I ignored her droll tone.
‘Perhaps one day you might be as fortunate.’
‘I do not think I will ever marry,’ she declared. ‘I have no desire to let a man master me. When is the wedding to be?’
‘Soon.’
‘Then I must see my dressmaker. Two weddings in so short a space of time will require careful planning.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Louisa. ‘We must have something new.’
Soon after breakfast, Bingley and I set out again for Longbourn.
‘Caroline was very well-behaved,’ I said to him. ‘I thought she took the news well.’
‘She was not so very well-behaved when I told her,’ said Bingley, ‘but I reminded her that if she was not civil about it she would find herself excluded from Pemberley.’
We arrived. Mrs Bennet was all smiles as she greeted Bingley, and all grimaces as she made me a curtsy. How will she react when she knows I am to be her son-in-law?
Bingley looked at Elizabeth warmly, so that I am sure she guessed I had told him, then he said; ‘Mrs Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again today?’
Mrs Bennet was all too ready to fall in with his suggestion, eager to allow him a little privacy with Jane. She suggested we walk to Oakham Mount. Bingley, in lively humour, said he was sure it would be too much for Kitty, and Kitty agreed she would rather stay at home. It is a change to have Bingley ordering my life for me! But I could not complain, since a few minutes later I found myself out of doors and free to talk to Elizabeth.
‘I must ask your father for his consent to the marriage,’ I said, as we wandered towards the mount.
‘And if he does not give it?’ she asked with an arch smile.
‘Then I will have to carry you off without it,’ I said. ‘Do you think he will withhold it?’ I asked her more seriously.
‘No. I am not afraid of what he might say. At least, not once he comes to know you, though to begin with he might be surprised. When Mr Collins’s letter came …’
She broke off.
I looked at her enquiringly.
‘Mr Collins wrote to him, telling him that I must not marry you, as it would anger Lady Catherine!’
‘And what did your father reply?’
‘He is too busy savouring the joke to write back.’
‘I can see I will have a difficult time with him. Will he think I am joking when I ask for your hand?’
‘I don’t believe he will dare,’ she said.
She spoke lightly, but I could tell she was troubled.
‘I will take pains to know him,’ I said. ‘He and I will come to understand each other better, and I will make sure he does not ever regret giving his consent.’
We walked on.
‘And then there is my mother,’ she said.
‘Will I stop being that man, do you think?’ I asked her with a smile.
‘Don’t,’ she said with a shudder. ‘If you knew how many times I have blushed for her, or wished her to be silent. I think I will tell her when she is alone,’ she went on. ‘Then she will have a chance to overcome the first shock, and perhaps it will make her more rational when she speaks to you.’
‘Exactly Bingley’s feelings, when deciding it would be better if he told Caroline!’
‘I wonder if she will continue to find your handwriting so even once you are married?’
‘I fear not. She will probably think it uncommonly untidy.’
We reached the top of the mount.
‘Well, and what do you think of the view?’ Elizabeth asked me.
I turned to look at her.
‘I like it very much,’ I said.
She looked so beautiful that I gave in to the urge to kiss her. She was surprised at first, but then responded warmly, and I knew our marriage would be a happy one in every way.
We walked on together, talking of the future. I am eager to show Elizabeth Pemberley, not as a visitor, but as its future mistress.
‘You will not mind my aunt and uncle visiting?’ she asked.
‘Of course not. I liked them.’
‘And my sisters?’
‘Jane and Bingley will be with us often. Your younger sisters are welcome to come whenever they, or you, choose. But I will not have Wickham there.’
We rejoined Jane and Bingley and returned to Longbourn.
Throughout the evening, Elizabeth was not at ease. I longed to put her out of her misery, but could not speak to Mr Bennet until after dinner. As soon as I saw him withdraw to the library, I followed him.
‘Mr Darcy,’ he said in surprise, as I closed the library door behind me.
‘I would like to speak to you,’ I said.
‘I am at your disposal. You have heard, I suppose, of the rumour that you are to marry Elizabeth and want it stopped, but I advise you to enjoy it for its absurdity, instead of fretting over what is a harmless piece of nonsense.’
‘I don’t find it in the least bit absurd,’ I said to him. ‘I find it highly desirable. I have followed you in order to ask you for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.’
His mouth fell open.
‘Ask me for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage?’ he repeated at last.
‘Yes.’
‘But there must be some mistake.’
‘There is no mistake.’
‘But I thought … that is, Mr Collins is such a fool! He is forever regaling me with some new and preposterous story, and I was sure he must have made a mistake. You, who have never looked at Elizabeth in your life! And yet now you tell me you want to marry her.’
‘I do. I love her, and as for not singling her out for attention, I have done little else. You have not been there, however, so I cannot blame you for being surprised. When she was a guest at Netherfield, I had the pleasure of her company for almost a week, and I spent much of my time with her. I saw her again in Kent, when she was visiting Mrs Collins, and we came to know each other well. I met her more recently in Derbyshire, and each time I have met her, I have loved her more. My feelings are not of a short duration. They are longstanding, and will not change.’
‘But she has always hated you!’ he said. ‘For any man to persist against such obvious aversion is madness.’
At this I smiled.
‘I can assure you I am quite sane. Her aversion has been overcome long ago. I have already asked her to marry me, and she has said yes.’
‘Said yes!’ exclaimed Mr Bennet in faint tones.
‘And as the two of us are in agreement, we need only your permission to set a date.’
‘And if I do not give it?’
‘Then I am afraid I will have to marry her without it.’
He looked at me as though deciding if I was serious. Then, collecting his wits, he said: ‘If it is as you say, and Elizabeth really wishes to marry you, then you may have my consent and my blessing. But I want to hear it from her own lips. Send her to me.’
I left him and went to Elizabeth. She saw from my face that he had given his consent.
‘He wants to speak to you.’
She nodded, and left the room.
Mrs Bennet, who had been talking to Jane and Bingley, looked up at this.
‘Where has Lizzy gone?’ she asked Jane.
‘I do not know,’ Jane replied, though from her face I could tell she had guessed.
‘She has made an excuse to leave the room, being tired of talking to that disagreeable gentleman, I suppose,’ said Mrs Bennet, not taking the trouble to lower her voice. ‘I do not blame her. Now, Jane, you must have a new dress for your wedding. What colour do you think it should be? I was married in blue,’ she said, ‘in quite the most beautiful dress, not like the fashions nowadays. It had a wide skirt, and a pointed bodice. We must make sure you have something equally fine. Satin, I think, or Bruges lace.’
Jane cast me an apologetic look at the start of this speech, and then attended to her mother, but I scarcely heard Mrs Bennet’s effusions. I was wondering what was happ
ening in the library. Elizabeth seemed to be gone for a very long time. What was her father saying to her? Was it really taking her so long to convince him of her feelings for me?
‘I have often observed, that the finery of the wedding-gown has no bearing on the happiness of the marriage,’ said Mary, looking up from her book. ‘Such things are all vanity, set to entrap the incautious female and lead her down the path of temptation.’
‘Oh, hush Mary, be quiet, no one asked you,’ said Mrs Bennet, annoyed. ‘When you find a husband, you may prose on the nature of wedding gowns as much as you like.’
Mary was silenced.
‘When I marry, I will have a satin underskirt and a gauze overskirt,’ said Kitty, ‘and I will not run off with my husband and live with him in London first.’
‘Kitty, be quiet,’ said Mrs Bennet. She turned to Bingley with a smile. ‘What will you wear, Mr Bingley? A blue coat or a black one? Wickham was married in his blue coat. My dear Wickham!’ she said with a sigh. ‘Such a handsome man. But not nearly as handsome as you.’
I caught Bingley’s eye. It was probable that, if Wickham had had five thousand a year, he would have been allowed to be as handsome as Bingley.
‘I will wear whatever Jane wishes,’ he said.
Where was Elizabeth? I felt my impatience growing. At last she returned to the room and smiled. All was well.
The evening passed quietly. I received a cold nod from Mrs Bennet when I left, and I wondered what her reception of me would be on the morrow. I saw lines of strain around Elizabeth’s mouth, and I knew she was not looking forward to her interview with her mother.
‘By this time tomorrow it will be done,’ I said.
She nodded, then Bingley and I departed.
‘Her father gave his consent?’ asked Bingley, as we returned to Netherfield.
‘He did.’
‘Jane and I have already set a date for our wedding. We were wondering what you and Elizabeth would think of a double wedding?’
I was much struck by the idea.
‘I like it. If Elizabeth is agreeable, then that is what we will do.’
Wednesday 8th October
Bingley and I were at Longbourn early this morning.
‘Mr Bingley,’ said Mrs Bennet, fidgeting as she welcomed him. She turned to me, and I felt Elizabeth grow tense. But her mother merely looked at me in awe and said: ‘Mr Darcy.’
There was no coldness in her tone. Indeed she seemed stunned. I made her a bow and went to sit beside Elizabeth.
The morning passed off well. Mrs Bennet took the younger girls upstairs with her on some pretext, and Elizabeth and I were free to talk. When luncheon was served, Mrs Bennet sat on one side of me, and Elizabeth on the other.
‘Some hollandaise sauce, Mr Darcy?’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘I believe you like sauces.’
I cast my eyes over the table, and saw no less than six sauce-boats. I was about to refuse the hollandaise sauce when I caught sight of Elizabeth’s mortified expression and I determined to repay Mrs Bennet’s new civility with a civility of my own.
‘Thank you.’
I took some hollandaise sauce.
‘And béarnaise? I had it made specially.’
I hesitated, but then put a spot of béarnaise sauce next to the hollandaise sauce.
‘And some port-wine sauce?’ she said. ‘I hope you will take a little. Cook made it specially.’
I took some port-wine sauce and looked at my plate in dismay. I caught Elizabeth’s eye and saw her laughing. I took some béchamel sauce, mustard sauce and a cream sauce as well, and then set about eating my strange meal.
‘You are enjoying your luncheon?’ asked Mrs Bennet solicitously.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘It is not what you are used to, I suppose.’
I could honestly say that it was not.
‘You have two or three French cooks, I suppose?’
‘No, I have only the one cook, and she is English.’
‘She is your cook at Pemberley?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Pemberley,’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘How grand it sounds. I am glad Lizzy refused Mr Collins, for a parsonage is nothing to Pemberley. I expect the chimney piece will be even bigger than the one at Rosings. How much did it cost, Mr Darcy?’
‘I am not sure.’
‘Very likely a thousand pounds or more.’
‘It must be difficult to maintain,’ said Mr Bennet. ‘Even at Longbourn, it is difficult to keep up with all the repairs.’
We fell into a discussion about our estates, and I found Mr Bennet to be a sensible man. He might be negligent where his family are concerned, but his duties in other areas are carried out responsibly.
I have to forgive him the former negligence as it produced Elizabeth. Her liveliness and vitality would have been crushed under an ordinary upbringing.
I have decided that Georgiana must have a spell without a governess or a companion, so that she might develop her own spirit. I am sure that Elizabeth will agree.
Friday 10th October
Elizabeth began to ask me how I had fallen in love with her.
‘How could you begin?’ she asked. ‘I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?’
I thought. What was it that had started me falling in love with her? Was it when she had looked at me satirically at the assembly? Or when she had walked through the mud to see Jane? Or when she had neglected to flatter me, not telling me how well I wrote? Or when she had refused to try and attract my attention?
‘I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.’
She teased me, saying I had resisted her beauty, and therefore I must have fallen in love with her impertinence.
‘To be sure, you know no actual good of me – but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.’
‘Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was ill at Netherfield?’
‘Dearest Jane! Who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible.’
‘You do not easily take offence. It cannot have been easy for you to be at Netherfield – you were not made very welcome – and yet you were amused rather than otherwise by our rudeness.’
‘I like to laugh,’ she admitted.
‘And you are loyal to your friends. You berated me over my treatment of Wickham—’
‘Do not speak of him!’ she begged me. ‘I can hardly bear to think about it.’
‘But I can. He is a loathsome individual, but you did not know that at the time, and you defended him. There are not many women who would defend a poor friend against a rich and eligible bachelor.’
‘However undeserving the “friend” might be,’ she said ruefully.
‘And you were not afraid to change your mind when you learnt the truth. You did not cling to your prejudices, regarding either Wickham or myself. You admitted the justice of what I said.’
‘Yes, I acknowledged that a man who does not give a living to a wastrel is not a brute. That is a sign of great goodness, indeed!’
‘You did everything in your power to help Lydia, even though you knew her to be thoughtless and wild,’ I pointed out.
‘She is my sister. I could hardly abandon her to a rogue,’ she replied.
‘But I am allowed to exaggerate your good points,’ I reminded her, ‘You said so yourself.’
She laughed.
‘Poor Lydia. I thought she had ruined my chance of happiness with you for ever. I could not imagine you would want to be connected to a family in which one of the girls had eloped, especially not as she had eloped with your greatest enemy.’
‘I never thought of that. You had taught me by then that such things do not matter.’
‘I
had taught you more than I realized, then. When you came to Longbourn, after Lydia’s marriage—’
‘Yes?’
‘You said so little. I thought you did not care about me.’
‘Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.’
‘I was embarrassed,’ she said.
‘And so was I.’
‘Tell me, why did you come to Netherfield? Was it merely so that you could ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed? Or had you intended any more serious consequence?’
‘My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.’
‘Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to befall her?’
‘I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.’
Whilst I composed my letter to Lady Catherine, Elizabeth composed a letter to her aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street. Hers was easier to write than mine, because it would give pleasure, whereas mine would give distress. But it had to be done.
Lady Catherine,
I am sure you will want to wish me happy. I have asked Miss Elizabeth Bennet to marry me, and she has done me the great honour of saying yes.
Your nephew,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
‘And now I will write a far pleasanter letter,’ I said.
I took another sheet of paper and wrote to Georgiana.
My dear sister, I began
I know you will be delighted to hear that Elizabeth and I are to marry. I will tell you everything when I see you next.
Your loving brother,
Fitzwilliam
It was short, but I had time for no more. I read it through, sanded it and addressed the envelope.
‘Shall you mind having another sister?’ I asked Elizabeth.
‘Not at all. I am looking forward to it. She will live with us at Pemberley?’
‘If you have no objection?’