DARCY: I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.
ELIZABETH: Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.
After greeting her family the following morning, it was agreed that Bingley and Jane Bennet, and Darcy with the Misses Elizabeth and Catherine Bennet, should take a walk together. To begin with, they went towards the Lucases, be-cause Kitty wished to call upon Maria. With Bingley and the eldest Miss Bennet walking very slowly and lagging behind, Darcy and her sister Elizabeth continued on together. To start with, both were silent.
Darcy was contemplating the best way to start the subject he wished to address when she began to speak:
“Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours.”
Darcy glanced at her in surprise.
Could it be that she had in mind his aunt’s recent visit, notable, if the account he had heard was accurate, for Lady Catherine using language that would have given offence to any one? His aunt’s remarks had hardly been calculated to improve his companion’s opinion of his family.
But she continued, “I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.”
Darcy, who had thought that his actions were a secret known only to her uncle and aunt, and to Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, was taken unawares.
“I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,” he replied, in a tone of surprise and emotion, “that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness.”
He added, more cautiously, “I did not think Mrs. Gar-diner was so little to be trusted.”
Her quick reply soon gave him comfort at least as to that.
“You must not blame my aunt. Lydia’s thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars.”
After a few moments, she continued, more slowly.
“Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble... and bear so many mortifications . . . for the sake of discovering them.”
Darcy immediately recollected the last time they had spoken privately together at Lambton, and the distress that she had confided to him, in the knowledge that he would not betray it. He recalled his decision then to pursue the fugitives, no matter what it cost him, so that she could regain that peace of mind which he believed that only he had the power to restore.
“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone.”
“That the wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny.”
He chose his next words with care, remembering part of another conversation which they had had at the parsonage at Hunsford in the Spring.
“But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought only of you.”
She was silent and, after a short pause, Darcy then added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once.”
The chasm of pain which this opened up, unhappily so familiar over the past few months, came vividly to his mind, and he had to pause and gather all his resolution before he could continue.
“My affections,” he paused, “and wishes are unchanged.” He stopped, and then went on, “But one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”
It seemed to him a very long pause, although in fact it was only a few moments, before his companion began to speak.
“Mr. Darcy, I recollect now with great distress the manner in which I replied to your offer in April....Although I was then certain that I spoke with justice and without prejudice, I have long since come to a completely contrary view. My understanding at that time of Mr. Wickham’s situation, and his own and partial account of your role in his affairs, had influenced my mind to an extent which I now consider to have been unpardonable.”
She went on quickly, “Although I then felt also that you were misguided about my sister’s feelings for Mr. Bingley, I hope that I also now have the honesty to acknowledge the difficulty for someone not very well acquainted with Jane to have been aware of them.”
She paused, and he took a quick glance at her before she continued speaking.
She had uttered the next sentence, and had begun another, before he was able to comprehend the full import of what she was saying.
“As to my own affections, it is some time since I came to realise that, far from maintaining the sentiments that I expressed in April, my future happiness depends on your having a continuing regard and affection for me. Indeed, my feelings are such that I am so very happy to accept your present assurances.”
And at last she raised her head, and met his eyes for a moment, before dropping hers again before his gaze.
They walked on, and it was some distance before Darcy had sufficient control of himself to speak.
“I find it difficult to find words which can adequately express my emotions...to be confident...to know that you return my affections,” he began.
“And our separation, since we parted in Derbyshire in July, has only served to confirm how valuable and necessary to me is your regard. That you could ever consent to be my wife has at times seemed to be so impossible that I have been close to total despair. It has been a dream which it seemed could never come true.”
He glanced at her as he continued, “And you will have to remind me very often from now on that I am not dreaming!”
He saw her smile at this, although she could not encounter his eye, and he went on to tell her how important she was to him, and for how long he had hoped for this day.
They walked on. There was so much to be thought, and felt, and said.
Darcy recounted his aunt’s visit to his house on her return through London, how Lady Catherine had related her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance of her conversation with Elizabeth.
“She thought, by repeating her conversation with you, to obtain that promise from me, which you had refused to give. Some of what she told me,” said Darcy, “taught me to hope as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. One phrase in particular,
“ . . . that my wife must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine?
“Words cannot express how I felt when I first heard her repeat those words, except that at last I had some hope that we might one day find happiness together.”
Darcy stole a quick glance at Elizabeth, and thought that her face was luminous with such a smile that... but he recollected himself and went on to say,
“I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably, decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.”
He saw that Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”
“What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time, had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.”
“We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening,” said Elizabeth. “The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility.”
Darcy demurred at that. “I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me.”
As his recollection of that evening at Hunsford returned to him, he said,
“Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget:
“had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.
“Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me. Although it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.”
“I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression,” said Elizabeth. “I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.”
“I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way, that would induce you to accept me.”
“Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you, that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”
After they had walked on a little, Darcy mentioned the letter he had written after that meeting.
“Did it,” said he, “did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”
Her reply confirmed that, although in some respects it had at first angered her, over a longer period of time all her former prejudices against him had been removed.
“I knew,” said Darcy, “that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread you having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions, which might justly make you hate me.”
“The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard,” she replied, “but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.”
He thought for a few moments, and then said, “When I wrote that letter, I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.”
Elizabeth would not let him be so harsh on the author.
“The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness,” she replied, “but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself.”
Then she went on firmly, “But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it, ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
“I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind,” said Darcy.
“Our retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them, is not of philosophy, but what is much better, of ignorance. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit.
“Unfortunately an only son, for many years an only child, I was spoilt by my parents, who though good themselves, my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable, allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own.
“Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you,” turning to her as he said, “dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”
“Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?” she asked him with surprise.
“Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.”
“My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?”
Darcy stopped walking along the lane, and turned to face her, as he said vehemently,
“Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction.”
Elizabeth replied, as if to quell his remorse and direct his thoughts away from what had happened between them in Kent, “I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?”
“No, indeed,” replied Darcy, “I felt nothing but surprise.”
“Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.”
“My object then,” replied Darcy, “was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to.”
A smile came to his lips as he went on,
“How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.”
Darcy then told her of Georgiana’s delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption. Elizabeth looked surprised as he went on to tell her that his intention of travelling to London to find Wickham and her sister had been formed before he had quitted the inn. His gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend. She expressed her gratitude again, but neither of them wished to dwell on that subject.
After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too occupied to know anything of it, they found that it was time to return to Longbourn.
“What could have become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!” she exclaimed, and that brought on a discussion of their affairs.
Darcy said that he was delighted with their engagement, and that his friend had given him the earliest information of it.
“I must ask whether you were surprised?” said Elizabeth.
“Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.”
“That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.”
Darcy admitted that it had been pretty much the case, and told her that he had admitted his part in keeping Bingley and Jane Bennet separated when she had been staying with the Gardiners in London during the winter.
“His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.”
“Did you speak from your own observation,” said she, “when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?”
“From the former,” replied Darcy. “I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made her here; and I was convinced of her affection.”
“And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him.”
“It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgement in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine, made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister’s sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now.”
Darcy saw Elizabeth smile a little at this but, in contemplating the happiness of Bingley and Jane, which of course was to be inferior only to their own, Darcy continued the conversation till they reached the house.
In the hall they parted.
“My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?” said her elder sister when she entered the room a short distance ahead of Darcy. The rest of the company made the same enquiry as they took the vacant seats at opposite sides of the dining table. Elizabeth replied that they had wandered about till she was beyond her own knowledge but, although she coloured as she spoke, neither that, nor anything else, caused suspicion.
After the meal, the evening passed quietly enough. He observed his friend and the elder Miss Bennet talking together and laughing. Elizabeth was quiet, only giving him an expressive smile when no one else was looking in her direction; but Darcy was more than content with that.
On the way back to Netherfield, Darcy told his friend of the day’s events.
Bingley was taken totally by surprise.
“Jane and I have talked of that,” he began, “but we had concluded that it was impossible.”
He went on, “I must say that I had thought, when we met Elizabeth in Derbyshire, at Lambton and Pemberley, that you might have some susceptibility in that direction, despite my sisters’ efforts to decry it. But, since then, nothing confirmed to me that you had any such intentions.”
Bingley paused and then, as though suddenly struck by a new idea, went on,
“I knew that Lady Catherine had called to see Elizabeth at Longbourn, for Jane told me about the visit. Was that on your behalf?”
“No! It was not,” said Darcy, more sharply than he intended.
He reflected immediately to himself that it was not wise, at least not yet, to broadcast his aunt’s strong opposition to the marriage, even to as close a friend as Bingley, until he had written to her and received a reply to the letter. There was, after all, the possibility, however small and remote, that Lady Catherine might change her mind about the match.
Instead, he said to Bingley, “Will you now wish me joy?”
His friend replied emphatically, “With all my heart. I can think of nothing that would please Jane and I more. Are you to speak to Mr. Bennet tomorrow?”
“Probably, yes,” Darcy replied, “when I have had the opportunity for some further private conversation with Elizabeth. Are you willing to propose another walk tomorrow? I must confess that there seems little likelihood of talking with her at Longbourn without being overheard.”
“Of course!” said his friend, “for clearly such exercise is to your advantage!”
On the following day, Darcy followed his friend into the drawing-room at Longbourn.
As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at Elizabeth so expressively, and shook her hand with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information. Soon afterwards, he said aloud, “Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?”
Darcy saw Elizabeth look at him with some alarm, but her mother intervened before she could say anything.
“I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty,” said Mrs. Bennet, “to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view.”
“It may do very well for the others,” replied Mr. Bingley, “but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won’t it, Kitty?”
Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home.
Darcy confirmed to Mrs. Bennet that he had a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount. Elizabeth said nothing, but went to get her wrap before joining him outside. After they had walked out of earshot of the house, Darcy began.
“I wish to speak to your father tonight, to ask his consent, before anyone else has any knowledge of it. Do you know what his reaction will be?”
Elizabeth replied, “My father is likely to be very surprised at your application. He knows nothing of what passed between us in Kent, or at Pemberley.”
She blushed as she went on, “His opinion of you may be coloured by the views of others, formed when you first came into Hertfordshire.”
“You mean, I suppose, by views similar to your own at Rosings?”
She acknowledged that she had in mind something of the sort.
“Also, it is only a few days ago, just after Lady Catherine called, that my father received a letter from Mr. Collins. He wrote that word had reached Kent of my sister’s forthcoming marriage. That must have led on to the idea of an alliance between us, passed on, I assume, from Sir William and Lady Lucas to Charlotte, and warned my father that your aunt was opposed to it. He called me into the library, as he was so surprised at such a possibility.”
“And what did you say?” said Darcy with a half smile.
“I said as little as I could, without telling him an untruth.”
Darcy looked concerned. He knew that Elizabeth was her father’s favourite child. “You are not saying that he will refuse me consent to marry you!”
“No, I do not believe so. But he may say that he has had no inkling that I have any attachment to you.”
“And your mother, what of her,” Darcy inquired, remembering very well Mrs. Bennet triumphantly relating to him only two weeks ago the news of her youngest daughter’s nuptials.
Elizabeth told him that she would speak to Mrs. Bennet only when she was certain that Darcy had her father’s consent. She went on to ask him, in relation to the events which had led to her sister’s marriage with Wickham, what, if anything, should be disclosed.
“As I told you before, Sir, my mother and father have no inkling of how indebted they are to you in that unhappy business. They believe that it was my uncle Gardiner’s doing. You do not wish me to inform either of them?”
“Only, if you consider it essential, to tell your father, so that he may not trouble your uncle about repayment.”
Elizabeth then reserved to herself passing on the news to Mrs. Bennet, once it was certain that her father had agreed, saying only that she believed that she would always be happy at the prospect of a wedding for any of her daughters. That reminded them both of Wickham and Lydia, and they changed the subject quickly, to happier topics about the future.
That evening after dinner, Darcy followed his host when he left the party to go to his room.
Seeing him, Mr. Bennet said, “Can I assist you, Sir? You are very welcome to borrow one of my books, for when the other entertainments, that are on offer, pall?”
“Thank you, but I have no need of a book for that reason. But there is something that I should like to discuss, if you would be kind enough to allow me a few minutes.”
Mr. Bennet looked surprised, but said nothing, and he led the way into the library, then inviting his guest to sit down.
But Darcy walked over to the fire, and turned, taking in the room with comfortable furniture and lined with books, in in which he knew that his host spent much of his time.
He began, without delay.
“I have an application to ask of you, Sir, that is of the utmost importance to me. Your daughter, Miss Elizabeth, has done me the greatest honour in telling me that she is willing to accept my offer of marriage, subject to your consent.”
His host appeared to take several moments to comprehend the import of this request. His countenance turned slowly to astonishment and then to concern. At last, Mr. Bennet said, “You have asked Lizzy to marry you...and she has accepted?” He spoke as though expecting a reply in the negative.
Darcy replied simply, “Yes, Sir, she has done me that honour.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet, “but I had no idea that you... that she... that you and Lizzy were well acquainted enough to...?”
Darcy waited for a moment, and then, as his host made no move to continue, he said,
“Your daughter has told me, Sir, that you may have little knowledge of our meetings in Kent and in Derbyshire earlier this year. You may wish to speak to her about that.”
Mr. Bennet was still silent.
“All I should say for myself now is that it is my dearest wish that she should be my wife.”
Darcy hesitated for a moment and then, as Mr. Bennet still gave no reply, he added, “I can assure you, Sir, that it is my intention to make a most generous settlement on her in the event of our marriage. She shall not want for anything.”
This last remark aroused Mr. Bennet into speech, although not on the lines that Darcy had anticipated.
“I do not doubt your ability to provide for her . . .” he said.
But he went on, in a tone that was almost puzzled, “I had no idea that there was any mutual feeling between you and my daughter. And I must confess that I was completely unaware of your intentions.”
“Forgive me, Sir,” said Darcy, “if I say that Miss Elizabeth and I are perhaps less open, more private in our emotions and behaviour than my friend, Bingley, and your eldest daughter, Miss Bennet.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Bennet, almost testily, and he then lapsed into silence.
Darcy was not sure how to interpret this reaction, especially since he had noted in the past that Elizabeth’s facility with words was inherited from her father.
After a pause, he said, hesitantly, “Are you willing to give me your consent, Sir?”
Mr. Bennet looked at him for a moment, and then said slowly, “Yes. But, if you agree, I should like to speak with Lizzy before . . . before the news is passed on to anyone else in the family.”
It was not difficult for Darcy to guess who he had in mind.
“Of course, Sir. Thank you. I know that Elizabeth . . . that your daughter greatly values your opinion.” And with that, Darcy went out of the library, and returned to the drawing-room.
His absence did not seem to have been noted, except by Elizabeth, since most of the others were busily engaged playing cards. He smiled at her when he was sure that the others were occupied and, after a few minutes when he could do so without being noticed, he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty.
While pretending to admire her work, Darcy said in a whisper, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.”
His anxiety in her absence was hard to bear, and it seemed to him a very long delay before she returned.
After so many difficulties over the past few months, he was far from complacent that her father would agree to the match without demur. There might well yet be some objection that he might put to his favourite daughter, which could carry some weight with Elizabeth.
At last, when the evening was almost over, and it was close to the time that he and Bingley must go back to Netherfield, she returned to the room and resumed her seat. When the time came for them to leave, Mrs. Bennet and the rest of the family were busy with Bingley and Jane, and Darcy took the opportunity to speak to Elizabeth.
“Your father...,” he began, sounding more anxious than he had intended, and finding that he could not go on.
Elizabeth answered the unspoken question for him. “He is willing to accept my assurances,” she said simply, and then suddenly smiled so happily that Darcy nearly forgot the others in the room standing close to him.
For once, he was grateful for Mrs. Bennet’s intervention.
“Mr. Bingley is waiting for you in the coach, Mr. Darcy,” she said sharply, and he took his leave.
After saying goodnight to Bingley, Darcy went to his room at Netherfield, but found himself disinclined to sleep.
The events of the past two days had given him little time for reflection.
Although not of a disposition which relied on the approbation of others, he wished at that moment that he had someone to whom he could confide his joy in the happy future which now lay before him.
Bingley was a good friend, but he was not someone to whom Darcy had ever displayed his innermost feelings, and his cousin Fitzwilliam was elsewhere. Then he recalled his conversation with his sister when they were last together.
She had been so much more perceptive than he had expected when she had asked him,
“You need to return south, do you not? Is it to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Is she likely to become someone you... more than value?”
He had paused, before deciding to answer her honestly.
“That is already the case, in truth. But as to her views, I am not certain...I do not know, Georgiana. I do so wish that I did. But it is a possibility. Would you wish me well in that direction?”
He recalled his surprise when she at first made no reply, but instead came across the room and took his hand, and then said,
“There is nothing I would like better. But do not worry, I shall keep your secret, whatever happens.”
Perhaps Georgiana would be more than the young sister he needed to protect from now on. Someone who would be close both to himself and to Elizabeth. Darcy drew up a chair to the desk, took paper and pen, and began to write.
The clock in his room had struck the hour before he concluded the letter,
...I hope, therefore, my dear sister, that you will wish us both well, and happy.
Should you hear from our aunt in Kent, do not be surprised if Lady Catherine takes a different view. I shall also be writing to her.
I will send this to Pemberley by the post tomorrow, and will write again, as soon as there is more news to tell.
Your affectionate brother,
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The following day, Mr. Bennet had made the announcement to the rest of his family before Darcy arrived with Bingley at Longbourn, and he and Elizabeth were the centre of many happy congratulations.
Mrs. Bennet appeared to be so in awe of her intended son-in-law, that she ventured not to speak to him, unless she was able to offer him some attention, or mark her deference for his opinion. She confined her conversation to such queries as “Tell me, Mr. Darcy, what dish you are particularly fond of, so that we may have it this evening?”
Soon after their arrival, his host took him aside into his study.
“I understand from Lizzy that you took the major part, Sir, in bringing about the marriage between my youngest daughter, Lydia, and that fellow Wickham. I am most exceedingly obliged to you for your trouble. You must let me repay you, as soon as maybe.”
Darcy had given some thought to how he should reply to this request, should it arise. He had concluded overnight that it would give him the best opportunity of convincing Mr. Bennet of his real attachment to Elizabeth, of which her father had seemed to be in some doubt on the previous day.
“I have, as I believe you know, Sir, more than sufficient means, so that the expenditure is of little concern to me. But even if I had been in a different situation, I would have done every thing just the same, for Elizabeth’s peace of mind. In all that I had to do, to bring the marriage about, she was always in my thoughts. I did nothing without her being foremost in my mind. And without her beside me, there can be no happiness for me in the future. So let there be no more talk of repayment, I beg of you. Your consent to our marriage is more than enough compensation for me.”
Mr. Bennet had never appeared to Darcy to be a man lost for words, but this seemed almost to leave him without speech.
When he did recover, it was to say, quite simply, “Jane is a good girl, but Lizzy is my favourite child of all my daughters. Without her I shall have little comfort here. I hope that you will not object if I visit her at Pemberley, especially when Mrs. Bennet is busy elsewhere, perhaps a little more often than I ought.”
Darcy replied, “I shall be happy to shake your hand on that.”
Later that morning, Bingley agreed that his carriage should be sent to Longbourn on the next day, so that Miss Bennet and her sister could take luncheon at Netherfield. It was arranged that Mary Bennet should accompany them, as Bingley had made her the offer of playing on the piano-forte, which she had last seen on the night of the Netherfield ball the previous November.
When Elizabeth and her sisters arrived at Netherfield on the next morning, this occupation soon took Mary away from the rest of the party, and Bingley and Jane went off with the housekeeper to discuss the decoration of the rooms to her taste prior to their wedding.
Darcy and Elizabeth made their way to the drawing-room, where he took the first opportunity of asking what Mr. Bennet’s reaction had been when she spoke to her father about their marriage.
Elizabeth gave him that lively smile that was sure to set Darcy’s heart racing, as she said,
“I told him that you have no improper pride—that you are perfectly amiable. I assured him that you really were the object of my choice, and explained the gradual change which my estimation of you had undergone. I told him that I was certain that your affection for me was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months’ suspense.”
Elizabeth added, with an even more mischievous smile, “And, of course, I enumerated all your good qualities, and finally convinced him that we should be the happiest couple in the world!”
It was with some difficulty, at the end of this recital, that Darcy retained the measure of composure appropriate to his situation in the company of an unmarried lady without any chaperone on hand.
“And did you,” he said, to steady himself, and seeking to echo her own bantering tone, “tell him that you cared a little for me?”
“Yes, I did,” she replied and, in a much more sober manner as she turned to face him directly, she said, “and I do, though not a little, as I hope you know by now.”
The next day, at Longbourn, Elizabeth and Darcy sat by the window at the far end of the parlour, and she asked him to account for his having ever fallen in love with her.
“How could you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”
Darcy was already discovering that he had difficulty in maintaining a proper decorum when she addressed him in this playful fashion, but it was perhaps a question deserving a serious answer.
“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 that I had begun.”
But it seemed that she was determined to make him smile.
“My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners, my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”
He had to succumb at this, and laughed with her as he said, “For the liveliness of your mind, I did.”
“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.”
Elizabeth then took a more serious tone, as she continued.
“The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of defence, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you.”
He refused to be provoked into agreeing with her.
“There, I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew 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 here 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; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be.”
She smiled bewitchingly, and then was suddenly more serious as she said, “I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined at Longbourn? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”
“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”
“But I was embarrassed.”
“And so was I.”
“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”
“A man who had felt less, might.”
“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the subject? This will never do.”
“You need not distress yourself,” said Darcy. “The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine’s unjustifiable endeavours to separate us, were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of yours. My aunt’s intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.”
“Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to 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 was 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.”
“And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.”
For above a quarter of an hour, there was a companionable silence in the room as they pursued their correspondence. Darcy finished his letter long before Elizabeth completed hers, and sat quietly, secure in the pleasure of watching her. Slowly, she became aware of his attention, and turned to smile a little.
“Before I seal the letter,” Elizabeth said, “may I add an invitation for my aunt and uncle to stay with us at Pemberley— I know that my aunt especially would welcome that.”
“By all means,” he said. “We are, you know, to be wed soon after the end of November. Would you like to ask them to join us, with their children, for the Christmas festival?”
He needed no more answer than the wonderful smile which came over her face.
“But,” Darcy added in a tone that attempted to sound sombre, “there is one condition!”
Elizabeth looked at him a little warily. “And, pray, Sir, what is that?”
“I recall that there is a young lady with whom I first disdained to dance who, on other occasions, twice refused my invitation to do so, including once to dance a reel of which her elder sister has since told me she is very fond. Then when at last she did dance with me at Netherfield, I recall that she insisted on advocating the claims and qualities of a certain Mr. Wickham, and trying to establish my own character.”
She looked somewhat embarrassed at this, and even rather apprehensive.
Seeing her expression, Darcy could maintain his assumed severity no longer.
“All I mean to ask you is whether you will join with me to hold a ball for our neighbours at Pemberley on New Year’s Eve. It was a happy custom of my parents to entertain their friends from the county on that day—a custom which ceased on my mother’s death.”
He was silent for a few moments as he said that, and then recollected himself, and gave her a teasing smile.
“Then,” he continued, “you could not escape the opening of the first dance with me, and the occasion would give me the opportunity to introduce you to some of our Derbyshire neighbours. As Bingley and Jane are to spend Christmas in Hertfordshire, visiting your family at Longbourn, they could travel up in time to join us. And perhaps my cousin Fitzwilliam also?”
And so it was settled, and the arrangements put in hand.
Georgiana wasted no time in replying to her brother’s letter. The joy which she expressed on receiving the news of their forthcoming wedding was so great that four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight.
On the same day as her letter was received, the family at Longbourn heard that unexpected visitors were suddenly come from Hunsford to Lucas Lodge—Mr. and Mrs. Collins.
The news from Mrs. Collins that his aunt had been rendered exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew’s letter did not trouble Darcy. Elizabeth soon heard from Charlotte that, although herself very happy about the match, she had decided that it would be very wise for them both to get away from Kent for a time. The reason for the Collinses’ arrival was soon confirmed by a letter for Darcy, which arrived from Lady Catherine by the next post. It was angry and abusive of Elizabeth to the highest degree, and he resolved to send no reply.
Darcy could see that the arrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though having Mr. Collins parading and addressing Darcy with obsequious civility was a trial which the latter did his best, for Elizabeth’s sake, to bear calmly.
He found Mr. Collins no more wearing than Sir William Lucas, who complimented him on carrying away the brightest jewel in the country every time they met, and expressed his hopes of their all meeting frequently at St. James’s. Elizabeth’s aunt in Meryton, Mrs. Philips, was a greater tax on his forbearance. Though she regarded Darcy with too much awe to speak with the familiarity which his friend Bingley’s good humour encouraged, yet, whenever she did speak, she must be vulgar.
Elizabeth did all she could to shield him from these embarrassments, and was anxious to keep him to herself, and together with those of her family with whom he might converse without mortification.
However, Darcy was aware that her concern about the uncomfortable feelings of all this took away for her from what should have been the pleasures of courtship. They both looked forward to the time when they should be together at Pemberley.
Matters continued in this fashion until, one morning a few days later, and about six weeks before their wedding, Elizabeth came to him.
She spoke rather hesitantly.
“My father tells me, Sir, that you are intending to make a most generous settlement on me on the occasion of our marriage.”
“My dear, it is no more than you deserve, or than I would wish for your comfort and security,” he replied, taking her hand.
And then an idea came to him. He wished nothing more than to be in her company every day, and a few days away from Hertfordshire would not be unwelcome.
“Elizabeth, it is several weeks since I saw Georgiana, and she is still in Derbyshire. She will, of course, be at our wedding. But a thought occurs to me. I must instruct my attorney to draw up your settlement, and your father says that Mr. Phillips can act for him on your behalf.
“However, rather than my travelling to town alone, Mr. Bennet could use your uncle Gardiner’s man in London, who was of great assistance to us in the matter of Lydia and Wickham. Would you be willing to accompany your father, if he is agreeable, to be in town for a few days, whilst these matters are settled? If so, I could write to Georgiana, and she could join me from Pemberley. Would the Gardiners be willing to receive you? I could then also show you our house in London.”
The manner of her reply left him in no doubt.
“Oh yes, Sir! And I am sure that my father would be very happy to be away from Longbourn, and all my mother’s preparations—although no doubt she will have some commissions for both of us to execute whilst we are in town.”
As Elizabeth had anticipated, her father greeted the suggestion with what in him amounted to alacrity, and the course of a few days brought happy confirmation of the welcome awaiting Elizabeth and her father in Gracechurch Street.
Darcy at the same time sent word to Derbyshire, and Georgiana confirmed that she and Mrs. Annesley could be in town within the week.
It was a happy reunion for Darcy and Elizabeth with her uncle and his family when the coach called at the Gardiners’ home to deliver Mr. Bennet and his daughter for their stay in town.
Georgiana was expected in London the same day. It was arranged that Mr. Bennet and Darcy should meet with the attorneys on the morrow, and that Georgiana should then go with them to the Gardiners’ home for luncheon.
His sister’s meeting with Elizabeth was all that Darcy had hoped. It was clear that they would become more than the best of friends, and the two young ladies were soon in earnest conversation about the commissions which Mrs. Bennet had given on Jane’s behalf, for various furnishings were needed at Netherfield.
Mrs. Gardiner undertook to direct her brother and her niece to the nearest warehouses to choose samples for despatch to Hertfordshire, and it was agreed that Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth should then go to Darcy’s house for the rest of the day.
Mrs. Bennet’s requests having been dealt with, Darcy and his sister welcomed Elizabeth and her father on their arrival. Mr. Bennet was quick to accept Georgiana’s invitation to view the library.
“It is much less, Sir, than I have at Pemberley, but you may find something of interest,” Darcy observed, as Mr. Bennet and Georgiana left the drawing-room.
“Where would you like to go first?” he asked, turning to Elizabeth.
“There is something I would like to ask you, before we go round the house,” she replied, “if I may. It concerns Charlotte. It may be difficult, at least for a while, for us to visit Rosings, and you would not want me to stay at the parsonage at Hunsford. Neither of us would seek out Mr. Collins’ company, I know, but she was—indeed still is—a dear friend of mine. Would you object if, from time to time, she called in to see me here on her way to her family in Hertfordshire? She told me that she carried a message to you from Lady Catherine earlier this year.”
“Yes, indeed. She warned me of the reason for Lady Catherine planning a visit to town, and I was most grateful to be able to escape to Essex, to see my cousin, as a result!” said Darcy with feeling. “You are welcome to invite her to stay overnight here at any time, just so long as we can always be certain that Mr. Collins will be detained in Kent and unable to come with her!”
She thanked him warmly.
He turned as though to show her the room, but then stopped, and said, rather urgently, “Tell me, my dear, there is something that your sister Kitty mentioned to me last week at Longbourn that puzzled me, concerning Mr. Collins... about my being your second proposal.”
“Kitty ought not to have mentioned that. Although it was absurd as far as I was concerned, Mr. Collins did make an offer for my hand shortly after the ball at Netherfield. He had good intentions, at least in part, so that the entail giving Longbourn to him after my father’s death should not wholly disadvantage the rest of my family.”
Then she added, in a more lively tone,
“So, you see, I might have been subject to a daily sermon, not to mention a regular discourse on the state of Mr. Collins’ cabbages, such as my dear friend Charlotte has to bear. That would have been a heavy burden indeed, would it not?”
And she turned back with a quick smile to look at Darcy, until she saw his expression.
“Why, Sir, what is the matter?”
Darcy’s emotion at hearing her reply was so strong that he had to struggle to compose himself before he answered. Then he spoke vehemently, and with much less delicacy than perhaps was appropriate.
“It is the thought of Mr. Collins and you...of him having the right to...No, it does not bear thinking about!”
Elizabeth’s response to this was first to blush deeply, as she understood the meaning of his words. Then, after a short pause, she came forward and took his hands in hers.
It was several minutes before Darcy said, “Where can your father be? Georgiana must be a very eloquent guide to the library, for they have been gone at least a half hour!”
“I had not noticed...,” she paused, and coloured again as she said, “shall we go to them now?”
“In a moment,” Darcy said, “but first there is something you should see upstairs,” and he led the way to a sitting-room on the first floor overlooking the square. The furnishings were pleasant, if faded.
“This was my mother’s, and is as she left it.”
Elizabeth looked around her. “It must have many memories for you,” she said, looking at him keenly.
“Yes. But happy ones. I would like you to use it, if you will, and change the furnishings to your taste.”
“You were very fond of your mother?”
“Yes. She was,” he smiled, “a strong character, but a less dominating person than her elder sister, Lady Catherine. I wish that she had known you.”
“And I her. I will be very happy to have her room.”
The legal agreements having been settled, the marriages between Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet, and between Darcy and his dearest Elizabeth, took place as planned and, within a few days, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were in Derbyshire.
The weather was fine for the time of year, and Darcy took great pleasure in showing Elizabeth the house, and the many walks and drives round the estate. The path alongside the stream that they had taken with her uncle and aunt a few months earlier had special memories for both. Darcy was also able to take his bride on the drive together in the curricle around the park that they had been denied by Lydia Bennet’s elopement.
He could not remember a happier time for him at Pemberley, and told Elizabeth so.
Shortly before Christmas, they were joined by Georgiana, and by Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner together with their children, and the festive season was celebrated with a pleasant informality and much laughter. Darcy caused Elizabeth to blush in front of the family by teasing her that, soon, the childish voices in the house might not be only those of welcome guests. She replied quietly but with a lively smile that she admitted that could be a possibility, should that be his preference.
Darcy took pleasure in seeing the ease with which his bride began to settle to the ways of running Pemberley. The preparations were already under way for the ball to be held on the eve of the New Year, and Georgiana delighted in showing her new sister all the corners of the house. Together, she and Elizabeth oversaw the details of the repast to be prepared. The day before the ball, Bingley and Jane arrived from Hertfordshire and, with Darcy’s cousin Fitzwilliam, joined the family already assembled.
It was with great pleasure on the eve of the New Year that Darcy welcomed his neighbours and introduced them to Elizabeth. When the time came, they took to the floor together to open the dancing.
As the music began, she turned to him in surprise, and said, “Is this not the same tune as was played at the ball at Netherfield last year? And, the same dance as we took together?”
“But of course!” said Darcy, smiling at her. “There was nothing the matter with either, all that was needed was for us to come to a proper understanding.”
And thus it was that, surrounded by their friends from Derbyshire and the relatives most dear to them, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy began their life together, in the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley.