Mr Bennet caught Elizabeth’s eye over his wife’s head and permitted himself the smallest, driest of smiles.
Their neighbours, however, were not so easily persuaded to forget. Meryton society divided itself with the precision of a well-trained regiment: one half exclaimed in delight over Jane’s brilliant match, the other whispered behind fans and teacups about ‘that unfortunate business with the youngest Miss Bennet’. The tale Mr Bennet circulated — that Lydia had gone no farther than London before being restored to her family by the prompt and gallant intervention of Mr Darcy — was repeated with varying degrees of conviction. Most listened politely, nodded sagely, and privately agreed that even two hours alone with George Wickham could hardly have passed without consequence. Yet the mere mention of Mr Darcy’s name gave the story an air of respectability no one quite dared to challenge. A man of his consequence would hardly lend his name to a falsehood.
The arrival of a letter from Mr Collins provided the Bennets with a different sort of entertainment. It came sealed with an excess of wax, its pages crackling with righteous indignation.
My dear Mr Bennet, it began in his familiar cramped hand,I write under the deepest distress occasioned by the shocking intelligence that has reached Rosings Park. That a daughter of your house should so far forget herself as to elope with a man of no principle is a calamity that reflects most gravely upon the parental guidance she has received. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose judgment in all moral matters is unimpeachable, is appalled. Her ladyship has expressed herself in the strongest terms, declaring it impossible for a clergyman of my standing to maintain any close connection with a family so tainted by scandal. I must, therefore, with the utmost regret, withdraw from further correspondence until such time as thestain may be considered removed — if indeed such a time ever arrives.
Mr Bennet read the letter aloud at breakfast with such dramatic pauses and flourishes that even Lydia giggled through her sulks.
“Well,” he concluded, folding the pages with mock solemnity, “we are cast off by the exalted circles of Hunsford. I confess the blow is almost more than I can bear.”
Mrs Bennet, however, was furious. “That odious little man! That creeping, fawning toad! To lecture us — to dare to lecture us — when his own patroness is the most overbearing, interfering old—”
“Madam,” Mr Bennet interjected mildly, “pray, moderate your language. Your daughters are listening.”
“Our daughters have heard worse from their own mother when provoked,” she snapped. “And I shall say what I please about Mr Collins!”
Lydia, meanwhile, remained confined to Longbourn under strict orders. She was not permitted to leave the grounds without Jane or Elizabeth at her side, and even then, only for the most necessary errands. She sulked, she sighed, she declared herself the most persecuted creature in England; yet the household bore it with a mixture of patience and quiet determination.
Mr Wickham’s fate became the chief topic of neighbourhood gossip. Colonel Forster had clapped him in gaol for several weeks on charges of debt and desertion; whispers circulated that transportation awaited him. Mrs Bennet, who had once sighed over his red coat and fine eyes, now cursed his name at every opportunity. “I always knew he was a wretch,”she declared to anyone who would listen. “I never trusted that smooth manner — not for a moment!”
Netherfield, meanwhile, was in feverish preparations for its new mistress. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst remained pointedly in London, their disapproval of their brother’s match as loud in their absence as it might have been in person.
Jane’s wedding was fixed for the middle of July, scarcely a month away. The banns were read, the dressmaker summoned, the neighbourhood invited. Yet amid all the bustle and joy, Elizabeth found her thoughts drifting ever northwards.
She missed him.
The realisation came quietly, like the first soft fall of snow — unexpected, impossible to disregard. Gratitude had long since faded; what remained was deeper, sharper, a longing that caught at her breath whenever his name was spoken. She replayed their brief conversation in the hall at Gracechurch Street until the words were worn smooth. Had he meant them still? Did he think of her at all, or had the scandal — however mitigated — finally extinguished whatever ember had survived her rejection?
Then came the letter with the news she had longed for.
Mr Darcy wrote briefly to Mr Bingley, informing him that he and Miss Darcy would attend the wedding, travelling with Mr and Mrs Gardiner. The news sent Mrs Bennet into transports of pride. “Mr Darcy himself! And his sister! Such distinguished guests! Oh, what will Lady Lucas say now? What will everybody say? I always liked Mr Darcy, even when he was so proud and arrogant and unpleasant! Such a tall, handsome man! Anyone would be proud and arrogant if they were worth ten thousand a year!”
Elizabeth said nothing while her family discussed the letter and the person who wrote it. Her heart, however, performed a series of breathless somersaults.
Mr Darcy was coming; he did not mention when, only said he would attend the wedding, so Elizabeth assumed he would arrive a few days prior. It seemed a long, daunting wait that would certainly test her patience.
She spent the following days in a fever of anticipation, counting the hours as though each one were a bead on a rosary. She wondered what he would say, how he would look at her, whether the cool composure she remembered would disappear, even for a moment, and reveal the man who had once loved her ardently.
Most of all, she prayed — for a sign, for a word, for anything that might tell her the feelings he had once confessed were not wholly extinguished. She, who had so carelessly cast them aside, now longed for nothing so much as the chance to gather them up again, if he would but let her try.
The month of July arrived. The roses at Longbourn came into full bloom, and Elizabeth made a habit of taking long, solitary walks. One of her strolls was interrupted one afternoon when a carriage rolled steadily by her, then stopped to allow her name to be called from inside it.
“Miss Bennet?”
“Mr Darcy! What a lovely surprise! We did not expect you so soon. Before the wedding, I mean,” she mumbled.
“Bingley asked me to come earlier, and I was happy to oblige. Mr and Mrs Gardiner will leave London in three days’ time.”
“Yes, I know. That is why I mentioned… Mr Bingley will be thrilled to see you. So are we,” she said boldly, forcing a smile to conceal her nervousness.
“I am very happy to be here, too, Miss Bennet.”
∞∞∞
Mr Darcy and Miss Darcy arrived at Longbourn unexpectedly, throwing the entire house into commotion. After Elizabeth had happened upon them on the road and greetings had been warmly exchanged, she had invited them to Longbourn. She had expected a polite refusal and the promise they would call later, after they had presented themselves at Netherfield and changed their clothes after the journey. Surprisingly, Mr Darcy had asked his sister’s opinion, and both had accepted, so Elizabeth had led them towards the house, her knees unsteady from anxiety.
Mr Bennet received them with proper deference and genuine delight. Jane welcomed them most warmly; Kitty and Mary hastily practised their best curtsies; while Lydia offered a few polite, cold words, proving her resentment against Mr Darcy had not passed. Mrs Bennet, however, became fluttered and restless, which made her more vocal. She immediately apologised for the drawing room being insufficiently grand, complimented Miss Darcy for being so beautiful, tall, and graceful, then called loudly for refreshments while thanking Mr Darcy with much emphasis for helping find Lydia.
