Page 51 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“Four, he resents your disdain for our family, relations, and neighbours. Five, which perhaps is the same as two, he thinks you are only interested in my inheritance, not my person.” Her eyebrows danced up, then down. “I think that was all.”

“All? Egad. Did you not tell him of my first proposal?”

She whispered a faint, “No.”

“Then I shall.” And I shall confess that I withdrew from the tournament for your sake. And I shall negotiate a settlement he cannot refuse. “All will be well, my love.” Darcy took her hand in his. “You are the best part of my life, and I truly believe we were meant to be together, you and I. Call it fate or call it destiny.”

She nudged his shoulder. “Or give it a more fascinating name. Call it love.” She tilted her head back and gazed up at the tree. “We could elope, of course, but that will not be necessary. There are but twenty-two days until my twenty-first birthday. Then we shall not require my father’s consent to wed. I fear that choice, though, might lead to my being estranged from him.”

She released his hand and plucked a flower, a developing berry, from the tree. “Do you know Ovid’s story of the black mulberry’s curse?”

“I know it inspired Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, but remind me of it.”

“Two star-crossed lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe, decide to elope because their parents will not allow them to wed due to a rivalry between their families. The lovers plan to meet late at night under a mulberry tree. Thisbe arrives first but flees from a lioness, its mouth dripping red from a recent kill. When Pyramus arrives at the scene, he finds the bloodstained cloak Thisbe dropped in her haste. Heartbroken, believing his lover is dead, he takes his own life. The tragedy continues when Thisbe returns and finds Pyramus expired beneath the mulberry tree. Grief-stricken, she takes his sword and plunges it into her breast.”

Darcy picked one of the flowers and twirled it between his fingers. “Now I remember. Before her death, Thisbe put a curse on the mulberry. And these trees bear the reminders—fruit of a dark, mournful hue—of the blood Pyramus and Thisbe shed.” He tucked the flower into her bonnet’s ribbon. “Enough morbidness, my dear. Mulberry jam is delicious. We are engaged to marry, and marry we shall.”

“I am here only until Monday at midday.” She heaved a sad sigh. “Then you and I shall part.”

Darcy was silent awhile, studying her profile. “Bingley is soon coming back to town and is planning a return to Netherfield. I shall ask to accompany him.”

“I hope he goes to Hertfordshire without delay. I want to be near you.”

“You know, if you keep pouting like that, I shall have to kiss you.”

Brazenly, she pushed out her lower lip like a sulky child. Darcy carried through with his threat, but it was a mere peck on those pouty lips. Then she latched onto his cravat and pulled him in for a lingering kiss that he wished would never end. Eventually, the gentlemanly part of him broke the sweet contact. “Name the date, madam, but please make it soon.”

Her eyes brightened. “The eleventh of July! My birthday.”

Darcy drew back. “You were born on the eleventh? You wish us to wed on the eleventh?”

“Yes. It would be the loveliest gift imaginable.” Then her shoulders slumped. “But even if you are able to convince my father to grant his permission, there is insufficient time to arrange for the banns to be read on three consecutive Sundays in both parishes.”

“Once we have his consent, I shall purchase a common licence.” If all goes well, we might marry before the eleventh.

What had he been thinking? He should have stayed at home. He knew being at Gracechurch Street so late on Saturday afternoon—exactly when Mr Bennet and his youngest, most rebellious daughter were expected—was ill-advised; but he had been eager to see Elizabeth again and to have his future settled. Then Mr and Mrs Gardiner had invited him to remain for dinner.

A commotion in the vestibule heralded the travellers’ return and sent the two Gardiners and their niece from the parlour. When they returned, it was with an evidently grumpy Miss Lydia leading the way and an annoyed, weary-looking Mr Bennet in tow.

Darcy stood and squared his shoulders.

“Lord, Aunt, I am so tired! Going to Brighton with Harriet and Colonel Forster was such a merry lark, but today’s journey was long and tedious and—” Miss Lydia stopped short. “Lawks! Why is he here? Lizzy,” she said over her shoulder, “why is Mr Darcy, the man responsible for all Mr Wickham’s hardships, standing here in my uncle’s parlour? Papa, make him go away.”

“Hush, Lydia,” hissed her aunt. “Remember your manners.”

“Mr Darcy is our and Lizzy’s guest,” said Mr Gardiner, “and, Niece, I should like you to remember you, also, are a guest in this house.”

“Perhaps,” said Darcy, stepping up to Mrs Gardiner, “it would be best, after all, to take my leave.” He was loath to do so.

His hostess kindly insisted he remain.

During the meal, Elizabeth’s father had been neither hostile to Darcy nor willing to initiate conversation with him. When directly spoken to, Mr Bennet answered with cold civility, preferring, it seemed, to simply listen to every word and—with an unwelcoming look in his eyes—watch every move made by his favourite daughter’s suitor.

Although Darcy had been made aware of Mr Bennet’s many objections, he admitted that such a rebuff from a far less affluent country gentleman than himself was an affront. But the man was Elizabeth’s father and, therefore, worthy of clemency.

Perhaps Mr Bennet is torn between gratitude towards me for warning him about Wickham and mistrust of me where his daughter is concerned. I shall set his mind at ease; Elizabeth’s happiness depends upon my doing so.

So it was that after a dinner that included two courses of huffs and lamentations from the youngest member of the Bennet family as well as stiffness of manner and resentful silence from the eldest, Darcy requested a conference with the gentleman who—despite opposition—very soon would be his father-in-law.