Needless to say, we did not return from our walk for some time, and I was very glad Mrs. Reynolds was far away at Pemberley, for she would have roundly scolded us for such a reckless and prolonged exposure to the elements.
Our holiday nearing its end, that had been the last of our opportunities to indulge in assignations of such forbidden proportions. After consulting Elizabeth, I sent Queenie back to Pemberley where she would be more comfortable and less in the way during what portended to be several busy weeks at Longbourn. I also sent Sam to Hertfordshire with Jane and Elizabeth, a gesture that was met with perhaps less resistance than it would have been had my intrepid lady not met with the unsavory Mr. Crupps and his compatriots.
I carefully explained that Sam was to be her lifelong protector whenever I could not be present, and by the sudden sobriety of her expression, I knew the comprehension had dawned upon her that, as a rich man’s wife, she would have to submit to such precautions. Elizabeth sighed a little heavily, for not only did she value her independence, she enjoyed the anonymity of being merely genteel. But she was not a woman to pout, and I had only to chuckle at her and call her a wilting petunia to rouse her to bravely accept her new circumstances with the good grace she so naturally possessed.
I had to prepare for several busy weeks myself. My sister made her bows to Queen Charlotte, and I claimed the first dance at Lady Matlock’s ball in her honor. One afternoon I also took Georgiana to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s house for tea and invited them for dinner.
Elizabeth’s uncle and I, despite having become acquainted under such strained circumstances, fell into a surprisingly easy friendship, and Mrs. Gardiner met my sister with great kindness and induced her to talk of Mrs. Jennings. I expressed my hope that they would visit Pemberley as soon as may be, and Georgiana, who had bloomed rather unexpectedly throughout her debut, had added her own persuasion with a charm that reminded me of someone I missed a great deal. As though conscious of my thoughts, my sister had looked up at me then and smiled, pleased with herself for having done such justice to Elizabeth’s mentorship.
Whenever possible, I also traveled to Hertfordshire. My horses seemed to know the way to Longbourn by the ruts in the road alone, which had grown deeper in consequence. I met with the vicar of Meryton to have the banns read, and we set the date for the wedding for late June. Upon returning to London, I spent time with my solicitors, man of business, tailor, and banker. Between morning calls, recitals, the opera, and various parties my aunt deemed critical for Georgiana’s abbreviated Season, I also broke the news of my engagement to my relations.
I traveled to Kent for a very brief stay. Lady Catherine was predictably incensed and threatened to refuse to notice Elizabeth, and when I replied that my wife would receive that news with joy, she then disowned me altogether. I could only hope she meant it and left Rosings Park behind me in my haste to snatch yet another visit to Hertfordshire to see Elizabeth.
Lord and Lady Matlock received my announcement with chilly, distant smiles and tepid congratulations, but they refrained from further comment. I offered up Netherfield Park should they wish to attend the ceremony, but no, they had made an unbreakable commitment to visit Lord and LadySomebodyin Somerset. The countess then suggested she would arrange a ball of introduction for Elizabeth when we next came to town, and since her air was one of such condescension and the event, should it ever occur, was to take place in the hazy, distant future, I thanked her with my own chilly, tepid smile.
Richard’s elder brother, John, who was titled and a dead bore besides, begged to be excused on the grounds he could not step foot in the country without sneezing. He would send us a handsome crystal punch service, he said, and looked forward to meeting my bride at his mama’s party for her.
Upon commiseration with Richard, who had indeed taken up residence at my house instead of with his parents, he only said, “What did you expect, Darcy?”
“Just what I was given, I suppose. But come to think of it, I am quite relieved. You have yet to meet Elizabeth’s mother.”
I had meant to be wry, but in truth, I was coming around to slightly warmer feelings for Mrs. Bennet’s outrageous conduct, for she would never receive me with anything resembling the noble disinterest of my own close relations. Perhaps I had lost my taste for the coldness of manner I had once prized as befitting my station, or perhaps Socrates was right—“one word frees us of all the weight and pain in life, and that word is love…”
“Shall I like her?” Richard asked, interrupting my reflections.
“Who—Mrs. Bennet? I do not know, but I assure you, she will adore you. She has four remaining daughters as yet unmarried, Cousin.”
“Oh Lord!”
“Pray all you like, but I doubt you will be spared her designs upon your liberty,” I said with a grin. He could only laugh at what was to come, and I then changed the subject to my sister, who could be heard snatching a few moments of practice in the music room. “And what do you think of your ward these days?”
“She is doing beautifully, I must say. But when did she learn to play cards so well? She has stripped my pockets clean, Darcy!”
Chapter Forty-Nine
26 June 1813
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Elizabeth’s Story…
I awoke to light streaming through the crack in the curtains in my room, and when I looked out upon the world, I saw that, instead of the rain and clouds that so often painted the background of our love affair, the sun had come out for Mr. Darcy and me.
In the golden glow of morning filtered through the chaff from yesterday’s harvest of a small field of shallots, the carpenters and masons were arriving in the yard below. Papa had undertaken to enlarge the stables to accommodate a few more horses, and they were nearly done with their work; Lydia now owned a solid little filly named Pearl. She had dropped all plans to elope with Captain Carter or whoever she could recruit into a scandal that would redirect the attention of the world away from me and onto her.
She had only to sit uncertainly in the saddle for the first time to know her destiny. She would be a famous horsewoman! Perhaps she would marry the most prestigious member of the Jockey Club, whoever he might be, but he would also have to be an earl, at least. I could only laugh, for Lydia was still just a child, and life—or perhaps a little unruly capering on the part of Pearl—would soon knock her down to a more reasonable self-opinion.
Meanwhile, I had been wild with curiosity as to just how Mr. Darcy talked my father around his objections to my scheme, but he would only shrug, or if pressed, he would cast a wry look at me and purr mysteriously that he had always been an overbearing, interfering sort of man. If I did not believe him, I would consult Uncle Gardiner.
What I did know, however, was that Mr. Darcy arrived at Longbourn some few days after I returned from Brighton to meet with my father over the formal settlements that had been drawn up. They spoke privately for some time, and thereafter, they seemed to have a more settled—dare I say, comfortable—understanding. In short order, Lydia’s horse and groom arrived, and the stables became a hotbed of activity.
I did not solve this puzzling complacency on the part of Papa until, upon surveying the disruption out of the breakfast parlor window with an uncharacteristically benevolent eye, my father made a rather sly remark about theotherimprovements he meant to make at Longbourn that I would not get to see unless I deigned to visit him from time to time.
“What improvements, sir?” I asked, my interest piqued. “You have always resisted doing anything to enrich Mr. Collins’s future enjoyment of this house.”
He flashed me a long, penetrating look. “Mr. Collins will have to enjoy some other house, I am afraid.”
Then it dawned upon me. “You will break the entail?” I cried in disbelief.
