“Which one? I have five, you know. Quite an excessive number, really, but Mrs Bennet was absolutely determined to produce a son and heir. She has still not entirely forgiven me for failing in that particular regard, despite repeated efforts to explain the biological limitations involved.”
Darcy blinked at this unexpectedly frank commentary. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Ah, Lizzy.” Mr Bennet’s expression softened perceptibly. “My second daughter and by far the cleverest of the lot. The only one who inherited my wit along with her mother’s beauty, a combination that has proven both blessing and curse for the girl. What about her?”
“I wish to marry her. I am here to formally request your consent.”
Profound silence filled the study. Then Mr Bennet leant back in his chair, studying Darcy with unnervingly acute attention that suggested far more perception than his earlier flippancy had indicated.
“Marry her,” he repeated. “How extraordinary. Mrs Bennet burst in here twice yesterday speaking about engagements and wedding dates, but I admit I was not paying attention at the time. I assumed she was indulging in her usual matrimonial fantasies.” He tilted his head in growing interest. “You are serious about this, I take it?”
“Very serious indeed, sir.”
“And Lizzy has agreed to this?”
“She has.”
“How remarkable. And how unprecedented in its speed. You have known each other, what? Three days?” At Darcy’s confirming nod, Mr Bennet’s eyebrows rose. “That must be some sort of record, even for my wife’s ambitions.”
“The circumstances are unusual,” Darcy admitted.
Mr Bennet gestured to the chair opposite the desk. “I should imagine so. Sit. I may as well hear this tale properly if I am to give my daughter’s hand to a gentleman she met apparently three days ago.”
Darcy explained the essential facts with as much dignity as the situation permitted. Mr Bennet listened without interruption, his expression moving from amusement to concern, perhaps, and what looked like grudging respect.
“So Lizzy announced a false engagement to save you from fortune hunters,” he summarised when the tale concluded. “How very like her. Well-meaning and utterly heedless of consequences to herself. She gets that from her mother’s side, naturally.”
“Your daughter acted with admirable courage.”
“She acted like a fool.” But Mr Bennet’s tone held affection rather than censure. “A brave fool, I grant you, but a fool nonetheless.” He replaced his spectacles, peering over them with unnerving shrewdness. “Tell me, Mr Darcy, do you find my daughter too forward? Too garrulous? Too clever for her own good?”
“I find her intelligence stimulating, her liveliness enchanting, and her directness refreshing. She is exactly clever enough. Which is to say, exactly as clever as she ought to be, without apology or diminishment. Any man who requires his wife to be less than she is does not deserve her.”
Mr Bennet’s severe expression cracked into a smile. “Well said, young man. You have my consent, then. Treat her well, or you shall answer to me.”
“I shall endeavour to make her happy, sir.”
“See that you do.” Mr Bennet shook his hand firmly, then waved towards the door. “Now go tell Lizzy she is to be married. And for heaven’s sake, take her mother with you. She will want to begin planning immediately, and I have books to finish.”
As Darcy departed the study, he reflected that he had just gained not merely a wife, but an entire family of bewildering complexity. The thought should have alarmed him.
Instead, he discovered himself almost eager to see what came next.
Chapter Eight
Elizabeth
Two days later
“Inow pronounce you man and wife.”
The words echoed in the chapel. Elizabeth stood in the small chapel, her hand still clasped in Fitzwilliam’s, and felt only minute traces of the joy such moments were supposed to inspire.
Aunt Ahearn had arranged for a special license procured through her connections. There was a brief ceremony attended by family only, conducted by a clergyman who seemed more interested in completing the service than investing it with meaning. But proper words were spoken, proper responses given and propriety observed in every particular.
She was married.
The reality refused to settle into comprehension. Two days ago, she had been Elizabeth Bennet, second daughter of an average gentleman, her future an uncertain landscape of possibilities. Now she was Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy, wife to a man she was only beginning to know, her fate bound to his through vows that could not be undone.
