“Tell the bees?” Darcy said. “That is a fine old custom.”
They left the house and walked in peaceable silence to the back garden, the air filled with the happy sound of bees at their work.
“I have been informing the bees of my doings since I was a little girl,” Elizabeth said as they approached the hive. “They do not like to be left behind on any important matter.”
“And what shall you tell the bees today?” Darcy asked.
“I shall tell the bees that they may rejoice. They have seen me through good moments and bad, various stupid opinions and the occasional well-considered, tears and smiles, fits of temper and fits of laughter. But this! This moment is to be the most perfect and happiest news I will ever tell the bees. They may now go on to serve their queen with light hearts.”
“And with a light heart I will serve my queen, too.”
Elizabeth blushed but did not demur. She was not at all opposed to being queen to Darcy’s knight. “Now, Mr. Darcy, the bees shall hardly be satisfied if they do not hear from you. What shall you tell the bees?”
“I will inform the bees that despite my many missteps, I have somehow had the great good fortune to secure Elizabeth Bennet—their own confidante these many years. I intend that Elizabeth rule my heart and my home, and I will find myself happy to be ruled. There is but one matter in which I will not be ruled—I have no patience for a reading of the banns and I have no wish to give over an amount of time which might allow the lady to change her mind, and so I will ride to London for a special license from the Archbishop.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said. “Do you suppose you will be able to convince the Archbishop of the need?”
“I do suppose it,” Darcy answered.
“You are exceedingly resolute, Mr. Darcy. Has my father been apprised of this scheme?”
“He has.”
Elizabeth turned from Darcy and leaned close to the buzzing hive. “Hear that, bees. Fitzwilliam Darcy will not be put off, and I am glad of it.”
The bees seemed very approving of this development, if buzzing were to be taken as approbation.
Chapter Eighteen
While Elizabeth and Darcy had conversed with the bees, Jane had been determined that Mr. Bingley must know the truth of what Lydia had attempted. She could not begin a marriage with a secret between them.
Jane had braced herself for Mr. Bingley’s retreat, kind retreat though she was certain it would be. She could not be sure if a man like Charles Bingley would wish to associate himself with a family that included Lydia Bennet. The Bingleys had made their way in society and must be careful of their connections. Jane did not think Lydia’s secret would get out, but she could not guarantee it. She would not, for the world, have her husband shamed by her own family.
Jane had told him everything, from start to finish, and then had been amazed. Charles Bingley did not give a fig what Lydia had done, and further, Lydia had not actually done anything. The girl was safe in her father’s house and Bingley had no doubt that Darcy would deal with Wickham. In any case, what family did not have a foolish young lady roaming their house?
Bingley concluded with the idea that if Jane were to throw him over, he would throw himself over the side of the nearest bridge.
As Bingley paced the drawing room, painting the charming picture of drowning himself for love of Jane Bennet, the clatter of horses’ hooves was heard on the drive.
Elizabeth and Darcy heard it too, as they were returning to the house after gaining the approval of the bees.
“Goodness,” Elizabeth said. “So much has transpired that we all forgot Mr. Weston was due any day to collect Emma. That must be him, as we do not expect anybody else.” she said.
They had hurried back to the house and, hearing voices in the drawing room, made their way there.
Elizabeth had expected to see Mr. Weston and so was greatly surprised to see Mr. Knightley in his stead. Emma appeared more than surprised. She stared at her old friend as if she’d seen a ghost.
To Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Knightley said, “I convinced Mr. Weston he’d best not be away just now. Mrs. Weston is with child and it is her first.”
“I understand you perfectly, Mr. Knightley,” Mrs. Bennet said. “One wishes to be supported during that trying time. Or five trying times, in my own case.”
Elizabeth, wishing to stop her mother from any further conversation on that particular topic, hurried to greet Mr. Knightley and introduce Darcy to him. She smiled as she viewed them side by side—they were not so much alike in looks as they were in demeanor and temperament.
“Emma,” Mr. Knightley said, “we leave very early on the morrow and go straight through. I presented Mr. Woodhouse with the idea that going at a fast clip, rather than an overnight at an inn done by easy paces, was likely safer. The idea took hold and your father became certain that one ought to attempt to outrun disaster rather than lingering and allowing disaster to catch up to oneself. As well, he has imagined all sorts of catastrophes that might occur at an inn. According to your father, they are all tinder boxes likely to go up in flames at the strike of a flint and he could not rest if he thought his dear daughter had entered such a place.”
Emma finally collected herself enough to speak. “My dear father,” was all she said.
There were pleasantries spoken and news from Hartfield relayed—all in the house were in good health and looking forward to welcoming their Emma home. As Elizabeth watched the unfolding scene, she thought Emma not very like herself. She was reserved and became more so by the minute.
Finally, Mr. Knightley was shown up to his room so that he might change clothes after his journey.
Darcy reluctantly took his leave of Elizabeth, Bingley with him. They would ride to London and prevail upon the Archbishop to dispense them both a special license.
“Emma,” Elizabeth said, after the two men departed to much waving on the drive, “would you wish to take a turn in the garden? You are pale and the fresh air must do you good.”
Emma allowed herself to be led through the gate and they walked leisurely down the narrow paths. “You did not seem to be overly cheerful to see Mr. Knightley,” Elizabeth said. “Do you feel low because your visit is at an end?”
“No,” Emma said slowly. “I have adored being here, despite all the trouble I caused. Yet, it is time to be home again with my father. Isabella is soon to return to London and he would be quite alone.”
“Shall I guess,” Elizabeth said playfully, “that you do not look forward to Mr. Knightley’s various lectures in the carriage? I am certain Mr. Weston did not burden you so.”
“Mr. Knightley’s lectures are no burden!” Emma said. “He is always attempting to steer me right, despite my obstinate nature. Oh, Lizzy, if he knew what I’d done here! If he knew of the meddling and trouble!”
“I do not see how he will know it,” Elizabeth said. “I have no intention of mentioning it and neither shall Jane.”
“He should be very disappointed,” Emma said. “And, I am not so certain that I ought not confess all. He should know the creature I really am.”
“Goodness Emma!” Elizabeth said. “Do not condemn yourself so. I know Mr. Knightley is a dear friend, but he is not a husband. He is not to be privy to all of your words and deeds.”
“That is just it,” Emma said sadly. “He is not a husband and never will be. Mr. Knightley deserves far better than what I am. Oh, Lizzy, do not you see? All was revealed to me in Harriet’s letter. When she claimed she was in love with Knightley, I instantly knew that I was in love with Knightley. I suppose I always have been, but it is all for naught!”
Elizabeth was rather stunned. She had never imagined Emma and Mr. Knightley. She had been fairly convinced of Emma someday marrying Frank Churchill. Or, at least, somebody very like Frank Churchill.
A sudden realization nearly made Elizabeth laugh, and she would have done so were it not for Emma’s obvious distress. As Emma had concluded that Mr. Darcy was for Jane and Mr. Bin
gley was for herself, Elizabeth had just as mistakenly married Emma off to the gentleman who seemed most like herself. Though she had never met Frank Churchill, the many accounts of him she’d had by letter had convinced her that he was just as lively and fun-loving as Emma. Elizabeth had passed over any notion of Mr. Knightley—he was to be too serious and scolding for Emma Woodhouse.
What clues she had not even noticed! Why had she not wondered at Emma’s intense distress over Harriet’s revealing her preference for Mr. Knightley?
“I have been such a fool, really,” Emma said. “I have said far too often that I would never marry. Even if there were a chance with Mr. Knightley, he would not dare say it after my many pronouncements on the subject.”
“Would not I dare, though,” a deep voice said from behind them.
Both Elizabeth and Emma spun around. Mr. Knightley, who should have been above stairs changing his clothes, stood before them.
Elizabeth quickly curtsied and mumbled something about picking flowers for the dining table. She wandered down the stone path, leaving Emma and Mr. Knightley alone. She did not go so far, however, that she could not hear what was said.
“Mr. Knightley!” Emma cried.
“Dearest Emma,” Mr. Knightley said.
“Oh no, you cannot say that,” Emma said. “When you hear of all the trouble that I have caused in this neighborhood, despite your counsel against it, I will not be a dear anything.”
Mr. Knightley laughed and said, “I have seen no dead or dying on the road, so whatever you have done it could not be so very tragic.”
“It was a tragic case of meddling,” Emma said. “Meddling and matchmaking all sorts of people to the wrong people. I even caused another unwanted proposal, as if Mr. Elton was not bad enough!”
“Mr. Elton!” Mr. Knightley cried.
“Oh, do not linger on that unfortunate circumstance, Mr. Knightley. The important thing is that I did not learn my lesson with Harriet Smith, even though I pretended I did. I really cannot be counted on to be anything like sensible.”
“My Emma,” Mr. Knightley said, “the sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults. Did you really think I believed you had given up meddling entirely?”
“Yes. No. You did not?”
“No, I did not,” Mr. Knightley said. “Your meddling was the least of my concerns. I only feared you had gone some way to attaching yourself to Frank Churchill. That is why I went to London—Churchill was to return to Randalls and I could not bear to observe what was between you.”
“Frank Churchill?” Emma asked in some surprise. “Frank Churchill is nothing to me! There is nothing between us!”
“So Mrs. Weston kindly informed me,” Mr. Knightley said. “The man is engaged to Jane Fairfax, and has been secretly these many months.”
“Engaged to Jane Fairfax?” Emma said in wonder.
“Just so,” Mr. Knightley said. “I cannot claim to feel happy for Jane, but it is her choice. I can claim happiness for myself. As Mrs. Weston spoke of it and I saw that my fears for you were for naught, night became day and rain became sun. I left her company that instant, sought out Mr. Weston and told him I would come for you myself. And so, I came in hopes of discovering if there was a chance you might consider me.”
“Consider you?” Emma said. “Who would not consider Mr. Knightley?”
“Perhaps not as many ladies as you would think, but that is no matter. I only have wished that Emma Woodhouse consider me.”
“And then you heard me speak,” Emma said. “Just now.”
“I heard you speak,” Mr. Knightley said, “just now, and all my hopes were realized. Now, Emma, if you would but realize that to me you are no trouble. You are the moon and stars, if I may attempt some kind of poetry. Further, if you would consent to marry me, I might look forward to your meddling all my life.”
Elizabeth leaned close to a box hedge, waiting for Emma’s answer.
Emma said, “Of course I would marry you. Of course, I would. There is nothing I would rather do, and I will not deny that it is a relief to me that you are not put off by meddling as I am not certain I can give it up altogether. I have tried, but I always do seem to slip into the habit.”
“Is that yes, Emma?” Mr. Knightley said
“Might we have a very long engagement?” Emma asked. “I must not only consider my own happiness, but my father’s too. You know he cannot be left alone.”
“And he cannot be brought to Donwell,” Mr. Knightley said. “It would be far too upsetting to leave his home of these many years.”
“Indeed,” Emma said. “I am afraid that it would.”
“Mr. Woodhouse would not be upset, though,” Mr. Knightley said, “were he to have a son-in-law living at Hartfield to protect the house at night. He still frets over the gypsies, you know.”
“You would live at Hartfield?” Emma asked in wonder.
“I would,” Mr. Knightley said. “Is it to be yes, Emma?”
“Yes,” Emma said quietly.
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. Emma Woodhouse had met her match.
“Come, my little meddler,” Mr. Knightley said. “Take a turn round the gardens with me and tell me of all the trouble you have caused.”
“Oh dear,” Emma said, “you will be quite shocked to hear of it.”
“That, I doubt.”
“Prepare yourself, Mr. Knightley. It all began…”
Their voices drifted away, and Elizabeth went happily into the house.
Emma and Mr. Knightley departed early the next morning. As the family ranged on the drive to see them off, Elizabeth noted with some amusement that despite their engagement, Marta had firmly placed herself and Emma on one side of the carriage and Mr. Knightley on the other. If that gentleman had any ideas of holding the hand of his beloved as they made their way home, he was sorely mistaken. Marta would stand guard until the wedding.
Emma herself was all happy tears and smiles as she said her goodbyes to her cousins. Months ago, she could not have imagined that she would ever dare leave her father’s side. But she had, and on quitting her own small sphere of society, she had gained what she did not then even know that she sought.
Before the carriage rolled away, Emma exacted a promise from her cousin Elizabeth that there would be letters, very many letters, informing each other of how they got on.
Darcy and Bingley returned to the neighborhood late the following day and arrived at Longbourn before they even stopped at Netherfield. They had got the special licenses, Bingley describing with what determination Darcy had managed it. He’d tracked the Archbishop right into a dinner at Lord Dunston’s house. The lord, and the Archbishop too, were inclined to be offended by the intrusion, however Lady Dunston, at one time known as Miss Marjorie Milleston, intervened. The lady was particularly fond of grand gestures and not only were the two interlopers not thrown out, two places were hastily set for them.
Lady Dunston insisted on hearing all that had transpired to cause these two gentlemen to search London for the Archbishop and burst into a private dinner demanding a special license.
Bingley’s description was met with much laughter—all attending could see the difficulty of preferring one lady and believing the lady’s sister preferred oneself.
Darcy’s tale did not include so many of the actual details of the case, but rather told of love upending all of his mistaken opinions. The table was most struck by it and one young buck wondered aloud where he might find his own Elizabeth Bennet.
The Archbishop, not so much swayed by the two gentlemen’s stories as unwilling to disappoint Lady Dunston, agreed to issue the licenses.
Mrs. Bennet was delighted to hear that there would be no delay to the marriages. That lady would only breathe a sigh of relief after a clergyman had pronounced the thing done.
Mr. Bingley proposed that the weddings be held at Netherfield, and so they were held in only five days’ time.
When Elizabeth and Jane had considered
all that must be done in so short a time, they had hurried their betrotheds from the house and run up the stairs. At the very least, gowns must be chosen and modified for the special day.
Mrs. Bennet had fretted that the girls ought to go to London and buy a suitable trousseau, but there was not time. Mr. Bennet pointed out that, after they were married, they would be rich enough to buy London itself, and so could not be pitied.
The day of the weddings had dawned bright and the two couples proclaimed their intentions for all the happy onlookers to hear. Of course, Miss Bingley heard those proclamations too, though she was not quite as delighted as the rest of the party.
Elizabeth and Darcy spent a week at Netherfield, before setting off for Pemberley. Elizabeth had not just a new husband to become further acquainted with, but a new sister too. Georgiana had welcomed her enthusiastically and Elizabeth was certain they would get on well together.
As her relationship with Georgiana deepened, Elizabeth began to get an inkling of her own mother’s constant state of worry. She had always thought Mrs. Bennet far too high strung. However, when she began to consider Georgiana’s future, she had a great urge to lock her indoors so that no harm might come to her.
No such qualms were had in relation to her new husband. Darcy was kind and generous and always had a care for her comfort. As for what happened when the doors were shut behind them, she would not dare say to anybody, but she thought of it often.
As she became more intimately acquainted with her husband’s temperament, she saw that he was sometimes prone to too much introspection and seriousness, but she found she had a unique talent for lightening his spirit. Most interestingly, she had not known she would love him more as time went on. She’d had the silly notion that love’s first bloom must be the most striking. That was not the case, and she was happy to realize her mistake.
It was not long after the weddings and Elizabeth’s departure for Pemberley, that Sir Harry called on the Bennets, he having pressed Bingley to extend his invitation to stay.
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