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Chapter 21

Posted on Friday, 24 January 2003, at 12:39 p.m.

And indeed, as soon as they had retired for the night, Elizabeth came to her sister. Her acknowledged purpose was to get as many details as Jane would be willing to share about the afternoon's events. In the back of her mind, she also wished to discuss her own afternoon's events. She had noticed so many changes in Mr. Darcy's behaviour as to puzzle her exceedingly and she needed her sister's fair understanding to try and reconcile the man of two days before - the one she so thoroughly hated - with the man of this day - the one she could describe, at worst, as civil. She wasn't yet able to admit she had found him pleasant, though; not to her sister, not even to herself, not if she had to be the one initiating the discussion. Her dilemma was before her and she dearly wished Jane would solve it for her.

Once again, on entering the room, Elizabeth almost physically felt Jane's happiness. There was an aura around her, a soft glow that enlightened even more her natural beauty. As it did to everyone around her, it drew a smile on Elizabeth's face, as she settled on her sister's bed.

"Oh! Jane, how can you do such a thing?"

"I beg your pardon?" Jane put back her brush on the table in front of her and turned on her stool.

"How do you manage to make me feel happier by your sheer presence? How do you manage to make this room more welcoming just because you're in it?"

Jane was surprised by her sister's face. Where she expected a teasing smile, she saw earnestness. "Lizzy, you're serious, aren't you?"

Elizabeth laughed, "Why, yes I am! I should be offended by such a question. Am I not entitled to some gravity from time to time?"

Jane went to sit by her sister's side; she took her hand and, smiling, replied, "Of course you are. I know you're the most solemn of us. You hide it as it fits not with your light and teasing appearance; but do you think you can fool me?"

Elizabeth acknowledged her sister's point by a thoughtful smile. "Anyway, you really are glowing and I envy you!"

"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!" shyly answered Jane. "Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed above them all! If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such another man for you!"

"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time."

Jane giggled, but her sister went on before she had time for a kind scolding.

"I don't envy you your happiness, I envy you because you know what it is to receive a proposal and agree to it for love... It must be the most thrilling feeling in the world."

Jane's mind was a few miles away, on the bench where her life had become perfect. "It is... Having my most precious dream fulfilled, after having unsuccessfully tried to forget it... It was even more than thrilling... I don't think there are words to describe what I felt then."

Elizabeth could read on her sister's face, in her sister's eyes, that she was reliving this most exhilarating part of their afternoon. She had been able to rein her curiosity in until then, but she could no longer. She eagerly asked, "Had he proposed just a short while before Mr. Darcy and I happened on you? You and he were pretty close!" Her teasing and not at all judgemental smile was totally lost on her sister, as the latter was so engrossed in her memories.

"Oh, no, he proposed as soon as we had found this bench. Well, almost..." She chuckled at the memory but didn't disclose anything further. Her sister respected the silence until Jane started again, her tone more dreamy.

"He said such wonderful things, Lizzy... I was so overwhelmed..." Her voice was less steady, her eyes wet once again.

"Oh! Jane," Elizabeth had taken her sister in a powerful embrace. "But you managed to agree nonetheless! I'm so, so, so happy for you!"

"Could you imagine that it would all end so well?"

"I could and I do!" She had released her sister and her smile echoed Jane's. "You're so perfectly matched. Your minds are so alike. Only looking at the two of you makes one happy. T'is probably the most beautiful day of my life!"

"And definitely the most beautiful of mine!" Under her sister's scrutiny, she once again fell into a daydream, her eyes losing their focus. Then, she began to blush, her breathing became uneven, her smile betrayed some kind of wickedness and her eyes focused on her hand in her lap.

"Jane?" asked her sister in an inquiring tone.

Jane startled and her cheeks darkened even further.

"Jane? Am I to suppose that Mr. Bingley has granted you all your wishes?"

Jane looked up at her sister and coyly nodded.

"He kissed you?" Elizabeth's eyes were wide with eagerness to be the recipient of such a confidence.

Jane nodded anew, her face still a bright crimson, her smile becoming more daring; Elizabeth giggled.

"And?"

Jane replied in a whisper, "And I kissed him; and I liked it; and I think he liked it too; and then we kissed again and again."

This only caused some more giggles. Jane went on, "it was the best evidence I had that I was not dreaming. This was physical; and the more we kissed, the more physical it became..."

Elizabeth was thrilled to listen to her sister. She had been kissed a few times as a girl but it had never induced any stirring in her; and the last time lips had touched hers, they had been Wickham's and she had hated the feeling. She was now listening to Jane like she used to, when Jane had first learnt how to read and she had then been able to make Elizabeth discover an unknown world she so dearly wished to discover. Her attention was so obvious that Jane felt compelled to go on, to describe more, to share once again her knowledge with her little sister.

"You remember those feelings I told you about yesterday? When I'm by his side or when he touches me? I felt them tenfold when we kissed... I know not how one can be both light-headed and have one's senses more aware than ever, but I was and I had... I had forgotten how cold it was or, worse, that we were in a public place, yet I could describe the taste of his lips, the smell of him, the softness of his hair more accurately than any other thing. And, inside Lizzy, inside..."

She became speechless for a while; her sister didn't dare prompt her, afraid she would stop.

"Having his arms around me, having mine around him... My heart was beating so fast, I had a growing knot in my insides; I wanted so much more and yet felt so good..."

She made another pause. Elizabeth was becoming embarrassed by her speech; not that she was shocked by her sister's words, but it reminded her of feelings she had forgotten she had felt. She could not place the when and the where, yet it felt more real than a long forgotten dream. She checked herself.

"So I take it I was right in my conclusions, yesterday? Mr. Bingley was not shocked by your wanton behaviour, was he?"

Jane shook her head slightly. "No he wasn't. And I was wrong, it was not wantonness, it was overwhelming love that made me feel this tingling. Oh, indeed, he kissed me... Indeed I kissed him... And indeed, it had those strange but pleasant effects on my insides... But our kisses were mostly a way to ascertain the realness of our engagement, of the other's love; it was a way to express our relief of having eventually found each other."

"Oh! How I envy you, Jane. I take back my wish to find another Mr. Collins. I want my Mr. Bingley!" Elizabeth's soft smile softened the expressed jealousy, but revealed the sincerity of her aspiration.

"I know you do, you always have! And I'm sure you'll find someone..." To lighten the mood, she added, in her best Mrs. Bennet's imitation. "You know, me marrying so greatly must throw you in the way of other rich men!"

"Jane!" Elizabeth burst out laughing, placing her hand on her mouth, trying to refrain from waking up the whole household. When both had regained some degree of composure, she carried on, "I don't care if he's rich or not, I just want someone who's able to make me as happy as Mr. Bingley makes you."

Jane smiled at the rightness of her sister's words but, after such an openhearted speech, she wanted a light conversation. Not acknowledging the interruption, she went on, "And there comes Mr. Darcy!"

"Jane!" Elizabeth's tone had lost all its barely-repressed laughter and now betrayed her shock.

Jane's tone became sweeter but she didn't stop. "Come, now Lizzy; I haven't been very attentive to him these past few days, but even I realised that you managed to walk with him today without quarrelling. And had he not been with Mr. Bingley, I doubt our aunt would have agreed on the drive in Hyde Park. I owe him as much gratefulness as I owe you."

With a bitter chuckle, Elizabeth interfered, "But you also owe him many tears."

Jane stopped her teasing and tried and get her sister's attention. "Lizzy, I've resolved upon forgetting the past. If I don't, I'll always hold a grudge against Charles; I don't want to; I want to love him utterly and completely. You surely have no wish to do the same towards Mr. Darcy but you have to forget the past as well."

"But how can you forget the misery? How can you forget the unfairness?"

"I suspect I've been much more miserable than you and I've already forgotten it. Utmost happiness heals a soul, I think."

"I haven't been miserable but for you, Jane. But you're too good, and I cannot forget all that is unfair. You're right, your now existing bliss probably makes up for your past sufferings; but there are some who are not so lucky. Think of Mr. Wickham for instance; it's so unfair that he's to suffer his whole life because of a past disagreement with Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth knew she was unfair at the moment. She had already agreed that what had happened between those two gentlemen was none of her concern and that there was probably much she didn't know. But she was so unsettled by his recent behaviour, so unsettled by her own feelings during the last two days, so embarrassed by her inability to try and take her sister's advice, that abusing him was the easiest way to vent her frustration.

Jane saw in her sister's eyes that there was more to her outburst than the obvious. She softly replied, "Lizzy, you told me yourself you would no longer play the judge in this matter. If you wished to be fair, you'd have to go and ask Mr. Darcy's view on the matter; and I'm sure you wouldn't dream of such a gesture."

"I could not. Who am I to pry on such a private matter?" She went on, almost shamefully, "and although his defying honour and humanity in ruining the immediate prosperity, and blasting the prospects of Mr. Wickham was in accordance with his despising the Hertfordshire company and his separating two young persons inclined one towards the other, it doesn't do at all with his recent behaviour."

"True..." was Jane's only comment.

"Even I am aware that today, he went far beyond mere complacency towards your match. You're right of course about the walk in the Park; and did you notice that it was his carriage we used?"

Her sister smiled and shook her head.

"Of course, you did not!" Elizabeth teased. "But there is more..."

Jane looked at her expectantly.

"We spoke about you and..." Elizabeth started but her words faded away.

"And?" Jane prodded.

Her companion blushed slightly, "And he appeared to rejoice in the proposal we knew you were receiving; he agreed with my stating why Mr. Bingley and you are so well suited one for the other; he seemed to genuinely care about his friend." After a new silence, she carried on, "Why he would share such private thoughts with me I know not, but he did; and I now cannot but agree that he has changed, and for the better."

Jane gauged her. All the pieces were slowly falling together and pointing to an attachment on Mr. Darcy's side towards her sister. Whether Elizabeth was ready to hear about it was another matter entirely. It was probably better to let things happen - should they happen. Yet she could not not reply to her last comment.

"He has Lizzy, and I'm glad you see it. What I can safely assure you is that you've changed too. The more I see it, the more I feel this little misunderstanding has improved everyone - myself included!"

"That is the most un-humble speech," said Elizabeth chuckling, "that I ever heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you lowering yourself when you're the only engaged daughter Mama has!"

The conversation went on a little further, but if both sisters had shared what could be, more remained to be thought alone. Elizabeth soon took her leave and bade her sister good night.

"How could it not be good, Lizzy?" Jane replied dreamily.

While, with an indulgent smile, the youngest left her elder and sought the refuge of her own room, the latter settled for the night, blew out her candle and let her soul and body go back to the bench. And while her heart was swelling with all the love she had received there, her blood thickened and some unknown heat diffused in her more unthinkable parts.

In the soft glow of the dying embers, her candle blown, Elizabeth let her thoughts wander and she also found herself back in Hyde Park. What came to her mind were the words Mr. Darcy had spoken after their tacit agreement on Jane's and Mr. Bingley's behalf. His words had been very civil towards her; he had discarded her attempt at apologising because he was more to blame than her; he had managed to render her speechless... Did he really change so much? Could he really change so much just because he's seen his wrongs towards his friend? And to appear more than interested in her reactions to his freely speaking of his feelings? What could she make of all this?

Sleep seemed to elude her. When her mind would tell her to try and find it, her heart told her that she was not totally honest with herself, and that she did not deserve rest. It eventually got the better of her and, to her slightly fearful amazement, she heard herself think, and what can I make of his confessing his happiness at our peaceful walk? What can I make of his parting words? What can I make of his flush when he uttered them? She sighed. She wished she were able to reconcile all she thought she had understood about him; a nibbling little voice tried to tell her that she also had to take into account what others had understood - her uncle and aunt had hinted that he might see her with a much more tender eye than she had ever imagined.

And last, she had to acknowledge what her feelings were where he was concerned. While slumber slowly found its way in her, she allowed her heart to be the last to talk. It told her she was not at all displeased by his enhanced behaviour; it told her she might be looking forward to their next encounter; it told her she might even see him with something akin to pleasure.

Chapter 22

Posted on Friday, 7 February 2003, at 5:02 a.m.

It was the second week in February when the two young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street for the town of Hertford. The drive was not as talkative as it could have been, and it was not only due to the fact that their uncle had, most thoughtfully, sent a manservant with them; both sisters had some rest to catch up with and a lot to think upon.

It had been a week since Charles' proposal, and not a day had passed without Jane seeing Mr. Bingley by daylight and by candlelight. Their engagement was not official and he could not very well stay from before breakfast until after supper everyday; yet his afternoon calls were always far beyond the proper half-hour and Mrs. Gardiner had gladly invited him twice to partake their late meals. Jane smiled, thinking her aunt couldn't have done more anyway, since every other night had been busy with entertainments.

How lucky that Charles had also been invited to the Caine-Jackson musicale! She had seen his eyes lighten when she had entered the music-room and blushing, had smiled at his haste to be by her side. Of course Lizzy had observed as much; and her, "With luck there will be no footman with a tray in his path..." had only reinforced her grin. She didn't know how she had managed to remain poised during the recital. He had been so attentive to her, whispering in her ear every title of every song, showing her on her program what song they were hearing, commenting softly - still in murmurs right by her ear - on the purity of the soprano's voice or the pianist's talent. Of course, she had relished in the feeling of his breath on her neck; all the more since she had had some wicked difficulties with her hearing that particular evening, and he had felt compelled to repeat tirelessly his comments. She also held her program to him several times to be sure she hadn't been mistaken and he had very obligingly placed her gloved finger on the appropriate indication. She was wearing a dreamy mask, remembering how delightful it had been to be the object of his flirting and to flirt back.

It was amazing how they understood each other by then. True, they had spoken a great deal when together, since due to a constant chaperoning imposed by Mrs. Gardiner, they could not partake in more physical yet as lovely activities; but he had mostly claimed his unworthiness of her and she had mostly begged him to believe she had forgiven him and she had her share of the blame. Overall, she felt they had resolved those feelings, but since it was so sweet to hear him reiterate that she was the most perfect living creature, she'd resolved upon keeping an open discussion. She blissfully sighed, remembering another bit of their exchanges.

"Jane, you're so accomplished! I wasn't aware you stitched."

She grinned. "Charles, you're too kind. I'm only a beginner; I had never tried and my aunt convinced me to start when I came here in December." Her smile became more thoughtful with her last words.

He looked intently at her and softly replied. "I tried a less laudable way to forget the pain... Fortunately Darcy got me out of the bottle before I had drowned too deep; and I had a crop project to keep me out of it afterwards. I know not how I survived those weeks where I had not the smallest hope of seeing you again. I had eventually managed to put a braver face in front of the world but the pain was still so excruciating..." He paused for a while and enjoyed the soothing of her fingers as they were softly stroking his hand. "I shall probably always look back with horror and shame on my behaviour when we met at your uncle's warehouse; but you must know it was my hurt that caused me to lash out so."

"I know Charles. My suffering led me to say the horrible things I said. Let's not dwell on what happened then, and just rejoice in the fact that it happened but is over. As much as I wish my words had been less bitter, I cannot help but think that I wouldn't have said them had I not met you. And truthfully, the happiness you have given me is worth all the self-reproaches."

As he leaned towards her, his heart soaring, her eyes already closing in anticipation of the kiss he intended to give her, a log falling in the hearth reminded them that, as much as Mrs. Gardiner tolerated their private conversations, she didn't agree to more. Nonetheless, he raised her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed her palm.

"I love you Jane," he whispered in her hand.

"I love you too, Charles."

"Good gracious!" cried she, realising how long the silent moment had been, "it seems but a day or two since you arrived! - and yet how many things happened!"

"A great many indeed," said her companion with a happy sigh, "and there are still many to come."

Jane blushed. "Charles told me he would call on Papa this evening..." she couldn't repress a sad sigh.

Elizabeth laughed. "Come now Jane, I'm sure it's hard not to see him but it's not for that long! You knew we could not travel with him in his carriage! And you have me for yourself alone! You should not sigh so loudly, I may be offended."

Jane giggled. "I'm sorry Lizzy... I do enjoy being with you, and I'm so glad you were here to witness all these events. Your teasing made it real..."

Elizabeth giggled back, "Oh! If you're not convinced of your good luck, just wait 'til Mama learns you're engaged. There's no way you could have doubts after that!"

Laughing, Jane could not but scold sweetly her sister. After a while, she resumed their conversation, "I was not merely talking about Charles earlier. Just think about how many evenings we've been out! I particularly enjoyed Much ado about nothing; I found the actress who played Hero wonderful, indeed."

"'Tis true the play was quite good. I liked Beatrice better - but then 'tis the character I prefer in the play!"

Silence fell anew in the carriage as the ladies' minds brought them back to the theatre. Jane had been sitting by her beau and, in the dim light, had enjoyed the entertainment with her hand in Charles'. Not that it had been a quiet embrace, his thumb had tickled her palm, then drawn hundreds of path from her wrist to each of her fingers tip; she had opened wide her hand; he had turned it over and kept entwining and releasing her fingers, each time caressing the whole length of them with his. And in spite of the gloves, she had once again relished in the growing pleasant need he managed to create in her. Fortunately they had been sitting in the front row of their box, with Lizzy by Charles' side and her aunt, her uncle and Mr. Darcy behind them; and as engrossed as was her sister in the play, Jane rather doubted she had been aware of anything.

Elizabeth's thoughts were reliving the same evening, her face lit by a smile. She hadn't spoken with Jane about her little hand-play with her fiancé; she hadn't been prying, but Mr. Bingley's complete absence of reaction at some witty lines had drawn her attention. It had seemed a delightful game! Her mind wandered then to another occupant of the box. It had been the last time they had seen Mr. Darcy before his departure to Pemberley, and she felt something curiously akin to missing him. He had left three days after their outing in the Park but, until then, he had come with Mr. Bingley for his daily calls and had even had supper with them once. Truthfully, if only for these two days, he had been as present as her sister's betrothed; and when she tried to fairly evaluate where his attentions had been, she could not but admit th at, without snubbing her aunt and uncle, he had bestowed on her a great deal of consideration. She had stopped trying to reconcile the old Mr. Darcy - the aloof and haughty one - with the new Mr. Darcy - who had almost flirted with Mrs. Gardiner, to her delight and amusement; and, instead, had observed and... enjoyed... his courteous and charming behaviour.

But how can I understand what happened at the theatre? Do I read too much in his gestures? Is my imagination getting the best of me? And why would it want to make me believe that? Elizabeth shuddered and absentmindedly rubbed the back of her neck, at the base of her bonnet. This was the place where, during most of the play, she had felt prickles, as if her nape was under attentive scrutiny. This was also the place where she had distinctly felt the tickle of soft hair, then a breath of warm air, as a deep voice whispered, "I beg your pardon". She had afterwards understood that Mr. Darcy, who was sitting just behind her, had been retrieving his program from the floor; yet the box was not large and he was a very tall gentleman, she was fairly sure he could have done the same without b ending so much... It was so difficult to imagine Mr. Darcy flirting - and with her, of all people- yet how could it be comprehended otherwise?

She chose to stop pondering his actions. She didn't know when she would see him next, as abrupt as had been his departure to his estate; and with so few hours spent together - at least since he had decided to present a more pleasing face to the world - she didn't think she could make a fair judgement. Time had proven that she had grossly mistaken his character once; she was keen on proving - even if only to herself - that she had become more careful.

As they drew near the appointed inn where Mr. Bennet's carriage was to meet them, Elizabeth remembered the tale they had made up to explain her sudden departure to London. They spent the uneventful trip in their father's carriage trying to elaborate a story that wouldn't be too untrue - so as not to offend Jane's feelings - and yet wouldn't jeopardise too much her secret. After all, if Jane's heart had been truly wounded, so this unexpected illness had not been such a lie, and her recovery was true.
When they alighted from the carriage, even their father had come to the door to greet them. Their mother and two younger sisters were loudly commenting on Jane's good looks, Mary uttered something nobody listened to and Mr. Bennet only smiled, a wink towards his Lizzy indicating to her he was very glad to see her back and aware and happy of the London events. They managed to flee quickly to their own rooms against the promise that they would tell them all very soon about the newest fashions.

As soon as the ladies were gathered in the drawing room for tea, Lydia burst out with her most excellent piece of gossip. "It's about dear Wickham! There is no danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King. There's for you! She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool; gone to stay. Wickham is safe!"

Mary, who had been bustling with the same news, added, "She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him."

"But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side," said Jane.

Lydia snorted, "I am sure there is not on his. I will answer for it he never cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?"

Elizabeth caught her sister's eye. If Lydia herself had noticed Mr. Wickham's lack of interest in Mary King, surely there was something wrong in his behaviour.

Mrs. Bennet, who had been shunned by her youngest, broke Mary's comment about looks not being the essence of goodness. "Oh! Lydia! Who cares about Mr. Wickham when such wonderful news has been circulating for a few days..."

Before Lydia or Kitty could interrupt her, she carried on, "Mr. Bingley is coming down! 'Tis quite sure, you know, for Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton three nights ago; your Aunt Philips saw her passing by, and went out herself on purpose to know the truth of it; and she told her that it was certain true. He comes down tomorrow at the latest, very likely today. She was going to the butcher's, she told her, on purpose to order in some meat for yesterday, and she has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed."

Jane blushed crimson and exchanged an enquiring look with Lizzy. What was she supposed to do? Charles had told her he would come before supper to ask her father's consent; was she to divulge the truth right away to her mother or would it be wisest to wait for her betrothed's call? She didn't have time to make her mind up, as Mrs. Bennet had still not finished.

"Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what may happen? But that is nothing to us. I reminded my sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. But it is quite certain he is coming!"

Just as Jane had decided to relate the conclusion of the London happenings, a solid knock was heard upon the front door of the house. Then, much to everyone's - but the two oldest Bennet daughters' - dismay, Mrs. Hill didn't appear to introduce the caller. Jane took a deep breath in and started to reveal her news.

Mrs. Hill knocked softly and entered the library. "Mr. Bingley to see you, Sir."

"Good evening to you Mr. Bennet," said the gentleman as he ventured inside the room and closed the door behind him.

Mr. Bingley dreaded the moment to come, as he had since he had proposed to Jane. Well aware that he would normally be considered a most suitable match - almost an unexpected one, he feared his abandonment of Jane would render him unworthy in Mr. Bennet's opinion. His usual eloquence and ease of speaking completely fled him at the moment when he needed it the most.

"Mr. Bingley! What a surprise! What could draw you back in Hertfordshire in the depth of the winter?"

Since Mr. Bennet had been kept informed by his brother since Jane's and Mr. Bingley's unexpected meeting, he perfectly knew that his daughter and her suitor had come to an understanding, and he had been expecting the gentleman. In fact, he'd rather thought that Mr. Bingley would have waited until the morrow for this call; but, from what Mr. Gardiner had told him, the young man was nothing if not utterly determined to call Jane his wife as soon as he could. A visit on the very day of his return was, after all, highly commendable.

Under his elder's close scrutiny, Mr. Bingley stuttered, "Mr. Bennet, Sir, I'm very happy to see you."

The old gentleman chuckled, "And so am I, Sir."

Mr. Bingley's embarrassment increased. "In fact, Sir, I came here with a purpose..."

The slightly ironical pose of Mr. Bennet's eyebrow eventually totally disconcerted his companion. For a few awkward seconds, his throat appeared unable to manage the words he was pronouncing. Mr. Bennet took as much pity on him as he could.

"Come now, Mr. Bingley! You've not come all this way to show me you were such a great imitator of fishes."

Seeing the young man's eyes bulge, Mr. Bennet mildly berated himself, and, taking it upon himself, he went to the decanter and gently asked his companion, "May I offer you some port? After such a long trip, you must be parched. And please, do sit down!"

Mr. Bingley fell heavily in the closest armchair, nodded and eventually managed to ask, "You know I arrived today?"

"Indeed I do, Sir! The news of your return has been bristling in the Hertfordshire drawing rooms for a few days now. Jane's and Lizzy's coming back went almost unnoticed because of you."

Slightly uneasy as he knew news of his departure had been travelling as fast a few months ago, he took an unhealthy gulp of his drink and replied, "I'm honoured, Sir. But then, the neighbourhood has always been very friendly..."

Was it due to the liquor on his empty stomach? Was it the teasing light in Mr. Bennet's eye? Was he just emboldened by his newfound confidence or by his companion's last comment? Whatever the reason, he surprised even himself by continuing with, "I must say that I've always been more than welcome by all the mothers of the area."

Mr. Bennet's first reaction to this so un-Bingley-like reply was a very un-Bennet-like gaping mouth. Then he roared out a violent burst of laughter and sat heavily in his chair. Mr. Bingley was soon laughing as hard as him, and it was a while before the conversation could resume. Since the ice had so efficiently been broken, it went on more freely.

"Well, Sir. I believe I still owe you the reason for my call. I'll put it bluntly. I wish to marry your daughter Jane, and I'd be very honoured if you'd consent to the match."

Mr. Bennet smiled warmly, "I cannot say this comes as a surprise and I see no reason to hesitate. I suppose she has agreed?"

"Indeed she has, Sir. A week ago, on the 7th of February."

Mr. Bennet's grin widened, "So I heard, so I heard."

"You did?" Mr. Bingley asked, bemused that the news travelled that fast.

"Oh! Do not worry! 'Tis not yet public news in the area; indeed, Mrs. Bennet herself is..." Mr. Bennet's speech was interrupted by a loud shriek resounding through the house. He raised an acknowledging eyebrow, "... was not aware of it. No, 'tis my brother Gardiner who informed me of his meeting with you. He even went as far as seeking my agreement on his decision." Mr. Bennet looked almost sternly at his future son. "I trust Jane. She hasn't got Lizzy's quickness, but she's a smart girl. If she consented, there must have been a good reason for your untimely disappearance, so I see no reason to interfere."

Mr. Bingley was torn between trying to explain their misunderstanding and shame over his lack of confidence at the time. He chose not to dwell on the subject and instead, just asked, "So I have your consent?"

Mr. Bennet stood and held out his hand. "You have my consent."

Mr. Bingley popped up from the armchair, eagerly took the proffered hand and shook it vehemently.

"Very well, very well. Let's go now! I'm sure Jane's impatient to see you. "

As Mr. Bingley dashed out of the library, Mr. Bennet sedately followed, "And I'm sure Mrs. Bennet will be thrilled to see you too!"

"Mama, it is indeed quite certain Mr. Bingley is coming. Actually, he is now in Father's library."

Kitty's strident, "What?" startled Lydia who had been looking out of the window to find clues about the identity of the caller. Mary didn't even wince, her eyes firmly focused on her book.

Mrs. Bennet only replied, "Don't be silly, Child. It's not even sure he's arrived in Netherfield yet; he cannot be with your father!"

Elizabeth only smiled encouragingly at her sister.

"Indeed he is, Mama," Jane insisted. "He told me he would call on Papa this very evening."

"Nonsense, Jane!" Mrs. Bennet answered, her voice edging its highest pitch. "Do not vex me! How could he have told you that? You'd have had to see him!"

Elizabeth looked with amazement at her mother. Could it be that she could not grasp the implications of Jane's replies?

"Mother, I did see him."

Something in her eldest's tone made Mrs. Bennet realise she was missing something. She turned towards Elizabeth. "She did see him?" asked she, unbelieving hope in her voice.

Elizabeth only nodded.

"He's here to ask for Father's consent," Jane went on sweetly.

"What?" Mrs. Bennet shrieked louder and higher than ever before. She was already on her feet, trying to have Jane stand up too. Had she been able to focus on anything but her astounded overwhelming delight, she'd have seen the heart-felt happiness that lightened her newfound favourite daughter's eyes.

"We happened to meet a fortnight ago... He proposed... I consented... I'm so happy, Mama!"

Mrs. Bennet was by then forcefully embracing Jane. "Oh! My dear, dear Jane! I'm so happy too! I am sure I shan't get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it would be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was that you should come together. Oh! He is the handsomest young man that ever was seen!"

For once, all her daughters shared her joy - even if more quietly for some of them. Jane was soon surrounded by everyone save Lizzy, and her eyes grew misty at the pleasure her news gave to all her dear family.

Even though Mrs. Bennet's rapture hadn't receded when Mr. Bingley entered the drawing room, his broad-smiling appearance strengthened it anew.

"My dear, dear Mr. Bingley! How good it is to see you!"

Mr. Bennet quietly closed the door and winced at the loudness of his wife's greeting. "Mrs. Bennet," said he nonetheless. His failure at catching his wife's attention - one of many - made him tap on her shoulder. "Mrs. Bennet! I believe I have an announcement to make."

This quietened Mrs. Bennet immediately. "Oh yes! Of course!"

She demurely sat back in her chair, everyone but the gentlemen copying her. She focused her attention on her husband. Lydia and Kitty were not so quiet; their father shushed them with a warning glance.

The look of pure adoration Jane sent Charles was answered by a look of cheer [sheer] happiness and utter confidence. Mr. Bennet observed the exchange and put as much enthusiasm as he could mutter in his speech.

"Jane, Mr. Bingley has asked and been granted my permission to marry you." As he saw her wipe away something from the corner of her eye, he asked teasingly, "I hope this is not unhappy news?"

"Of course, it is not!" burst out Mrs. Bennet.

Elizabeth could not repress a giggle. Her father acknowledged it and excused himself, "I believe my work is done, here."

It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of Jane's mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face, as made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent or speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings, though she talked to Bingley of nothing else for half an hour; and when Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly showed how really happy he was.

Mrs. Bennet eventually found a subject of deep discontentment - although she tried to voice it not to offend too much her intended son-in-law.

"Jane, you cannot be serious. I'm sorry Mr. Bingley, but I cannot plan a wedding in barely more than a month. Think about the trousseau, the wedding dress, the wedding breakfast... And what about the flowers? There are not flowers to be found at this time of the year! No, Jane, Mr. Bingley, I'm sorry but you'll have to wait until after Easter."

Jane and Charles had chosen their wedding date taking into account Charles' eagerness, Lizzy's planned trip to Kent and Jane's forecasting her mother's opinion. Jane tried to explain her mother that Elizabeth could not disappoint Charlotte but she wouldn't hear of it.

"Who cares about Charlotte Collins?" she grunted.

"Well, Mama, I care," replied Elizabeth.

Seeing that his soon-to-be mother was about to go on about delaying the chosen date, Mr. Bingley interfered, "Mrs. Bennet. I would not have anyone of my acquaintance disappointed because of my marriage. And anyway, I am quite determined to have Miss Bennet as Netherfield's mistress as soon as I can."

Mrs. Bennet was so eager to please him that she tried to listen to him; and what she heard rather pleased her.

"Jane will be so good as Netherfield's mistress! I'm sure the house needs her."

Elizabeth winced at the implication that Caroline had not been such a good one.

"Not that Mrs. Nicholls is not a good housekeeper, mind you... But a home is never as well kept than when there's a real lady of the house."

Mr. Bingley, still slightly surprised at the efficiency of his voicing his opinion, pushed his luck further, "Exactly my point Mrs. Bennet! Which is why I really think we should marry on the 19th of March and why... I'd like Miss Bennet to come to Netherfield so that she may say what changes she wishes."

"Aye my Dear! You must go! And I must go to help you! You're terribly right, Mr. Bingley! Shall we go tomorrow?"

"Mama..." Elizabeth tried to interfere.

"With a wedding date so close, there's no time to loose!"

Jane smiled her agreement at the scheme, her betrothed beamed at the confirmation that he would have her as his wife when he wished it.

"Of course, Mrs. Bennet. I'd be very happy to welcome you and Miss Bennet for tea; Miss Elizabeth, would you like to come too?"

Elizabeth frowned at the proposal. Was the confident new Mr. Bingley still mildly afraid of his future mother in law? She smiled, "I'd be delighted, Sir."

The younger sisters soon began to make interest with Mr. Bingley for objects of happiness, which he and Jane might in future be able to dispense. Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.

"I have a grander idea," interfered boldly Lydia, "Mr. Bingley must give an engagement ball! It has been so long since we've been dancing..."

Jane and Elizabeth gasped at her audacity.

Although the idea did take his fancy, Mr. Bingley knew that, without his sister, he was not up to such a challenge. "Well, Miss Lydia, 'tis a very good idea, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline." Seeing the youngest pout, he added, "But I promise that we'll have a ball at Netherfield after the wedding!"

Mrs. Bennet had been thinking about the best way to proclaim her good luck to her neighbours. If a ball could not be put together, a dinner was exactly the thing to replace it. She imposed the idea, decided that it would happen two days hence and ordered Mary to fetch a pen and paper to start planning the menu and the guest-list. Jane and Charles were so engrossed in celebrating their reunion that neither reacted; Elizabeth did it on their behalves.

"Mama, the engagement dinner cannot be held without Mr. Bingley's sisters. You cannot choose the date all by yourself!"

Hearing his name snapped Mr. Bingley's attention back to the drawing room conversation. "Oh! My sisters will be here; they are to leave London tomorrow with Mr. Hurst. We shall not delay the dinner because of them."

Mrs. Bennet addressed a silent I-knew-it look at her daughter; she would have been more vocal, if not for Mr. Bingley's ongoing speech.

"Mr. Darcy should be here too. I received a letter this morning; he said that his business had been resolved before he arrived in Derbyshire and that he would leave immediately to come here. I expect him by tomorrow night."

Fortunately, Elizabeth's sudden blush at the news went unnoticed save by Mr. Bingley. Well, Darcy... What would you make of this reaction? You do well in coming, Man...

Thus, he barely heard Mrs. Bennet grunting, "Well, any friend of yours will always be welcome here, to be sure..."

As the evening grew late, and despite - or because - of the excitement around the engagement news, yawns started to become more frequent. Mr. Bingley reluctantly took his leave for the night, and was seen to the door by the whole family. Mrs. Bennet contrived to have just Jane see him to his carriage; Elizabeth grinned. At least, under her mother's chaperoning, Jane and Mr. Bingley would be able to secure private moments much more easily.

"Jane, I'm truly the happiest man on Earth. I cannot wait for tomorrow..."

"I cannot wait either to see you but to enter Netherfield as its future mistress... 'Tis so frightening!"

"Jane," he scolded her tenderly, "you'll be perfect as Netherfield's mistress; your mother certainly knows how to keep a house and you help her so much! And anyway, Mrs. Nicholls has been here forever and, she will be a great help to you. The only thing that matters is that you'll soon be by my side."

Jane's eyes showed him how appreciated his confidence was and how much she agreed with his last statement. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Sleep well, my love," said he as the footman closed the door of the carriage.

When he was gone, Mr. Bennet turned to his daughter, and said, "Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman."

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his goodness.

"You are a good girl;" he replied, "and I have great pleasure in thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income."

"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters would be unpardonable in me."

"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet," cried his wife, "what are you talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a year, and very likely more."

Mr. Bennet had already fled to his library and her daughters were heading for their rooms. Without any ear to listen to her, she mumbled to herself about all the things she'd have to do on the morrow and in the coming month. So many things to do, so little time; she hoped her nerves would bear it!

Chapter 23

Posted on Monday, 3 March 2003, at 2:31 p.m.

Author's note: WARNING This story is rated PG13. My betas told me it is steamy but, in our humble opinion, it does comply with DWG guidelines. If you fear you might be offended, please, do not read it; otherwise, enjoy!

As soon as he woke up in the sturdy bed of his country estate, Charles Bingley felt two overwhelming urges; the first one was to see his beloved - but this had happened every day in London, and he was, by then, fairly used to it; the second was to check on his potato seeds.

Coming back to Netherfield was like ending the circle of his misery; he had fallen in love with the most angelic creature he had ever met in Hertfordshire, he would marry her in Hertfordshire, and everything that had happened in-between would have to be forgotten. Somehow, going to the cellar and checking on his future potato plants was another way of putting his life back onto the tracks it shouldn't have swayed from. They had been his main reason for leaving to London on that fateful 27th of November; he knew he would have closely followed their delivery had he not been so emotionally unable to go back around Meryton at the time; he just had to make sure that, like his soon-to-come union with Jane, this plan of his would also come true. More importantly, without them he might never have met Jane again - if only for this, he owed them, at least, a courtesy visit!

When his steward led him into the lowest floor of the mansion, Charles felt his pulse quicken. It had nothing to do with any childish fear of darkness; it wasn't either due to any excitement of entering into an unknown part of his property. Indeed, the dim light provided by the lamp each of them held didn't allow him to really discover this part of his house, and Mr. Blanes was not very talkative about the subject.

To tell the truth, the latter was still very surprised by his master's request. Since he had taken the house, Mr. Bingley had proven to be a good master, taking care of his estate matters even when he had been in London without over-interfering in what John Blanes considered as his tasks; but checking on the potato seeds maturation was something he had asked young Ben to do once a week - young Ben, the less trained lad in the staff! Why the Master would want to look at them was something beyond his understanding. Yet, he had no wish to contradict Mr. Bingley about such a trifling matter; therefore, before opening the old wooden door they had eventually come in front of, he uttered an almost cheerful "Here we are, Sir," and let his master into the room.

The room was a small square one, its walls were of pale grey stone and the floor of clay. His heart pounding wildly, Mr. Bingley breathed in the slightly humid air and entered it. Mr. Blanes totally forgotten, he put his lamp on an old mossy table and took the steps that led him closer to the stacks of boxes that held the potatoes. There appeared to be three completed rows of stacks, aligned against the back wall, going from floor to ceiling, and a fourth incomplete one in front. His breathing still uneven, he held out his hand and his fingers reverently brushed the box on top of the last stack. He seemed to hesitate, his hand lingering on the edge of the box; he looked up to his steward to get his agreement, and, taking Mr. Blanes' slightly upset and utterly bemused air for an acquiescence, his hand plunged and he took hold of one tubercle. The potato was flabby and deformed by some small white arms, just like Mr. Corncrop had said it would be; Charles released a deep breath. On looking up once again at his steward, he realised how odd his behaviour had most probably been; he smiled uneasily.

"Everything seems to be just fine, Blanes. When do you think they will be sown?"

"Everything is fine, Sir. Don't worry. My former master also tried his luck with potatoes and it turned out very well. These are going just the same way."

Mr. Bingley smiled his pleasure at such reassurance. His steward carried on, "And we won't sow them before the end of March as things are going; it's been years since we've had such a cold winter."

"Indeed!"

Mr. Blanes looked expectantly at his master, "Was there anything else you wanted to see?"

"No I thank you. I think we're done."

As he was fidgeting by one of his front windows, waiting for the Bennet carriage, later that day, Charles thought back about the stacks of boxes in the room in the basement. He realised his attitude was a bit foolish but he felt very proud about his potatoes. True, it had been Darcy's idea to begin with, but he had relied on no one to make it real. Paying the rent of Netherfield was not a relevant gentleman's act; deciding of a new way of using his fields was. Moreover he had sensed in some worthy - at least in his opinion - gentlemen's behaviour that his decision was a good one; he had even felt that Darcy was considering him more and more like a peer. Pride was indeed something his potatoes had given him.

Even more foolishly, he felt grateful to his potatoes. They had been the way to reunite Jane and him; indeed, had not he gone to Mr. Gardiner's warehouse that 28th of January, at that particular time, he may have never seen her again and realised how wrong he had been. Indeed, those potatoes had played a tremendous role in his and Jane's happiness. He wondered if she'd be interested in seeing them; he wondered if she even knew how significant those seedlings were; he wondered if he could appear so silly to her, by telling her how he felt. But then, how could he hide from her something so important to him? Why would he have to pretend being someone he was not? Jane had confessed to him she had fallen in love with him for his openness, his goodness and his enthusiasm; it would be wrong to negate these qualities of his. As he saw the awaited carriage pass through the gates, he made up his mind: indeed, he would try and find a moment to tell her about the potato seeds, happen what may!

On passing through the gates of Netherfield, Elizabeth couldn't repress a relieved sigh; her mother's babble about how wonderful Jane's happiness was for whole her family, how rich Mr. Bingley was and how close to Longbourn Netherfield was, was very hard to endure at home but unbearable in the close confines of a carriage. How dearly she regretted she hadn't been granted her wish to walk to Mr. Bingley's estate and join her mother and sister there! But Mrs. Bennet wouldn't heard about it, admonishing her against her wild ways and cautioning her she would never find such a worthy husband as Mr. Bingley if she persisted - not that there was any hope another such worthy prospect would ever come to the area, and should it happen, that she would be able to catch him. Elizabeth looked at her sister, her eyes wide-opened as to express her exasperation, and she only found in her sisters' mild amusement and patience.

Jane was happy. Her natural kindness was emphasised, her usual fortitude with her mother reinforced and her belief in the human goodness more anchored than ever. And just like she didn't wish she had not quarrelled with Charles in her uncle's warehouse, she almost felt glad for her mother's prattle. They were, after all, on their way to Netherfield to see her beloved betrothed and to plan her settling in Charles' property, such a happy future was certainly worth it. But it was not Lizzy's and she understood her annoyance. She only smiled to her sister, trying to offer her some strength to bear with their mother for a short while longer.

When the carriage stopped, Mr. Bingley himself opened the door and helped Mrs. Bennet out.

"Mrs. Bennet, I'm very happy to see you. I hope everything went well."

"Indeed, Sir! I'm very happy to see you too. I hope we're not too early; but you see, Jane was so impatient to come, she made us hurry and we departed long before the appointed hour."

Lizzy's gasp on hearing such an obvious untruth mirrored Jane's laughingly raised eyebrow. The fair lady's smile widened at Charles' candid reply.

"Not at all, Ma'am; I was very impatient myself at having Ja... Miss Bennet here today. I confess I've been pacing along the front window this past half-hour!"

Mrs. Bennet smirked and withdrawing, let him help one of her daughters out. She almost groaned in frustration when her eldest's hand emerged; had Lizzy been the next, she could have found a way to allow the young couple some privacy. She suspected that her brother's wife had been a very efficient chaperone - Madeline had always been such a prude - and she was determined to help things to change. Jane and Mr. Bingley were formally engaged; it was a glorious match; as long as nothing exaggerated happened, she was ready to be oblivious of small breaches to etiquette. But it was not to be, not for this time anyway - yet she was not Frances Bennet if Jane and Mr. Bingley hadn't time enough by themselves for at least one kiss before their return to Longbourn!

Jane's smile was what Charles had been waiting for since waking up and it nonetheless warmed more his heart than he expected. She was dazzlingly beautiful in her warm coat; her eyes shone and were tenderly looking into his. He helped her out of the carriage, taking her second hand in his when she was out and raising both to his lips, while his gaze didn't leave her face. Everything that couldn't be said, with her mother just a few feet away and her sister still in the coach, was expressed nonetheless. His eyes told her he had missed her, hers replied that she had counted the hours; his hand lovingly squeezed hers, she replied in kind; and when his mouth brushed her gloved fingers, she let them linger and discreetly caress his lips. As his smile became even broader, she blushed a little and uttered a soft, "Good day, Charles".

"Welcome to Netherfield, Jane. I'm very happy to have you here."

"I am very happy to be here too," she replied. Then, hearing the tap-tap of a shoe on a carriage floor, she carried on, laughingly, "And I'm sure Lizzy would be very happy to be out!"

Charles chuckled and helped his future sister out. "Shall we go inside? Tea should be ready and then we'll have a tour around the house with Mrs. Nicholls."

"So you're still alone, Sir? Your charming sisters are not yet arrived?"

"Not at all, Ma'am! I suspect they're barely on their way. It's amazing how waking up early takes a very different meaning in Grosvenor Street," he laughed.

"And your... friend?" Mrs. Bennet's tone had taken a scornful turn.

"Darcy? He had such a long way to go. Normally coming from Derbyshire takes a day longer, but he insisted he wanted to be here as soon as he could. So I really don't expect him before the end of the day."

While Mrs. Bennet was obviously pleased at not having Mr. Darcy around for the day, Elizabeth's gaze fell on the floor at hearing Mr. Bingley's last news. She had smiled at his kindly teasing his sisters but she had been taken by surprise by her mother's last question and even more by the gentleman's reply. Why would Mr. Darcy shorten the trip from his far away Derbyshire to be in Hertfordshire sooner? His repentance about his actions in Mr. Bingley's and Jane's story couldn't be the reason - he had done enough on that topic; yet she couldn't allow herself to think it was for her and she was still not sure she wanted to think it was for her. Very dissatisfied with the state of confusion the mere thought of the man was able to throw her into, she absentmindedly followed their host.

"What a sweet room you have here, Mr. Bingley; I had kept such a fond memory of it since November. Indeed, in the carriage, I was remembering the good time I had last time I came here with two of my daughters. It seems just a few days ago and yet so many things have happened. And how delightful is the prospect over that gravel walk, even with the frost!" Mrs. Bennet barely stopped to breathe, preventing an upset Elizabeth to try and put some sense in the conversation. "Netherfield is really the handsomest place in the country; I wondered if you had lengthened your lease? Of course you must have; otherwise you wouldn't ask Jane to come and put it to her taste... How good it is to know that my daughter will be just a few miles away! I'll be able to call quite frequently; she will certainly need me to manage such a grand house."

Elizabeth's years of listening to her mother had made her quite immune to hearing improprieties; yet whether it was the memory she had of the conversation with Mr. Darcy all those months ago or the astounding silliness of Mrs. Bennet's speech just then, she had to interfere. She shouldn't have feared Mr. Bingley's unease; he was smilingly nodding at her mother but his mind was dedicated to the enjoyment created by Jane's thumb tickling his palm and the feeling of her leg against his. Unaware of his obliviousness - but did it really matter? - Elizabeth tried to address her mother's silliest topic.

"I, for one, feel much better than when I was last in your drawing-room, Mr. Bingley. Jane's health cannot compare with what it was then and I dare say she's even more beautiful!"

The gentleman's attention snapped at hearing his name. "Indeed, she is beautiful," he replied, raising his betrothed's hand to kiss it once again, "But she was handsome even in illness."

Jane blushed prettily and Elizabeth smiled happily on witnessing such a sweet couple. Mr. Bingley had obviously not paid any attention to her mother's earlier babble; she decided to stop distressing herself un-necessarily. While the tea was drunk, Mrs. Bennet kept professing her universal truths; Jane and Mr. Bingley kept promising the other happiness to come - whether it be sooner or later; and Elizabeth kept sighing - either in annoyance at her mother or in contentment at her sister.

They had been touring the house for more than an hour, and even Jane's patience was eventually tried by her mother's constant comments about what she should do or how she should do it. Mrs. Nicholls was very helpful and that stirred in Mrs. Bennet a jealousy at not being the counsellor. Her tone had become sharp, her shrieks louder and her advice even less accurate. Elizabeth felt that her sister's control was slowly slipping away and a glance at Mr. Bingley showed her that he was also aware that something was amiss. Fortunately, they had seen all the rooms but one - the master's bedroom, which was not to be seen by Jane before the wedding night - and all Miss Bennet's wishes had been thoroughly noted by the housekeeper. In fact, she had suggested very few changes; the house was nice enough as it was and she was not used to spending more than was really required - moreover in a house not even property of her future husband.

"I find myself in dire need of fresh air," Mr. Bingley exclaimed - rather falsely in Elizabeth's ear. "Would anyone like to join me for a short turn outside?"

"I confess it is a tempting idea!" On hearing her mother's exasperated sigh, Elizabeth realised she might have spoken too fast. Indeed, Mr. Bingley and Jane wouldn't let her alone and therefore wouldn't be able to enjoy the other as they had not been able to during this visit. She tried to back up, "But then, it is so very cold; I prefer to stay inside after all."

"What nonsense, Lizzy! As if a low temperature could frighten you. You must go outside and I'll accompany you and Mr. Bingley." Jane replied. Not unaware of her sister's reason to decline, she couldn't resolve on achieving her own happiness on Lizzy's misery.

Shaking her head in deep discontent, Mrs. Bennet groaned that she would also join them. If Lizzy strolling in the garden couldn't be helped, at least she would keep her by her side!

They put on the coats that had been discarded for the long visit and started their stroll in the garden. Mrs. Bennet requested Elizabeth's arm and made her take the slowest step. Soon enough, Jane and Mr. Bingley had outstripped them and she made them take seat on a nearby bench.

"Well, well, well; is it not perfect, Lizzy? You can have all the fresh air you wish, I can remain seated and Jane and her Mr. Bingley are blissfully alone!"

"But, Mama, do you think it proper to let them out of your sight?"

"Oh!" cried her mother, "they can do nothing really improper outside on such a cold day, now, can they?"

Elizabeth repressed a giggle, "I hardly imagine what you mean, Mama..."

"And that is very proper; you are not engaged nor likely to be for the next months; you have no business to know anything of the kind."

Her daughter's astonished yet amused air didn't stop her, "But I confess there was a time when Mr. Bennet was taking me outside on such cold days just for the sake of being alone with me."

Elizabeth's now really shocked "Mama!" broke her reminiscence.

"Anyway, we're very well where we are. We may as well leave them by themselves without fear. After all, they are now engaged! And such a good match it is!"

Elizabeth sighed inwardly; Mrs. Bennet had started her favourite speech these days, she knew she could shut her mind for a while without fearing discovery. She tried to refrain her thoughts from going all the way to Derbyshire but only managed by thinking about the visit they had just made. Back in November, she had been in a lot of the rooms they had seen, and, almost in each, she had a memory of words - more often sharp than kind - she had had with a tall and dark gentleman. Then her thoughts drifted to her mother's earlier comment about her not getting engaged soon. Then she scolded herself for the way her mind was working. Then she wondered - for the umpteenth time - if she was being presumptuous, as long as this gentleman's attentions were concerned, and, if she were not, what would be her answer. Between her mother's prattle and her inner questions, she didn't take benefit of the fresh air as she had hoped and wished she had stayed inside - at least, she would have been less cold.

Meanwhile, Jane's gloved hand resting lightly on Charles's arm, the couple had reached the corner of the house. After Charles had enquired about her earlier unease and Jane had thanked and assured him everything was all right, she had talked about the comfort and charm of his house but hadn't found the adoring listener she was used to.

"Charles, 'tis my turn to enquire if you're all right. You really must believe me, I'm perfectly fine and more than happy to steal a few moments with you."

"My Dearest, you must not fret. I know you're all right and I'm thrilled to have you for myself for a while. I must say your mother has been most kind!"

Jane blushed and smiled; she was sure it was indeed one of her mother's tricks and, for once, didn't find fault with it.

"No, Love; I have one thing on my mind... I really want to tell you but I'm afraid you'll find me foolish if I do. And after having lived all my life without one thought about the other's opinion save Darcy's, 'tis almost frightening to realise I depend so much upon yours."

Jane stopped their walk and faced him. "Charles, I love you! I cannot find you foolish; if you wish to tell me something, you must do it without fearing censure or mockery."

He smiled tenderly and kissed her on the forehead - as their public surroundings restricted him. "All right, Jane. This morning I went into Netherfield's cellar," and he went on, telling her the entirety of his potato seedlings history.

Jane had been politely interested at the beginning, had winced when the tale had reached November and her eyes widened at the end of it. "So that is why you'd come to my uncle's warehouse when I happened upon you?"

Charles nodded, his eyes lost into hers. She remained silent, then said, "Those potatoes have played a significant role for us, have they not?"

He smiled and nodded once again. His grin widened when she carried on, "I've always had a fondness for potatoes, would you show them to me?"

"I'd be honoured," he said, placing his hand on hers and leading her to a small door on the side of the mansion. "I hope you're not afraid of the dark, though."

She laughed and he laughed with her. Remembering Mr. Blanes' gestures, he unbolted the gate, retrieved the lamp that was on the wall and lit it.

"Shall we?" he shyly asked.

"We shall," she firmly replied.

Facing the old wooden door for the second time that day, Charles Bingley felt much more confident; he knew what was behind it, he knew he had not been too foolish; he knew that Jane shared his feelings for his potatoes. He also felt slightly light-headed; for the first time since his proposal, he was totally alone with Jane. And since no one was likely to find them here, they were alone for an indefinite period of time. The little games they had been able to play in London had been delightful but hardly satisfying when he knew the bliss her lips were able to offer. He would be damned if he didn't try to know this ecstasy once again. He opened the door, placed the lamp on the old mossy table and watched his Jane's amazement. She was still standing at the door and appeared to be counting the boxes.

"There are too many to count, Dearest."

She asked him how many fields he was planning to sow; he replied that this was only for ten acres. He took her hand to lead her towards the boxes.

"May I?" she tentatively asked.

"Of course you may; there's as much yours as mine!" he said, standing by her side.

She removed her gloves, cautiously took one and placed it in her opened palm. Apparently particularly intrigued by the white tentacles, she placed her forefinger on the tip of one of them and delicately brushed it; the pulp of her finger slowly trailed down along it until it reached the brownish tubercle. Her middle finger joined its sibling to test the suppleness of the potato; she let a surprised "Oh" out. Her eyes, which hadn't left the vegetable, sought his opinion but, instead of a quiet sea, she found in his gaze a raging ocean.

At first, Charles had been moved by the truth of Jane's obvious interest; then the beating of his heart had quickened and his breathing had gone shallow. He had closed his eyes but the image of Jane's finger's dance had been even more vivid and the potato skin had transformed into human skin, male skin, his skin. He had snapped them opened, taken a ragged breath and tried to regain control over his thoughts. When she looked up at him, she took him by surprise; her eyes were bright clear, as pure as a sunny mid-day sky, as innocent as a child's, and utterly confident. She apparently hadn't reached the same conclusion as he, that they were alone, that there was no Mrs. Gardiner or Mrs. Bennet to ascertain the propriety of their acts, that they were... free! Her eyes first showed astonishment; then he saw the storm form in her August sky eyes. Their blue deepened, she blinked several times and her pupils became wider. When her tongue darted to moisten her lips, he felt his grip on his desire loosen; without letting her release the potato, he leant down to her and tentatively licked the now humid spots. Still unsure of her willingness, he backed up a little to give her a chance to escape; he saw her eyes were closed, he felt expectancy in the leaning of her body and he heard her slightly ajar mouth exhale a disappointed sigh. He groaned "Oh, Jane!" and embraced her; their bodies at last were touching - even if it were through thick layers of winter clothes; his hands cupped her face, her bonnet preventing them from truly cradling it, and his mouth hungrily sought hers.

Jane randomly found one box and let the potato she still held fall into it; she shyly rested her now free hands on his upper arms. The tension she felt in them, the power she felt she had almost unleashed, made her giddy. She felt he was devouring her mouth, his lips and tongue teasing her upper lip, then her lower, searching her tongue, and, at first, she didn't know how to reply. Their first kisses, on their engagement day, had not been wholly innocent, but the novelty of their acknowledged love, the unbelief at their eventually being engaged, the sanctity of those first moments together had kept them away from wildness. There, in the potato cellar, after so many days of frustrating little proofs of their attachment, there was no more room for gentleness and there was no more need for it either. While in London, she had come to enjoy the growing knot in her stomach that always accompanied their taking advantage of every opportunity to share more than tender words; he had just been able to create an even stronger need with his mouth. She impulsively reached for his hair, pulled him back slightly, opened her eyes to dive into his hazy yet faintly questioning ones and resolutely drew his mouth back to hers. She showed him she was as hungry as he was and his moans were evidence that he was more than willing to let her take as much as she wanted.

Unable to remain passive for long, he blindly untied the ribbons of her bonnet and only managed to make a real knot but with enough length to be able to push the offending hat on her back. Now fully able to relish in the feeling of her soft skin and silky hair, he let his mouth wander; his tongue tasted the skin under her chin, his teeth nibbled on her earlobe, his lips grazed down her throat and stopped at the edge of her coat. Every new attention he showed her was rewarded with sighs and cries; he felt her stiffen when he started his path down her neck. His desire urged him to get rid of her coat, to get rid of her dress, to get rid of everything that was between him and her ivory body, yet he didn't. A dark and cold cellar was not the place he had envisioned for their first time as man and woman; he respected her far too much to even suggest the idea.

But if Charles wanted his will to overpower his body, he had to take a definite course of action; he stopped loving her with his mouth, stopped loving her with his hands and, breathing heavily, he backed against the far away wall. He placed his palms against it and forcefully pushed back; his chest still raised and fell strongly; his eyes were still of the stormy shade and still yearning for her.

Jane was crying. Silent and fat tears were making their way on her flushed cheeks. She was also panting. She felt like she would never be able to inhale enough air to regain her breath. As reality made its way through her daze, she tried to turn around and brushed her tears away.

"Jane, what is the matter?" Charles asked worriedly.

She swallowed twice before being able to voice a reply. "What must you think of me!" she eventually said, her voice cracking in another fit of tears.

Charles put his hands on her arms and made her turn around. His body was hurting from the lust he had felt for her a moment before but his mind had regained all its clarity. "Jane, Angel, I love you. I think you're the most beautiful creature on Earth. I think you're incredibly sweet and soft. I think I want to repeat this as often as we can," he replied soothingly.

She painfully repressed a sob and rested her cheek against his throat. "You do?" she asked shyly.

He held her tightly. He wasn't sure enough of his ability to remain poised if he kissed her face, so he only put his lips on her temple. "You made me the happiest man today, Jane. I know what I did was highly improper but I can't regret it. My heart and mind love you for all your wonderful qualities but my body loves you for what you make it feel. We didn't become man and wife today because I would never force you to and because those potatoes, as dear as they are to me, are not the witnesses I deem worthy of you for this event. You deserve the softest sheets and the warmest fire, you deserve the most comfortable bed and the handsomest room."

Jane had dried her eyes against his tie and withdrew a little to gaze squarely in his eyes. "No Charles. I don't deserve anything. I just need you. And I trust you. If the marital act..." he winced at the word, she shrugged," or however you call it, has anything to do with what just happened... Well..." Jane's pink cheeks turned to scarlet.

Charles grinned, "Well?"

"Well, I'll be happy to experience it," she rushed into saying, hiding once again into his neck cloth.

Charles laughed and made her look at him. "I shall remember this!"

She replied impishly, with a hint of a smile, "I know you shall!"

After a while, Mrs. Bennet had made Elizabeth and her return to the drawing room. The longer their tête-à-tête, the happier seemed the eldest lady. After scolding her daughter for her impatience, she suggested she take a book and remained, quietly, staring at the blazing fireplace. When Jane and Mr. Bingley uneasily entered the room and apologised for their lateness, she wouldn't hear of it and only smiled broadly at the couple. The fact that the gentleman's neck cloth was clearly askew and that her eldest was seriously dishevelled made her exhale a satisfied sigh. If both were highly surprised by her behaviour, none showed it and the call ended soon after.

Once on their way to Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet only said, "Well, Jane, I must say I had a wonderful time at Netherfield, as always. I hope it was instructive for you too!"

Elizabeth looked at her sister with wide eyes, shock at her mother's innuendo plain on her face. Jane blushed forcefully and barely whispered her agreement. Once Lizzy managed to catch her sister's eye, she made clear she would gladly have some insight on what her elder had learned. Jane bit her lip and nodded in reply.

Chapter 24

Posted on Thursday, 27 March 2003, at 3:56 p.m.

A dinner party at Longbourn was always a grand affair, but, on this particular occasion, Mrs. Bennet had exhausted her nerves - and that of Hill - to define a guest list extensive enough and to dress a dinner better than she ever had before. All her neighbours and a group of militia officers - Kitty's and Lydia's favourites, enough to even the number of gentlemen with the ladies - had been invited and, none had dared refuse. She still gritted her teeth at the fact that, by Mr. Bingley's special request, she had omitted Mr. Wickham's name in the militia officers' list, but, as likeable as the red-coated gentleman was, she would not dream of displeasing her future son.

Jane was too ecstatic to mind her mother's behaviour; she usually bore it very well, but, after her visit at Netherfield, she had become totally oblivious of her surroundings. During their nightly talk, Elizabeth had only managed to make her sigh profusely and say incoherently and very evasively, the words 'Charles, potatoes, love, wonderful, Charles, looking forward, delicious, love, wedding', &c. &c. Not that Jane had not tried to be less nonsensical, Lizzy had to say, but, obviously, what had happened had led her beyond herself - and pleasurably, it appeared. Jane was also very distracted since Mr. Bingley and she had unhappily agreed that he would not call before the dinner; indeed, his sisters and his friend had just arrived.

The remainder of the Bennet household had done their best to avoid the whirlwind created by Mrs. Bennet during most of the day, but, as the hour grew closer to the event, Lydia, Kitty, Elizabeth and even Mary found themselves objects of their mother's attentions. Now that the marriage fairy had entered Longbourn, she could be inspired in making prosperous matches for the other girls. Mrs. Bennet didn't really expect anything of the evening - no unknown gentleman in attendance - yet, no occasion was to be missed. Each of them was therefore fussed over; and, in addition to Hill's, she almost wiped out the upper maid's sanity.

Charles had firmly announced during tea that he wouldn't arrive fashionably late that eve; Hurst had sighed boringly, Caroline had sighed resignedly, and Louisa and Darcy had only nodded. Not unexpectedly, Hurst had joined Darcy and him in the library to have a comforting glass of port before leaving; Louisa, with Caroline in tow, had surprised the gentlemen by appearing at the door even before the appointed time of their departure. They settled in two carriages, Caroline choosing to sit with her sister and her husband, and departed for the three miles trip.

"Are you anxious?" asked Bingley to his friend.

"Anxious?" Darcy started, "Why would I be anxious? Are you anxious?"

"I? Anxious? Why would I be anxious?" he replied, frowning, genuinely surprised. "We're going to a dinner to celebrate my engagement to the most perfect creature in the world; I've no reason to be anxious!"

"And I have?" answered his friend. "We entertained often in the same company last autumn; even if it's not my favourite, I see no reason to fret!"

Charles looked at him expectantly. He had seen his friend toy with his signet ring earlier in the day, and he could still see it at this moment. He wondered briefly if Darcy faked confidence for his sake or if he was genuinely oblivious of his uneasiness. Since that evening in Hurst's library, Darcy had not confided in him anew; and he was at a loss to understand his friend. Trying to decipher his stern behaviour, he decided then and there that he would suggest such another evening; Miss Elizabeth's opinion of Darcy had obviously improved in the few days before his sudden departure to Derbyshire; whether it came from his advice or not, after all. But although they were in a carriage, already almost at Longbourn, and it was certainly neither the place nor the time, he prodded somewhat.

"You know, Darcy? I see a few reasons for you to fret. These dinner parties were almost two months ago and I never saw you very talkative in them. You and I know that your feelings towards some persons in this company have changed," the piercing and almost threatening stare he was shot with didn't deter him from going on, "and Miss Elizabeth will be here, tonight, surrounded by her relatives. I know you don't care about them and I'm not blind to her mother's flaws even though she's always been very kind to me..."

"Oh certainly she has been," Darcy smirked, "you're a single man in a possession of a good fortune and she has five unmarried daughters... It must have been a hard time for her to start liking you!"

"You're right, Darcy, I am a single man in possession of a good fortune and she has five un-married daughters. But how comes she doesn't like you when you're a single gentleman in possession of a greater fortune and a grand estate and she still have four un-spoken for daughters?" Bingley paused to let his words weigh into Darcy's thoughts, then he carried on, "All the same, I'm sorry I brought this up. I just wanted to offer my sympathies if you needed them; I would understand if you were anxious. Hopefully, Jane and I will be the focus of attention and you'll be safe!" He ended with a happy smile.

Darcy smiled back and nodded his gratitude. He recognised he had never thought about Mrs. Bennet's behaviour in this light. She was a loud matchmaking mother but, she was not so mercenary as to pretend feelings she didn't feel; indeed, he knew ladies in Ton who were slyer. Though I'm sure that if I fulfil my dream and Elizabeth and I become engaged, her dislike of me will vanish... This opened up a whole new realm of possibilities, I could make my interest obvious, she would certainly promote the match and help me win Elizabeth... How could she resist both her mother's and my wills? Yet would I be happy knowing that Elizabeth married me because her mother made her? Of course I would be happy; being married to Elizabeth would make me happy, whatever the circumstances. Bingley told me once, that it didn't really matter that Jane loved him or not, if she cared enough; I now understand what he meant. But would Elizabeth follow the dictates of society and agree to marry me if she didn't wish to? She evidently favoured Wickham over me, he cringed at the thought, when one is nothing and the other so much; she refused to dance with me, twice; she's never behaved like she should have; would she agree if I were to propose to her, now? He sighed; indeed, he had reasons to be anxious, not only for the dinner party, but for his future happiness. And Mrs. Bennet was a potential ally he would have to think about.

The stopping of the carriage startled him and he alighted from it still slightly in a daze. He resolved in staying out of the mistress of Longbourn's prying eyes for the time, not totally giving up the idea of using her motherly instincts if he felt he were on the verge of failing to win her daughter.

All the Bennet girls were assembled in the drawing-room when the Netherfield party entered. Nevertheless, Mrs. Bennet didn't give her daughters leave to welcome any of them. She fussed around Mr. Bingley, who, blissfully lost in an eye-lock with Jane, was utterly oblivious of it; complimented, then made her younger daughters compliment Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley about the elegance of their dresses, the ladies barely smiled their gratitude; and, as uncivilly as she was allowed, she ignored Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst, both being quite content with her behaviour.

None of the other guests had yet arrived and Caroline's disgust climaxed upon witnessing it. Even if she had admitted that being in the Bennets' presence was now unavoidable, she was far from welcoming the idea. Socialising with Mrs. Bennet and the likes seemed to be even more sickening in small company; and since she had no hope whatsoever that her brother would regain his sanity; since her sister, herself, had betrayed her and fallen into the clutches of the nauseatingly angelic Miss Bennet and her appallingly country-mannered sister; since she had resolved a mere week ago that she would stop pursuing the fine-eye admirer Mr. Darcy, she was left alone to endure and loath the vulgarity of this gathering.

Elizabeth gratefully observed her favourite Bingley sister repair to an isolated part of the room; gratefully since she gave her a good reason not to stare at Mr. Darcy. She had ventured only one glance at the gentleman. He looked serious, as usual; and, she thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as she had seen him in London. But, perhaps he could not in her mother's presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but not an improbable, conjecture.

Darcy, after enquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did, a question which she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely anything. He was not seated by her; perhaps that was the reason of his silence; but it had not been so in London. There he had talked to her relatives, when he could not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed without bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised her eyes to his face, she as often found him looking at her mother as at herself, and frequently on no object but the ground. More thoughtfulness and less anxiety to please, than when they last met, were plainly expressed. She was disappointed, and angry with herself for being so.

Could I expect it to be otherwise! she thought, Yet why did he come back so hurriedly from Derbyshire?

Fortunately, soon enough, Mrs. Long and her nieces arrived and Sir William Lucas and his family followed closely. She greeted them with an eagerness they were not used to, then she lost herself in the not-so-enticing conversation of Miss Long, Miss Julia and Miss Lucas - as Maria now had to be called. It was only when the militia officers arrived that she looked up again at Mr. Darcy. All of the Bennet daughters had heard about Mr. Bingley's wish to not have Mr. Wickham as a guest - indeed, she thought that the entire neighbourhood had heard about it - and, considering what Mr. Bingley had told Jane all those months ago, she had the strongest suspicions that he had only forwarded his friend's wish. She wanted to be proven right, she wanted to witness Mr. Darcy's rejoicing at his success, she wanted to see a mean contentment invading his face, she wanted to cast a shadow over her ever-growing good opinion of him. Truthfully, she wouldn't miss Mr. Wickham. They had come back from London only two days ago - and those had been very busy days -, she had yet to see the officer and she didn't particularly look forward to it. Telling her sister about his behaviour had made her even uneasier than she had been when witnessing it. She was now at a loss to understand the relationship he had with Mr. Darcy. The Mr. Darcy she had come to know in London could not behave as the one Mr. Wickham had described; yet the Mr. Darcy who had left Hertfordshire after the Netherfield ball could. And, although she had tried, time and again, to convince herself it was none of her concern, and she had neither reason nor means to understand the rift that now existed between the two gentlemen, she still did wish to make sense of it and get, at last, a sensible opinion of both of them, based on irrefutable facts. Such an inner fight could not be battled easily or without clouding her judgement, all the more since there was this voice in her heart, whose whisper was utterly in favour of the taller gentleman and was becoming more and more insistent. Thus, when she looked up and watched, first his stern scanning of the cluster of red coats that was entering the drawing-room, then the grim satisfaction which hardened his stare and, in her eyes, spitefully curled his full lips upward, when he noticed that the son of his father's steward was not amongst them, she flushed and felt anger burst into her. Unwilling to risk being as improper as her younger sisters could be, she looked away quickly and tried to re-enter Maria's, Julia's and Cassandra's chit-chat.

Although deeply contented by the evening so far, Jane and Charles felt slightly frustrated. Where, previously, they had been left on their own when in a private conversation, today, everyone was searching them out. The motive of the gathering being their engagement, it made sense to have every new guest come and greet them; being Jane and Charles, it made sense to welcome warmly and jovially those who would come to see them. Yet, and although neither would have confessed it to the other, both felt it could become bothersome; and the more it went, the less they enjoyed seeing new guests enter the drawing-room. When the officers arrived, both expelled relieved sighs; at last there would be some occupation for the numerous unmarried ladies and for their matchmaking mothers. They looked at each other, she blushed at the realisation that he had heard her, he impishly smiled at the realisation that her thoughts had been likewise engaged. They greeted the newly arrived company with unexpected cheerfulness, every officer replying in kind.

While Charles was good humouredly answering some of Captain Carter's banter, Jane scanned the crowd in search of her sister. Catching her eyes, they silently exchanged thoughts on Mr. Wickham's absence. Indeed, he was not here, for which Jane was happy; whether Lizzy was happy was more difficult to ascertain. Jane frowned slightly, but the order her sister wordlessly and teasingly gave her made her return her attention to her betrothed, her smile more luminous than ever.

Bingley was not waiting for any answer from her, though. The officers had invaded the room, and he was, as silently and as happily, receiving Darcy's thanks for Wickham's absence. His look darted across upon Elizabeth and, although she was amongst other ladies, she was curiously withdrawn. He whispered his surprise to Jane who looked back at her sister. She acknowledged that something was amiss; Lizzy's shoulders were too tense, her smile too forced. Bingley looked back at his friend and frowned, discreetly pointing at Elizabeth.

Darcy had been vastly relieved at Wickham's absence. He had expected it - indeed, Bingley had assured him that he had made himself perfectly clear to his future mother in law, yet he had dreaded his appearance since learning that quite a few officers would be there. Ever since he had decided to win Elizabeth, he had known that he would have to come back to Hertfordshire and try to participate more in its social life. Ever since he had learnt, on arriving at Netherfield, that there would be a dinner to celebrate Bingley's engagement the next day, he had resolved on being more outgoing. It had not been that difficult in London, with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner; he could probably do as well in Meryton. With hope, he had gone as far as thinking that he had, somehow, overstated the Bennets' faults. Yet, he had not been in the drawing-room for long before derisively acknowledging that the good sense of the Londoner branch of the family had, indeed, not made the half-day trip to the country. And the more it went, the more he hoped that he wouldn't have to apply for Mrs. Bennet's help to have Elizabeth as his wife. It had been eight long days since he had last seen her, and he had only had the memory of her nape and the curl that had escaped her simple yet enticing hair-dress in the dim light of the theatre to live with during the numerous hours he had spent in his carriage. He had longed to behold her once again; yet greeting her, in her father's house, with her family witnessing it all, had not been easy. He feared he had not been as courteous as he had been in Gracechurch Street, but he had been at a loss to act another way. He feared he had not been able to remain sedate when the small red-dressed troop had entered, but he had still been berating himself for his remaining silent and had not been able to hide his needless anguish to have Wickham around. He feared his relief had been far too obvious, but it had overwhelmed him for a short while. Hopefully Elizabeth wasn't looking my way when they entered, he thought. Yet I'd rather she was watching me than hopefully looking for Wickham. How angy I was when I witnessed her disappointment due to his absence at Bingley's ball! If only she knew... What if she were to also miss him here? Following Bingley's look and observing Elizabeth's unusual behaviour, he sadly concluded that his apprehensions had proven right. He saw her reluctantly smile at one of her companion's words, and anger flared once again in his eyes. She could not, she would not be made unhappy by this scoundrel; it was his own reserve, his own want of proper consideration, which had allowed Wickham to dupe the Hertfordshire company. As awkward as it would be, he had to tell her, at least, how despicable the villain was.

When it was time for the party to repair to the dining-room, Elizabeth had been able to put on a braver face. The sight of her sister's happiness was enough to give her her smile back, the teasing words of her father, when he went by her on his way to collect her mother, enough to make her giggle. Her laugh was suddenly cut off when Mr. Darcy bowed in front of her, requesting the honour to lead her to the table. She had been able to avoid the sight of him since the officers' arrival and was highly taken by surprise in his application for her hand. At a loss to find any reason to refuse him, she agreed and felt numerous inquisitive stares while covering the small distance to the table. His addressing her thus amazed her even further:

"Miss Bennet, I see my offering my hand may have surprised you."

"Indeed, Sir," she replied, unable to find anything more clever to say and fretting over her want of presence of mind. Why was it that his sheer closeness was enough to unsettle her so?

He gulped; her tone was not engaging, yet he had to make his message clear. His voice drifted lower, "Miss Bennet, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you. It concerns a common acquaintance," he took a deep breath in, "it's about Mr. Wickham."

"Mr. Wickham?" she cried, her voice fortunately covered by the ambiant noise of Mrs. Bennet's guests moving to the dining-room.

His tone went further down, "I'm afraid I cannot do so this instant. If you would be so kind as to bestow on me some moments of your time after the dinner, I should be happy to tell you what I should have told you months ago. No one is to blame for the misunderstanding of this ... man's character but myself," now that he had managed to start, he felt the words rush, "and I cannot bear any longer the thought of your unhappiness over that scoundrel." He looked intently in her eyes; they had lingered and were now one of the last couples in the line. "I'm a very selfish human being; please, allow me to relieve my mind. Hopefully, it will also somehow relieve your sufferings."

She was enfolded in his gaze as she would have been enfolded in his arms. Had she been willing to, she wouldn't have been able to deny him his wish; as it was, she had, at last, the chance to hear his version of the story. At first unable to utter a word, she nodded her acquiescence. Then she licked her lips and voiced it, "I agree to listen to you, Sir. Would after the coffee is served be convenient?"

Relief overflowed his heart and he impulsively grabbed the hand that was resting on his arm. "Thank you Miss Bennet. Any time will be convenient... I will wait for your signal."

She bashfully smiled, the heat of his gloved hand infusing through the fabric of her own glove. Her eyes left his to slide down to his arm. He followed her stare and, embarrassed, jerked his hand away. When she pulled off hers to sit down, he whispered to her once again his heartfelt thanks and went to take his place, as far from her as the table could divide them.

Anxious and uneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room, before the gentlemen came, was wearisome and dull to a degree that almost made Elizabeth uncivil. Charlotte was no longer there, Jane was otherwise engaged, and the silliness of the other ladies' conversation was something she didn't feel capable of dealing with. She was lost in her remembrance of Mr. Darcy's last words to her before dinner and of his behaviour while feasting. He had been seating on one side of her mother; and she knew how little such a situation would have given pleasure to either, or made either appear to advantage. She had not been near enough to hear any of their discourse; but, although she had thought he had, at first, tried to be more talkative, she had seen how curtly her mother had replied. Eventually, they had seldom spoken to each other, and their manner had been formal and cold whenever they did.

The gentlemen came; and, although she was in no humour for conversation with anyone but him, to him she had hardly courage to speak. What had he to tell her? How could she escape the room, with him in tow, to hear him out? She sighed heavily, memories of the same circumstances at the Umberight ball and what had issued from them still vivid in her mind. The eagerness she felt for his confession was only equal to the dread at finally having all the cards in her hands. She prayed that time would give her strength, and busied herself at pouring out the coffee while Jane was making tea. She could not help following him with her eyes, noticing he was less stern than he used to be, envying every one to whom he spoke, with scarcely patience enough to help anybody to coffee; and then enraging against herself for being so silly!

Lizzy, in spite of your own indecision in regard with Mr. Darcy, you have to be as strong as everyone believes you to be. You heard Mr. Wickham out; you almost enticed him to confide in you; you owe the same to Mr. Darcy; all the more since he asked you to hear him out. Stop being missish and fretting over such a request!

She was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his coffee cup himself; and she seized the opportunity of saying,

"Is your sister in London?"

"Yes, she will remain there till the end of the Season."

"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?"

"Mrs. Annesley is with her, and I believe she made some friends while at the library."

She could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished to converse with her, he might have better success. He stood by her, however, for some minutes, in silence; and, at last, on one young lady's asking for Elizabeth's advice on some stitching matter, he walked away.

Darcy had been looking at Elizabeth from afar for quite a long time when, at last, she motioned towards the door. He had done his best in uttering a few words to the gentlemen who had earned the 'not avoidable' title when he had last been in Hertfdrdshore. He had even gone as far as congratulating Mr. Bennet on his speech. Truth be told, he had openly and genuinely chuckled on hearing Miss Bennet's father congratulate Bingley - for having won his already most devoted daughter's heart - and his daughter - for the mistery she had chosen to lay upon her London betrothal. He had less appreciated the blatant irony he had used to describe the whole family - and especially Mrs. Bennet's - joy on learning Jane's acceptance of Bingley's proposal; yet he had to acknowledge that the lady herself had just seemed pleased to be mentioned. Nevertheless, the older gentleman had earned some consideration with the sincerity of his own happiness since it seemed to be genuinely based upon his daughter's. If only for this, Darcy had earnestly wished to make obvious his own pleasure at the match, and had born the trial of Mr. Bennet's dry wit.

Once every guest was sipping one's tea or coffee, Mary had determinedly opened the pianoforte and started obliging the company with a piece she had proudly announced she had especially learned for the occasion. Elizabeth had winced on hearing Mary's words; after weeks of practicing, her performance was hardly satisfying, she dreaded what would be the result of only two days work. It had given her the courage she had tried to gather since agreeing to listen to Mr. Darcy, and, making her way to the door, she had easily sought the gentleman's eye and indicated to him that he should follow her.

On exiting the drawing-room, Darcy found Miss Elizabeth waiting for him in the foyer. She silently led him to what was obviously the library. Although it could by no means compare with Pemberley, he felt immediately at ease in the room. She asked him if he wished to take a seat, he replied that it would probably be easier for him to stand. She settled comfortably in her favourite chair and gazed into the blazing flames in the hearth; with no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, Elizabeth waited for him to start. He looked at her, in the warm glow of the fire, and his heart missed a bit. G-d! But, she was handsome! He had to win her! He started the speech he had prepared during the dinner, in spite of Mrs. Bennet's piercing voice.

Chapter 25

Posted on Thursday, 27 March 2003, at 3:58 p.m.

"Miss Bennet, I can only describe the blackness of Mr. Wickham's character by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. I fear that you may be astounded or shocked at some points in my speech; unless you cannot, I'd rather answer your questions - if you have any - once you've heard all of it." She looked up at him and nodded her agreement; he leaned on the other side of the mantel of the chimneypiece, stared absentmindedly at the clock, and went on.

"As you undoubtedly know, Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates; and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on Wickham, who was his god-son, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge - most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of Wickham's society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities-the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which my father could not have. Here I fear I shall give you pain-to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character. It adds even another motive. My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow, and, if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town, I believe, he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question-of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances-and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others, as in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every appearance of acquaintance was dropt. How he lived I know not."

Elizabeth had maintained her composure on hearing those words. Her quick mind had put side by side the version she had heard in her aunt's drawing-room all those months ago - after having barely met Mr. Wickham - and what Mr. Darcy was telling her now. She felt like when she was looking at Kitty's shadowed face drawings and comparing them with the original; how could the same event be painted in so distinct colours? She refocused her attention on him as, after a lengthy pause, he carried on in a strained voice.

"But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice. I am about to mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the pain I've seen repeatedly in your eyes should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. Georgiana, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement."

Elizabeth couldn't repress a horrified, "Oh!" Mr. Darcy went on, painfully reliving the memory, oblivious of her interruption, "She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement; and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure, but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed."

At last he looked back at her, "This, Miss Bennet, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, agree that Mr. Wickham deserves neither admiration nor pity. Of course, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity to testify of the truth of what I've just told you."

He fixed her in his gaze and held her fast. He had noticed her absence of reaction at his last words; no 'Surely there's no need' to attest that, indeed, she did believe him. He saw in her eyes the remnants of the dismay she had felt at hearing the elopement part; he saw in her eyes flickering doubts; he saw in her eyes an incomprehensible pain. He felt helpless; how could he make her believe him? Was she so infatuated with Wickham that she couldn't see the truth in his sincere words? He loathed his past behaviour; had he been less withdrawn, less proud, less ... disdainful, Wickham would have had no fertile soil to sow his lies. He loathed his loathing - it was useless now, it only made him look backwards when he should be planning his next move. He remained confident that she had to know everything he had told her; yet, maybe it had been too long, too complex, maybe he should have written her instead. "Miss Bennet," he startled her, "I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you; yet I think you had the right to know my version of Mr. Wickham's and my past dealings."

She wet her lips with her tongue. "I ... I think I thank you, Sir... I'm... I'm sorry... I feel indeed quite overwhelmed by all you've told me..." She looked back into the hearth and paused, obviously trying to gather her thoughts; at last, she raised her gaze back to him. She tried to speak but had to swallow once to make her throat expel her plea, "Mr. Darcy, I don't feel very well; would you mind leaving me alone?"

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He hadn't meant to make her suffer - and, from the paleness of her face, he could tell he had. He realised he had foolishly thought she would immediately acknowlege how blind she had been; even more foolishly, he had half-expected her to fall into his arms, begging for his forgiveness and declaring her love for him... He almost chuckled at his own stupidity; she would probably outwardly laugh, if he were to tell her... She shifted in her chair and the scraping of the fabric drew him back to the present. He opened his eyes and bowing, asked her if she needed anything. She thanked him, replied that she only needed some time alone and, on hearing the door close, she sank back in her chair.

Elizabeth closed briefly her eyes, struggling against the headache that was threatening her. She could still hear his words, they came randomly, some more insistently than others, some more shocking than others. Mr. Darcy had made accusations of the strongest nature. When she replayed the relation of events, which, if true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of Mr. Wickham's worth, and, as she had previously acknowledged, which bore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings were acutely painful and difficult of definition. Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished to discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming to the empty room, "This must be false! This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!"

In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing else, she thought about going back to the drawing-room; but it would not do; she wouldn't know how to behave with Mr. Darcy. She stared at the place he had been standing and relived - once again - the dreadful moments when she had listened to his speech. The account of Mr. Wickham's connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, though she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his own words. So far each recital confirmed the other; but when she came to the will, the difference was great. What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was impossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the other; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her wishes did not err. But the particulars immediately following of Wickham's resigning all pretensions to the living, of his receiving, in lieu, so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds, forced her to hesitate. On both sides it was only assertion. But every word proved more clearly that the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any contrivance could so represent as to render Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a turn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.

The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay to Mr. Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could bring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him before his entrance into the Militia, in which he had engaged at the persuasion of the young man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life, nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to his real character, had information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of enquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for those casual errors, under which she would endeavour to class what Mr. Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of many years continuance. But no such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before her, in every charm of air and address; but she could remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess. After pausing on this point a considerable while, she once more continued her recollection.

She perfectly remembered every thing that had passed in conversation between Wickham and herself in their first evening at Mr. Philips's. Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was now struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy-that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that he should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next week. She remembered also, that till the Netherfield family had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but herself; but that after their removal, it had been every where discussed; that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr. Darcy's character, though he had assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.

How differently did every thing now appear in which he was concerned! His attentions to Miss King were now confirmed as the consequence of views solely and hatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at any thing. His behaviour to herself was even more odious; he had either been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying his vanity by encouraging the preference which she believed she had most incautiously shewn. Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter and fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but allow that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago asserted his blamelessness in the affair; that, proud and repulsive as used to be his manners, she had never, in the whole course of their acquaintance - an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much together, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways - seen any thing that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust - any thing that spoke him of irreligious or immoral habits. That among his own connections he was esteemed and valued - that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother, that his sister had been almost laughingly praising him, and that she had lately heard him speak so warmly of Mr. Bingley and Jane, so affectionately of his sister, and - she admitted with a blush - even to herself, as to prove him capable of some amiable feeling. That had his actions been what Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of everything right could hardly have been concealed from the world; and that friendship between a person capable of it, and such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.

The sound of the door opening startled her, but she released a relieved sigh on beholding her father. His first words and his soothing tone surprised her nonetheless.

"Lizzy, you're still here. Mr. Darcy told me I may be able to find you in my library when I was - not so discreetly it seems - looking for you. He also told me you would be upset, are you?"

Her silence seemed corroboration enough and he felt anger and fear coming over him. Unable to hide it, he urgently asked her to tell him what had happened, what Mr. Darcy had done to her, how he had managed to upset her so. These words, at last, stirred her out of her daze. She assured him that he had done nothing but tell her his version of his past dealing with Mr. Wickham.

"But pray, Lizzy, tell me how it was enough to upset you so. What dreadful events could he have to relate to you? Has Mr. Darcy shown his malicious nature and confirmed he had behaved in so cruel a way as poor Wickham has told us?" he asked, trying to put lightness in his tone but partly failing.

Elizabeth here felt herself called on to say something in vindication of Mr. Darcy's behaviour to her former favourite; and therefore gave him to understand, in as guarded a manner as she could, that by his account, his actions were capable of a very different construction; and that his character was by no means so faulty, nor Wickham's so amiable, as they were considered in Hertfordshire.

"I'm astonished at the turn in your opinion. Have you not always hated the man? Has Wickham not always been your favourite? What makes you suddenly so certain of the goodness of a man who has only snubbed us?" her father asked - although he could not say that the gentleman's behaviour, this night, had been in accordance with his past stern manners.

"You may have drawn correct conclusions from what you've been seeing, Papa; but have you thought about all that you have not? Indeed, Mr. Wickham used to have my high regard, but his conduct regarding Miss King has made me concerned. Indeed Mr. Darcy has snubbed some of us, but, more than once, I was myself apalled by the way my relatives behaved." She didn't let him comment on this painful subject - since her dear father himself was one of them; instead, in confirmation of Wickham's dubious past, she related the particulars of all the pecuniary transactions in which they had been connected, even though it was not the most appalling part. But every particular relative to Mr. Darcy's sister was meant to be kept to herself, and she would not betray his confidence.

Mr. Bennet was surprised; he surmised that his daughter wasn't telling him all because there were more delicate things to hide. Had his daughters been heiresses, he would have also been concerned. As it was, he resolved on keeping an eye on Wickham around his daughters - the two youngest especially, and he thought for a while about informing Miss King's guardian. Yet, exerting himself to such an extent, when he had just set on being more of a father than he had been for more than ten years, was too tiring a thought; he, therefore, forgot entirely the idea.

"My dear Lizzy, I will make sure that your sisters are safe from him. Now, let's go back to the drawing-room or your absence will be noticed."

When Mr. Bingley called alone the following morning, Elizabeth's spirits, which had been dreadfully low since Mr. Darcy's confession, sank even lower. The previous evening, after coming back with her father, she had stayed in the drawing-room as little as she could. The headache she had fought had won nonetheless and being in the same room as Mr. Darcy had felt awkward. She had grown absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham had she been able to think without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd - even though she owed to Jane the satisfaction of having lately softened her views. This morning, she had awoken to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes, thoughts and meditations she had not been willing to share with her sister; the previous day had been Jane's, spoiling it would have only increased her shame. She had, at least, resolved upon showing Mr. Darcy his painful effort had been rewarded, and that, at last, she had understood who had the goodness and who had the appearance of it.

After greeting his betrothed and her family, and upon Mrs. Bennet's inquiry, Charles explained his solitude. "Indeed, Madam, you find me quite alone. My sisters were not yet up when I left but Darcy would have joined me, had he been able."

Elizabeth looked intently at him, "Oh, and he was not?"

Charles smiled regretfully at her, "No Miss Elizabeth. An express was waiting for him at Netherfield yesterday evening. The business matter that was supposed to be dealt with happens not to be, and, furthermore, to be more complicated and with more dreadful possible consequences than expected. He left for Pemberley at first light this morning. I can only hope he will be able to come back before the wedding but he was not very confident. He sent his regards," and leaning towards Lizzy, he finished, "and told me to wish you well. He seemed very unhappy and regretful at leaving Hertfordshire."

Jane saw her sister's complexion turn a deadly white. While her mother was commenting on how sad the news was, her tone belying her words, she ushered Lizzy to her room and made her lie on her bed. It was several days before she managed to extricate the reasons of her sudden illness from her sister: how would she be able to live without seeing him for a month?

Continued in the next section