“To the lakes,” replied Mrs. Bennet. “We all know this.”
“Indeed, we do. But if you recall, there was another place on their itinerary, one of great significance to Mrs. Gardiner. Now it is to be their destination. Where is that?”
“Derbyshire?” replied Mrs. Bennet, still not making the connection.
“Yes, that is correct. Derbyshire, where Mrs. Gardiner still has friends with whom she corresponds. Now, let me enlighten you as to the point of supreme importance. Who else of our acquaintance calls Derbyshire home?”
Mrs. Bennet considered the question for a long moment before her eyes lit up in shock and she turned to Elizabeth. “Lizzy!” cried she, her voice unsteady. “Where did Mr. Darcy say his estate was situated?”
“The rumors in Meryton last October suggested Derbyshire,” replied Elizabeth, waiting for the coming explosion.
It did not come at once, for Mrs. Bennet appeared to be considering the ramifications of what she had just learned. She glanced between Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth, Mary, and even Lydia and Kitty, though what they had to do with the situation Elizabeth could not say. Then a beatific smile settled on her face, and she turned to Elizabeth.
“Your acquaintance with Mr. Darcy is more profound than any of us, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet. “This town of which Mrs. Gardiner has often spoken...”
“Lambton,” supplied Jane.
“Yes, Lambton,” said Mrs. Bennet, nodding vigorously. “In what part of Derbyshire is it? For that matter, where is...”
“Pemberley,” said Mary.
“Pemberley! Do you know how close they are?”
“I am certain I have never heard,” said Elizabeth. “As I have never been to Derbyshire, I do not understand the finer points of its geography.”
“If you dispatch an express to Mrs. Gardiner at once,” said Mr. Bennet, suppressing his laughter with great difficulty, “Perhaps you might receive an answer tomorrow.”
“There is no need for that, Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, her thoughts returning to the gentleman she thought a suitor for her second daughter. “Why, if you do not recall, we are to go to Netherfield for dinner this very night. Mr. Darcy will surely know the environs of his estate. Why, I am certain he can tell us the exact location of Lambton!”
“Mama,” said Elizabeth plaintively. “Do you not suppose Mr. Darcy will consider such an application to be the height of rudeness?”
“Nonsense, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy has been so attentive that I am certain it will please him to learn of your impending journey to Derbyshire. It would not surprise me at all if he were to invite you all to stay there!”
The light of fanaticism lit up Mrs. Bennet’s eyes. “Yes, that will do very well, indeed. You shall inform him of your upcoming tour, and I shall learn the location of his estate.”
“Mama!” exclaimed Lydia. “I was to go in Lizzy’s stead.”
“Be still, child,” reproved Mrs. Bennet. “If you recall, I intended to send Mary in Elizabeth’s stead. Now there is no question of anyone but Lizzy going north.”
It should not be a surprise that Lydia pouted at her mother’s intractability, nor would anyone of any sense misunderstand the dread that filled Elizabeth’s mind. Mr. Darcy, she suspected, would not think poorly of Mrs. Bennet’s mercenary questions, or if he did, he would shunt it to the side for Elizabeth’s sake. The thought of Lady Catherine’s reaction turned Elizabeth’s bloodcold, to say nothing of the image of Miss Bingley’s sneer of contempt that filled her mind.
Elizabeth cast a desperate look at her father, but he was enjoying himself too much to respond to her plea. When Elizabeth went to him later to ask him to prevent her mother, or at least curb her excesses, his response was what she might have suspected.
“Do not concern yourself, Lizzy,” said he. “Mr. Darcy will not take offense, and I dare say the reason for your mother’s questions will become clear soon enough.”
“Perhaps it will,” replied Elizabeth. “Yet such impertinent questions will no doubt anger Lady Catherine.”
“It has been my observation, Lizzy,” chuckled Mr. Bennet, “that it takes very little to anger the lady. Trust me, my dear. All will be well.”
With that, Elizabeth must be content. Content was not the proper word, for she still greeted the evening with anxiety. When they left for Netherfield, Elizabeth wondered if she was heading for the gallows. Perhaps the guillotine would be better, for it would undoubtedly be quicker.
Darcy spent the day wild with anticipation for the coming of the Bennets, such that he was unlike his usually calm and rational self. The previous day in Miss Elizabeth’s company in Meryton had been unlike any other time he had ever spent with her. It taught him to hope, to believe that perhaps there might be something between them, something rare and beautiful, something that might grow into everything he wished. It was not the foolish hope—or certainty if he were honest with himself—he had espoused as he approached the parsonage to propose to her, nor was it the desperate longing that had plagued him while he remained in London. This was something more substantial, driven by her obvious comfort in his company, the playfulmanners he had often seen, but realized she had never directed at him.
Those of his party were not blind to his longing, he knew, though their reactions differed. Anne, Bingley, and Fitzwilliam showed all the amusement of the situation, while Lady Catherine regarded him with a sort of fatalistic acceptance mixed with a determination to ensure his future wife upheld the family honor. Foolishness! Miss Elizabeth would have them all half in love with her by the end of her first week in society. Surely if she could reach even his cynical heart, she could pull a smile from even the most curmudgeonly baron or reluctant matron.
The closer to her arrival, the more nervous Darcy became. The wish that all would go well, that no one would say anything to make his task more difficult grew to a desperate longing for her arrival, that would relieve his suffering forever. It was not a rational desire. Yet he could not deny that it burned in his breast.
“I have never seen William like this,” said Georgiana.
