Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Part XII
Mrs. Bennet chattered on excitedly about the wedding, now less than a week away, but Elizabeth hardly attended to her words. Some weeks had passed since she had dined at the Darcy town house, and she was yet to act on her resolve. The very next day, she had journeyed home to Longbourn, where she had been carried away in the flurry of preparations. Mr. Darcy she had seen but intermittently since then; Mr. Bingley had offered him the use of Netherfield Hall, but he had been much in London, making his own preparations for the upcoming wedding. Today he would accompany the Bingleys back to Netherfield, and they were all to stay there until the wedding. Georgiana, who had shown an eagerness to contribute in the arrangements, had returned with Elizabeth to Longbourn. She and Elizabeth had grown very close in these weeks, and she had found friends also in the other Bennet sisters.
Today would be the day, Elizabeth decided. She could not go the altar and carry through the deception. Elizabeth felt something very like regret at her decision. The brother of whom Georgiana spoke so affectionately, the man who had comforted her so undemandingly when she had needed it most, had grown to be a figure she thought of with some warmth. Perhaps he would find it himself to forgive her. She would not expect such consideration. She had treated him infamously; she would only have her own behaviour to regret if he were to cast her off. But somewhere within her, she knew that if he were to treat her thus she would not regret him.
From the parlour came the bustle of company. Could it be them already? Surely not, London was not so small a distance. Then she recollected that the gentlemen of the militia were to call to take their leave. They were departing from Meryton the next day, and were to spend the summer at Brighton. Lydia's friend, Mrs. Forster, had invited her to join them, and she would leaving soon after the wedding. Kitty had been much disappointed that her sister had been thus singled out, but in the excitement of the wedding preparations she had soon forgotten her slight.
Lizzy's conjecture proved correct, and she and her mother stepped into the parlour to receive the gentlemen. All the members of the party had been eager to see her, and they offered her their congratulations and their regrets that they would not be able to attend the wedding. As she conversed casually with the Colonel and his wife, she noticed Wickham standing idly by, alone. Since her return to Longbourn, she had had very little contact with him; it was almost as though he were avoiding her. As she saw him now, his words came back to her, and it occurred to her that here was another matter that must be clarified before the wedding. Excusing herself, she went up to him.
"Good morning, Mr. Wickham."
His expression on being thus approached momentarily resembled something very like alarm; then, as he saw the friendliness in her manner, his gaze softened, and he replied in his habitual manner. Elizabeth, who noticed his initial hesitation, was very much affected by it. What he must think of her, for succumbing to the temptations of the very man whose infamy he had laid before her! Her manner, however, remained light, and she resolved that they must part as friends.
"Miss Bennet, It has been some time since we met. Allow my to offer my congratulations on your impending nuptials."
"Thank you,"
Several of the officers had headed out into the gardens, along with Kitty and Lydia. As they talked, Lizzy led Wickham out as well, hoping to converse in a slightly more private setting.
"I trust that Darcy is well. I would hope that he is somewhat changed since I last saw him."
"Yes, very well," she replied flushing. His import was not lost on her, but she could not bring herself to respond to it. She changed the subject a little abruptly. "He will be joining us today. Miss Darcy has been staying with us these few weeks. Perhaps you would like to renew the acquaintance?"
The look of alarm returned as he declined.
"No, I think it best that I should avoid the Darcys entirely. How do you find Georgiana?"
"She is charming, though a little shy, perhaps." As she remembered his comments, she could not but remark, "Not at all what I had been led to expect."
"Yes, she would be charming enough with you; the Darcys have an extraordinary sense of family loyalty, and you are soon to be one of them." He paused, and looked at her searchingly, but she refused to meet his eye. "Their friends, perhaps, they do not use as well."
"I hope that you and I shall continue to be friends."
A rather strange and distant smile appeared on his features.
"Indeed, I should like very much for that to be the case."
The two were accosted by Lydia and the other officers, whom she had cajoled into some frivolous game. Wickham joined them, gallantly, and Lizzy stood by, watching. Soon after, the officers took their leave. Lizzy was glad to have finally been able to speak to Wickham, and was relieved that they could still be friends.
Part XIII
Caroline Bingley was very vexed indeed. It had been barely six months since she had convinced Charles to quit the wretched house he had taken in Hertfordshire, and managed to tear him away from that quite unsuitable young lady who had captured his fancy, and now, in midsummer, she was compelled to return under the most mortifying of circumstances. Mr. Darcy, who had been her ally in the removal, was the cause of their return; having successfully extricated her brother, he had himself fallen prey to a Miss Bennet. That he should prefer that impudent Eliza to a woman of the world such as herself was unbearable. She had nothing to offer him, certainly no fortune, and the most despicable of connections, and yet he seemed quite bent upon carrying through this ridiculous scheme. Caroline could not resist taking some rather pointed shots at Mr. Darcy's new relations, but she soon found herself silenced by her brother. It was not hard for her to guess where his thoughts were turning. But though she had lost a crucial battle, she was not willing to forsake the war. Already, she had mobilized forces against the future Mrs. Darcy. It had not been hard to do; the society dowagers had been influenced by Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and the younger ladies were insensed at their own dashed hopes. Caroline had not been the only woman who had hoped to be Mistress of Pemberley. If Eliza knew her own good she would drop her pretensions. It was obvious that a country girl could have no idea of what such a position would entail. She would carry the day yet. She would show that Eliza Bennet that she had no business marrying Mr. Darcy.
Having alighted at Netherfield, Darcy and Bingley had been surprised to find that Miss Bingley intended to call at Longbourn immediately. She had made her excuses about being eager to see dear Jane and Miss Eliza, and of course, darling Georgiana, and not wanting to appear rude, they had allowed her to proceed without troubling her with any further questions. Darcy did, however, wonder about her actual motives. It would have taken a very dull man to ignore all her quips and scorns at his expense and Elizabeth's, and neither gentleman had been able to do so. Mr. Bingley had eventually silenced her as tactfully as possible, and an uncomfortable silence had prevailed for the rest of the journey. Now that it appeared that she had had a change of heart, Darcy had to treat her motives with scepticism. He determined that he would leave for Longbourn as soon as he could. That Miss Bingley's intent was mischievous was clear to him, and he hoped to be able to forestall her.
He asked for a horse to be saddled, then went into the house and splashed cold water on his face. He then changed out of his travelling attire, and shortly thereafter, made off in the direction of Longbourn.
It was early afternoon when a carriage arrived at Longbourn. Lizzy stiffened as she heard it pulling in. They were here; it was time for her to have it out with Mr. Darcy. As she went into the parlour to greet them, however, she was surprised to find that Miss Bingley had come alone.
"Miss Eliza. How good to see you again. It has been many months since I had the pleasure of your company."
Her manner was all that was affectionate and insincere; it was entirely unremarkable. Elizabeth, however, was unable to fathom what reason she had in coming.
"Likewise, Miss Bingley. If I might enquire...."
"Forgive me for trespassing upon you just now, Miss Eliza. I could not wait to offer my congratulations. Perhaps you would oblige me by taking a turn with me in the shrubbery? It can be no great exertion for you; you are quite the walker."
Still at a loss, Lizzy followed her outside.
"I do confess, I was quite surprised to see the announcement in the papers. I had not anticipated that Mr. Darcy would forget himself so entirely."
"Miss Bingley, are you insinuating that I trapped Mr. Darcy into this wedding?"
"Come now, surely you will not pretend that it has always been your objective to have him if you could. Why, your mother practically announced her intentions from the roof-tops! Do you think your beloved Mr. Darcy was blind to her impropriety? It is remarkable that you were able to take him in regardless."
"However reprehensible my mother's behaviour may have been, it cannot compare to your audacity at addressing me thus in my own home. Why are you even here?"
Caroline seemed to recover herself slightly.
"I am here, Miss Bennet, to warn you that it is not so easy as you think. Do not think that I have given him up. You are not yet married, you know."
"I am well aware of that fact, Miss Bingley. Allow me to remind you that I am engaged to him, not you,"
"That sort of wit may stand you well in Hertfordshire, but if you think that you are equipped to take your place in London society then you are very mistaken. If you knew what was good for you, you would not hesitate to give him up. He may be infatuated right now, but do you really think that he will always be yours? Renounce your claims, Eliza, you will save yourself much mortification."
"I tend to think, Miss Bingley, that it is you I will save from mortification. I assure you that the prospect does not tempt me. If you will excuse me, there are preparations I must see to."
"Excuse my interference, Eliza, it was kindly meant. You will live to regret your obstinacy. I pity Darcy; he does not know what he has let himself in for."
Miss Bingley headed back towards her carriage. Elizabeth, shaken by the encounter, did not immediately return home. Hostility she had expected, but that the veneer of gentility and pretension would be so entirely eroded she could not have foreseen. Without thinking where she went, Elizabeth found herself walking away from the house on one of her favourite trails through the woods around Longbourn. She desperately needed some fresh air and solitude. The gall of that woman! To think that she could barge in and demand that Lizzy break her engagement. Why, her impunity exceeded even that of Lady Catherine! What right could she possibly have to speak thus? And her manner, her insufferable presumption in believing that she knew what was best for Mr. Darcy. What right did anybody have to speak for him, save himself? And he had made himself abundantly clear; he had defied his family and his personal scruples for her sake. They could not belittle his decision thus. She would not allow it. Without quite knowing what she thought, Elizabeth rejected any idea of confronting Mr. Darcy. He had chosen to marry her, and she had accepted him. That was how it would be. And no one, not Lady Catherine, nor Caroline Bingley, would have the satisfaction of any other outcome.
Part XIV
As Darcy cantered along the path that led to Longbourn, his mind was once again agreeably occupied. Although he was concerned about Miss Bingley's intentions, he did not expect her to have much of an impact on Elizabeth. Certainly any woman who had been able to hold her own against Lady Catherine could not be deterred by Caroline Bingley. What perturbed him was not the immediate encounter, however, but rather the consequences it would have after their wedding. Darcy was not unaware of Caroline's campaign against Elizabeth in London, and the prospect of it bothered him, not only in that Elizabeth would be forced to counter some degree of social resistance, but also in that he was frankly unable to gauge what her response to such a situation might be. It would not do to have her create additional fodder for the gossips; her very presence would do enough. For the present, they would remove to Pemberley as soon as possible, although the claims of his business demanded that he stay in town a few weeks at least, but when such matters were taken care of he was eager to show her his home, and acquaint her with her new responsibilities as mistress of his estate. By the time they arrived in London later in the year, he expected that his marriage would be stale news, and that his wife would be familiar with the manners of his circle. Her own manners were always impeccable, and he was sure that it would not be long before she learnt the greater degree of restraint that would be expected in a woman married to a man of his standing. He rather hoped that she would retain some of the archness that had bewitched him, if only in private. There was still some awkwardness in their interaction, but that would surely wane as their familiarity grew. He looked forward to spending some time with her over the next few days before their wedding. They had not been alone together since that day in Rosings, when first, in the forest, she had wept inconsolably in his arms, and then, in the maze, had once more affirmed her willingness to be his wife. For a moment, he wondered what would have happened had she refused him. Would they have gone their separate ways, never again to meet? Could the woman who would so shortly be his wife have walked out of his life so easily? No, it was inconceivable. They were meant to be together, and he had known it almost from the earliest days of their acquaintance. Fate had played a fine jest on him, placing the only woman in the world that he could marry in almost insupportable circumstances. But it was he who would have the last laugh. He had not dismissed this treasure, and soon she would be his wife. What could her fortune or her family matter? He was in the happy position of giving her a better home than the one he had found her in.
As he entered the woods near Longbourn, his pace quickened in eager anticipation. It had been some weeks now since he had seen either his sister or his betrothed. From all accounts, they were extremely pleased with each other, and Georgiana seemed quite taken with the other Bennet sisters as well. This had certainly been a good idea. Georgiana was too often alone; she needed more society. That situation would soon be altered permanently, but the present interlude had still been valuable. Georgiana was very pleased to be so closely involved with the arrangements for the wedding, and it had helped take her mind off more unpleasant matters. Darcy had grown quite concerned about her spirits after Wickham had imposed upon her so infamously, and he had been reluctant to send her away with Elizabeth to a neighbourhood where the chances of encountering him were high indeed, but he had counted on the fact that Wickham's diminished influence on Georgiana and his fear of Darcy's wrath would induce him to stay away from her, as indeed he had avoided him when he had been in Hertfordshire. And in this guess he had been proven correct, and Georgiana's letters of late had been all that was light-hearted and cheerful. Elizabeth had been a good influence indeed.
He proceeded, lost in thought, when he realised that he was not alone in the woods. Could it be her? She was fond of walking, but at such a time, surely there would be plenty to occupy her. No, his mind must be playing tricks on him. Thank goodness he would soon be in her presence! But the encounter happened sooner than he had anticipated it: at the very next bend in the path, he came upon Elizabeth.
He dismounted, and inquired after her health. She did not appear to be entirely well, but she answered evasively, refusing to meet his eye. Though she attempted to be her usual self, she was evidently discomposed. It must have been Miss Bingley's doing. But what could she have said that would so affect Elizabeth? Tentatively, he asked after her.
"I was just coming to see you... all. Miss Bingley, I believe, has already called at Longbourn?"
"Indeed, I was just with her. I believe she has departed."
"She did not stay to see Georgiana?" he asked, his manner faintly ironic. He had wondered whether Georgiana would cease to be so very dear to Miss Bingley after his wedding. His sister, certainly, would not miss her attentions.
"No, her business was entirely with myself." She attempted to return his banter, but the serious import of her words crept through.
"Her business?" he asked, stepping closer to her. As she still refused to meet his eye, he reached for her chin, and gently raised her gaze to meet his own.
She coloured, but managed to preserve an even, ironic tone.
"Twas an errand of mercy, sir. She thought to save me from myself."
He sighed in exasperation.
"I beg you will not let her importune you thus. She knows not what she speaks of."
She attempted once again to alleviate the tone.
"You may rest contented, sir. She imposed upon me, but she did not injure me."
"I am glad to hear it. I know what I am about, regardless of her opinions. Elizabeth..."
This last word he uttered tentatively, drawing closer still. Once again, she flushed, but she did not resist.
She stood there, her features a most becoming crimson shade, her face slightly averted in spite of his touch. It was too much for him. He drew her near him, and lightly brushed his lips on her cheek. He heard her release her breath, but she did not shrink from his embrace. Without quite knowing what they did, his lips sought after hers, and they met. Briefly, for but a moment at first, but then the kiss lengthened with his increasing ardour. He was gratified to find her so responsive; he had hardly known what to expect. At last he drew back, if a little reluctantly, and gazed intently into her eyes, allowing himself to drown in them. He knew not how long they stood there thus entranced, and locked in each other's gaze.
At last she turned away, and attempting to speak in her light-hearted tones she observed that her family had enough to do preparing for the wedding without having to send out a search party for the bride and groom. He smiled, and offered her his arm, and they walked back to Longbourn together, the horse following behind.
Part XV
An exhausted Elizabeth Bennet entered her bed chamber, shutting the door behind her, and looked contemplatively into her mirror. Outside, she could still hear her mother and Hill scurrying through the house, straightening a curtain here, changing the water for the flowers there, in the final arrangements before the wedding, since breakfast would be at Longbourn, immediately after the ceremony. Tomorrow, she would marry Mr. Darcy, and forever resign the Bennet name. Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. To be forever subsumed in his name, in his life. There was no future ahead of her independent of him. Once again, Elizabeth could not help wondering whether she had made the right decision. Now, at the eve of her wedding, she was convinced that she ought to have made a clean breast of the matter to him while she had had a chance of it. Miss Bingley's interference had reduced her decision to the level of a petty rivalry in which she had determined that she should emerge the victor. And the victor she would be, for the wedding bells were irrevocably to ring out on the morrow. But surely these were no terms on which the most important decision of her life was to be based. Not that she had had any cause to regret her choice. Over the last week, especially, Mr. Darcy had been everything that she could have hoped for. He had been generous and attentive to her, and had borne her mother's excesses better than she had thought possible. If he had been sometimes a little vexed at her manner it had been no more than her own discomfiture at her mother's outrageous hints. Elizabeth was very far from doubting that he would indeed do everything in his power to further her happiness, and she was flattered and pleased at the extent of his devotion to her. A thrill ran through her as she contemplated the little intimacies they had come to share, and she coloured slightly as she thought of her own boldness in permitting, and even encouraging, such liberties. There had of course been no question of anything that might be deemed at all compromising, rather, she dwelt upon pleasant memories of touching fingers, held hands, and furtive kisses stolen in the woods. Over the course of her engagement she had gradually come to realize and admit to herself how strongly she reacted to Mr. Darcy's sheer presence, and the brief caresses of the last week had taught her that her anticipation of the natural conclusion to such intimacy was not coloured by apprehension, at least, though she could not pretend to dissect the actual state of her emotions on the subject.
Her concern for their future was at an altogether different level. Growing up in a household where her mother's frantic cries ran through the house and her father shut his library door and remained aloof, Lizzy had had daily proof of the tribulations arising from infelicity in marriage. In her own case, the situation would be somewhat different; Mr. Darcy and she were well-matched in sense, and their tempers were complementary to each other. But Lizzy knew her father well enough to realize that the fundamental tragedy of his life was that his wife had not been capable of sharing the depth of his emotion. Mrs. Bennet had been, in her day, lively and vivacious, but he had withdrawn from her once he had understood her motives. And what could be said for Lizzy's own motives? She had been exactly what all of society would see in her, a determined husband-chaser. And though she had seen much to vindicate her choice, she was entering the married state still uncomfortable to communicate freely with the one person she had always imagined she would be able to share every thought and every feeling with. She had come to esteem and respect Mr. Darcy, and she felt also gratitude, that he had been able to love her in spite of the dismissive and contemptuous manner which she had affected. She saw that they were in many ways perfectly suited to one another, and that her vivacity had already revealed in him a more open temper than she had expected. But there was still a barrier between them; he saw her as an unlikely product of her environment, to be humoured, and sheltered, and protected, not as a partner with whom he could share his life on equal terms. He was proud that he had found himself such a wife, but he had not reconciled himself to the setting he had found her in. And she was well aware also that the feelings he had for her which had motivated him to accept such an alliance were stronger than those she was able to own to for him. Lizzy had at one time fancied herself in love with George Wickham. When he had turned his attentions to Mary King she had realized that he had never actually touched her heart. She feared now that she might be incapable of the kind of love she had always hoped to find in marriage, even as she had acknowledged it to be unlikely. And devoid of such a love, what would become of her life? Mr. Darcy's ardour would cool as he saw her disaffection -- he would grow distant again, and withdraw into the aloofness he had so recently broken out of. And she would be left to the tribulations of managing a great estate and raising a family without his love and support. In such circumstances, would it be wondered at if she were to grow shrewish, and crave attention? On the eve of her wedding, Elizabeth Bennet finally fell into a disturbed slumber, contemplating the dreadful eventuality of transforming into her mother.
Chapter XVI
As she joined Mr. Darcy into the open phaeton which would convey them to his London home, Lizzy was still unable to fully accept the day's events. Overwhelmed, and preoccupied by the bustle and activity, she had thrown herself into the motions and put aside their import, but now she was at leisure to contemplate what had happened, and it seemed inconceivable that she should be already married. She could not say that she felt any different, but surely such an important step must occasion some change. And yet the facts were incontrovertible; she was married; the moment was branded in her memory. It had gone off extremely well, and no doubt the neighbours had all been suitably impressed. Mrs. Bennet had been determined to spare no expense at so eligible a marriage, and tempered with the superior taste of her eldest daughters and her brother and his wife, the arrangements had been quite suitable for all parties concerned. Jane had stood up for Elizabeth, and Mr. Bingley for Mr. Darcy. Her best friend, Mrs. Collins, had been in attendance with her husband. The vicar of the parish of Longbourn, an elderly gentleman who had known Elizabeth as a child, had performed his office irreproachably. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had a strong penchant for showmanship, had made a memorable toast at the wedding breakfast. And now all was said and done, and bride and groom were off to London, where they would spend some weeks before retiring to Pemberley for the remainder of the summer.
Aware of a pair of dark eyes regarding her intently, as they had long been wont to do, she knew that some response was required of her and smiled tentatively. He smiled back, reassuringly, and took her hand gently in his, drawing her closer to him. She turned towards him and started to speak, but fell silent as he leaned towards her, and gently placed a kiss upon her lips. Then he drew back, and earnestly looked upon her.
"Mrs. Darcy. Shall you like to be so called?"
"Very much," she replied, but her voice faltered.
He interpreted her anxiety as stemming from her unfamiliarity with her new responsibilities as Mistress of so large an estate, and assured her that there was no cause to worry. Mrs. Reynolds, his Pemberley housekeeper, would be only too happy to help her master her duties, and were there any serious concerns he would take care of them himself. Elizabeth could only smile in reply, and inwardly it occurred to her that once again she was being taken for a child. Both fell silent. Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows with mirth, and Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather knew she should be happy than felt herself to be so.
Part XVII
When they arrived at the townhouse in London, the entire staff had congregated to greet them, and Elizabeth painstakingly put herself to the task of acquainting herself with them. These introductions made, they partook of a small meal before retiring for the evening. Darcy was amused and somewhat touched by how little his wife was able to eat, and how she failed to meet his eye. He attributed her feelings to the natural anxiety of a new bride, and sought to compose her by engaging her in some slight conversation. He himself could hardly be described as perfectly at ease, and the distraction was in reality as much for his benefit as for hers. To this end, he was started speaking of the wedding arrangements that morning. Mr. Darcy had been rather anxious of Mrs. Bennet's intentions, and had been extremely gratified at the simplicity and taste of the arrangements. He now spoke extensively on the subject, his nervousness lending him an unlikely garrulousness. His bride spoke hardly a word or two. Elizabeth was a little surprised at Mr. Darcy's sudden proclivity for conversation, but for the most part, she continued preoccupied with the concerns that had been haunting her throughout her journey to London. Slightly as she attended to her husband's words, they could hardly fail to exacerbate her anxiety. His lively description of the horrors he had anticipated could hardly have failed to divert her under other circumstances, and such indeed was her husband's intention. She had over the last week apologized to him so often for her mother's follies that he had no cause to think her unaware of them, and it did not occur to him that he could give offence by putting into words what they were both aware of and agreed upon. She grew increasingly mortified that at such a time he could be so thoughtless in speaking of her closest relations, and did not stop to consider how far she agreed with him. As they concluded their supper, he rose and escorted his bride to her bedchamber.
Elizabeth's horror was now heightened to the extreme. In Mr. Darcy's conversation she suddenly found little trace of the gentle forbearance that had been so very appealing to her over the last several weeks, and every misgiving she had ever entertained in taking the engagement to its natural conclusion returned now that there was no turning back. That she had ever allowed herself any pleasurable anticipation of the ordeal to follow suddenly seemed incredible to her, and her mother's admonitions about the fulfillment of her wifely duties loomed large.
But though he was unaware of her growing discomfort at the content of his nervous monologue, Darcy was hardly unaware that his bride might have other sources of anxiety. Had he not already known it to be the case from her conversation and her very bearing, their furtive embraces over the last few weeks would have taught him that she was by nature a passionate creature. But her bashfulness under the present circumstances was entirely to be expected, and he could do little else but to attempt to alleviate it, and to overcome his own nervousness.
As they paused outside the door to her bed chamber, he deliberately curbed his rambling tongue. This, at least, caught her attention, and she brought her eyes up to meet his, in silent inquiry. He held open the door for her, and motioned for her to enter. She did so, but it was with some hesitation that she turned back to him, and issued the inevitable invitation for him to follow her in. Though Elizabeth at this particular moment might have contested any claims her husband had to sensitivity, he was perceptive enough to realize that he was the source of her discomfort. Much as he wished to be able to hold her and banish her fears, as he had had occasion to do when earlier he had found her in a troubled state of mind, he instinctively grasped the paradox that the root of her hesitation lay in the fact that what it had earlier been in her power to grant as a modest liberty had now been transformed into an expectation, or even a duty. She was afraid of what was expected of her. And for her to take comfort in him now, he could not have her think that he would impose upon her against her will. He made no immediate move to approach her, and instead absorbed that which constituted their immediate surroundings. She followed a similar course, and they spent a minute in silent contemplation of the well-appointed chamber. Then, seeing that his bride still held her silence, he spoke.
"These rooms were my mother's, you know. It has been many years since I have stepped into them, but I see that they are very little altered. If there is anything at all that you would change..."
"Not at all. They are magnificent..."
She looked as though she would have elaborated on that theme, but suddenly she coloured and stopped, silent again, as though an unfortunate recollection intruded, as he continued to look at her in silent inquiry, but she would not return to the subject. In truth Elizabeth, mortified at the mercenary aspect of her choice, felt all too keenly how her enthusiasm at the finery might be mischievously constructed. Yet conversation could not be allowed to languish; she felt the expectations that silence brought about all too keenly. Desperately she cast her mind about for a subject on which they might converse, but it seemed as though there were a taboo on any subject she lighted upon. With an effort she recollected that Darcy had been speaking of her mother all this while, and she could not but think of his mother, who had once occupied these very rooms.
"I hope your memories are happy ones."
"Memories?"
"Of your mother, I mean. Mama can be... You of all people must know what she is like; you have talked of little else all evening..." she could not help herself, and a note of resentment crept into her voice, then faded away as she went on in a wistful tone. "but her heart is in the right place, even if her nerves aren't." she stopped, with a wry smile, then looked away and continued, "I can't imagine what it would be like without her, without any of them."
And though she would not meet his eyes it was apparent to him that she was blinking back tears, and though this was not the first time that he had been confronted with her strong feelings for her family it did occur to him to wonder whether he had succeeded in offending rather than amusing with his earlier comments.
"You don't think that I... Elizabeth, you must know by now that it makes not the slightest difference to me who your family are or what their situation is."
She turned away still further in despair; this much she did know. It made not the slightest difference to him who her family were -- it was up to him now whom she could or could not admit into her company. Her supposedly reprehensible connections were lost to her forever. But he was not done: he spoke again in a gentler tone, more slowly, and Elizabeth was astonished at his words.
"They are not lost to you, Elizabeth. I have told you this before, and if I have done anything to suggest otherwise then I am sorry. You family will always be dear to me for your sake, and they are very welcome in our home."
He stopped. Only now, after he had spoken did he begin to realize just how necessary his declaration had been. He had assumed always that Elizabeth could only be happier as his wife, making his concerns her own, but it occurred to him now that the transition would involve sacrifices for her as well. Today of all days Elizabeth would feel the separation from her family, and it fell to him to offer her comfort. He looked at her, unsure of his reception, but he was gratified to see that she turned back in his direction, drawn by the note of sincerity in his voice. Yet she did not speak, and he knew it was up to him to continue.
"What I said earlier was very insensitive of me, Elizabeth. I ought not have spoken of your mother in such a manner. I know it has not been easy for you, to leave all that you know and come away with me."
He thought he saw a certain something in her eye, but though that look faded as quickly as it had appeared for once she did not look away.
"You have no cause to apologize, Mr. Darcy. Another day I would have laughed at it myself."
"But it is not another day. I ought to have known better."
"Do not blame yourself. It is all forgotten."
"No, Elizabeth." He paused, then after a moment he continued. "They are very happy memories. My mother doted on me -- on us, after Georgiana was born -- perhaps she even spoilt us a little, but we always knew exactly how much she loved us. Elizabeth, you are generous in forgiving me, but I cannot reconcile myself so easily. I cannot forget what I just said, and if it raised even the slightest inkling of a doubt in you, then I must say this. I do not know what it takes to be a good husband. I dare say I shall figure it out by and by. But I do know that I would make a sorry one indeed if I did not let you know how much I will always cherish you."
Without quite knowing that she had moved at all, Elizabeth found herself much closer to her husband. Her earlier lively state of apprehension had left her gradually, as she had realized that her husband evidently appreciated her fears and was concerned for her comfort over his own satisfaction, and she had been assailed with guilt for ever suspecting otherwise. But her conviction in his pride had remained firm as ever, and it was some surprise that she found him capable of any apology whatsoever, let alone one couched in such graceful terms. It was the renewed avowal of his affection, however, that allowed her to overcome her own hesitation. Elizabeth had never doubted her husband's regard for her, but the current demonstration of his sensibility left her with the absolute conviction that she was capable of a return. If Wickham or Jane crossed her mind at all she dismissed such thoughts; she felt instinctively that the man before her was incapable of base treachery, and if he had alienated another through the fault of his pride she knew as well as anyone could that his pride was not insurmountable.
She looked at him again. His eyes had never wavered. She tried to form the words to convey some iota of what she felt, of the tumultuous revelations within her, but for once she found herself unequal to the task. She did see that words at the present moment were unnecessary, that he had seen something in her eyes that induced him at last to reach over gently and caress her cheek. But as he took her in his arms and she surrendered herself willingly, Elizabeth hoped rather than knew that her husband had any insight into her heart, or her mind.
Part XVIII
b As she drifted out of sleep the following morning, Elizabeth grew gradually aware of a gentle sounds of breathing emanating from beside her. She snuggled into the closest source of warmth, without yet realising that it was her husband of one day. As her eyes opened, Elizabeth grew aware of her surroundings, and she dwelt on the events of the previous night with some embarrassment, but she made no attempt to dislodge herself from her present comfortable position. If embarrassment still lingered, anxiety had faded away entirely, and she wondered when her husband would awaken, looking forward to their first day together as man and wife. She was a little flattered to find him still in her bed; it had occurred to her that he might prefer to retire to his own adjoining chamber that he might enjoy an undisturbed night's rest. She knew how matters stood at least with her parents, and she had no reason to suppose that other couples might have it otherwise, but for her part she thought that she would be entirely contented to differ from the norm if that was what her husband should choose. She shut her eyes again, knowing it to be early, and speculated absently on the state of her feelings. Excited she certainly was, to be starting on a new life, and apprehensive, being conscious that she was now subject to more severe expectations than had ever previously rested upon her. But none of this was any different from what she had experienced the previous day, or the day before that, or any day, in fact, since she had found herself responding positively to Mr. Darcy's addresses. Yet never, since that day, had she experienced anything close to her present nearly absolute lightheartedness, and this she could only attribute to the gentleman lying beside her. Somehow, her most particular concern, involving her now-husband's reaction to the various kinds of disclosures she had considered making at one point or another, had faded away entirely, and with it, her pressing need to make such revelations had ebbed as well. What possible justification could there be for bringing to light facts painful to each, and inconducive to their continued good understanding? And as for poor Jane, and Mr. Wickham, it occurred to her that she was best in the position of undoing the wrongs, or supposed wrongs, done them by remaining in the good graces of her husband. She was determined to intercede in some way on their behalf, and for her own part, she was as contented as she could possibly have been with the supposed perpetrator of such wrongs. His behaviour as far as she had observed it recently had been unimpeachable except in its reticence, and towards her it could not be faulted even on this count, since it had taken on all the shades of a man violently in love. And she had long been disposed to make light of his early slights, which could not continue to offend, nor to be recalled with anything other than nostalgic irony, as the depth of his affection became increasingly clear to her. Yet her feelings towards him did not stop with this absence of rancour; novel as that in itself was, there existed also something far more positive. It must be love, she mused inwardly, opening her eyes once again, as if to ensure that it was all true, that she had not been caught up in some elaborate reverie and would awaken again as Miss Bennet. This time, as she gazed with wonderment as the embodiment of the changes in her situation, the object of all her reflections awakened as well, evidently somewhat amused to find his wife staring at him thus.
"Good morning, dearest."
Even now, she could not help but blush slightly as he addressed her in such a manner.
"Good morning."
"Have you been up long? I should have realised you'd be up bright and early."
"Just a few minutes. I am sorry if I disturbed you. Do you usually sleep much longer?"
"Do not be sorry. And no, I usually rise much earlier. This morning is rather an aberration. But then, I've never had such a lovely wife to wake up to."
"Indeed, sir? I must say it rather vexes me that you've had any wife at all. What a thing to keep a secret!"
He laughed delightedly.
"I might have known you would have said such a thing! Indeed, my lovely wife, you need not be vexed, for there is no such secret, nor any other. My life is an open book, and one that I should be happy to share with you."
"An open book, you say, sir? You must remind me to devote my hours to the extensive reading of it, and perhaps when I have done we might discuss our different opinions of it."
He laughed again, and drew her closer, but all he said was, "When all is said and done, I hope our opinions will not be so very different." He then devoted his attention to things other than conversation, and if his wife revelled in these attentions it needs also to be said that though she felt herself genuinely attached to her husband, a certain degree of hesitation lingered. Even now, she could not but feel that he was attempting to mould her into his image of the perfect wife, and shelter her from the vagaries both of her world and of his own. But then, was this not a perfectly normal level of consideration that any husband would show for his wife? It was only flattering in its intention, if a little constricting in its implementation. And as for the intention to mould, she had to admit to the same herself, for was she not at this very moment wishing for him to change in some small particular or another? All things considered, Elizabeth decided, she was as contented with her situation in life as any woman had a right to be.
Part XIX
Georgiana, who had been at Longbourn for a month preceding the wedding of her older brother, had remained there for one additional night before joining them at the London town house. The Bingleys, brother and sister, had offered to bring her into London with them and the Hursts. They had started from Hertfordshire remarkably early in the morning, ostensibly to complete their journey before the sun became too oppressive. But considering that Darcy and his bride had comfortably made the journey in the afternoon in an open phaeton, another explanation may perhaps be in order. That Miss Bingley had been insistent upon an early journey is another suspicious circumstance. There is a distinct possibility that the promptness of the journey was motivated by nothing other than an intense curiosity on the part of one member of the party into the affairs of the Darcy household, as well as a desire to disrupt the first morning a certain pair of newlyweds would be spending together. Or perhaps wrong the good lady is wronged by this such speculation, for one ought not discount the chance that she was motivated by no stronger urge than to return to her expansive London circle after the privation of restrictive company she had been forced to endure in Hertfordshire. Be that as it may, the incontestable fact is that the Bingley carriage drew up before the Darcy townhouse well before the hours conventionally set aside for morning visits.
Georgiana, eager as she was to be seeing her brother and new sister again, could not help feeling a little awkward as she entered the house. Miss Bingley had been very vociferous in insisting upon an early journey, but it had struck Georgiana's more delicate sensibilities that her brother and his wife would perhaps prefer some degree of privacy on this particular morning. The delay that followed their announcement seemed to Georgiana to confirm this supposition, and she blushed, feeling that she had intruded upon them. This prompted from her friend an insincere inquiry as to the state of her well-being, and she was trying somewhat unsuccessfully to assert her continued excellent health when her brother and new sister entered the room. They greeted Georgiana with a fond display of affection, and their guests with every appearance of civility, perpetuating the illusion of an unremarkable morning visit. Elizabeth as mistress of the house called for a splendid array of refreshments to be served, pressing them upon her guests after their taxing journey. She thanked them for their consideration in bringing dear Georgiana home so very promptly, chattered amiably about their mutual acquaintances in Hertfordshire, and generally played the part of an agreeable hostess in society as though she they were the only manners she had ever known. Miss Bingley was disarmed; had expected her ingenuous hostess to display signs of veiled hostility or at least to exercise the sharp tongue which she had come to think of as complementary to her admittedly fine eyes, and such lapses she might have punished with her own subtle brand of ridicule. But she had been well enough taught to realize that to answer politeness with anything else could reflect badly only on her own breeding. Never exerting herself to be original or amusing when detraction was beyond her scope, she answered only as form dictated, and grew increasingly vexed and disaffected as the morning wore on. Her companions seemed unable to grasp the ridiculous pretensions of their hostess, and were entirely satisfied at the manner of their reception. Her brother especially was vocal in his congratulations and his good wishes, and moreover, was rash enough to propose a ball in honour of the recent wedding, entirely ignoring her feeble protests that they wait at least until the beginning of the season. No, it was bad enough that the wedding trip should have been postponed, and the new bride brought to London because her husband had business to attend to; it was the least he could do to see to her entertainment and introduce her to such society as existed in town at the moment by means of a ball, not to mention the fact that it would provide a good excuse for her relations to visit her here in London. Miss Bingley could not help speculating on the selfish motives her brother might have in this last suggestion, and lament once more the loss of the precious ally she had counted upon in severing the reprehensible connection. What she might have hoped to find in bursting upon the Darcys at this early hour cannot be stated with any certainty, but might certainly be asserted that she had encountered something quite different. Pushed almost beyond endurance by the grating affability of her hostess she had to content herself with the meagre comfort she could derive from philosophy in observing that Darcy's country bride had become indistinguishable from the town coquettes who had so long surrounded him, and that he had nothing to show for the exchange other than a set of unenviable connections. The comfort she might have drawn from this notion was further diminished when she observed that Darcy himself appeared to be entirely contented with his situation, and seemed to be more proud than anything to see his wife comport herself in such a manner. The visit continued late into the morning, and might have continued longer had not Miss Bingley finally protested her exhaustion after the journey, and harried her brothers and sister out. Bingley and Louisa fell in with her wishes willingly enough, but Hurst, who had fallen into a soporific stupor on a comfortable chaise longue, vexed her still further with his pronouncement of her wishes as "Singular!" after she had forced upon them the unnecessarily strenuous morning journey. Thus ended the morning visit, with engagements on either side for subsequent meetings while they continued to be in town.
The next few days for the most part brought about a repitition of this pattern at the Darcy home, albeit at more conventional hours and with other participants. Those who held that there was no one to be found in town at this time of year would have been surprised to observe the succession of carriages drawing up at the Darcy townhouse, drawn out of curiosity to see the bride that Darcy had chosen. And Darcy stayed home from his club, receiving these visitors along with his bride, and making the necessary introductions. If they came out of curiosity it is to be assumed that they came back from a different feeling, and Darcy was well satisfied to see his wife settling in so well to a social sphere so different from her own. In the afternoon he tended to his business affairs, and she was left to her own devices. For the most part she spent this time growing still further acquainted with her new sister, who was by now as dear to her as a sister ever could be, and he was pleased to see that they got on so well. And every so often she would exchange visits with her aunt, who also was well pleased to see her settling in so well into married life. The evenings for the most part the three Darcys would pass together, well pleased with their own company, and only rarely admitting into it the closest of their friends. Colonel Fitzwilliam, when he could be spared from his professional obligations, often made a welcome fourth on these occasions, and sometimes the Bingleys were invited. And at nights it had become an accepted fact among the servants that a fire would only be required in the mistress's chambers.
Thus it continued for a few weeks. One morning, when Elizabeth was out, returning visits to some of her new friends, it occurred to Darcy that he was unusually unoccupied, and musing as to the cause of it he realized that he had grown curiously dependent upon his wife's society, and reflected with some wonder that he had not yet had occasion to frequent his club since he had been in town. Knowing Elizabeth would not be returning for some time, and that Georgiana had accompanied her on her visits, he decided that his habitual haunt would be the perfect place to wile away his solitude. He set out promptly, and entering, was about to set himself inconspicuously in the corner of the smoking room with the morning broadsheet when he realized that he appeared to have attracted the attention of his fellow members to a previously unprecedented degree. He wondered briefly whether this might be the result of some conspicuous defect in his costume that had somehow escaped his notice, but coming to the happier conclusion that they were simply remarking on his long absence, he nodded briefly at his acquaintances and turned back into the broadsheet. But curious though he was as to how the British troops were faring in battle, it seemed as though the American question would not be allowed to hold his attention. Those with whom he was personally acquainted apparently felt obligated to offer their congratulations; those with whom he was not seemed to him to have nothing to discuss but his own situation. Those with whom he was intimate seemed extraordinarily inclined to conversation, and the subject through all of this was Elizabeth. His friends chafed him good-naturedly for being so besotted with his bride that he had quite abandoned them; his acquaintances pronounced themselves enchanted, and he could not rid himself of the impression that even those with whom he had but the merest nodding acquaintance had no other topic to consider but the charms of his own bride. How far they were sincere in all of this discussion he could not be certain, but he was astonished nonetheless at the apparent unanimity of opinion. He was not ashamed to admit to himself that as far as the discussion involved him they were right - he was certainly taken by the many charms of his wife - but he was embarrassed to be the object of their scrunity, or rather, its satellite, since it was his wife on whom the speculation centred.
In all honesty, Darcy's imagination had exaggerated the matter to him, but the substance of it was in fact quite accurate. Darcy, in his impetuous choice of a bride who had recommended herself to him solely on her own charms had attracted more attention than he had ever before had cause to do. Hitherto he had been as every other wealthy and well-connected bachelor in town, an object of attention for the pretty young things and their mothers, none of whom had thought to look beyond the grounds on which he merited their attractions, and it had generally been assumed that he would, if he escaped the claims of his cousin, fall prey to the charms of one or the other of these fashionable young ladies. His recent marriage, by disappointing any such aspirations, might have been thought to have brought about an end to these attentions, but it had instead leant him a certain notoriety, which extended beyond the sphere in which he had previously been prominent. And if there are those who claim that such subjects are simply the stuff of wifely discourse, then they cannot at least contest that a husband might comprise his wife's audience, and might, as such, being privy to opinions on the subject, be not incapable of forming an opinion for himself. The Darcy marriage was frequently spoken of, even in homes where Darcy himself, and certainly his bride, had never set foot. Those who had had the honour of forming the acquaintance were pressed for their opinions, and new reports were constantly circulating. Opinions on the matter were in fact divided, and while most of their acquaintance had spoken favourably, there had been a few notable exceptions. The author's reticence upon this point does not prohibit her readers from drawing their own conclusions, and it must be admitted that any speculation they are likely to entertain on the matter is quite probably accurate. Darcy had drawn both admiration and contempt, his wife the extremes of praise and censure. There were those who proclaimed her a charming young thing and him a lucky devil; others held that the luck was all on her side, and others that he had made a shrewd choice in choosing an unspoilt country girl. Still others called her a conniving termagant and him a fool. How long it might be supposed that their marriage would generate such interest could not be stated with any certainty, but it could not be supposed that they would reign dominant as a topic of conversation when the season brought other luminaries into town so that their various actions might be held to similar scrutiny. But however long it might prove to be, it would certainly be too long for Darcy. To him such attention was wholely unwelcome, and proud as he was of his beloved wife, he could not free himself of the supposition that such scrutiny contained an implicit criticism, both to the situation in life she was born to, and to his discretion in raising her to one much superior.
For his own part he could vouch for the fact that any criticism that might be made of his marital situation were utterly baseless. The misgivings he had entertained prior to his wedding as to wisdom of his choice were daily laid to rest. Elizabeth remained as she had always been a woman who knew her own mind, and whose expression was tempered with that mixture of archness and sweetness which could not fail to charm him. Her open temper was an excellent example for his sister, and it seemed to him that she was benefitting already from the influence. She was a fair and considerate mistress to the servants, and was able to oversee the running of the household with admirable efficiency. And belying what had been perhaps his greatest concern, she had already, in the short time since the wedding, demonstrated herself as quite equal to making a place for himself in London society that was reflective of his own position. Yet ironically, if there were anything he would have altered to make his happiness more nearly perfect it would have been this. It seemed to him that Elizabeth was constantly preoccupied by her social responsibilities. She was always willing, at his slightest word, to accommodate his wishes, but he was beginning to feel as though his wishes were constantly set at opposition to the social calendar, and to realise just how much of a social hermit he had been, and could no longer afford to be, for his wife's sake. For he was certainly alive to the fact that their absence from society without due cause could only confirm the worst opinions, and establish that Elizabeth was not fit to take what was now her rightful place within that sphere. They would have to appear in society and endure its scrutiny, or turn their backs on it and confront its censure. And if the latter were insupportable, the former was hardly designed to give him any comfort.
That there might be another reason for his uneasiness had not yet occurred to him. He had not yet realized that whatever attention he had commanded in the public sphere had transferred itself almost entirely onto his bride, or, if he had, this had not yet begun to disturb him. He knew only that blissful as his arrangements in the domestic sphere were proving, he found himself even less than usually at ease in the public realm after his marriage. He began to regret having deferred the nuptial journey, and made arrangements to hasten the business that held him in town, that he and his bride might retire, for the remainder of the summer, to Pemberley.
Part XX
Their stay in London had been of a few weeks by now, and Elizabeth, comfortable in her married life, reflected on its agonizing prelude as an indistinct blur of an overwhelming anxiety which had abated suddenly and entirely. She was conscious of being beloved, and to requite such affection seemed natural and just, and simple. She carried no longer a mantle of foreboding. Her new family were everything that she could have desired, and had they been far less deserving of her regard they would have earned it just for the devotion they lavished on her. Georgiana no less than her brother was eager that his bride's every need be accommodated and every fancy be indulged. They were fond of making her frequent presents, and took as much pleasure in Elizabeth's delight as she did in their thoughtfulness. They lavished her with praise, on her person, her musical abilities, her taste and discernment, and even on her fulfillment of her household responsibilities. They marveled at the ease with which she conversed with relative strangers, and at how rapidly she had found a comfortable niche within their social circle.
Elizabeth was well aware of this particular distinction between herself and her husband and his sister. She had in the past grossly misinterpreted her husband's reticence; now she was saddened that others should have occasion to do so. She was, however, sensitive of their reserve, which recalled to her her own father, who was likewise disinclined or unable to mix freely in company. They shared, moreover, his penchant for the ridiculous; Darcy, she discovered with some astonishment, had a fine bent for sarcasm and irony when he chose to indulge it, and that he exercised caution in so doing could only raise him in her estimation; and even Georgiana, who could hardly be induced to speak a word in any company broader than that of her immediate family circle, was soon induced to some naughtiness by the encouragement and example of her new sister.
For her part, though she found some friends in this extensive company to which her marriage introduced her, she would have been amply contented to remain within the smaller, more intimate circle of family and close friends. But she soon began to realise the obligations that bound her to this larger sphere. Elizabeth was not a vain woman, but in her position she could hardly have remained unaware of having made something of a splash, and she was not so retiring as to take no pleasure at the thought of it. But it became evident to her that such celebrity, combined with the demands of her position, had created a predetermined role for her which she was bound to fill. She was the first Mrs. Darcy in more than ten years. Georgiana, despite her long residence in London, had never really had to fill her mother's place, not being out. Elizabeth was a married woman, and the responsibility devolved upon her quite naturally. The wives of her husband's friends were disposed to consider her as one of their number, and called frequently after the initial congratulatory visit with their husbands. Young ladies, who had perhaps fancied themselves in her position, visited her for the solace of undermining her charms in comparison to their own. Old dowagers who remained in their townhouses for the summer left their cards, as much out of respect for the late Mrs. Darcy, whom they remembered fondly, as for curiosity as to the manner of bride Darcy had finally chosen. To have rebuffed such advances, to have neglected to return visits, to have refused the further invitations to soirees and card parties, would have amounted to an admission of her unfitness for their society, or to a presumption of superiority designed to offend.
She found herself getting drawn into this society, participating in its preoccupations and intrigues. Which is not to say that she found herself unopposed in this sphere. On the one hand she had to contend with a certain degree of opposition and resentment from those who would have been her rivals. Among these, Miss Bingley occupied a somewhat singular position. Elizabeth could see that her husband had been by no means unaware of her ambitions, but without intending to encourage such hopes he had regarded her as a friend, and continued to do so now, when it was obvious that she could be nothing more. She was bound to admit that he could hardly have disarmed her more completely had he deliberated on a scheme to do so, and indeed she was uncertain as to whether or not he had done so. Miss Bingley saw all the advantages of retaining the privilege of friendship in such a quarter, and if she never reconciled herself to Elizabeth's position, she paid every arrear of civility. As for the other unmarried ladies, Elizabeth was not the only recent wife subjected to their jealousy, and this only bound her more closely to those who were now her more natural companions. Hostility from another quarter she found more potentially threatening. She learnt that Lady Catherine would be making an unprecedented appearance in town with her daughter the following season, and she began to realise that there were houses from which she would be excluded so that they might be received. Several of the prominent dowagers among whom she was now associating were friends and contemporaries of that lady. For the moment they were happy to receive her niece by marriage, but Elizabeth did not imagine that Lady Catherine would fail to make her displeasure known. Among the younger set her popularity and her husband's stature would likely carry the day, but the snub would still be felt. She was determined, if she could, to avert such an eventuality, and to this end, made tentative overtures of peace toward that lady. She did not in this consult her husband in so doing, and, truth be told, would have experienced more than a little hesitation to broach the matter. He had not mentioned his aunt since the day they had walked out of her house together. She felt it best first to soften the aunt, and in so doing, eliminate the cause for the nephew's ire. That such a plan inherently involved a certain measure of risk she well realised. But she did not allow such concerns to diminish her present enjoyment.
If she felt vaguely guilty to relish what she knew her closest family were unable to take equal pleasure in, she was no less convinced of the necessity of her involvement. Her nature was such that she lived in the moment, and in between the hectic demands of this broad sphere and the quieter ones of her new family, Elizabeth, with little opportunity for solitary reflection, found herself beginning to lose touch with her contemplative self. She could not have said at any given moment that she was malcontented, but she had a vague sense that there was something left to be desired in her life. She, no less than they, felt the desirability of retiring for the remainder of the summer to a more secluded venue where she no less than they would take comfort in the intimacy of a more restricted circle.
For the moment, she looked forward to the Bingley's ball, which would bring her family to town, and after which they were projected to retire to Pemberley. She had of course maintained an active correspondence with them since her marriage, chiefly with her father and Jane, since they were the most assiduous in responding to her letters. She had not recovered from her guilt on Jane's account, and rejoiced when the forced cheerfulness in her letters gave way to occasional burst of real amusement. But though it was not in her temper to brood her letters still reverberated of a certain gentleman she did not inquire after. Lizzy in her responses was not so circumlocutious, but she wrote of him only because she was convinced from his demeanor that her sister did not suffer alone. Her father's letters were of a different tenor. From him she learnt that Lady Lucas had followed her daughter's patron in denouncing her marriage (which Charlotte herself had not done, for Lizzy had had a warm congratulatory letter from her), that her mother had imputed her reaction to jealousy, and the two were no longer on speaking terms. That Sir William had become a study in confused affability, compulsively inclined to socialize with his nearest neighbours, and thwarted by his wife's hostility. That Mrs. Long's nieces were envious of Lydia, who had gone off to Brighton, and tormented poor Kitty, who had had to stay behind. That Mrs. Bennet's airs were quite the talk of Meryton, that she could not talk but of her dear Mrs. Darcy, that her ambitions for Jane had now quite overreached poor Bingley, of only five thousand a year, and no property but on leasehold. That she looked forward yet to the upcoming ball, and quite contradictorily had declared it once again a compliment to her Jane. That her sister Phillips felt quite unaccountably snubbed that the invitation to London had not included her, and had half a mind to appear despite the oversight. From his daughter in turn he received as pointed sketches of her new London acquaintances, and a most satisfactory report of her new home. Darcy, whom he had taken some pains to cultivate in the weeks before the wedding, had risen considerably in his estimation, becoming one of the few men the prospect of whose society he could tolerate with equanimity. He was not quite reconciled to losing his favorite daughter to such a man, but he knew of no one with whom she might have been happier. That the marriage had additionally secured the fortunes of his family in the event of his demise absolved him somewhat of his guilt in having failed to make an adequate settlement. All things considered, Mr. Bennet was well pleased with the fortunes of family. He looked forward only to an extended visit with his married daughter, and through his habitually sportive tone Elizabeth could sense a real contentment that had long been absent.
Part XXI
"A ball in London, Mr. Bennet, only think what a fine compliment it is to our Jane!"
"Much as I hesitate to differ with you, my dear, I do believe you neglect the fact that the ball is in fact a compliment to our Lizzy."
"Oh, you and your Lizzy! Why should a man take so much trouble for the wife of his friend, I ask you? It is nothing but a pretext for him to have Jane in town, and had you not been so tedious in insisting that we stay with my brother, he would have had her a lot closer!"
"Mr. Bingley is a perfectly able-bodied young gentleman. There is no reason to fear that the distance will prevent him from calling, should he so choose to do."
"You do take it upon yourself to be tedious. You cannot pretend to mistake my meaning."
"Delightful as it would be to attempt to divine your meaning, I must remind you that we have little time for such diversions. Your daughter is expecting us to call by noon."
"How late it is! Why did you not tell me so earlier? Make haste, make haste! Ask my brother, oh, there he is! Brother, have you called the carriage? We are to call at the Darcys by noon."
"There, there, Fanny. The carriage is called. You are to leave as soon as you may."
"Thank you, brother. How good you are! My nerves would not..."
"Now, now, Fanny, the carriage is waiting."
"Goodbye, brother!"
The party from Gracechurch Street had made an extended visit at the Darcys' home, where they had been offered every manner of refreshment and conducted on a tour of the establishment. Mr. Darcy had not been present to greet his guests; his wife had offered urgent business as his excuse, and it may be inferred that she was not a little relieved that he had not been present to hear the exultation of his mother-in-law, and some of the pronouncements of two of his sisters-in-law. He had, however, returned by the time the party had gathered once again in the sitting room, and had engaged the attention of Mr. Bennet with every appearance of cordiality. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty remained too much in awe of him to injure themselves further in his eyes, and even Mary's sententiousness was somewhat alleviated in the company of her illustrious brother-in-law. Mrs. Darcy occupied herself with Jane, and she was sorry, though unsurprised, to find that her sister regarded the upcoming ball with some apprehension. The party returned to Cheapside in order to prepare for their subsequent meeting that night at the ball, though not without some pointed comments on the part of Mrs. Bennet on how much she would prefer not having to leave this lovely house so soon on subsequent visits to London. But the anticipation of their imminent meeting did not allow them to tarry long, and the Darcys were soon left to their own preparations for the night ahead.
Though Georgiana was yet to be formally presented in society, the occasion being what it was she had sought and had been granted permission to attend the ball. In truth her brother and his wife were much relieved at her wishes in the matter, having feared that her natural shyness and hesitation would make for a difficult transition when it did come. Her guardian and cousin, the Colonel, on leave from his regiment for the occasion, had secured the first two dances with her, and her brother and her host had made similar arrangements prior to the ball, in consideration of her feelings. Georgiana had the comfort of going in to her first ball knowing that she would not be neglected. Still, Miss Darcy's first appearance in London society was likely to attract some attention, and it was likely that she would not find herself without partners unless she wished it to be so.
Now, as Elizabeth's maid put the final touches to her hair, Georgiana turned to her sister beseeching her approval.
"What will they think of me?"
"Dearest, they cannot do anything but admire you. You will have the young men flocking in droves around you, and your brother will glower, and want to call them all out."
Georgiana blushed and looked away, her reaction betraying perhaps a little bit more than was warranted by Elizabeth's teasing. She recovered herself quickly, and looked at Elizabeth, returning her playfulness.
"He will hardly have the occasion to do that. He will not be able to take his eyes off you."
Elizabeth smiled an inscrutable smile, looking strangely thoughtful for a moment.
"I will not disgrace him, do you think?"
"Lizzy, you could never disgrace him! I have never seen two people so agreeably suited... perhaps not since our mother and father."
It fell to Elizabeth now to be comforting, and she embraced the younger girl.
"You do them proud, my dear. You will do both of them proud."
They embraced again, and Elizabeth busied herself in straightening out the folds in Georgiana's gown that she had inadvertently crumpled. They were both nervous, and excited, in a measure almost disproportionate to the event at hand.
Darcy handed both young ladies out of the carriage, watching as they took in the cool night air after the stuffy carriage ride. His mind was cast back to another occasion, another ball thrown by his friend, and he remembered Elizabeth in the very same posture, as he had caught her eye from an upstairs window. He had looked away then, chastising himself mentally for ever having looked. Now he had done with such restraints, and could look uninhibitedly. He met his wife's eye and found that they were waiting expectantly for him at the foot of the stairs. He went up, took each lady's arm, and smiling reassurance at them both, led them into the house. Bingley's man recognized them, of course, and they were announced without having to give their names.
"Mr. and Mrs. Darcy; Miss Darcy."
They went up to Bingley and his sisters, who were both enthusiastic in their greetings, if not uniformly so. The Hursts also were in the receiving line, and Mrs. Hurst echoed her sister's effusions; Hurst merely snorted. The Darcys then joined such other of their friends who had already arrived at the ball, leaving the Bingleys to their duty as hosts. Many of the friends Elizabeth had made came by to greet her, and Georgiana marveled at her wide acquaintance as she went through the rituals of introduction over and over again. Both women were pressed again and again for dances; Elizabeth had already reserved the greater number for her husband, and as a married woman, would hardly stand up for all of them, but she bestowed the rest judiciously, chiefly among close friends and family; Georgiana was surprised and pleased at the number of applications she received, and hazarded to accept some of them, with the approbation of her sister.
They had not been at the ball long before the Bennets and Gardiners were announced together, and Elizabeth turned to see them in the receiving line. Miss Bingley, she observed, made the most cursory of greetings, and Bingley's own natural exuberance was diminished somewhat by his discomfiture. He did appear to be staring somewhat fixedly at Jane, who was looking remarkably well, but Elizabeth fancied that she caught him steal a glance in the direction of her husband, which sent an unexpected pang through her. Notwithstanding his confusion he recovered admirably, and Elizabeth, when her family finally came up to her, was able to ascertain to her satisfaction that he had engaged Jane for the first two dances. Mrs. Bennet's exuberance ran rampant as always on such an occasion, but in a company composed almost exclusively of strangers her worst excesses were inevitably avoided. Elizabeth was happy to see that her mother remained almost entirely in the company of her aunt. Kitty was another matter, but in a venue where all had congregated for high spirits and dancing, she could not, at least for the moment, expose herself too grievously, especially with Lydia absent.
The musicians congregated for the first dance, and Darcy returned to her side to claim her hand, for they were to open the ball together. Behind them, the other couples started falling into place. Georgiana took her place with the Colonel, and the Hursts stood up together for once. Darcy was a little surprised to see Bingley claim Miss Bennet's hand, and he noted her heightened color, and her unusually animated features. He remembered earlier occasions on which he had found her to be surprisingly morose in his absence, and was ashamed at himself for having disregarded all his resolutions on her behalf in his own happiness. He would have to speak about it to Elizabeth this very night. As the music commenced, Darcy found himself smiling at Bingley's perceptiveness: it could hardly have been a coincidence that the musicians struck up the chords of Mr. Beveridge's Maggot. He turned towards Elizabeth and found that her distracted, her attention also diverted entirely towards her sister and their host.
"I believe we must have some conversation, Mrs. Darcy. A very little will suffice."
She turned back to him in surprise, fighting back an appreciative smile.
"Is it appearances that concern you, sir, or dare I hope that you exert yourself to elicit my actual impressions?"
"Both, I imagine. It would look strange were we to stand up for half an hour together without saying anything, but I do not imagine it would be conducive to the happiness of either to converse by form. I will admit that the size of the ballroom or the number of couples are subjects that fail to animate me."
"Then I leave to you to determine the subject of our tête-à-tête. With your excellent memory you will recall my singular lack of success in lighting upon matters suited to amiable conversation on such occasions."
"I seem to remember you finding a subject that suited your fancy admirably. If my memory does not mislead me you occupied yourself with the illustration of my character. Might I inquire how you get on?"
"You will remember then also that you dissuaded me from the effort, sir."
"And you heeded that admonition? Indeed, you amaze me, madam."
"I imagine there's a first time for everything. I assure you, sir, it won't happen again."
He caught her pert look, and smiled to himself.
"Dare I hope that you would not dissuade me from a like effort?"
"Do you care to take my likeness, Mr. Darcy? I assure you, sir, you are most welcome to make the effort, but I shall trouble you for your results."
"Not at all, Mrs. Darcy. Shall I tell you how I get on? You take great pleasure in your propensity deliberately to misunderstand and to profess opinions that are not your own, but you do it deliberately to be misunderstood, and I do believe you attempt to despise those who do not penetrate your meaning. Above all else you like an enigma. Your liveliness of mind is sometimes interpreted as impertinence, but you are in fact more amiable than you would allow, despite the pains you take to conceal yourself."
By now she was almost laughing.
"Enough, Mr. Darcy! A month married, and already we are come to this. And to think that I had entrusted all my good qualities to your care!"
"You may rest assured, my dear, that I make the most of them."
"I am glad to hear it. And in return, it will comfort you to know that I have taken it upon myself to tease and vex you as often as I may."
"I shall look forward to it."
As the dance drew to a close, they parted, on each side satisfied. Darcy remained enchanted at his wife's vivacity, and was quite delighted at her ability to provoke in him a reciprocal levity; she, for her part, was beginning to feel as though all restraints between them were melting away in their prolonged intimacy, and could not fail to be contented at such a development. Bingley proposed a toast to the happy couple, and their mutual accord was plainly evident as they accepted the congratulations of all and sundry.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh."
The unexpected arrival took the entire assembly unawares. Bingley and his sister rushed forward to greet their guest as Darcy stared at his friend in unconcealed amazement.
Lady Catherine nodded imperiously at her hosts.
"Mr. Bingley, I imagine this is your sister. She seems a pleasant sort of girl."
"It is gratifying to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Catherine."
She cut off Miss Bingley's remarks, turning back to her brother, who was yet to speak, regarding his guest with something very near dismay.
"How very kind of you to have exerted yourself over my nephew, Mr. Bingley."
Bingley had finally managed to find his voice.
"Not at all. We're only pleased that you were able to come. The distance..."
She waved her hand dismissively.
"It is a very easy distance. You may be assured that it is not the distance that keeps me in Kent when I am of a mind to travel."
She turned away from her hosts in a manner that decisively put an end to any further conversation. If Miss Bingley was sorry not to be able to make the closer acquaintance of so illustrious a visitor, it may be safely assumed that her brother was more relieved than not to be freed of the burden of entertaining their honored guest. With a deliberate step and an erect carriage belying her years she made her way towards her nephew, who bowed impassively, very aware that all eyes were upon them.
"Lady Catherine."
"Yes, Darcy. If I didn't know better I'd say you were surprised to see me."
"If I may ask to what I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
"Oh, come Darcy. You cannot pretend to be unaware of what brings me here?"
"Indeed, I must protest my ignorance, Lady Catherine."
"Sometimes I think you take pleasure in provoking me, Darcy. I didn't know what to make of your petition. I am your mother's sister, Darcy. I gives me no comfort to quarrel with you. But to think that you would not speak for yourself - that she should write on your behalf!"
He stared at his aunt in incomprehension.
"Your wife, Darcy. Oh, I say nothing against her. I suppose I can hardly blame her that you were wild enough to marry so imprudently. I dare say she's doing the best she can under the circumstances. She's certainly kept her head far better than I would have expected. You, on the other hand, seem to have forgotten yourself most grievously. Oh, I forgive you. I'll expect to see you at Rosings again next year. And you may bring her, I suppose."
Darcy bowed. Seething as he was within, he knew better than to contradict his aunt openly. As she dismissed him and turned elsewhere, he approached Bingley in an inquisitive manner.
"I didn't expect her to come all this way, Darcy. But she is among your closest relations."
"And dear Eliza insisted that she should have an invitation. I must say I thought it very brave of her."
Darcy turned to Miss Bingley and nodded tensely. She chattered on blithely, hardly appearing to notice. His attention had wandered, as he surveyed the assembly, wondering what they would make of the scene. The dowagers and society matrons had been nodding knowingly as they watched the exchange between nephew and aunt, and already the whispers were circulating. He imagined that they were well able to read between the lines and infer his wife's interference, and most, he imagined, were approving of what she had accomplished.
He watched Lady Catherine spare a few condescending words for Elizabeth, almost grimacing at what he had to interpret as his wife's obsequiousness. He still could not quite countenance her role in this unsought-for reconciliation. It had been her dignity that he had sought to protect by effecting the separation. That she should have gone behind him in such a manner was unthinkable. And yet there was no reason why it should be so. She had succeeded where he had not. After all, his aunt had capitulated, and had at last accepted Elizabeth's position as his bride, which was all that he had ever required of her. And yet, to have it granted in such a manner could not fail to affront. He stood there, unable to determine which had pained him most, his aunt's superciliousness or his wife's duplicity.