“You are a sorceress,” he said, shaken—for it had been his very thought. “Or perhaps love is a gate always open between hearts and minds.”
And again she nodded and smiled despite the pain.
Equally moved and resolute, he sought her eyes and said, “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet, and from this moment I shall never again sayI love youto any other woman in this world.”
Chapter 24
Elizabeth was received at Longbourn with an outburst of joy that had the marvellous effect of soothing the distress and sorrow which still accompanied her. From the very next day after her arrival, she was surprised to find that their once boisterous home had entered a season of tranquillity which only Mr Bennet appeared wholly to enjoy.
“Only Mary and Lydia are missing from our circle,” he said, half in wonder, as he walked with Elizabeth through the neighbouring woods, as they had done ever since she was a child of five or six. “And I am certain that Mary never uttered more than a few words at a time…can it be that all the noise was Lydia’s doing?”
Though his words bore a trace of irony, his countenance expressed only tenderness for all his daughters.
“I am glad for Mary that she has found her place at the Academy. You were different—a young, energetic, stubborn lady, who had always dreamt of working and living independently, and imagined that such a life might be possible;but she…” he paused thoughtfully, even a little sadly, “poor Mary, if she ever had dreams, she never told them to us,” he continued.
Elizabeth remained silent, content to be beside him. His calm seemed to pass into her, and though Mr Darcy was ever present in her heart and mind, she found in her father’s company a kind of quiet peace.
“Tell me more about her,” he urged, for he was unaccustomed to her silence.
“I have told you many times…she is invaluable. She remains at Hampstead Hall with Mrs Robertson and a small army of workmen engaged in repairs and improvements. But I forbade them to approach my apartment,” Elizabeth smiled at the memory of the chamber she adored. “I can scarcely wait for us to go there, that you may see that delightful place yourself.”
In a moment of uncharacteristic enthusiasm—which he regretted almost at once—Mr Bennet had promised that, at the beginning of August, he would accompany his family for a few days to Hampstead, at the invitation of Mr Clinton, who had told Elizabeth and Mary that, in his late wife’s time, the house had been overrun by friends throughout the summer months. That custom, interrupted by her death, he was now eager to revive; therefore, he had invited not only the Bennets, but also the Gardiners with their children.
“I am sure that you and Mr Clinton will form your own programme…so please, do not be cross for having accepted,” she said affectionately, for she knew him so well, and was aware how little he liked to travel. Yet for Mr Bennet, the summer promised to be a demanding one, for there was also Jane’s wedding to be celebrated in London, where Mr Bingley had purchased a house now undergoing its final preparations, to be inaugurated by their marriage. Two journeys in a single month were a heavyburden, though indeed Mr Clinton’s company and the nearness of the woods were consolations.
“Perhaps Lydia will come to Hampstead as well,” Elizabeth said. She had not seen her since May, when Lydia had been the guest of Mrs Forster, wife of colonel Forster, commander of the militia regiment stationed at Meryton, which had removed to Brighton in that same month.
“How could you allow her to go to Brighton?” asked Elizabeth, who had opposed that plan but, being absent from Longbourn, could do nothing to prevent it.
“For the sake of the tranquillity that surrounds us,” he joked.
“You are unkind,” his daughter reproved him. “It is peaceful also because Jane spends all day at Netherfield, and Kitty now follows her everywhere, since she lost Lydia.”
“An excellent arrangement,” Mr Bennet said. “With Lydia, nothing more could be done. She will, at length, commit some folly—I only hope it may not cost us too dearly in money or reputation. But Kitty, in Jane’s company, is saved. And as I said, I have longed for this calm; therefore, I raised no objection when Lydia went to Brighton and Jane to be married.”
Their laughter rose gaily through the stillness of the wood, startling a pair of squirrels that scrambled noisily up the nearest branches.
“I do not think you could have prevented Jane’s marriage even if you had wished,” Elizabeth replied.
“No, I believe she is as stubborn as you—or Lydia. Only her gentle nature sometimes conceals her faults—”
“Father!” cried Elizabeth. “What faults?”
“You mean your eldest sister is perfect?” he asked, with a gleam of mischief; it was a subject they had never discussed, and he was curious to learn her opinion.
“Perfect? I do not know.”
“Do you not know, or do you merely imagine her so?”
At another time, Elizabeth would have declared without hesitation that Jane was, by far, the nearest to perfection of any young woman she had ever known. But in recent months, she had learnt that faults neither wholly defined a person nor could be wholly absent from any character, even from those who seemed the most perfect.
“Yes, perfection is a notion unattainable in this world. We all have faults,” she said. “Even Jane.”
“I am glad to hear you say so. It is wise to be cautious of those who seem perfect, and indulgent towards those who appear full of flaws.”
“I know,” Elizabeth replied. “It is a lesson I have learnt in these last months—”
“It is a lesson I have taught you all your life, but you never believed me. And rightly so…geography and history may be learnt from books, but life must be lived to be understood.”
