When the gentlemen entered, Darcy approached immediately; it did not seem strange at all to Elizabeth that she moved closer to Jane to make space for him. It was astonishing, however, when he took her hand in his larger one.
Mrs Hurst’s eyes grew wide with outright shock, and Mr Bingley stopped speaking mid-sentence. Miss Bingley, from her perch across the room, gaped. Even Elizabeth froze—what would everyone think, if they could not yet reveal their engagement?
Into the sudden silence, Darcy spoke. “I have an announcement to make, here amongst my friends. Mrs Ashwood has done me the very great honour of agreeing to become my wife. We will not be announcing this happy news for a couple of weeks yet, and would prefer it was spoken of only amongst ourselves, until such a time as we make it known to others.” He looked into Elizabeth’s eyes. “I hope you will forgive my impetuous announcement, my darling. My excitement for that coming day is such that I find it impossible to disguise my affections, here, where we can be certain of discretion.”
She found herself grinning back. “I suppose I shall.”
“Why, this is wonderful!” Mr Bingley declared. “Darcy, you sly devil, I did not suspect a thing! We must celebrate!” Libations were called for; toasts were offered.
Jane hugged Elizabeth, her happiness over her sister’s good news genuine, if not quite astonished. “Someone in this room is hoping you have the world’s shortest memory,” she whispered, glancing over at a white-faced Miss Bingley, whohad surrendered her sulk immediately, and even proposed one of the toasts ‘to the happy couple’. It was the quickest about-face Elizabeth had ever seen, an obvious bid to retain her connexion to Darcy.
“Now tell us, Darcy, when can we share this news with the world? I have been thinking of holding a ball since the day we cleared the ballroom of its holland covers. A dance would be the perfect occasion to announce your joy.”
“Now, Charles,” Miss Bingley hastened to interject, “not everyone is like yourself. There are some who find such entertainments more insufferably tedious than diverting.”
“If you mean Darcy,” remarked her brother, “I daresay he would find himself enjoying such amusements, once he is not pursued by every frantic mama with a marriageable miss to fob off upon him.”
“I am certain he would find it a great yawn,” Miss Bingley argued.
“Actually, I agree with you, Bingley, if my bride-to-be is amenable.” He gave Elizabeth an enquiring look.
“It would be nice to tell everyone at once, and would save approximately one hundred morning calls from those seeking to discover if the rumours are true,” she replied. “But when?”
“I have written my letters,” Darcy said. “A few weeks ought to be ample for my family to digest the news, and I refuse to delay endlessly, regardless. Let us say, the tenth of December?”
“Capital!” Bingley cried. He began to speak of musicians and refreshments, and was joined by Jane and Mrs Hurst; even Miss Bingley managed to pretend to a degree of enthusiasm for their avid planning.
Darcy did not interrupt until they began to speak ofinvitations. “I say—you do not intend to invite the Ashwoods, do you?”
The Bingleys stared at him in surprise.
“Oh, but they are a leading family in the neighbourhood, and Mrs Ashwood is a particular friend of Mrs Collins,” Mrs Hurst cried.
“Fanny Ashwood is no friend of mine,” Jane immediately disagreed, lips pursed in disapproval.
“They have treated my dear Elizabeth abominably, and at the most vulnerable time in her life. Each of them is a miser of the worst kind. They ought to be known as Mr Nipcheese and Mrs Skinflint, and if they attend, Elizabeth and I will not,” Darcy said in a voice that brooked no dissent.
“I, for one, wouldneverinvite them,” Miss Bingley declared virtuously, in yet another sea-change of opinion. “I would not consider allowing either one into our home.”
“Nor I,” Mrs Hurst averred, anxious to join her sister in this disavowal of her former friend. The conversation turned back to the more pleasant subject of their preferred decorations.
Elizabeth leant her head against Darcy’s shoulder. “I think I love you,” she whispered.
He smiled down at her. “Onlythink? When I am madly, wildly in love with you? I shall have to work harder to persuade you, I see.”
“If you were any more persuasive, I might grow as foolish over you as Lydia is for the officers.”
“Or Bingley for his snuff boxes?”
She let out a little giggle. “I love you even more than he loves those, already. But my sister Lydia can beveryfoolish. Iwasunder the impression we were going to give your family a much longer period of, um, digestion.”
He pulled their joined hands up to his lips. “Perhaps, originally, I believed such a delay to be possible. However, even a few weeks seems endless at the moment, and I cannot think it wise to drag out their acceptance. Shall you mind if I procure a licence? I cannot imagine waiting another three weeks beyond the ball to make you my wife.”
“I shall not mind,” she said, a feeling of being enveloped in his strength merely by the clasp of hands a sensation wholly unusual and even remarkable. Since his proposal, she had experienced great happiness—but for the first time, she allowed herself to feel perfectly peaceful as well.
28
A PARTING OF THE WAYS
