I laughed. ‘Ah yes, my aunt expressed herself forcefully to both of us.’
‘She told me I would never live at Pemberley,’ said Elizabeth.
‘I ought to dislike her for it, but I am too much in charity with her. It is her visit that brought me to you.’
‘She came to see you?’
‘She did. In London. She was in high dudgeon. She told me that she had been to see you, and that she had demanded that you contradict the rumour of our impending marriage. Your refusal to fall in with her wishes put her sadly out of countenance but it taught me to hope.’
I spoke of my letter. ‘Did it,’ I said, ‘did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?’
‘It made me think so much better of you, and so immediately, that I felt heartily ashamed of myself. I read it through again, and then again, and as I did so, every one of my prejudices was removed.’
‘I knew that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter.’
‘The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.’
‘When I wrote that letter, I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.’
‘The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.’
I could not do it. I could not let the past go without telling her of my parents, good people in themselves who yet encouraged me to think well of myself and meanly of others. I told her how I was an only son, indeed an only child for much of my life, and how I had come to value none beyond my own family circle. ‘By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.’
We talked of Georgiana and of Lydia, and of the day at the inn when Jane’s letter had arrived. Talk of Jane naturally led to her engagement.
‘I must ask whether you were surprised?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.’
‘That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much,’ she teased me.
By this time we had reached the house. It was not until we went indoors that I realized how long we had been away.
‘My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?’ asked her sister, as we sat down at the table.
Elizabeth coloured, but said: ‘We wandered about, not paying attention to where we were going, and became lost.’
‘I am sure I am sorry for it,’ said Mrs Bennet, in a whisper loud enough for me to hear. ‘It must have been very trying for you, having to talk to that disagreeable man.’
Elizabeth was mortified, but I caught her eye and smiled. Her mother may be the most dreadful woman it has been my misfortune to meet, but I would tolerate a dozen such mothers for the sake of Elizabeth.
I could not speak to her as I wished to during the evening. Jane and Bingley sat close together, talking of the future, but until I had asked Mr Bennet for Elizabeth’s hand, she and I could not indulge in such discussions.
It was time for Bingley and me to return to Netherfield. I was able to relieve my feelings a little in the carriage going home.
‘I have already wished you happy,’ I said. ‘Now you must do the same for me.’
Bingley looked surprised.
‘I am to marry Elizabeth.’
‘Elizabeth?’
‘Yes. I proposed during our walk. She has agreed to marry me.’
‘This is capital news! Almost as good as my own. She is just the wife for you. She is the only person I have ever met who can stand up to you. I shall never forget the way she teased you when she stayed with us at Netherfield, when Jane was ill. You were bored and in one of your stately moods. Caroline was admiring everything you said and did. I remember thinking it would be a tragedy if you married her, knowing she would confirm you in your conceit. She would convince you that you were above everyone else in every way. Not that you needed a great deal of convincing!’
I laughed.
‘Was I really so arrogant?’
‘You were,’ said Bingley. ‘You know you were! But Elizabeth will make sure you never become so again. When do you mean to marry?’
‘As soon as possible. Elizabeth will need time to buy wedding clothes, and if she wishes me to make any alterations to Pemberley before she arrives then I will need time to attend to it. Otherwise, I would like to marry at once.’
‘Changes to Pemberley? It must be love,’ Bingley said. ‘I am sure I hope you will be very happy.’
‘We have been talking about that, Elizabeth and I. We have decided that you and Jane will be happy, but that we will be happier.’
‘Oh no, on that we will never agree.’
The carriage rolled to a halt.
‘Will you tell Caroline, or shall I?’ asked Bingley, as we went in. Then he went on immediately: ‘It might be better to let me tell her, or she might say something she regrets on first hearing the news.’
‘As you wish.’
On entering the house, I retired to the library, to think of Elizabeth, and of the future.
Tuesday 7th October
I met Caroline at breakfast, and I was pleased to see how well she comported herself.
‘I understand I am to wish you happy,’ she remarked.
‘Yes. I am to be married.’
‘I am delighted,’ she said. ‘It is time you took a wife. Who would have thought, when we came to Netherfield last year, that both you and Charles would find true love.’
I ignored her droll tone.
‘Perhaps one day you might be as fortunate.’
‘I do not think I will ever marry,’she declared. ‘I have no desire to let a man master me. When is the wedding to be?’
‘Soon.’
‘Then I must see my dressmaker. Two weddings in so short a space of time will require careful planning.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Louisa. ‘We must have something new.’
Soon after breakfast, Bingley and I set out again for Longbourn.
‘Caroline was very well-behaved,’ I said to him. ‘I thought she took the news well.’
‘She was not so very well-behaved when I told her,’ said Bingley,‘but I reminded her that if she was not civil about it she would find herself excluded from Pemberley.’
We arrived. Mrs Bennet was all smiles as she greeted Bingley, and all grimaces as she made me a curtsy. How will she react when she knows I am to be her son-in-law?
Bingley looked at Elizabeth warmly, so that I am sure she guessed I had told him, then he said: ‘Mrs Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again today?’
Mrs Bennet was all too ready to fall in with his suggestion, eager to allow him a little privacy with Jane. She suggested we walk to Oakham Mount. Bingley, in lively humour, said he was sure it would be too much for Kitty, and Kitty agreed she would rather stay at home. It is a change to have Bingley ordering my life for me! But I could not complain, since a few minutes later I found myself out of doors and free to talk to Elizabeth.
‘I must ask your father for his consent to the marriage,’ I said, as we wandered towards the mount.
‘And if he does not give it?’ she asked with an arch smile.
‘Then I will have to carry you off without it,’ I said. ‘Do you think he will withhold it?’ I asked her more seriously.
‘No. I am n
ot afraid of what he might say. At least, not once he comes to know you, though to begin with he might be surprised. When Mr Collins’s letter came…’
She broke off.
I looked at her enquiringly.
‘Mr Collins wrote to him, telling him that I must not marry you, as it would anger Lady Catherine!’
‘And what did your father reply?’
‘He is too busy savouring the joke to write back.’
‘I can see I will have a difficult time with him. Will he think I am joking when I ask for your hand?’
‘I don’t believe he will dare,’ she said.
She spoke lightly, but I could tell she was troubled.
‘I will take pains to know him,’ I said. ‘He and I will come to understand each other better, and I will make sure he does not ever regret giving his consent.’
We walked on.
‘And then there is my mother,’ she said.
‘Will I stop being that man, do you think?’ I asked her with a smile.
‘Don’t,’ she said with a shudder. ‘If you knew how many times I have blushed for her, or wished her to be silent. I think I will tell her when she is alone,’ she went on. ‘Then she will have a chance to overcome the first shock, and perhaps it will make her more rational when she speaks to you.’
‘Exactly Bingley’s feelings, when deciding it would be better if he told Caroline!’
‘I wonder if she will continue to find your handwriting so even once you are married?’
‘I fear not. She will probably think it uncommonly untidy.’
We reached the top of the mount.
‘Well, and what do you think of the view?’ Elizabeth asked me.
I turned to look at her.
‘I like it very much,’ I said.
She looked so beautiful that I gave in to the urge to kiss her. She was surprised at first, but then responded warmly, and I knew our marriage would be a happy one in every way.
We walked on together, talking of the future. I am eager to show Elizabeth Pemberley, not as a visitor, but as its future mistress.
‘You will not mind my aunt and uncle visiting?’ she asked.
‘Of course not. I liked them.’
‘And my sisters?’
‘Jane and Bingley will be with us often. Your younger sisters are welcome to come whenever they, or you, choose. But I will not have Wickham there.’
We rejoined Jane and Bingley and returned to Longbourn.
Throughout the evening, Elizabeth was not at ease. I longed to put her out of her misery, but could not speak to Mr Bennet until after dinner. As soon as I saw him withdraw to the library, I followed him.
‘Mr Darcy,’ he said in surprise, as I closed the library door behind me.
‘I would like to speak to you,’ I said.
‘I am at your disposal. You have heard, I suppose, of the rumour that you are to marry Elizabeth and want it stopped, but I advise you to enjoy it for its absurdity, instead of fretting over what is a harmless piece of nonsense.’
‘I don’t find it in the least bit absurd,’ I said to him. ‘I find it highly desirable. I have followed you in order to ask you for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.’
His mouth fell open.
‘Ask me for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage?’ he repeated at last.
‘Yes.’
‘But there must be some mistake.’
‘There is no mistake.’
‘But I thought…that is, Mr Collins is such a fool! He is forever regaling me with some new and preposterous story, and I was sure he must have made a mistake. You, who have never looked at Elizabeth in your life! And yet now you tell me you want to marry her.’
‘I do. I love her, and as for not singling her out for attention, I have done little else. You have not been there, however, so I cannot blame you for being surprised. When she was a guest at Netherfield, I had the pleasure of her company for almost a week, and I spent much of my time with her. I saw her again in Kent, when she was visiting Mrs Collins, and we came to know each other well. I met her more recently in Derbyshire, and each time I have met her, I have loved her more. My feelings are not of a short duration. They are longstanding, and will not change.’
‘But she has always hated you!’ he said. ‘For any man to persist against such obvious aversion is madness.’
At this I smiled.
‘I can assure you I am quite sane. Her aversion has been overcome long ago. I have already asked her to marry me, and she has said yes.’
‘Said yes!’ exclaimed Mr Bennet in faint tones.
‘And as the two of us are in agreement, we need only your permission to set a date.’
‘And if I do not give it?’
‘Then I am afraid I will have to marry her without it.’
He looked at me as though deciding if I was serious. Then, collecting his wits, he said: ‘If it is as you say, and Elizabeth really wishes to marry you, then you may have my consent and my blessing. But I want to hear it from her own lips. Send her to me.’
I left him and went to Elizabeth. She saw from my face that he had given his consent.
‘He wants to speak to you.’
She nodded, and left the room.
Mrs Bennet, who had been talking to Jane and Bingley, looked up at this.
‘Where has Lizzy gone?’ she asked Jane.
‘I do not know,’ Jane replied, though from her face I could tell she had guessed.
‘She has made an excuse to leave the room, being tired of talking to that disagreeable gentleman, I suppose,’ said Mrs Bennet, not taking the trouble to lower her voice. ‘I do not blame her. Now, Jane, you must have a new dress for your wedding. What colour do you think it should be? I was married in blue,’ she said,‘in quite the most beautiful dress, not like the fashions nowadays. It had a wide skirt, and a pointed bodice. We must make sure you have something equally fine. Satin, I think, or Bruges lace.’
Jane cast me an apologetic look at the start of this speech, and then attended to her mother, but I scarcely heard Mrs Bennet’s effusions. I was wondering what was happening in the library. Elizabeth seemed to be gone for a very long time. What was her father saying to her? Was it really taking her so long to convince him of her feelings for me?
‘I have often observed, that the finery of the wedding-gown has no bearing on the happiness of the marriage,’ said Mary, looking up from her book. ‘Such things are all vanity, set to entrap the incautious female and lead her down the path of temptation.’
‘Oh, hush Mary, be quiet, no one asked you,’ said Mrs Bennet, annoyed. ‘When you find a husband, you may prose on the nature of wedding gowns as much as you like.’
Mary was silenced.
‘When I marry, I will have a satin underskirt and a gauze overskirt,’ said Kitty,‘and I will not run off with my husband and live with him in London first.’
‘Kitty, be quiet,’ said Mrs Bennet. She turned to Bingley with a smile. ‘What will you wear, Mr Bingley? A blue coat or a black one? Wickham was married in his blue coat. My dear Wickham!’ she said with a sigh. ‘Such a handsome man. But not nearly as handsome as you.’
I caught Bingley’s eye. It was probable that, if Wickham had had five thousand a year, he would have been allowed to be as handsome as Bingley.
‘I will wear whatever Jane wishes,’ he said.
Where was Elizabeth? I felt my impatience growing. At last she returned to the room and smiled. All was well.
The evening passed quietly. I received a cold nod from Mrs Bennet when I left, and I wondered what her reception of me would be on the morrow. I saw lines of strain around Elizabeth’s mouth, and I knew she was not looking forward to her interview with her mother.
‘By this time tomorrow it will be done,’ I said.
She nodded, then Bingley and I departed.
‘Her father gave his consent?’ asked Bingley, as we returned to Netherfield.
‘He did.’
‘Jane and I have already set
a date for our wedding. We were wondering what you and Elizabeth would think of a double wedding?’
I was much struck by the idea.
‘I like it. If Elizabeth is agreeable, then that is what we will do.’
Wednesday 8th October
Bingley and I were at Longbourn early this morning.
‘Mr Bingley,’ said Mrs Bennet, fidgeting as she welcomed him. She turned to me, and I felt Elizabeth grow tense. But her mother merely looked at me in awe and said: ‘Mr Darcy.’
There was no coldness in her tone. Indeed she seemed stunned. I made her a bow and went to sit beside Elizabeth.
The morning passed off well. Mrs Bennet took the younger girls upstairs with her on some pretext, and Elizabeth and I were free to talk. When luncheon was served, Mrs Bennet sat on one side of me, and Elizabeth on the other.
‘Some hollandaise sauce, Mr Darcy?’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘I believe you like sauces.’
I cast my eyes over the table, and saw no less than six sauce-boats. I was about to refuse the hollandaise sauce when I caught sight of Elizabeth’s mortified expression and I determined to repay Mrs Bennet’s new civility with a civility of my own.
‘Thank you.’
I took some hollandaise sauce.
‘And béarnaise? I had it made specially.’
I hesitated, but then put a spot of béarnaise sauce next to the hollandaise sauce.
‘And some port-wine sauce?’ she said. ‘I hope you will take a little. Cook made it specially.’
I took some port-wine sauce and looked at my plate in dismay. I caught Elizabeth’s eye and saw her laughing. I took some béchamel sauce, mustard sauce and a cream sauce as well, and then set about eating my strange meal.
‘You are enjoying your luncheon?’ asked Mrs Bennet solicitously.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘It is not what you are used to, I suppose.’
I could honestly say that it was not.
‘You have two or three French cooks, I suppose?’
‘No, I have only the one cook, and she is English.’
‘She is your cook at Pemberley?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Pemberley,’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘How grand it sounds. I am glad Lizzy refused Mr Collins, for a parsonage is nothing to Pemberley. I expect the chimney piece will be even bigger than the one at Rosings. How much did it cost, Mr Darcy?’
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