Mr Darcy's fears had proved well founded. A second lawyer's letter had arrived, to inform them that Sir Lewis de Bourgh had left the five thousand pounds, which his daughter was enjoying, in trust, only “until such time as she should marry,” at which time, of course, he had assumed that a proper provision would be made for her. It has been said that what always happens, after legal provisions have been made, is the unexpected; no one could have envisaged that Anne would marry without her mother's consent or approval. Such, however, was the case: her mother was very angry, and with the entire estate at her discretion, was not prepared to allow Anne anything at all.
Anne was a little surprised to find the entire Bennet family abuzz with the news; she liked them very well but knew them little; it might have been expected, she thought, that Mr Darcy would discuss the news with her and Edmund privately, at least at first; and as she hastened to his business room, she even thought, What could he mean by such horrible indelicacy?
“My dear Anne,” Elizabeth cried, “we are so sorry!” it transpired that Mr Darcy, appalled by the letter, had dashed into his wife's sitting-room, where she was occupied with her child, and informed her of the whole, giving full vent to his feelings, and unaware that Mrs Bennet was sitting with her daughter, screened from his view by the back of a large armchair. From such a woman, of course, there was no hope of discretion, and the news was all over the house in the course of half an hour.
Mr Darcy's lawyer was hastily summoned: suits and counter-suits were suggested, for clearly it had been Sir Lewis' intention that Anne should have, not less money, but more, on her marriage. “My dear sir, intentions do not matter,” said Mr Foreman. “Unless she is feeling charitable, and wants to provide a good living, for some years, for several lawyers and their wives and children, Miss de Bourgh should certainly not go to law, for nothing else would be gained by it.”
Everyone had a voice, everyone had an opinion. Mrs Bennet's, expressed only to her daughters, was that Anne was well served for not marrying the son of a Duke; Mr Bingley's was that it was the worst thing he had ever heard, which he repeated until even his wife grew tired of hearing it. Miss Mary Bennet had been reading in the library, and found an old book of household recipes; how it got there, no one could imagine, but it assured the reader that it was possible to live on sixpence a week. Anne felt that this, at least, was an attempt to be practical; and “Look, Edmund,” said she, “it says that a very good soup can be made from watercress, which grows in the streams, you may pick it for nothing; and they say that beer can be brewed from nettles.”
“I think that nettle beer might make you bilious,” said Mrs Darcy. “I think we should find some other solution.”
Edmund, taking Anne's hand, declared firmly that he would not hear of breaking the engagement, or even putting off the wedding: he was willing to risk everything, and marry, if Anne were willing; and if they could not live in England, they would go to Barbados. Anne, hand-fasted with her lover, begged Mr Darcy only to procure them a special license, and they would marry that very day!
At this point, it was insisted by Mr Darcy that a moratorium should be called until everyone's feelings died down, and everybody separated, to exclaim, and advance their own views, and propose their own solutions.
Darcy and Elizabeth did not at all like the idea of their young friends going to Barbados; but Edmund's house, as well as being historic and beautiful, needed a good deal of money spent. Darcy was concerned for the roof, and Elizabeth for the furnishing. “And Anne has had no experience of running a house,” she said.
“But you knew very little,” her husband said. “Do you not recall your mother saying that only Miss Lucas knew how to cook, that you and your sisters had nothing to do with housekeeping?”
“That is true; but even so, I know more than Anne, for she has always lived either at Rosings, or here, great houses with butlers and housekeepers; as far as she knows, dinner comes to the table, and washing gets done by itself. She must have a capable housekeeper, at least, or she will have a terrible struggle, and it is all very well to say that she can earn some money by writing, but how is she to find the time to write? Especially if they have some children, as I hope they will. But where there are little children to care for, and very little money, a woman has no spare time at all; she is fortunate if she gets a few hours' sleep at night.”
Matters went on in this way for several days, with everyone making suggestions, and no one suggesting anything useful, for the fact was that, though his prospects were excellent, Edmund's income, at present, could not be thought sufficient to support a wife and children, as well as his parents. The best advice that anyone could give was that recommendation, so depressing to a lover's hopes, so killing of youth and joy: “Wait.”