“Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet,” the other said, “I am obliged to ensure that you both understand the solemn promise given in the signing of these articles of marriage.”
The sun had struggled through the greyness; a shaft of pale light lit the room. Darcy crossed to the desk, took up the pen and signed, neatly, firmly. He held it out to Elizabeth. Her fingers fluttered on the quill. She found that she was holding her breath. She watched her own hand sign her name. She watched as the pen formed the scratching twirls of her mother’s signature, the old-fashioned loops of her father’s and the practised smoothness of the two lawyers’ names.
It was done.
The following morning, Mrs. Bennet could return to the delights of watching her daughters try on gowns and bonnets, cloaks and pelisses. She busied herself by getting in the way of the dressmaker and bothering the seamstresses with her criticisms.
Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes. “I had best take those two young men shooting again this morning, I suppose.”
“Yes, you must take them away for I cannot have them constantly underfoot,” replied his lady.
“Well, Lizzy,” said her father, his grey eyes twinkling, “did you ever think to hear your mother speak those words about two bachelors under the age of seventy?”
“Indeed not, Papa,” said Elizabeth, walking over to the window. “Yet we will shortly find out if Mama has quite hardened her heart to the species. Here come Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy now, with three, nay, four other young gentlemen.”
“What!” cried her mother. “Where are they?” She hurried to the window. “What nonsense you speak, girl. They are alone.” She flapped her lace handkerchief in irritation as her daughters giggled.
“What a pity, Mrs. Bennet,” chuckled Mr. Bennet. “We might have got rid of all four girls in November.”
“Oh, well. Time enough for that later,” said Mrs. Bennet, with a complacent smile. She settled herself in her armchair, adjusting her lace. “With Lizzy and Jane so well settled, I have no more fears for the future. They will be able to provide for their younger sisters, when their parents are no more. I look to them to supply their sisters with bridegrooms too, for I have exhausted my resources.”
Mr. Bennet rose. “You were subtle, Mrs. Bennet, in your pursuit of Mr. Darcy for a son-in-law …” He paused at the door and added: “… but then, he is a subtle man.”
“Certainly, he is,” said his wife.
The door had barely closed on Mr. Bennet when the future bridegrooms were announced.
Charles Bingley was not so tall, so handsome nor so wealthy as Fitzwilliam Darcy, but some considered him more desirable as a companion.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet!” he said, happily. Crossing the room to her, he bowed. “I hope you are in good health.”
“I am, Mr. Bingley, and it is very kind of you to inquire, given that your thoughts are occupied with another person altogether!” She wagged her finger under his nose. Bingley laughed but Elizabeth blushed when she noticed how Darcy flinched at this want of refinement.
Mrs. Bennet turned to him, and said: “Mr. Darcy, good morning.” She received a stiff bow.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bennet. I am pleased to hear you are well.”
“I thank you, sir.”
She could not think of another word to say and Darcy was equally lacking in inspiration. Fortunately, Bingley knew how to go on. He complimented Mrs. Bennet on her new gown; Darcy wondered that he had noticed. He commented on the change that the wind had made in the landscape in the past few days: so many leaves fallen. Darcy had not thought Mrs. Bennet would be interested in such a thing and was amazed to hear her comment on the bareness of the park. Bingley’s eyes kept turning towards Jane, who beamed at him from her mother’s right. Darcy acutely felt Elizabeth’s presence behind him, but kept his eyes upon his hostess, until she said: “Here are my daughters, sirs, waiting to greet you. I suppose they may be bothered to say good morning to you.” She laughed merrily at her own jest, never suspecting herself of vulgarity. Bingley laughed too, and Jane joined him.
Darcy turned to Elizabeth. She was pale and tense. He greeted her gravely, bowed to her sisters, who curtsied with equal gravity; then he sat down.
Only minutes later, Mrs. Bennet called upon the young people to go for a walk, before Mr. Bennet took the gentlemen shooting.
Once out of doors, they separated quickly into pairs. The younger Miss Bennets, instructed to call upon their aunt, set off down the drive. Bingley and Jane dawdled behind their companions. In no time, Elizabeth and Darcy were alone among the trees.
They were silent for a while. Gradually, Elizabeth felt her irritation and embarrassment at her mother’s indecorous behaviour fall away. Their conversation turned to future plans; and Elizabeth’s longing grew for the elegance and calm of her future life.
CHAPTER 3
THE WEDDING WAS BUT THREE days away when Darcy alarmed Mrs. Bennet by announcing the arrival of his sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy. Although the girl was but sixteen, Mrs. Bennet was nervous of this meeting, having heard a report of the young lady’s pride. She was mollified when Darcy presented not only Georgiana, but his cousin, Colonel Henry Fitzwilliam, of the noble Fitzwilliam family, in whose honour Darcy had been christened.
Mrs. Bennet was always delighted to meet a new young bachelor. After they left, the scent of her lace wafted through the air, as she cried: “What a charming man! Such easy manners, a perfect conversationalist! Not good looking, it is true, but who cares for that?”
“I believe there are those who do, Mama,” said Elizabeth, perhaps recalling her mother’s transports of joy over the handsomeness of her future sons-in-law.
“Lizzy, you are a sly thing, never to say a word about him when you came home from your visit to Kent!”
“Did I forget, Mama?”
“Forget, indeed! You are quite sure, Lizzy, that he has no regular income other than his army pay?”
“Quite sure, Mama. Colonel Fitzwilliam must marry money.”
“Such a pity it is that younger sons so often have all the personal charm and heirs have none.”
Elizabeth chose not to construe this as a criticism of her betrothed. “The colonel has a very pleasing manner, ma’am.”
“And Miss Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet raised her hands in her excitement. “So graceful and charming! She is not so handsome as her brother, but such a figure, such elegant deportment!”
She took a few steps across the room with exaggerated grace, twirling her handkerchief, to the great amusement of her daughters; then sank into her favourite armchair.
She continued, “I feared Miss Darcy was proud, for she spoke barely above two sentences. Do you know, Lizzy, I think she may be a little shy? Bear that in mind when you introduce her to society. When is she coming out?”
“Never, I should think, if she has her way.”
Indeed, after her brother’s stiff introduction, Georgiana Darcy had returned Mrs. Bennet’s gush of words with barely a syllable. Darcy, never at ease with Mrs. Bennet himself, allowed the colonel to carry the flag for the family.
Colonel Fitzwilliam seated himself by Mrs. Bennet. He turned to Elizabeth, and said: “Miss Bennet, I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you again, and in circumstances such as these! Pray accept my congratulations. I do wish you both joy.” Elizabeth responded with grace.
He continued, “When we parted in Kent, I thought it unlikely we should meet again. Yet we shall be cousins and, I hope, the best of friends.”
Mrs. Bennet was delighted with the introduction of her favourite theme. “Lizzy has been very sly, Colonel. One moment they barely knew each other; the next they were engaged to be married.”
“Barely knew each other, ma’am? Why, Darcy and I stayed with our aunt, in Kent, above three weeks last April, and I had heard high praise of Miss Elizabeth Bennet long before that.” Mrs. Bennet laughed heartily.
“Mama, please,” urged Elizabeth softly. She rose and moved to the table where her abandoned embro
idery lay.
“Enough of your reminiscences, Cousin,” said Darcy.
The door opened to admit Mr. Bennet. He looked around the room with a humorous air. He saw his spouse mopping her eyes, Elizabeth pale with anger, Mr. Darcy on his high horse by all appearances, and two strangers, who seemed not to know how to look.
“Ah, Mr. Bennet! There you are!” cried his lady, wiping her eyes. “Come and join in the fun.”
Henry Fitzwilliam had risen, giving his hand to Georgiana. Mr. Bennet bowed and crossed the room to be introduced.
Elizabeth was relieved when her father’s arrival caused a change of subject. To Mrs. Bennet’s annoyance, her husband introduced the perennial topic of the pamphlet he planned to write some day.
“I am exploring every species of folly in the works of all the prominent writers on manners of the last century. I constantly come across these delights in my reading and have spent some time on expanding and ordering my thoughts.”
“How fascinating, Mr. Bennet,” said the colonel. “I await the appearance of your work with interest.”
“I should not hold my breath while I waited, sir,” snorted Mrs. Bennet.
There was a pained silence.
Mr. Bennet flushed somewhat while Elizabeth turned her head aside, and Georgiana looked as though the sky had fallen in.
“Madam,” said the colonel, “I well understand your impatience to see your husband’s worth recognised. However, it takes long years of effort to present such an original work in polished form.”
‘Oh, yes,’ thought Elizabeth, ‘and what long years of kindly study of others have produced manners so polished as yours?’
“I hold in the most serious disapprobation,” Darcy said, “the carelessness, bordering on immorality, of those who stumble through every task as though the quality of their performance were immaterial.”
Mr. Bennet nodded, in the manner of the wise old scholar. “I thank you, sir, for your sympathy with my tardiness.” He smirked at Elizabeth, who felt the need to bite her lip.
Mr. Darcy bowed. “One has only to refer to the recent case, which I shall not name, of a carelessly written newspaper report leading to the … death of its subject.”
“Oh, you mean Mr. Lound,” cried Mrs. Bennet. “He took his own life, you know.”
“I should be cast down indeed, if my endeavours led to such a tragedy,” replied Mr. Bennet.
Georgiana glanced at Henry as, momentarily abstracted, he let his eyes linger with tenderness on Elizabeth’s face. Sudden knowledge pierced Georgiana through, so that she almost missed Mrs. Bennet’s next words.
“Lizzy never tells anyone her secrets, Miss Darcy. I hope you will be able to winkle something out of her, for of what other use is a sister?”
“I have ever longed for a sister; and there is no-one in all the world I would rather have for the part, Mrs. Bennet,” said Georgiana.
“Why, thank you,” said Mrs. Bennet, taking the compliment upon herself. “Did you hear that, Lizzy? Did you ever encounter such kindness?”
The door opened again. Henry and Georgiana gazed in open admiration at the lovely young woman who entered, evidently returning from a walk. The air had brought a wonderful colour to her flawless skin and deepened the blue of her eyes.
“This,” said Mrs. Bennet, with a decidedly self-satisfied air, “is Jane, my eldest.” Then, as a young man followed the lovely Jane, she added: “Perhaps you know Mr. Bingley, Miss Darcy.”
“Mr. Bingley! How are you?” said Georgiana, and received a little nod of approval from her brother for producing another sentence.
“I daresay you know, Miss Darcy, that your brother and Lizzy must share the honours on the wedding day. Mr. Bingley and Jane are to be united in the same ceremony.”
“Yes,” ventured Georgiana.
“How foolish of me! Your family’s acquaintance with Mr. Bingley precedes our own,” she cried. “I fear you will be a little cross with Lizzy, Miss Darcy. She would send her two younger sisters on a message to the village, so that you have missed meeting them today. I told her this would happen!”
“One scarcely hopes that our daughter will equal her mother in wisdom one day,” said Mr. Bennet.
Under the cover of the conversation that followed, Elizabeth said to Darcy: “Does Georgiana intend to travel with us to Pemberley?”
“She and her companion will be escorted home by Colonel Fitzwilliam, who will go directly from Pemberley to rejoin his regiment.”
“He will not await our arrival?”
Darcy glanced at her moodily.
“Duty demands his occasional visits at camp,” he said. “Lady Catherine orders his attendance upon her in London after Christmas.” He looked out of the window.
“Her ladyship’s displeasure does not embrace your cousin?”
“No, indeed, and I encouraged him to go. He is a favourite with her,” and he glanced at her darkly, before adding, “as he is with so many of your sex.”
A smile teased at the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth.
“Indeed he is.”
On the return to Bingley’s house, Georgiana sank back against the cushions of her carriage, feeling a sense of achievement. Knowing not how, she had pleased her future relations at Longbourn.
She had been overwhelmed by the garrulousness of the mother, the beauty of the sister and the caustic edge to the wit of the father. Only in Elizabeth was there compensation. Of course, her brother was incapable of choosing a bride who was less than perfect.
Above the creaking of the harness and the thudding of the horses’ hooves on the road, she could not hear what her brother and cousin were saying as they rode alongside the carriage.
Henry was recalling the occasion of his first meeting with Elizabeth the previous April. He had lost himself happily in her charm, while Darcy smouldered resentfully in its prison. Darcy knew that Henry was in no position to marry her, while Henry was confident that Darcy would consider her utterly ineligible. Thus it was that the slight sense of competition between them had not posed a threat. In truth it had been forgotten, at least by one of them. Henry laughed.
“What is it?” asked his cousin.
“I laugh at the memory of our time in Kent, when I so often sought your company to ride, and found you gone. None knew where, but I.”
Darcy looked at him sharply. He said, “I hope I was not thoughtless in asking you to be my groomsman.”
“Good Lord, Darcy. I’ve always assumed we would undertake the part for each other.”
“Mrs. Bennet is going to such lengths to celebrate the marriage,” said Darcy. “It appeared shameful to produce only a sister.”
“Miss Bennet’s family do not blame you for the poor showing, I’m sure. I rather imagine they feel relief that they will not be inundated with fashionable folk, particularly in the form of angry relations.”
“Relief on both sides, I dare say,” said Darcy.
Henry laughed. “You might try to unbend a little, Darcy. It cannot be a good thing to be on so stiff a footing with your future mother-in-law.”
“I do not know how to converse with her, Cousin. She has all the dignity of a barn fowl.”
He stopped, appalled at himself.
“I take that back. It was wrong of me to speak so of Elizabeth’s mother. You will never hear me do so again.”
Henry nodded. “Bingley seems unperturbed by his new connections.”
“Bingley has a wonderful capacity for forbearance. His sisters are not happy with the match, however, nor his brother-in-law.”
“Remember that there were tradesmen too recently in their family for them to be complacent,” urged the colonel. “Nothing can touch your position in society.”
“You think not?”
“I am sure of it,” he said. “When will Bingley’s relations arrive?”
“They are coming tomorrow. Mrs. Bennet had it in mind to ask Bingley’s sisters to act as bridesmaids for Jane. She was brought to see how absurd such a s
urfeit of attendants would look alongside Elizabeth’s.”
The colonel laughed.
Darcy went on: “You have come and I am grateful. However, I placed you in an awkward relation with our aunt. What had Lady Catherine to say of your coming?”
“She was most displeased, but I told her that I cannot choose between you; that I leave it to you both to abandon me if you choose, for I shall abandon neither of you.”
Darcy mumbled his thanks.
His cousin added: “She must content herself with the rest of the family casting you off.”
Darcy shrugged. “Don’t be a fool about this, Henry. Lady Catherine gets up in years and yet it is likely she will outlive her daughter. Her fortune must go somewhere.”
“I do not believe our aunt intends to do anything for me; and I will not marry without affection.”
“Our family extended that luxury to neither our cousin, Anne, nor to me,” said Darcy, with some bitterness. “I grew up never questioning that I would marry her. After I met Elizabeth, I knew I could not stand before God and vow to love another woman while I yet loved her.”
“Poor little Anne.”
Darcy turned abruptly away. “I did not jilt her! We were never engaged: there was never any talk of such matters between us. Indeed, she has no more feeling for me than I for her.”
“Yet all our relations expected it; and I fear Lady Catherine will never forgive you.”
“I neither desire, nor would I accept, her forgiveness. She wrote to me applying such insulting epithets to Elizabeth as can never be forgiven.”
“Time heals these wounds, Darcy.”
“What wounds? She has made herself my enemy, so that she cannot wound me.”
“Oh, dear.”
The colonel smiled ruefully to himself. How like his aunt it was to turn so implacably against her favourite nephew; and how like him to turn as implacably against her.
CHAPTER 4
THE LITTLE CHURCH AT LONGBOURN was crowded with guests and spectators. The congregation felt properly satisfied with the solemnity of the two bridegrooms. Patches of coloured light shone on them, from a stained-glass window above. The demeanour of the groomsmen varied somewhat. Bingley’s brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, displayed his usual tired blandness, while Colonel Fitzwilliam’s feelings appeared more complex.
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