Lydia, not to be outdone, flung herself onto the settee beside Elizabeth. “We have little news—only that Mrs. Phillips is forever at odds with Mrs. Long, and Sir William Lucas has taken to wearing a most dreadful waistcoat. But you must tell us of London society! Were there balls? Did you dance with gentlemen of fortune?”
Mr. Bennet interjected, a wry smile playing about his lips. “Your sister’s adventures can wait, Lydia. Let us first see that Lizzy has some tea, and then, perhaps, she will indulge your curiosity.”
Mrs. Bennet regarded her daughter with interest. Lizzy, whose nature was so open, though not as high-spirited as Lydia, appeared somewhat guarded. Of course, she had not disclosed her whereabouts when absent for the past eight months from London, but Mrs. Bennet’s brother, Edward Gardiner, had assured her that all was well and proper. Now, Elizabeth had returned. There was a bloom about her that hitherto had neverbeen present before, even as a child. Yet, whatever the cause, time would explain.
Now was Jane and Mary’s moment in the sun—what felicity! Mary marrying the heir to Longbourn, and Jane a man of wealth and, so it was said, connections to the highest circles of society. She recalled his friend, Mr. Darcy—so handsome and rich—who had left the Meryton assembly so hurriedly. It was rumoured the gentleman was the nephew of an earl. Perhaps Mr. Bingley could introduce Lizzy to other such friends, for Mrs. Bennet wished that her second daughter, so alive and vibrant, would find happiness equal to Jane’s. It was indeed worrisome that the girl was involved in commerce. What was the bank—Child? What a peculiar name.
* * *
“Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window. “It is that Mr. Darcy, coming here with our dear Bingley. Why, we hardly know him. Lizzy, you must walk out with him so that he finds us friendly and accommodating, as reflects well on Mr. Bingley.”
Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal; yet she was surprised that her mother found it so unexpected. Surely, Mr. Bingley had said that Fitzwilliam was standing up with him. As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information.
“Why, Mr. Bingley, you know our Lizzy?” said Mrs. Bennet.
“We have met. I owe Mrs. E—pardon me, Miss Elizabeth, a great service. But that is a story for later. Perhaps, if Miss Bennet is agreeable, we could take a walk to Oakham Mount?”
“Exactly what I would have advised,” said Mrs. Bennet. “A walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a very pleasant day, and Mr. Darcy, I daresay, has never seen the view.”
Darcy professed a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently consented. As she went upstairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her, saying,
“I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that man all to yourself, with whom you have no acquaintance. But I hope you will not mind it: it is all for Jane’s sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking to him, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself to inconvenience.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Do not concern yourself, Mama. For Mr. Bingley assures me Mr. Darcy is an exceptionally generous man. Perhaps he could take a fancy to me—at least, I am likely tolerable.”
During their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet’s consent should be asked following Jane and Mary’s marriage. Perhaps the day after the happy couples’ vows—when Jane and Bingley had departed for their tour to Devon and Cornwall, and Mary and Mr. Collins to Hunsford. Elizabeth reserved for herself the application for her mother’s consent. That she would be violently delighted was without doubt, but she hoped that Mr. Darcy could bear the first raptures of her joy. Yet there was more—Elizabeth doubted she would receive her father’s approbation when told of her need to marry in London, and of the ball arranged to welcome her into society.
The day after the wedding brought the typical ennui that such events do. Kitty and Lydia were forlorn, for a great wind had come up, and their bonnets would not survive a walk into Meryton. Mrs. Bennet was surprised when that afternoon, Mr. Darcy came to the door and asked to see Mr. Bennet.
“Oh, sir. Please tell me that nothing has happened to Mr. Bingley, or to Mr. Collins. I can think of no other reason for your visit.”
“On the contrary, ma’am,” he said kindly. “’Tis nothing of the kind.” He looked at Elizabeth with such a loving smile, that she blushed, hiding her face and pretending to admire her embroidery.
Mrs. Bennet looked at her daughter, as the broad shoulders of Mr. Darcy disappeared into Mr. Bennet’s study.
“Lizzie? You have that look… the same when you took the last of the lemon biscuits from Mrs. Hill’s jar.”
“Oh, Mama, I cannot hold it back. I have such extraordinary news, that we promised to withhold until Jane and Mary were married, for we had no wish to steal a part of their joy. You may just now have guessed it. Mr. Darcy and I are engaged to be married. Mr. Darcy… Fitzwilliam has gone to seek Papa’s blessing.”
Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes, that she could comprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself.
“Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true?”
“Indeed, Mama, these past eight months, while Mr. Darcy was in Ireland, I managed the affairs of Pemberley, his grand estate in Derbyshire. We exchanged letters—oh, so proper for I was acting for Child & Co.—but I think that was when I fell in love with him and he with me. Oh, he is perfectly amiable. The best man of my acquaintance.”
Darcy had been obliged to go to Town—Elizabeth was to follow once she had established the plans for the wedding.
“Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Bennet, “you must marry in Meryton, for all our neighbours must see Mr. Darcy, so high in society. Surely you wish at least some recognition of how elevated your marriage is—to the nephew of an earl, his aunt a countess! Oh, Lord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted.”
“My apologies, Mama, but I will be wed in London, at St. George’s Hanover Square.”
“In Mayfair? Oh, I suppose Mr. Darcy’s relatives wish it. Then we must abide by his decision. Your father will not be happy, for he dislikes town, and most certainly theton.”
“Oh dear, Mama, then I suppose you will not be able to attend either, for it would be improper for you to give me away. Perhaps I can ask Mr Gardiner to perform the duty for me.”
“Whatever do you mean? Of course I shall be at your wedding, and Mr. Bennet as well. Do you think, Lizzy, there will be many others in attendance? I have heard the church is rather large, and it would be embarrassing if only a few of the pews were filled.”
“Let me see, Mama, I have a list of who might attend from London: certainly, my dear aunt and uncle Gardiner; naturally, the Duke of Leinster, who will be staying with us at Darcy House—oh, I do hope that Lydia and Kitty are well behaved; of course, Miss Georgiana Darcy, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and Miss Anne; then, Lord and Lady Matlock—Darcy’s aunt and uncle; their son Viscount Milton and his wife, and Colonel Fitzwilliam; likely Lord Jersey, certainly Lady Jersey, head partner of Child & Co.—such a lovely lady; the patronesses of Almack’s—Lady Castlereagh, Lady Cowper, and Lady Sefton, Princess Esterhazy, and Countess Lieven—a little too aware of their own superiority, but, once you come to know them, quite kind; the partners of Child’s, all splendid people. Do you wish the full list? It is a littlegauche, but all will need to show their invitation at the door, for the seating is limited. A trifle hot if it were summer, but a winter ceremony should keep the air quite pleasant.
