“Think nothing of it. I try to spend as little of it usefully as possible, but exceptions must occasionally be made.”
Darcy bowed again, though Mr. Bennet had already returned fully to his reading, and left the bookroom with the peculiar sensation of having been examined, mocked, accepted, and dismissed all within the same quarter hour.
In the hall, he paused and released a breath he had not known he held.
He had permission.
It was not the promise he wanted, not yet. But it was a beginning.
Chapter 26
After securing Mr. Bennet’s consent to court Elizabeth, Darcy excused himself from Longbourn to allow the Bennet family to finish their breakfast in peace. Upon returning to Netherfield, he immediately went to his room and began a letter to Georgiana.
It ought to have been a simple letter. He had written to his sister from inns, barracks, estate offices, tenant cottages, and once with his hand still cramped from helping drag a cart from a ditch. Words to Georgiana had never been difficult. He could tell her of sheep, weather, repairs, books, horses, Mrs. Reynolds’s opinions, and the progress of the south wing with perfect ease.
This letter took him nearly an hour to begin.
At last, he dipped his pen, drew the paper nearer, and wrote:
My dearest Georgiana,
I have news of a personal nature, and though nothing is yet settled beyond the permission to proceed, I would not have you hear it from any other hand. I have requested and received Mr. Bennet’s permission to court his second daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He paused there, looking at the words.
They seemed too plain for what they contained.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The name alone altered the room around him. He saw her on Oakham Mount, cold-cheeked and guarded, refusing him with more kindness than he deserved, then offering him hope in the same breath. He saw her beside him on the path to Longbourn, laughing because Mr. Collins would now need to leave her alone. He saw her in the breakfast room, biting her lip against laughter at the sight of her family’s astonishment while Darcy stood like a man awaiting judgment before a tribunal of Bennets, one clergyman, and half-eaten eggs.
He had been happy since.
Not at peace, precisely; he did not think loving Elizabeth would ever permit him the dull peace he had once mistaken for contentment. But settled. Freed from the worst kind of uncertainty. No longer forced to measure every glance, deny every hope, and pretend that duty required him to wound himself and her in equal measure.
He wrote on.
You may remember my mention of a young lady connected to a discovery in London two years ago, though I was careful then not to include any particulars. Miss Elizabeth is that young lady. She is clever, lively, compassionate, courageous, and very much unlike the ladies you have seen praised merely for being quiet and accomplished. I think you would like her. More than that, I hope you will come to love her, if matters progress as I pray they may.
He hesitated over the last sentence, then left it. Georgiana deserved honesty.
He assured her there was no engagement, that Miss Elizabeth had very properly requested a courtship rather than accepting a proposal made with too much haste, and that he was determined to earn her trust. He did not mention how near he had come to ruining everything by pride and fear. Georgiana would hearenough of his faults from him one day, but not in a letter that would make her anxious at Matlock House.
When he finished, he felt lighter.
The letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam was shorter and less sentimental, though not by much. Richard would see through any attempt at studied indifference. Darcy informed him that he was courting Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire, that she possessed more wit than was safe for any man’s vanity, and that if Richard made one joke about Roman treasure, Darcy would deny all knowledge of the correspondence. He added, after a moment’s thought, that he would welcome his cousin’s prayers, though not his teasing, and knew perfectly well he would receive both.
The letter to Lord and Lady Matlock required greater care.
His uncle knew more than most. His aunt knew enough to suspect a great deal. Darcy wrote with respect, gratitude, and plainness, explaining that he had requested permission to court Miss Elizabeth Bennet, that the arrangement remained private beyond the lady herself and her uncle, and that he hoped, with time, to make the lady as certain of him as he already was of her. He thanked them, too, for their care of Georgiana and for every quiet protection they had extended over the years, including those connected to Gracechurch Street.
When the letters were sealed, Darcy sat back and allowed himself one deep breath.
There. It was real enough to write.
The following week proved one of the happiest of his life.
Happiness, Darcy discovered, was not always a grand thing. Sometimes it was the simple absence of torment. He no longer had to look away from Elizabeth in churchyards, drawing rooms, or lanes. He no longer had to pretend indifference while every part of him strained toward her. He could call at Longbourn with Bingley, speak to her beneath the watchful pleasure ofMrs. Bennet and the quieter amusement of Mr. Bennet, walk with her when propriety allowed, and send her a book without manufacturing an excuse that would satisfy even his own pride.
