“I never saw a bruise worn more handsomely.”
She laughed. “That is not what your aunt said.”
“My aunt? Lady Catherine?”
She pulled a wry face and nodded.
“And when did she have occasion to comment on it?”
“When she called on me to forbid me from ever marrying you.”
“When shewhat?”
Mr Darcy was the kind of man to whom Mr Bennet should never dare refuse anything he condescended to ask, and he gave his consent at once. That he should askthiswas somewhat bewildering, but since Elizabeth had come to him first, assuring him of her wishes, he felt not unduly concerned. He cared for only three things: Elizabeth would be well looked after, she would be able to respect her partner in life, and he need lose no more sleep over his other soon-to-be son.
He remained entirely unconvinced that Bingley had secured his preferred choice of sister, and he had not been able to dispel the concern that he might yet abandon Jane. He had infinitely more faith in Mr Darcy’s ability to direct his friend’s romantic interests, and his appearance was vastly reassuring.
“Would that you had asked her sooner,” he said, reaching to shake Darcy’s hand. “You might have saved your friend weeks of indecision.” He regretted the jest when he saw Mr Darcy’s frown and hastily suggested they collect Elizabeth and announce the news to the family.
“Might it not be better were I to inform them in private?” Elizabeth objected when the same suggestion was put to her. When both gentlemen questioned her reluctance, she twisted her hands together and grimaced contritely. “My mother…”
Mr Darcy appeared unperturbed and countered her concerns with but two words. “My aunt.”
Mr Bennet looked between them indignantly. If there was to be a contest for the greatest claim to humiliating relations, he could trump them both. “My wife!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes and throwing open the parlour door with a flourish. Before he could draw breath to speak, Bingley was on his feet.
“Lizzy! Thank heavens—I say,Darcy!What the deuce are you doing here?”
Having already been denied the privilege of announcing Jane’s engagement, Mr Bennet was unwilling to forfeit his due a second time and answered before Mr Darcy. “He is a single man in possession of agood fortune. For what other purpose could he have possibly come but to secure himself a wife? It is my very great pleasure to inform you all that Lizzy and Mr Darcy are engaged.”
It was much to his consternation that the announcement he ultimately made should be met with stony silence. Mrs Bennet sat perfectly still, seemingly unable to breathe, let alone speak. The irony of his lamenting her want of theatricals on the sole occasion upon which she had been shocked into quiescence was not lost on him. His younger daughters all stared aimlessly between him, their mother and Elizabeth. Jane looked by turns amazed, relieved and then vexed—for none of which he could account. Bingley stood unmoving before him, open-mouthed and ashen.
“Well,” he said into the deafening silence, “if you are all quite done with your celebrations, I think I shall return to the quiet of my library. I can scarcely bear all the commotion.”
As he turned to leave, he laid a hand on Elizabeth’s arm, intending to counsel her not to be dismayed by their surprise. Upon observing her, however, he decided she needed no such assurance. Had his wife suffered a fit of apoplexy and died right there on the carpet, he thought it unlikely the pair should have noticed. Elizabeth and Mr Darcy had eyes only for each other. He smiled to himself as he left the room, satisfied she truly would be happy.
To hell with waiting for Darcy to speak with his friend! Fitzwilliam resolved to ride to Longbourn directly unless the wayward pair appeared within the next ten minutes. He stalked to the sideboard to refill his glass then back to the window to look for any sign of their return. There was none.
He was excessively concerned for his cousin, certain Miss Bennet’s death would affect him deeply, and he could not account for every other bugger’s apparent indifference to the tragedy. Colonel Forster had seemed flabbergasted that a man of his rank should show any interest in, as he put it, “the transgressions of a mere parish lieutenant.”
“Transgressions, my arse!” he grumbled and swilled back his drink.
Indeed, Wickham had seemed no less surprised by his interest in the affair, but if the dullard thought a flogging was all the punishmenthe would receive, he was due a harsh shock. Nor could he fathom why Bingley had failed to inform his own sister of Elizabeth’s passing or why none of the staff had mentioned it…
He slammed his drink on a table and strode across the room, yanking open the door to look for a servant. “Ho, man!” he called to a footman by the front door, marching thither as he spoke. “Do you know the Bennets of Longbourn?”
“Aye, sir,” the rather startled man replied.
“Have any of them died recently?”
“Er, not to the best of my knowledge, sir.”
“Thank God’s celestial ballocks for that!”
At which moment, Darcy stepped through the front door. “Fitzwilliam! What on earth are you doing here?”
All possible answers to the question were rendered absurd by the revelation that Miss Elizabeth was alive and well. “I paid Wickham a little visit,” he admitted with a grin.
Darcy pulled an odd face—half frown, half smirk. “And how did that go off?”
