercing glance at this, to which he responded with an apologetic wince, “and as for my manners—my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”
“For the liveliness of your mind, I did.”
“You may as well call it impertinence at once,” she told him. “It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I rous
ed, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me—but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.”
Darcy smiled through all this, and they bantered a bit before Elizabeth returned to her original topic: “What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”
“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”
“But I was embarrassed.”
“And so was I.”
“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”
“A man who had felt less, might.”
“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it!” cried Elizabeth in mock displeasure. Darcy reflected happily that he might already have determined the best way to manage her teazing: the simple truth, always his trusted friend, seemed to be all that was required.
They then drifted off onto various other matters, until Lady Catherine’s name came up again; Elizabeth asked, “Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to befall her?”
“I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.”
“And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did.” Darcy laughed at the memory. “But I have an aunt, too,” Elizabeth went on, “who must not be longer neglected.” They went back into the house, to attend to their separate correspondence. Darcy’s letter ran thus:
Longbourn, Herts.
Tuesday, September 30, —
Dear Lady Catherine,
I should like, dear aunt, to apprise you of the fact that my bachelor days are, indeed, at an end. On the strength of your information to me in London, I became convinced that I might, after all, have a chance to persuade Miss Elizabeth Bennet to accept me, which I was perfectly sincere in protesting to you as being completely impossible, according to my understanding at the time. I therefore returned to Hertfordshire the day following your own departure, where I was fortunate enough to have my application for her hand be received with favour. As I owe my present happiness to you, I wished to give you my thanks at the earliest possible moment. Please give my regards to my Cousin Anne, and accept my thanks and very best wishes.
Your obedient servant, &c.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
He wrote also to Lord and Lady Andover, in rather a different tone and at much greater length. To the Colonel he wrote:
Dear Edmund,
I have news that will shock you, but I hope it will bring some satisfaction, as well: I am to be married, to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. This must give you considerable surprise, but I assure you, your surprise can be no greater than mine. Through a most fortuitous and wholly unwarranted intervention by my Aunt Catherine, I got wind of the possibility that Miss Elizabeth Bennet might not be totally opposed to me, after all. I therefore hastened to Hertfordshire where, in very short order and through no merit of mine own, the lady accepted me. So, I have taken your advice to “marry and be damned,” although I trust that I may be excused the latter, at least until my lady sees fit to release me from her service.
I shall reserve full particulars until we meet, but I felt I had to give you earliest news of my happiness. I note in passing that Bonaparte is still at large; I recommend plenty of sleep, good meat, and strong ale, that your forces vitales might be equal to his—I had rather expected you would have the matter in hand by now.
My very warmest regards,
Yours &c.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
That same day, Miss Darcy sat in her cool yellow sitting-room at Pemberley, watching the afternoon shadows lengthen over the lawn and stretch down to the river. A footman at the door arrived with an express from her brother; as unusual as this was, she anxiously tore open the seal.
My dear Georgiana,
I have to write you straight away regarding the most wondrous and startling news; Miss Elizabeth Bennet has agreed to be my wife!
On reading those first words, Georgiana nearly lost hold of the letter as she gave out a small shriek. She clutched it hard and read through it twice. She could scarcely contain her joy; she did not know whether to jump up and dance, or fall back in a swoon in the true style of a novelist’s heroine. After some minutes, she sat down to write her reply:
Dearest Fitzwilliam,
I have just received your news and I cannot say how happy it makes me! But this is so sudden, how can this be? Your news has left me so bewildered I hardly know what I should say…
After four sides of paper filled with exuberant and heartfelt wishes for his, Elizabeth’s, and her mutual happiness, she left off to post it. She very nearly decided to journey immediately to Hertfordshire herself, but even all her joy was insufficient to permit her to take such a liberty as that; she determined to wait to hear from her brother, although it cost her a good deal to rein in her rampant desire to be there with them, and to express directly her great happiness, and her esteem for her sister-to-be. She read and re-read his letter until she was in a fair way to knowing it by heart, and still she read it again. In her short life she had been subjected to many emotions and transports, but few had ever affected her as strongly as this. To her it seemed that this was the repayment of all the previous year’s trials, and the beginning of many years’ delight. Such was her joy that she barely slept that night, and in the morning her first object was to read her letter once more; she spent the day going about the house, thinking how it would be, when Elizabeth was there, and at last she would have the sister she had always wanted; at that point, it seemed as though all of life’s greatest gifts were hers, and she felt herself to be the luckiest creature on Earth.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
That same morning, as Perkins was readying his master for the day, with an exceedingly diffident manner he asked, “Mr. Darcy, Sir, I was wondering if I might have a moment?”
“Of course, Perkins; what is on your mind?”
“Well, Sir, I know that you have been more than generous already, but I was hoping , Sir, that I might have the morning off to-morrow.”
“This is rather an unusual request from you, Perkins; might I ask why?”
“I am to marry to-morrow, Sir.”
“What! Why have you not mentioned it, man?”
“Well, Sir, your time being so taken up with your own plans, I didn’t want to intrude my business.”
“Nonsense, man! Congratulations! And I take it the happy lady is your Lara?”
”Yes Sir,” Perkins grinned, unable to hide his happiness.
“When is it to be? I shall certainly attend.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Darcy, but it won’t be much; Lara has no family, and of course, my mother couldn’t be here.”
“But who is to give the bride away, then?” Darcy asked.
“Well, John Barman was to have done that, but he has to be over to Welwyn to-morrow.”
In the charity of his feelings, the result of his own happy state, Darcy said, “I should hate to intrude myself, but it does seem a shame that a girl should have no one to give her away; I would be honoured to stand in for her absent family.”
Perkins was very affected, but said, “You have already done too much, Sir; I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“Well, but you did not ask: I offered. Why not broach the subject with your young woman, and see what she says; and you certainly have my blessing, and all the time you wish, Perkins.” A
dark thought broke in on him. “I trust this does not mean you will be leaving me?”
“Oh, no Sir; I never would,” Perkins hastened to assure him. “We only thought, it wasn’t likely we’d have another chance for a long while, so best to go ahead; at least we’d be sure of each other, that way; the money will come some time, and until then…well, it’s no worse than sailors’ wives, is it, Sir?”
“Well, we shall be in the country for at least the rest of the month, so you will be together for a time,” Darcy said.
“Yes, Sir,” Perkins said happily. “We had that same thought.” Darcy clapped his man on the shoulder, but could think of nothing more to say.
In the evening as he prepared to retire, Perkins said to him, “Mr. Darcy, Lara wants you to know she would be most pleased if you were to give her away, Sir.”
“Are you sure? I do not want to make any difficulties.”
“Yes, Sir: she cried; that is her way. Seems she was pretty torn up about walking up the aisle alone, but didn’t want to say so.”
“She sounds like a fine person, Perkins: again, you have my congratulations.”
“Yes, Sir; thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
So it was in the morning, after carefully reviewing his man’s attire and very precisely adjusting his neck cloth, Darcy carried Perkins in his coach to pick up his bride; she was dressed in a neat, immaculately clean frock, and had two flowers done up in her hair. She waited for them on the steps of the inn, and seemed almost overcome at the grandeur of the coach when Perkins clambered down to hand her in. As Perkins got down, Darcy replaced his hat, just so he might take it off to her when she entered. Red faced, Perkins introduced them: “Mr. Darcy, may I introduce Miss Lara Brawley?” Darcy removed his hat, saying, “I am delighted to meet you, Miss Brawley; and I am honoured to be allowed to stand up for you this morning. I know what a good man you have here in Perkins.”
Darcy's Tale, Volume III_The Way Home Page 24
