The man did not seem entirely brainless, but Darcy was beginning to wonder whether this distant cousin of the Bennets had a faulty memory or simply a streak of stubbornness that eclipsed all sense. Mr. Collins insisted, as if repetition would make it so, that defying Lady Catherine was not to be borne. In actuality, defying Lady Catherine was not only bearable, it was essential to the sanity of her relations.
Every time he thought he could not tolerate another syllable from Mr. Collins, he recalled that his own aunt bore the greater share of blame with her incautious, unsubstantiated declarations and her expectation of prevailing over everybody, and he refrained from letting loose whatever scathing comment came to mind.
He really wished he could sit down to breakfast, preferably with his beloved by his side and this utter bore nowhere in sight. Just thinking about what he wished he were doing offered some relief. Usually he did not allow himself to be distracted from what a person said to him in the moment, but this was no London soirée, where he had to be on his guard against scheming acquaintances. Nor was it the home of one of his Fitzwilliam relations, where he had to be equally wary of scheming family. Nor was he at Netherfield in the company of Miss Bingley, for that matter.
Just when he came close to losing patience again, he heard a most welcome sound behind him.
“My dear Fitzwilliam, how kind of you to entertain my cousin, but he has breakfasted, or at least made a good beginning, and you have not.” Elizabeth wrapped her arm around his and led him away, leaving Mr. Collins gaping.
Darcy smiled his gratitude. How beautifully simple Elizabeth's solution was! He had not forgotten his duty, however. “What of your father?” he asked Elizabeth. “I have yet to speak with him.”
“We can discuss the details later,” said Mr. Bennet, hurrying towards them. “You have my consent.”
“I thank you,” Darcy said, taken aback. He stopped to offer his hand, which Mr. Bennet shook. Elizabeth's father exhibited no eagerness; he rather had the air of one satisfied with having dispatched an unpleasant but necessary task. Darcy did not know what to make of him.
Breakfast at Longbourn was a noisy affair. Darcy stayed close to Elizabeth and took a seat by her. Mrs. Bennet only troubled him to inquire about his favourite dishes, and after she noted his answers, she conveniently spoke to Mr. Collins at some length. As the minutes passed, he was not sure if he had imagined or actually heard Mrs. Bennet say something about having been chosen over Lady Catherine as his mother-in-law. What an odd way of putting things! As long as he met the right bride at the altar, he could have no objection, and if such a declaration impeded Mr. Collins's flow of words on the subject, so much the better. In truth, he was quickly coming to see the advantages of acquiring a deferential mother-in-law over an interfering one.
It took several minutes, but eventually the chatter and clatter settled into an innocuous, comfortable rhythm. Darcy was able to relax, at least outwardly. Inwardly, his mind was full of the changes his morning ride had wrought. He would be married at long last, and to a woman he could love and who could love him in return.
Miss Lucas called before they were quite through. Her appearance was fortuitous, as it occurred just when Mr. Collins's face had begun to puff up in annoyance at remarks from Mrs. Bennet and Miss Lydia. Just Lydia, thought Darcy; she would be Lydia to him now. He did not want to think too deeply about that.
“Having second thoughts?” asked the woman of whose voice he had grown enamoured in the past weeks. She had stood when he had, eager to see her particular friend, but Miss Lucas was detained by Mr. Collins, who had greeted her and monopolised her company as if he were already the master of the house.
Darcy looked down at his side happily. “Second thoughts? About you? No.”
“You looked terrified for a moment.”
“I was, a little.” He looked into her eyes and tried to determine how to combine frankness with delicacy. He could hardly offend her more than he had already done, but there was no need to be foolish or careless of her feelings. Hesitantly, he leaned in close and said in a quiet voice, “I have one little sister, quite a timid creature, and now I am to gain four more, one of whom is Miss Lydia.”
He did not know what he had expected, but Elizabeth put all trepidation from his mind with her delightful laugh.
“Oh, you poor man! I ought not to feel sorry for you, however, not really. My father hides from the Bennet women in his library. From what I have heard, Pemberley's library is far superior and should offer as much protection as you require from the more boisterous of your new connections.”
When Mr. Collins had satisfied himself as to the welfare of Miss Lucas and her family, that lady made her way over to Elizabeth.
“Eliza, Mr. Darcy, good morning.”
“Charlotte!” Elizabeth exclaimed in concert with Darcy's own sedate greeting to Miss Lucas.
“Is Maria still abed?” Elizabeth asked her neighbour.
“She was when I left, but I would have wished to come alone today in any case,” Miss Lucas replied. She glanced over her shoulder towards the place where Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins were again conversing at odds with each other. Turning back, she said, “Eliza, I admit I am surprised not to be your only guest at this hour.” Now her eyes darted between Elizabeth and Darcy. A moment of silence followed. It seemed Miss Lucas would go no further with any vocal enquiry, though her look spoke volumes.
“We are engaged,” Elizabeth told her. The acknowledgement was delightful to Darcy's ears, and he could not help his broad grin.
“Truly? I congratulate you!” Miss Lucas said, looking genuinely pleased and not a bit envious.
Darcy watched with satisfaction as the two friends happily conversed. He could not imagine Miss Bingley announcing an engagement with anything less that the intent to inspire envy amongst her acquaintances. He could say the same of a number of ladies in his London circle.
He had no more time to spare for the supposed feelings of Miss Bingley and her ilk, however; he was still sorting through his own feelings. Did he wish to make his friends envious? No, he cared little whether or not they wanted Elizabeth. She was his, and as such, as long as she wanted him, no one else could have her. He did feel a new sort of pride, and he felt a strong desire, one he realised he never again would have to suppress. He felt relief at having escaped the matrimonial plans of others—those unimaginative, presumptuous schemes.
Most of all, he felt joy.
Just as the tension between Elizabeth and himself had unaccountably resolved into bliss, somehow the various other tangles got sorted—not ideally or completely, but well enough. Mr. Collins cast a disapproving glance his way from time to time but did not resume his argument or even remain in the Bennets' company for long. Miss Lucas invited the parson to Lucas Lodge, and thither he went before an hour had passed. By then, Mr. Bennet seemed less distant, if not exactly welcoming. Elizabeth's youngest sisters left him alone for the most part. Miss Mary seemed still a little scandalised from the earlier amorous display, and the younger girls appeared to have little interest in him.
Once Mr. Collins departed and Mr. Bennet abandoned them with what seemed a rather thin excuse, Mrs. Bennet cried out, “How lucky for us that Charlotte thought to take Mr. Collins off! I shall go out myself to call on my sister and tell her the good news! Lizzy, you must come along, that is, if Mr. Darcy will not mind it.”
“Mama—”
“Oh! Hm,” Mrs. Bennet said, eyeing the couple, “No, Lizzy. On second thought, you had better not go just now. Mr. Darcy, stay as long as you please. Stay for dinner if you like.”
“Kitty and I will go with you, Mama,” Lydia said, jumping up to gather her things.
“Come along, then.” She and her youngest two daughters soon quit the house. Mary excused herself to practice her music, which they heard presently.
When Mrs. Bennet left the room, Elizabeth had moved to sit by her elder sister. The two ladies made a pretty picture. The unstudied elegance of the one, the energetic grace of the other, and the happiness of them both conveyed more loveliness than their physical features alone could do.
Darcy thought he could sit and stare at Elizabeth indefinitely, especially now that they had come to an understanding. However, that did not mean Elizabeth wanted to sit and be started at. She might have plans. She might be exhausted, for she could have had little sleep, though she looked as vibrant as ever.
He did not know what to do with himself until he had the sudden idea to ask Elizabeth her opinion. After all, he had nothing pressing except to please his beloved. He was not at Pemberley or at his house in London, where there might be any number of matters to attend to. Bingley was away from Netherfield and therefore not in need of any assistance of his. He was quite at his leisure, and he might as well use the time to learn how to please a woman worthy of being pleased.
“Elizabeth,” he called out, diverting her attention from Jane. She came to him at once. “I could stay all day, but you might have secret matters to discuss,” he said, looking between her and Jane and smiling. Jane smiled back, and Elizabeth laughed. “I should at least go to Netherfield and let them know I will be dining out. It seems I also have several letters to write.”
“I suppose I have a letter or two to write as well,” Elizabeth said with a curious look in her eye. Then she smiled. “But I do want to talk to Jane. You will be back this evening, then?”
“Yes.” He leaned close and whispered, “I shall miss you.”
“It will only be a few hours,” she whispered in reply, “but I think I shall miss you too.”
Darcy was tempted to embrace Elizabeth and kiss her in front of an audience for the second time that day. By the look on Elizabeth's face, she was well aware of the fact.
Instead, he kissed her hand and took his leave.
Some time later, Darcy was again alone in Netherfield's library, writing a letter. He had written to Georgiana, and he had just begun a note to his solicitor when he heard Miss Bingley arguing with someone near the door. He set down his pen and went to see what had occurred.
“I told you he is not to be disturbed. Our neighbours can have nothing of import to say. Just give it to me!” Miss Bingley insisted.
“Is something wrong?” Darcy asked. A young lad he thought he remembered seeing at Longbourn that day stood with hands behind his back, protecting their contents from Miss Bingley's grasp.
“Mr. Darcy,” said the butler, “this young man asked to see you, sir.”
The boy nodded. “I was told to put this in Mr. Darcy's hands and none other, sir.” Yes, the boy was definitely from Longbourn. He held out the paper, which Darcy took.
Miss Bingley stood by looking frustrated and not pretending to conceal her curiosity. She dismissed the butler, but when she tried to send the boy on his way, Darcy stayed him. “Let me see if an answer is required.” He was concerned now. Had there been trouble? Had Mr. Collins come back to harass them?
Had Elizabeth changed her mind? He hoped not!
Tearing into the letter with something less than his customarily dignified manner, he read over the first lines and sighed in relief. “All is well. Elizabeth is well.” And Elizabeth is still mine, he thought. He bit down on his lip but could not contain a smile. He dispatched the messenger, made slightly richer in thanks and coin, and turned to his hostess. Miss Bingley looked like she had a dozen questions to ask and no desire to hear the answers to any of them. He ought not to continue to smile, but he could not help it. He was too happy.
“I fear I have been indiscreet,” he said to his hostess, feeling a sudden compassion. “I apologise. I shall try not to trouble you any further today. I must finish my letters, and afterward I shall probably be with the Bennets until very late.” He returned quickly to his task, shutting the door behind him.
He now had an extra letter to write, but he would have to read this new one first.
If the words “Dear Mr. Darcy” had ever before caused him such delightful palpitations, he could not now recall it.
I feel silly for penning this note when I have just seen you, and you are but three miles distant. Might a lady be excused for a fit of silliness on the occasion of her engagement? I sincerely hope you will think so. In fact, I hope you will go so far as to write a note in reply. I believe it would be quite pleasant to read your words when you have happier news to communicate than in your last.
I do miss you. I like the feeling, but I shall like seeing you again even more.
Fitzwilliam, how does one know one is beginning to be in love? Is it possible it is happening to me as quickly as all this? Perhaps we can discuss the matter when next we meet.
With growing affection,
Elizabeth
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