Gay Pride and Prejudice (49 page)

“This is a day of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did everything; made up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow’s debts, and got him his commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle’s doing, I must and
would
have paid him; but these young men carry everything their own way. I shall offer to pay him tomorrow; he will refuse; and there will be an end of the matter.”

He then recollected Mr. Collins’s letter; and after laughing at his own fallacy for some time, allowed her at last to go—saying, as she quitted the room, “If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, do send them in, for I am quite at leisure.”

Elizabeth’s mind was now relieved of a heavy weight, and she was able to join the others with tolerable composure. Everything was too recent for gaiety, but there was no longer anything material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would come in time.

“Mr. Darcy,” said she, “would you be kind enough to escort me to Netherfield? I am of a mind to look in on Miss Bingley.” She nearly tripped over the name, knowing it as she did to be false.

“Of course,” said Darcy, who had risen when she entered the room. “I would be happy to attend you in the brief journey. Unless you have any objection, Mrs. Bennet?”

The lady waved her hand permissively, only too happy, Elizabeth judged, to be rid of Darcy’s company.

In the carriage, they each discussed what had transpired. Just before they reached Netherfield, Darcy asked: “Are you quite sure this arrangement is amenable to you, Miss Bennet?”

“I am. And as such, I believe it is time you called me by my Christian name.”

“Eliza,” he said, seeming to test the name.

“Darcy,” she returned. “I am sorry, but I do not think I can call you Fitzwilliam.”

“I will admit to being mortified if you should,” he replied. And they both smiled, their diffidence toward one another beginning to give way to a tentative friendliness.

Inside, the housekeeper led her to Caroline’s dressing-room, where the two ladies spent several happy hours together talking and making love. The happiness they enjoyed was new, but had taken so long to establish itself that it did not feel in the least bit fragile. Elizabeth left just before dinnertime, but not before persuading Caroline and Darcy both to return to Longbourn with her, where a perfectly tranquil evening passed overly quickly, in her estimation.

When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, Elizabeth followed her, and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes that she could comprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself.

“Good gracious! Lord bless me! Only think, dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! How rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane’s is nothing to it—nothing at all. I am so pleased—so happy. Such a charming man! So handsome! So tall! Oh, my dear Lizzy! Pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Everything that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me? I shall go distracted.”

This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted: and Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself, soon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room, her mother followed her.

“My dearest child,” she cried, “I can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! ‘Tis as good as a Lord! And a special licence. You must and shall be married by a special licence. But my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it tomorrow.”

This was a sad omen of what her mother’s behaviour to the gentleman himself might be; and Elizabeth found that, though in the certain possession of his promise, and secure of her relations’ consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion. Besides, with Caroline beside her once again, Elizabeth’s happiness could only have been diverted by some great calamity. Fortunately, none presented itself.

Elizabeth even had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get better acquainted with both Darcy and Caroline; and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that the gentleman was rising every hour in his esteem.

“I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,” said he. “Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like
your
husband even better than Jane’s."

Chapter Sixty

E
LIZABETH'S SPIRITS SOON RISING
to playfulness again, when next they were alone together, she wanted Caroline to account for 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?”

“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.”

“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?”

“For the liveliness of your mind, I did,” said Caroline.

“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike the decorous, officious, dull ladies from town to whom you were accustomed. 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 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; and 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 here? 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, of course,” said Caroline.

“But I was embarrassed.”

“As was I!”

“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”

“One 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. My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. But what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise?”

“The moral will be perfectly fair,” said Caroline; “I am not indebted for my present happiness to your desire of expressing your gratitude.”

“But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for?” asked Elizabeth. “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
, of course,” said she, “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 Charles, and if she were, to make the confession to my brother which I have since made.”

“Shall you ever have courage to announce to Louisa what has happened to her little sister?”

“I am more likely to want time than courage, Lizzy. 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. But I have an aunt, who must not be longer neglected.”

From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner’s long letter; but now, having that to communicate which she knew would be not be unwelcome, she wrote as follows:

“I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed. Now, things are different, and I thank you, again and again, for not going to the Lakes, but to P. instead. Your idea of the ponies is delightful. We will go round the Park every day with my friend Miss Bingley. I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends his kind greetings, as does Miss Bingley. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas. Yours, etc.”

Mr. Darcy also had a letter to write to his aunt, Lady Catherine, though in a quite different style; and still different from either was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in reply to his last.

“DEAR SIR,

“I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give.

“Yours sincerely, etc.”

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving the news of her brother’s engagement, made Elizabeth feel most guilty until Caroline explained that Georgiana was aware of the arrangement between Darcy and Rémy, and had long feared her brother’s eventual choice of a bride whom she would find intolerable. Two sides of paper were barely enough to contain her earnest assurances of affection for her new sister.

Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations to Elizabeth from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the Collinses were come themselves to Lucas Lodge. The reason of this sudden removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew’s letter, that Charlotte, rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she saw both Caroline and Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of Charlotte’s husband. They bore it, however, with admirable calmness. Darcy even listened politely to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all meeting frequently at St. James’s, with very decent composure. If he did shrug his shoulders at Caroline, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Phillips’s vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater, tax on Darcy’s forbearance; and though Mrs. Phillips, as well as her sister, stood in too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley’s good humour encouraged, yet, whenever she did speak, she must be vulgar. Caroline confided teasingly to Elizabeth that there were some advantages to being her lover in secret, after all. Elizabeth shushed her and did all she could to shield Darcy from the frequent notice of either relation, and was ever anxious to surround him with those of her family with whom he might converse without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising from all of this maneuvering took some of the pleasure from her courtship with Caroline, it added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing, to the comfort and elegance of their own family party at Pemberley.

Chapter Sixty-One

H
APPY FOR ALL HER MATERNAL FEELINGS
was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed. I wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her children produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life; though perhaps it was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous and invariably silly.

Mr. Bennet missed Elizabeth exceedingly; his affection for her drew him oftener from home than anything else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected, and soon fancied he understood the arrangement between the two couples. His happiness for his second eldest daughter was surpassed only by his envy at her ability to successfully manage her domestic life in a fashion that had eluded him. But a father always wishes a better life for his children than for himself, and Mr. Bennet was no different on that score, particularly where Elizabeth was concerned.

Mr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelvemonth. So near a vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable even to his easy temper, or her affectionate heart. The original wish of his sisters was then gratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouring county to Derbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other.