Deliberation and Doubt, Chapter 14

A double wedding in Meryton was no ordinary event. In fact, many of the local mothers would have been satisfied with a single wedding to be rid of a daughter or see a son secure a lady with a respectable dowry and tolerable person.

When the hour of her marriage was upon her, Elizabeth had no thoughts of extraordinary pomp and splendour. She found that she cared only for two things: that all required parties made it to the church in time to prevent the ceremony from being put off, and that she left the building as Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. She could tolerate a great deal else as long as those two matters were assured. She was beyond pleased, however, to share the joyous occasion with the sister closest to her heart.

As it turned out, the correct words were said, several pairs of suspiciously shiny eyes were observed, and the signatures recording this life-altering event in the register were perfectly legible—even Bingley's.

There had been a moment during the ceremony when Fitzwilliam appeared to have been restraining laughter, of all things. Elizabeth asked him to account for it as they approached the carriage.

He did laugh then, a low rumble of delight let loose upon the chill air. “It was almost too much to stand there and be serious and contained.” He pressed his lips closed, mimicking a staid, proper gentleman. Despite his attempts, his smile broke forth in all its brilliance. “I never expected to be so happy at my wedding,” he confided in a quiet voice. “I never expected you.”

His revelation kept Elizabeth blushing and smiling and contemplative all the way to Longbourn. Jane and Bingley, who rode with them, even emerged from their world of two to remark upon her unusual quietness.

Elizabeth had not expected Fitzwilliam, either. In November, she had gone to the ball at Netherfield intending to make a conquest of a very different sort of man. She had not really thought beyond that evening, however. Mr. Wickham, handsome and charming as he was, had few prospects. What would have resulted from a closer acquaintance with him? Would they have spent their time disparaging Mr. Darcy and bemoaning their mutual lack of riches, and if so, how long would such misfortunes have entertained them? Would she have had to watch as he, inevitably, found another pretty face with perhaps a pretty dowry to accompany it?

She looked at her ring and marvelled. Somehow, that had not been her lot. She had been blessed with Fitzwilliam instead of the man her vanity had merited.

She turned to her husband only to find him staring at her.

“Elizabeth?” he said.

In answer, she drew closer to him and laid her head upon his shoulder.

The house was all movement and merriment. Elizabeth caught snatches of conversations around her even as she replied to the kind congratulations of her friends.

“Mr. Bennet!” Her mother's voice was easily distinguishable. “I told you when Netherfield was let that it was a fine thing for our girls, and I was right! Oh, how beautiful they look! Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Darcy!”

Mr. Hurst exclaimed just then, and her father's reply was lost in the general cacophony.

“Fitzwilliam is so happy,” Elizabeth heard Georgiana say to Kitty, “and Mr. Bingley, too!”

Elizabeth flitted about, unable to settle anywhere. This was not home—or, rather, it was her old home now, and she was eager for her new one. The restlessness receded in some ways and flared in others whenever she stood next to Fitzwilliam.

The couple had just concluded a conversation with a neighbor, and Elizabeth was glad of the respite. Until Fitzwilliam gave her a questioning glance and reached for her hands, she did not realise how much she had been fidgeting. He did not wait for her to speak, but led her from the parlour while the group's attention was elsewhere. They almost ran to his favourite room, where he shut the door and kissed her with a fierce passion that softened into tenderness.

“We had better go back,” Elizabeth said at last.

“While we are still fit to be seen?”

She laughed, and so did he, and the rest of the day floated by. The house was cleared of guests, and her single trunk was brought down, the majority of her things having been sent ahead to London. Goodbyes flowed, accompanied by a few tears and an abundance of well wishes. There was talk of seeing one another again soon, for what were twenty-five or thirty miles of good road? Surely they would be meeting forever in town or at Longbourn and Netherfield until the Darcys removed to Pemberley in March.

That evening, Elizabeth sat alone in her new room, finishing the last of her preparations, which was a letter to her husband to accompany the modest present of pen, ink, and paper that she had bought for him in Meryton.

My dear Fitzwilliam,

I am sure I could find words enough to keep us talking until dawn, but I have an inkling you will not want to spend the whole night in conversation, and to say the truth, neither will I. So I will tell you now what I most wish you to know: I love you. I desire you. I miss you, even as I write this.

Thank you for caring enough to overlook my discourtesies and correct my misapprehensions. Thank you for extending your protection to my family and even my friends. Thank you for sharing yourself with me. It has been an honour and a delight to come to know you. It is humbling, my love, but I will not be daunted. I shall meet the challenge of having been granted far more than I deserve.

My gift is a selfish one, for I hope you will write to me often, about trifling matters as well as serious ones. Even when, as with your very first letter, I am not wise enough to admit it at once, I shall always want to hear from you.

She paused, having much more to say, yet feeling eager to end the letter and go to her husband. She added a line telling him how very handsome he had looked at their wedding. Then she dared to ask a rather intimate question, realising that what might not be considered proper between acquaintances was permissible and even expected between a married couple, and she signed her name.

Rather than waiting, she gathered her gift and her courage and went to Fitzwilliam's room.

When Elizabeth awoke for the third time the next day, she was alone in bed, but a letter was on the pillow next to her. Fitzwilliam had answered her question quite to her satisfaction, and he even asked one of his own.

This, she thought, was a very promising beginning.

~*~
Elizabeth's eye was drawn again and again to the view outside the carriage. “How beautiful are these endless woods!” she said. “I cannot wait to explore them. If there is a cabin within a mile of this spot, you can point me in that direction and leave me here to wander about. I shall be quite comfortable.”

“I certainly shall not,” Fitzwilliam said. “I would not see you for days, and that would never do. However shall I explain to Mrs. Reynolds that I have misplaced my wife?”

Charlotte chuckled. Georgiana did not know where to look, though she could not hide her smile. Mrs. Annesley was her usual imperturbable self.

Had the others not been with them, Elizabeth would have kissed her husband thoroughly. She saw something in his manner and look that made her think he would have appreciated the gesture just then. His mood seemed to lighten the closer they got to Pemberley, and an expression of banked excitement had lit his face ever since they had passed the lodge.

She was glad to have contributed some levity to their party's conversation. In contrast to her husband, Charlotte had begun to look a bit nervous as they entered the park. Mr. Collier's reply to Fitzwilliam's initial letter had conveyed a frank but respectful curiosity along with the solicited advice. More letters had been exchanged, and now Charlotte was to meet the man, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Elizabeth's practical friend would gain, at the very least, an amiable and interested conversation partner at local gatherings. Elizabeth hoped Charlotte would find much more: a husband worth having, and a contented life surrounded by sensible people who appreciated her.

The carriage had been climbing gradually for about half a mile when the trees thinned and she saw the welcome sight of what must be Pemberley House.

“Will that do for your cabin, my dear?”

Before Elizabeth could reply, Darcy called for the driver to stop. He helped her out and sent the others on their way.

The house was beautifully situated and as pretty as a painting, framed as it was by the colourful manifestations of spring. She could imagine how glorious it would look in all the seasons of their lives ahead.

The grass at her feet was the sort of plush carpet that made her want to walk barefoot in it, as she had as a girl on Longbourn's grounds. She looked more carefully and saw patches here and there, signs of a well-worn trail nearby, where young and perhaps not so young Darcys had scampered over the lawn. She was one of those Darcys now, and she felt all the good fortune of belonging to this place, and infinitely more so of loving and being loved by the man beside her.

Her husband held out his hand, and she took it.

“Shall we run?” he said. His grin was wide as he awaited her answer.

“Yes!”

They ran home.

The End

Deliberation and Doubt, Chapter 13

“Papa,” Elizabeth said as she entered Mr. Bennet's library, “may I speak to Mr. Darcy for a few minutes?”

Darcy turned and smiled as he stood. Then his smile faltered as he noticed the solemn expression on Elizabeth's face.

“I wonder what topic you mean to discuss,” said Mr. Bennet. “Our eventful day has only increased the possibilities. Shall it be the wedding? Mr. Collins? Or perhaps Lady Catherine?”

Darcy felt mortification settle over him, not for the first time that day. “I cannot apologise enough for my aunt—”

“No need for your endless apologies, sir,” said Mr. Bennet, hands raised. “Lady Catherine seems the sort of woman one could tell the same thing to every day of the week, and she still would not alter her opinion. In that way she reminds me of my wife as regards her understanding, or lack thereof, of the entail on Longbourn. Your aunt's expectations are not your fault, and neither are her impudence and incivility. I certainly take no blame for the ignorant opinions of Mrs. Bennet.”

Mr. Bennet smiled then. Darcy could not make himself return it.

With a glance at Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet said something of the tedium of young lovers and sent them on their way.

No one was pretending to accomplish any work after the day's contretemps, so instead of going to the parlour and busying herself with her work basket while they talked, Elizabeth led Darcy to a room he had taken a liking to during his frequent visits to Longbourn. The room was not very large. Though neat enough, more than once it had seemed to hold a new item when he entered it, as if each time this or that small piece of furniture, painting, or figurine was deemed no longer suitable for another room, it was stored here while its fate was decided. What Darcy liked most about the space was its stillness. The room was out of the way, and he and Elizabeth were rarely interrupted therein.

Elizabeth had not sat down. She stood at the window with her back to him and remained in that posture when she spoke.

“Do you have any experience in advising someone who wishes to dissolve an engagement?”

The question took him quite by surprise, and he could not stop the sound that escaped him.

She turned around at once, looking concerned. “Oh, no! I am sorry. I did not mean Miss...” 'Miss Darcy,' she mouthed. “That...arrangement,” she said in a low voice, “was never sanctioned in the first place. I speak of an engagement that has the approval of the lady's parents and is known in her community.”

Darcy did not move. He could not. He was overcome with a sense of loss. She did not want him. He had overstepped; he had brought with him the burden of unpalatable relations in the form of his aunt; he had ruined everything. He could barely meet Elizabeth's eyes. He concentrated on calming his thoughts and keeping his voice from shaking. “Y-You...” he said finally, stammering despite his efforts. He swallowed. “You do not want to marry me.”

“No, no!” she said, shaking her head, seemingly with amusement. “That is not...” She caught his glance and gasped, and her hand flew up to cover her lips. “I mean, yes, my love! Of course I want to marry you!” She ran to the door. Before Darcy could despair that she was fleeing his presence, she shut the door and came to him. She clutched at his hands, reached for his face, and then, taking his hands again, she led him to a seat, forced him down onto it, and placed herself in his lap. She kissed and caressed his face, and then she kissed his mouth with such abandon that all his doubts fled.

“I thought I had better make my sentiments clear without words,” she said at length, smiling at him. “I was not alluding to myself when I spoke of ending an engagement.”

Darcy felt as if a miserable fog had cleared and a rather pleasant one had settled over him in its place. Although he would rather have kissed Elizabeth again, he considered her words, and he was immediately confused by them.

“No, not Jane, either,” Elizabeth said, cutting off his nascent thought in that direction. “My sister is even happier than she looks.” Elizabeth's smile disappeared. “It is Charlotte I spoke of.”

Of course! To whom else could she have referred? Charlotte Lucas was a sensible woman, despite her decision to accept Mr. Collins's proposal. That sense apparently had come to the fore in the wake of Mr. Collins's recent actions.

Darcy gathered Elizabeth to his chest and held her, still a little raw from his misapprehension. “She wants to avoid both scandal and Mr. Collins.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth settled more comfortably in his embrace. “Can it be done?”

“It would be easier if her parents were to withdraw their approval of the match. I imagine there is no hope of that?”

“Probably not.”

“Is she willing to leave Meryton?”

“I am sure she is. She was willing to leave it as Mrs. Collins.”

Darcy felt her shudder, and he briefly tightened his embrace in sympathy. “It would be for the best. If she is at odds with her family over this matter, it may be a long time before she is comfortable again at Lucas Lodge.” He thought of Mr. Collins, and then suddenly of Derbyshire, and he shook his head and chuckled when he realised why.

“What amuses you?” Elizabeth asked, turning to look into his face.

“I was thinking of the differences between Mr. Collins and Mr. Collier. Their names and vocations may be their only similarities. Collier has the living at Kympton. He is a rather quiet, cheerful fellow, though he is not afraid to speak his mind. Sensible man.” He shifted in his seat. Elizabeth began to rise, but Darcy stayed her by holding her at the waist. She continued to look at him. He touched his nose to hers and moved his head back before he could become distracted wholly by her. “I think I shall write Collier. He has a sister that married to disoblige her family, and he has not cut ties with her. Perhaps he will have some wisdom to apply to your friend's circumstance.”

“The two clergymen must be very different. I cannot imagine Mr. Collins having wisdom to apply to anyone's circumstance.” Elizabeth stood. Darcy reached for her, but she playfully moved his hands aside and told him to stay where he was. “I have to think,” she said, laughing, and she began to pace.

Darcy watched, at once fascinated and alert and aware of a deep satisfaction.

“Perhaps Mama will allow Charlotte to stay here until the wedding if her situation becomes untenable at home.”

Darcy had wondered the same himself, but he was glad he had not suggested the idea. He had not wanted to risk further presumption this day.

Elizabeth was not done. “And I may dare to ask aunt Gardiner to offer her sanctuary for a time.” She looked cautiously at him as she said this.

He raised an eyebrow and waited, holding his expression as long as he could. It was sweet to watch her hint and hope, as unwilling to presume as he had been. At last her unaccustomed reticence pulled him out of his own silence. He tried to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile, but he could not gauge his success. “You may dare,” he said, “though there would be little need. As Mrs Darcy, you might offer sanctuary at Pemberley to a dozen of your friends before we feel the crush. It would be more of a challenge to accommodate as many at the London house, but—”

He felt the breath knocked out of him as Elizabeth collided with him, and once more they were in each other's arms, laughing this time between quick kisses.

Elizabeth pulled away almost as suddenly as she had so sweetly assaulted his person. She turned her back to him. “I do not know what has come over me,” she said. “I feel unlike myself. I am not normally inclined to be so...physical. I feel I have imposed upon you.”

“Not at all!” Unlike herself, had she said? In his opinion, she was being exactly herself. What a woman he had chosen! What a woman who had chosen him! She cared deeply for her family. She was not satisfied to stand idly by when trouble arose; instead, she applied her cleverness in the service of her friends. And even though she knew he loved her, she did not wish to take advantage of him. She cared for him too much for that.

Without doubt, he was a fortunate man.

“It has been a trying day,” he said when she had not turned towards him by the end of his reverie. He walked over to her and touched her cheek. “Not many weeks from now, we will have the freedom of a husband and wife to be as—what did you say?—physical as we like with one another.” He smiled at her, imagining them so. “I look forward to that very much. Even then, I hope you will not grow so comfortable and proper with me that you never allow yourself to surprise me with the occasional aggressively affectionate gesture.”

Her laugh delighted him, and they left the room holding hands.

Some days later, Darcy stood near Elizabeth while she conversed quietly with her aunt Gardiner, who had come with her family to Longbourn for Christmas. Darcy was enjoying coming to know the Gardiners. He thought them amiable and knowledgeable and very agreeable company. Their children's manners and behaviour, in Darcy's opinion, were indicative of caring and intelligent parents. The Bennets, especially Miss Bennet, doted on the young Gardiners. He imagined Georgiana would be just as taken with them. She and Mrs. Annesley were to arrive soon, now that Darcy had assured himself there was little chance of Wickham's returning to Meryton.

“Were you not to be married,” said Mrs. Gardiner to Elizabeth, “I would have asked you or Jane to return with us in January, but I think you both had better stay.” The lady caught Darcy's eye for a moment and grinned before turning back to her niece. “I do not think I can convince Mary to leave her home.”

“And Kitty and Lydia?” Elizabeth asked.

“Do you really want there to be no peace at Longbourn? If I take Kitty, Lydia will be insufferable!”

“And if you take both, you will not have time to tend to your own children, for my youngest sisters require too much minding.”

They chuckled ruefully at this unfortunate truth.

“I mention it at all,” Mrs. Gardiner continued, “because your friend seems to be in an awkward situation. Do you think Miss Lucas would like to spend some time in town?”

“Oh, Aunt!” Elizabeth embraced Mrs. Gardiner. Beaming, she turned to Darcy. “See, Fitzwilliam! I did not even have to ask it of her! Is not my aunt wonderful? I will find Charlotte now.”

Miss Lucas might have been anywhere in the house, for she had been at pains to make herself useful while residing with the Bennets, despite the family's insistence that such efforts were unnecessary. She had dined with them but had not been present when he and Bingley had rejoined the ladies. Darcy's eyes followed Elizabeth's form as she nearly scampered off in her excitement, and then he turned his attention to Mrs. Gardiner. “That is exceedingly generous of you,” he said, and he watched the lady duck her head in acknowledgement. “You have known the Lucas family for some time?”

“Quite. It is one of the reasons I feel at liberty to interfere, as it were.”

Darcy smiled. “If Sir William and Lady Lucas take offence, you shall not have to bear their disapproval for very long. I am certain Elizabeth will want her friend with her in town or at Pemberley.”

“I have been married these ten years, but I have not forgotten what it was to be newly wed. We shall be in no hurry to send Miss Lucas away again.”

Darcy quickly turned aside, but he did not try to hide his smile. Still avoiding her gaze, he said, “I suppose you have spoken with Elizabeth enough by now to know how very much the gainer I, rather than she, shall be by this marriage as regards our aunts?”

Mrs. Gardiner laughed. “You may as well call me Marianne as Aunt. We are of an age, are we not? Or nearly. Are you yet shy of thirty?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Ah. I wish I had had a brother with just that difference in age when I was a girl, one old enough to be a companion but unlikely to question my authority as the elder. My two brothers are very much older.”

“My sister is fifteen,” he said, smiling, “and would likely share your feelings. My cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam is the closest thing I have to a brother. Though a younger son, he is my elder by two years. When we were boys, he would not let me forget it.”

Just then, Mr. Gardiner walked in with Mr. Bennet. “Edward!” Mrs. Gardiner's voice was slightly raised along with her hand. The unguarded affection on her face as she caught the attention of her spouse made Darcy hopeful for his own married life. Ten years from now, would Elizabeth call him to her side with such enthusiasm and fondness? He hoped she would. Better than that, he rather thought she might.

Back at Netherfield, there was a letter for him from Mr. Collier. As he picked it up, he was distracted by footsteps. He looked at Bingley, who shrugged in equal confusion, but all was plain seconds later when two ladies came into view.

“Georgiana!” Darcy put the letter in his pocket and held out his hands to her. “You are early!” He and Bingley exchanged greetings with her and Mrs. Annesley.

“Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana approached him and stopped just short of an embrace. “The weather did not look promising, and we thought it wise to leave today rather than risk being prevented tomorrow. The housekeeper assured us our rooms were ready and it was no trouble. Have we done right?”

“Of course!” Bingley assured her. “We have had any number of rooms ready for several days.”

They all settled into pleasant conversation. Darcy felt vast contentment as he considered new friends and old, the gaieties of the Christmas season, and the serendipity—the providence—of his visit to Netherfield, a circumstance that had been the means of uniting him, most happily, with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

---

Next

Deliberation and Doubt, Chapter 12

Elizabeth came downstairs to find Mr. Darcy there. She greeted him, and he pressed something into her hand. Receiving a second letter from the man brought on widely different feelings than those inspired by that first, fateful delivery.

“Fitzwilliam! Thank you!” Elizabeth said, pocketing the letter. “Now I shall have to invent an excuse to leave the room so I may read it in privacy.”

“Exchanging love letters already, Lizzy?”

“Please,” Elizabeth said to Mr. Darcy with exaggerated annoyance, “tell me Miss Darcy is not as impertinent as Lydia.”

Darcy, catching her tone, said dryly, “I cannot imagine Georgiana's being described as impertinent by any of her acquaintance.”

“I am relieved to hear it.”

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy shared a smile and then both looked at Lydia, who grinned back at them, bold and unembarrassed as ever.

Perhaps Lydia was hoping for another romantic display like the one she had come upon in front of Papa's library. As much as Elizabeth would enjoy the repetition of certain actions with Fitzwilliam, she would not give her sister the satisfaction of observing them embracing twice in one day.

Mrs. Bennet soon entered the room and shepherded them all to dinner. “We need not wait,” she explained. “Charlotte sent a note. Mr. Collins is to dine at Lucas Lodge.”

Fitzwilliam sat near Elizabeth and therefore near her father, and as the meal progressed, Mr. Bennet seemed more inclined to include him in conversation. Elizabeth listened to the men on either side of her speak of ordinary things and imagined their ease with each other would only grow with time, and that scenes like this would be commonplace before long.

“Sir,” Mr. Bennet said as the last of the meal was finished, “you may as well join me in my library. As I have told my family more than once, I am prepared to meet with folly in every room of the house but that one, and I perceive folly is something you may be entirely without.”

Elizabeth and her father both started when Mr. Darcy laughed. “That,” Darcy explained, “sounds very much like something your daughter said to me at Netherfield.” Darcy looked at Elizabeth, and she knew she must be blushing as she remembered that absurd argument about faults. “As I told her then,” Darcy continued, “perhaps that is not possible for anyone.”

“I shall risk it. I can always send you back to the ladies should you prove too nonsensical.” Mr. Bennet's smile made it clear he knew such an outcome would be no punishment.

Elizabeth soon slipped away from the others and shut herself in her room. She pulled out the letter and read:

Dearest Elizabeth,

I have not been inclined to praise silliness before, but if that is what compelled you to write, then I must consider it. I believe this is the first love letter ever requested of me. Today is a day of firsts.

In fact, it may be the first hour in the whole of my acquaintance with Miss Bingley in which she has realised any expectations she has of me are futile. You chose your messenger well, for he stood admirably against Netherfield's hostess and ensured that I received your last.

Can you care for me already, Elizabeth? You have me positively giddy, my love. It is quite abhorrent.

Speaking of abhorrent things, I wonder if the mention of another lady in a love letter to one's own qualifies as such. Please accept my humblest apologies if this is the case, and know that you may exact what punishment you will. Require me to dance at the next assembly. Demand that I procure for you an expensive trinket from an exclusive London shop. Place me next to your cousin Collins at dinner if you must. I shall bear it all without complaint, for the fault is mine. I will even promise, when we are assured of privacy, to soothe your affronted sensibilities and demonstrate just how little attention I have to spare for ladies who are not you.

I cannot be entirely pleased with this first effort of mine, but I am very pleased with you, my dear, and I hope to have many opportunities in future to perfect the art of telling you so in writing.

In anticipation,

Fitzwilliam

After reading the letter through to her satisfaction, Elizabeth put it away and readied herself to endure an evening of insufficient privacy and teasing relations.

The next day, Lydia and Kitty proposed to walk into Meryton after breakfast to enquire after Mr. Wickham, abuse him roundly for missing the Netherfield Ball, and make him promise to dance with them at the next ball, whenever that might be. Elizabeth, always eager for exercise and having no Fitzwilliam currently at her side to distract her, went with them. Elizabeth felt, too, that her younger sisters ought not to be in company with such a man without some protection and intended to offer what she could. She guessed that Jane, to whom she had imparted something of Mr. Wickham's history, felt similarly, and a few quiet words between them confirmed it.

Mr. Wickham had indeed returned from town. He met the Bennet ladies before they reached their aunt's house, and he and another officer accompanied them there. Mrs. Phillips was out, but Kitty and Lydia did not wish part with the gentlemen so soon, so the two girls talked determinedly and eagerly of the ball as the party stood together on the pavement.

Mr. Wickham, after expressing his regrets at missing the delightful entertainment, separated Elizabeth a little from the others and confessed that his absence on Tuesday night had been self-imposed. He was saying something about not wanting to risk being so long in the same room with Mr. Darcy when that very gentleman was seen riding towards them.

“Lizzy, look!” said Lydia.

They all turned.

How odd for the scene of the previous week to repeat itself! Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Wickham, and this time she was certain his reaction was one of fear. She lifted her hand in greeting to Fitzwilliam, and when he was near enough, with no attempt to modulate her voice, she said to Mr. Wickham, “It is lucky for you that we are, at present, not in a crowded ballroom, but on a wide-open street. You can hardly be afraid now, with nothing to bar your escape.”

“Escape!” cried Lydia. “Afraid of what?”

Elizabeth nodded towards Mr. Darcy.

“That is just silly!” Lydia laughed and turned to Mr. Wickham. “You are in the militia. You cannot be afraid of anybody!” She stopped laughing when he did not join in with her. “How will you protect us if you are scared of the likes of Mr. Darcy?”

By this time, Darcy had dismounted. He had a fearful scowl on his face, and it was directed at the silent and disconcerted Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth looked back and forth between the two men as Darcy positioned himself near her. She put her arms behind her, clasping one wrist, and tried to control her expression when Darcy stepped closer and slowly trailed his fingers across her open palm. She need not have bothered; Mr. Wickham's gaze was fixed above her head, his attention completely on his enemy.

Before Darcy had the chance to speak, Kitty, who had been whispering with Lydia, said suddenly, “La! Even I am not afraid of Mr. Darcy, no matter that he is rather formidable. How can you be?”

Mr. Wickham's mouth opened, and he stood looking stupidly at the ladies and then back at Darcy. His fellow officer eventually got his attention, and with a grunt of annoyance, Mr. Wickham bowed and strode away. His companion, confused and embarrassed, made their excuses and followed him.

“Mr. Wickham did not even greet you properly,” Elizabeth told Darcy on their way to Longbourn. “I had no idea your old acquaintance was such a coward.”

“I do not believe I have ever seen his charm fail so spectacularly in the presence of ladies before,” Darcy said. “Even my housekeeper at Pemberley, Mrs. Reynolds, has been prone to smile sadly and shake her head rather than scold him, though she has long known him for a rascal and never had patience for his tricks.”

“I wonder what his new friends in the militia will think,” said Elizabeth. “His fellow officer may have more discretion and less curiosity than I imagine, but my sisters surely will not keep today's events a secret. I predict that word will be all over Meryton before the month is out.”

“That is only two days,” Darcy said dubiously.

“Just wait until Mama and my aunt Phillips hear of it.”

Word began to spread as soon as the girls returned to Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet took the carriage, determined to wait in Meryton for her sister. She later reported that Aunt Phillips had heard something of the incident before she had finished her shopping. The Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and it was no surprise to Elizabeth that by then, Maria had heard rumours from a mutual friend and was full of questions. Kitty and Lydia were delighted to provide the details; indeed, they could talk of little else. Mrs. Bennet took part in the discussion once she had worn out the ears of her hostess on the subject of her daughter's engagement. Elizabeth was relieved to see that Charlotte kept Mr. Collins too engaged in their own conversation to pay much attention to anything being said between Mrs. Bennet and Lady Lucas.

On Friday, a note was delivered from Netherfield to inform Elizabeth that Darcy, regretfully, had to attend to his correspondence and could not promise to call. While Elizabeth was not happy, she was at least pleased that Mr. Collins spent most of the day away from Longbourn and barely returned in time for dinner.

Mr. Collins was to leave for Kent before breakfast the next day, and when he received from his hostess a tepid invitation to repeat his visit, he surprised them all by voicing his intention of soon returning to Hertfordshire. Elizabeth could not imagine why, for his disapproval of her engagement had not lessened, nor had his habit of expressing it when they were in company together.

“I wonder why he speaks of a quick return,” said Mrs. Bennet after Mr. Collins had retired.

“Or any return at all,” said Kitty with a grimace, and Lydia groaned.

“I only offered him hospitality out of politeness,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I never expected he would accept!”

Elizabeth laughed at her mother's expression. “None of us expected it, Mama,” she said. “His presence has been very trying, and he does not seem any better pleased with us than we are with him.”

The following morning, Longbourn was provided with happier company in the form of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.

“I concluded my business early and arrived at Netherfield last evening,” said the latter. “I hope my calling now is not an inconvenience.”

“By no means, sir,” said Jane, whose pleasure clearly had overcome all reserve.

Mr. Bingley turned from Jane a moment to offer Elizabeth hearty congratulations. She thanked him and then asked the gentlemen, “Did you time your approach so as to avoid having to farewell my cousin?”

“I would not deny it, were it true, but Mr. Collins was hardly on my mind,” replied Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley's attention was already directed elsewhere.

Elizabeth watched fondly as Jane and her suitor settled into conversation and ignored the rest of the room, as was their wont. Her own suitor seemed bent on securing a modicum of privacy as well, and soon she was no more aware of the general goings-on in the parlour than Jane or Bingley.

Charlotte called some hours later and succeeded in pulling Elizabeth away for a private word. Her news was astonishing.

“Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte—” Something stopped Elizabeth from saying more. Had she not, only days ago, endured her father's initial incredulity and disapproval over her own engagement? As silly—as insufferable!—as Mr. Collins was, her friend was a very sensible person and must have a good reason for having agreed to marry the man. She simply must!

But how could a woman who would pledge herself to such a pompous, narrow-minded man have a proper way of thinking?

It struck her that her father's reaction had been very like this. To him, Mr. Darcy had seemed full of conceit, and Mr. Bennet had thought Elizabeth out of her senses to have accepted him. Mr. Collins was not Mr. Darcy, to be sure, but the remembered pain of those moments in her father's library, his lack of trust in her and the threat of the loss of his esteem, made her think twice before giving pain to her friend.

“I see what you are feeling,” Charlotte said.

“I am feeling many things,” Elizabeth admitted. She sifted though them and extracted what she hoped would express truth without offence. “One of those things is that Mr. Collins will be made happier than he deserves. You, my friend,” she said with a little laugh, “are far too good for him.”

She must have struck the right note, for Charlotte's shoulders relaxed. As Charlotte's explanation went on—she had never been a romantic; she only wanted her own home; her chance of happiness was fair enough, considering Mr. Collins's situation in life—Elizabeth could only hope her friend's expectations would be favorably answered. Mr. Collins was rather a large mistake to make, if he was a mistake where Charlotte was concerned. He would have been in her case, undoubtedly. Jane would probably find an excuse for the match or say that Charlotte's temper would allow her to bear a life with such a man, but then Jane would wish to believe there could be something like esteem or even affection between Charlotte and Mr. Collins, and that Elizabeth thought to be impossible.

Elizabeth offered her best congratulations under the circumstances, which proved sufficient. They talked a little longer of how rapidly Charlotte's engagement—and Elizabeth's, for that matter—had come about, and how soon they might expect similar news regarding Jane.

When Sir William came to confirm Charlotte's communication and celebrate the new connection between their houses, Mrs. Bennet's lamentations, though not her incredulity, were just barely checked by the presence of her daughters' suitors. They were almost completely done away with later that same evening by the announcement of Jane's engagement to Mr. Bingley.

Time flew for Elizabeth as November gave way to December. The Bennet ladies were kept busy with wedding preparations and social obligations.

Mr. Wickham, it appeared, quickly wearied of the curiosity and open ridicule of his Meryton neighbours, for he soon left in search of a happier situation. It was generally said that he had fled the presence of Mr. Darcy. Darcy, merely by correcting Wickham's misrepresentation of their history, gave enough of a hint of the latter's character to assure the town they could well bear the loss of the one soldier who had deserted them.

Mr. and Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley also left Hertfordshire. Mr. Bingley's sisters made a surprisingly creditable attempt to appear pleased at the news of their brother's engagement and even that of their brother's friend, but Miss Bingley's determination to spend the winter in town provided relief to all concerned. Mr Bingley and Mr. Darcy were then free to dine at Longbourn every day if they wished it, and they often did so whenever one of the other local families did not insist on sharing the burden of showing hospitality to the two gentlemen.

That there would be little inconveniences and vexations in the weeks leading up to the wedding was to be expected, but Mr. Collins's visit was the only real trial. Before December was half gone, the heir presumptive of Longbourn returned full of pride and self-importance, for Lady Catherine herself conveyed him thither.

That day, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were in the parlour with Elizabeth and some of her sisters when a commotion was heard in the hall. “Where is that impudent upstart?” said an unfamiliar, unpleasant voice. “Take me to her at once!” Elizabeth could then hear Mr. Collins giving an answer, but her attention was arrested by the expression on Darcy's face. He had such a look of distaste and indignation as she had never seen on him before.

A tall, grey-haired lady in ostentatious dress burst into the room with Mr. Collins striding in behind her, looking quite satisfied with himself.

Darcy stood at once and glared at them both. “Lady Catherine,” he said, ire in every syllable. “What business have you here?”

“I had come to deal with whichever of these girls,” said the lady, looking about with scorn at each Bennet in the room in turn, “has caused you to abandon family duty and good sense. However, since you are here, I need not bother with her.” She gestured impatiently. “Come, Darcy, and leave this place.”

“I think not,” he said.

Lady Catherine stared. Mr. Collins began stammering and spouting his poorly arranged ideas.

While those two were thus occupied, Darcy turned to Elizabeth and her sisters. “Ladies,” he said quietly, “please excuse me and, if you can, pardon this gross incivility. I hope to rejoin you before long.” With a nod to Bingley and a parting look at Elizabeth, he escorted his dumb-struck aunt back to her carriage. Mr. Collins followed, talking the whole way.

Bingley whispered in Jane's ear and then excused himself. Jane came over at once to take Elizabeth's hand.

Lydia sprang up and ran to the door to eavesdrop, no doubt. Kitty followed. The two of them rushed back and forth between the front of the house and the parlour, listening and relaying bits of the conversation to the others.

Lady Catherine did not remain silent for long. The squawk of protest when Darcy made it clear that he was not leaving with her was heard by them all. Lydia and Kitty brought them accounts of the rest: Lady Catherine would not brook disappointment; Darcy must come with her back to town and set a date for his wedding to Anne; Darcy could not be lost to all reason; that penniless nobody would never be mentioned by any of his family.

What Darcy said was of greater interest still: He could not imagine ever insulting Elizabeth by disregarding their engagement; Elizabeth would be his wife; even if Elizabeth were to break off the engagement after seeing what manner of undesirable relations she would have to contend with, he would never, never marry Anne.

The noise eventually drew the remaining Bennets to them—Mrs. Bennet from her conference with the cook, Mr. Bennet from his beloved books, and ink-stained-fingered Mary from her extracts—and for a brief time, to the breathless reports of Elizabeth's younger sisters were added the cacophonous inquiries of the others. Mr. Bennet then left the room to ascertain the situation for himself. Mrs. Bennet, caught between her desire to behold so great a personage as Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her determination to avoid Mr. Collins if possible, was persuaded by her daughters to wait until her husband returned.

When Mrs. Bennet's agitation abated, Elizabeth's restlessness increased. “I ought to be with Darcy,” she said. “It is on my account Lady Catherine is here.”

“Do stay,” begged Jane, pressing Elizabeth's hand. “Mr. Darcy looked mortified when he made his excuses! I believe he would have given anything to spare you discomfort. He will know best how to manage his aunt.”

Elizabeth could only acknowledge Jane's opinion to be quite sensible, but she was glad nonetheless when the question was rendered moot in a moment with the return of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet.

“Where is Bingley?” Jane asked.

“He is with your cousin, who will stay at the inn. Bingley has a gift for smoothing ruffled feathers, where I fear I only disturb them further.”

“I am glad he has been of help to you, as he wished.”

Darcy smiled kindly at Jane. Then he turned to Elizabeth with a look of something like trepidation. “My dear,” he said to her, “I do not know how you can forgive me.”

“Nonsense!” Elizabeth said, taking his hand and pulling him to the sofa, where they sat down together. “I rather believe my thanks are in order.”

“I brought upon you needless trouble in the form of my aunt.”

“You made sure I had as little trouble as possible! And she brought herself, I dare say, or my cousin did.”

“Then I sent your cousin away when I had no right to do so!”

Elizabeth laughed. “No one here will reprove you for that,” she said. “Will they, Papa?”

“Hardly,” Mr. Bennet said with a touch of amusement in his voice. “Certainly not when he agreed to cover the cost himself. Do you think Mr. Collins would have given up free room and board so readily? He could not apply to his patroness. Lady Catherine, upon leaving, did not spare him a thought beyond having his trunk removed from her carriage.”

“I considered it an insult for him to expect to be welcomed here after what he dared,” Darcy said.

He looked so adorably chastened that Elizabeth could not help herself. She reached up to hold his face, pressed her cheek to his, and kissed him just below the ear. “Now that is more than I ought to do in company, so I will stop before I scandalise Mary or encourage Lydia's flights of romantic fancy.”

“Bless you, dear Elizabeth,” Elizabeth heard him whisper, but she did not doubt everyone else heard him, too.

“Come, Darcy, and have a drink in my library.” Mr. Bennet led the way, and Darcy followed.

Some two hours after the storm had blown over, Elizabeth happened to see Charlotte walking at a brisk pace towards the house and went out to meet her.

“Eliza,” Charlotte said after pausing to take a breath, “where is your Mr. Darcy? I hope he is here, or I shall have to go on to Netherfield. I must apologise to both of you.”

“Go on to Netherfield?” Elizabeth laughed, bemused. “That sounds unlike you, Charlotte. You speak as if you are not tired already, or as if Netherfield is just beyond the kitchen garden! But there is no need. Darcy is here, playing backgammon with my father. Come with me. You are in quite a state!” She took Charlotte to an unoccupied room, where they could talk privately.

Charlotte held out until the door was closed behind her. “I do not know if I have ever been so angry! I almost threw him over that instant, Eliza! I!” Her voice was quiet but intense. “After all these years, I finally have the chance to marry, and he ruins it!”

It all came pouring out. Mr. Collins called at Lucas Lodge, complaining of the infamous treatment he had suffered at the hands of his relations. According to him, Lady Catherine de Bourgh had been very ill used by these same relations, who had induced Mr. Darcy to betray his aunt and cousin. After a great deal of praise of Lady Catherine, censure of Mr Darcy, and disparagement of the Bennets, Mr. Collins insisted that Charlotte give up the acquaintance of her dearest friend. Charlotte had kept her voice low throughout the recounting, but the unevenness of her tone and uncharacteristic pauses betrayed the depth of her feelings.

“I grew more and more appalled with every word he spoke. By the time he took a breath I was furious.” Charlotte took a breath herself. “Give up my friend? I would sooner give him up! After all, he was stupid enough to offend not only the family that had welcomed him into their home, but also their future connection, who is very likely wealthier and grander even than Lady Catherine, despite having no title. Instead of being pleased to be cousin to Mr. Darcy and trying to help Lady Catherine to weather her disappointment, he presumed to interfere in a matter that has nothing to do with him.”

Charlotte stopped and stared at her hands.

“I do not know what to say, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said.

“You need not say anything,” Charlotte told her. “I know you did not agree with my decision to accept his proposal.” She exhaled and looked up. “I had been so pleased with myself, Eliza, so satisfied with what I had done! I had gained an establishment, and I was able to do it without causing you any harm, even though Mr. Collins had lately been pursuing you. I only determined to try to secure him after I knew of your engagement. I was further encouraged when your sisters showed no interest in him, not even Mary, who I thought might like being a parson's wife.”

“No, even Mary had wearied of him by the time he left us in November. She was irritated by his frequent complaints and his refusal to accept the fact of my engagement. She considered him a poor loser, I think.”

“He is that. I had not realised it until now. I recall he said he had given up his idea of finding a wife among his cousins, but I thought it was just delicacy. He had paid you such marked attentions that it might have been awkward to turn so soon to one of your sisters. Now I think he simply must have been angry with you for accepting Mr. Darcy and with your father for supporting the engagement. It seems obvious, but I was so focused on securing my own future that I did not see it.

“It may be all over now, but I hope you know I never meant to gain at your expense. I should have noticed and not interfered if there had been the chance of a resolution more to the advantage of you all. I can only be glad you and Jane have found men of means—and of character!—and will not need to rely on Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth was reassuring Charlotte that she had not harmed anyone by the name of Bennet when the door opened and Mrs. Bennet joined them.

“Lizzy, is Mr. Darcy still here? Why are you not with him? Oh.” Mrs. Bennet stopped when she noticed Charlotte there. She did not look particularly pleased.

Elizabeth wondered if her mother did feel injured by Mr. Collins's choice of wife despite the two wealthy sons-in-law she was to gain in a few weeks. She supposed she could understand a little, in a way; she and Jane had always expected to leave home for the best of reasons, but in their mother's case, tragedy alone would remove her from Longbourn. Charlotte's engagement could only remind her of that.

Charlotte stood and said, “Mrs. Bennet, I heard a great deal about what happened here today. Please allow me to offer the apology Mr. Collins will not. I am sorry he felt the need to involve himself in what was no business of his. From all I have learnt of Lady Catherine and her expectations of her nephew, I do not know if you would have been able to avoid her open disapproval entirely. However, it was not the place of Mr. Collins to make it easy for anyone to insult you, and in your own home, no less, when you did nothing to earn it.”

Mrs. Bennet appeared somewhat mollified by Charlotte's words. “I dare say it is just as well that you called instead of Mr. Collins. If Mr. Darcy sees him try to enter the house again, there is no telling what will happen.”

“Mama!” Elizabeth cried. “You make it sound as if Mr. Darcy is a violent man.” Really, her mother's delight in the dramatic would have been entertaining if the situation had not been so serious.

“Well, I will say no more of him,” Mrs. Bennet said with a look at Charlotte, leaving the girls in no doubt as to which man she meant. “He is to be your husband, after all.”

“But that is just it, Mrs. Bennet. I do not know now if I can marry him.”

“But if you cry off—”

“I know! My parents will be ashamed and angry. They have been so happy about my engagement! My sisters' futures may be affected. And I may never find a husband.”

They all three were quiet for a moment.

Then Charlotte continued. “As I told Eliza, when I saw that Mr. Collins no longer intended to seek a wife at Longbourn, I thought I might finally have the chance to marry. And I was right! Eliza had Mr. Darcy, and Jane had Mr. Bingley, and there seemed to be nothing between Mr. Collins and any of the younger girls. When he proposed to me, I felt at liberty to accept.

“We do not have many opportunities in our neighbourhood, as you know. I am twenty-seven and cannot afford to ignore what falls so neatly into my lap. You, Mrs. Bennet, did so well by marrying Mr. Bennet, and your sister married Mr. Phillips and kept your father's assets in the family. Some of the girls my age were half in love with your brother years ago, but we had no money or connections to tempt him, and he had to make his way in the world, which he has done with great success. My mother also did well, for my father was eventually knighted and able to retire from business.

“But what will happen to us, those of us in need of husbands now? For a long time, things did not look very promising. And then—” She sighed. “I felt my good fortune, and it pleased me to think that even in looking after my own interests, it would mean that eventually—forgive me for alluding to it—you and your daughters would have a friend at Longbourn, should you ever have need of one. I know there is a constant competition of sorts between you and my mother, but there is also real friendship and real feeling, and that same friendship exists between the daughters. I would not betray it—certainly not renounce it—even for the sake of a comfortable home, and now I suspect that home would not be very comfortable after all.”

“Hmph!” said Mrs. Bennet, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room, and she patted Charlotte's shoulder. “Hmph,” she said again. “You are a good girl.”

Elizabeth examined her friend's face and suggested that she rest. Charlotte, looking tired and relieved, gave her a thin smile. Elizabeth settled her in the room that, ironically, Mr. Collins had lately inhabited.

Meeting her mother in the hall some minutes afterward, Elizabeth said, “I shall speak to Mr. Darcy and see what can be done.”

Mrs. Bennet looked heartened by this. “Yes! He will know what to do.”

Elizabeth did not know what anybody could do, but she felt certain of Darcy's sympathy and any assistance in his power.

---

Next

Holiday at Hartfield: Twelfth Night

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(2022)
Pride and Prejudice
"Twelfth Night"
When the weather keeps his brother John and family at Hartfield an extra day, George Knightley decides a little celebration is in order.

---

On the 5th of January, George Knightley called at Hartfield in a hopeful mood. He handed several packages to the butler with quiet instructions that were discreetly followed, and he proceeded to the parlour, where his host and hostess were sat by the fire.

“Are you here again, Mr. Knightley?” Mr. Woodhouse said in a fretful voice. “I hope you will not catch cold.”

“I am in excellent health, sir.”

“I wonder you do not stay at home, as Mr. Elton had done. But now he has gone to Bath!”

“He left before the snow began again,” George said, stealing a glance at Emma. “I had thought to inform you myself. Clearly I am too late.”

“He wrote me a very pretty letter to take leave,” said Mr. Woodhouse less querulously. “Do show it to Mr. Knightley, Emma. It was much better to write than to walk to Hartfield in the cold.”

Emma frowned and relinquished the letter. She somehow looked ashamed, a rarity indeed! George read the note quickly and returned it to her. “Give that back to your father and then come find me,” he whispered. Aloud, he said, “Excuse me, sir, while I seek out my brother.”

John, having heard George was in the house, came downstairs to say the children, one and all, were napping after vigorous exercise on the snow-covered lawn. Assured his brother would stay through the evening, he yawned and went back to Isabella's side.

George was staring after him and wondering what made Woodhouse women so irresistible to Knightley men when Emma entered the hall. They walked together to a room where they would not be overheard.

“You wished to speak to me?” Emma said.

“Yes.” He recalled Elton's letter. “Elton paid your father excessive attention but did not mention you once. It seems a pointed omission. Are you no longer friends?”

“I think he would be satisfied never to see me again. I dare say the feeling is mutual.”

“You were unable to turn him away gently on Christmas Eve?”

“That conversation had little to do with gentleness.”

He smirked. “It could be worse. Be grateful he does not suspect you meant him for Miss Smith.”

Emma turned away.

“You told him?” George walked around to meet her eye. “I warned you Elton would not make an imprudent match. But is that really why you seem ashamed, not merely dissatisfied?”

“You know I could not be afraid of that presumptuous man!” She stared at the floor. “My shame is for Harriet. How can I face her? Harriet will break her heart over him! It is all my fault.”

George paced and watched Emma ready herself for the lecture to begin in earnest. She felt her error; she needed no lecture of his. Besides, he wanted her to feel festive tonight, not forlorn.

“Why not follow Elton's example,” he suggested, “and write to your friend? The wind is fierce. Miss Smith will not wonder at your choosing to avoid an unpleasant walk. If you write quickly, it can be delivered before the new snow becomes an impediment.” And with any luck, before Robert Martin appears at Mrs. Goddard's door with his mother's special blend of tea for Miss Smith and his heart in his eyes, he thought but did not say.

They debated the matter for half a minute before Emma took his advice. It was her idea to cast Elton in the light of a determined fortune hunter to soften the blow. In truth, George would not have been surprised to see Elton return from Bath with a wealthy bride after having been denied Emma and her thirty thousand pounds. George had argued with Emma often enough to imagine what a lively discussion that must have been. He knew he ought to have sympathy for the vicar but primarily felt amusement as he observed Emma putting the finishing touches on her letter to Harriet Smith.

Business dispatched, George said, “Now you can assist me. The children would be sorry to have no presents tomorrow morning. But why should they have to wait until they return to Brunswick Square? I searched the attics of the Abbey for a few items for the boys. Do you think you can do the same here for the girls? And have you anything pretty to wrap them in?”

Emma declared it a delightful notion. They set about it immediately, taking care not to disturb the sleepers. George could not recall when he had last had so much innocent fun.

The evening was better still. A little brandy in Mr. Woodhouse's tea tempered his prognostications of bad weather and rendered him drowsy enough to be convinced to retire shortly after his grandchildren did. Those remaining expressed pleasure at this. Isabella feared the boys had wearied her father; John was relieved not to have to argue against staying longer if the roads proved passable in the morning; Emma was glad her father would be undisturbed by wassailing if there were any intrepid singers about Highbury that night; and George would never have been forgiven for having brought, and their all having consumed, a Twelfth-cake from the Abbey, small though it was. They would feast on it tonight, for they dared not leave a crumb of it for Mr. Woodhouse to discover in the morning.

They ate their cake in peace and enjoyed some excellent wine besides. The men were jolly and the ladies all smiles and cheer. John was at his best in the small, familiar company, and he and Isabella were warm in their thanks to the others for the children's gifts. In a whimsical display, John danced Isabella out of the room as they said goodnight.

Emma rose to go, but George reached for her hand. “Stay.” He twirled her about until she laughed. Then he asked while still holding her hand, “Do you never want to have your own children to surprise on Epiphany?”

“I shall never marry,” she said.

“You shall never marry Elton, but what about someone else?”

“Who...” was as far as Emma got in her reply. George leaned in and kissed her on the mouth.

“Emma, have I offended you?” He watched her blink. “Emma?”

“I did not know. I never thought....I do not know what I thought.”

Perhaps she did not know, but George knew. He could see in her eyes what she was thinking. He almost always could. He saw incredulity, acceptance, joy, love, and then fear, as evidenced by her next words:

“But my father—”

“We will contrive a way,” George said, silencing her questions with kisses and feeling a great relief as she participated fully in this expression of their happiness.

George had not spoken to anyone about his understanding with Emma, but John had discerned it, which meant he had likely hinted at it to his wife. “I do not know how you will manage to remove Emma from Hartfield,” he said to George as he prepared to leave mid-morning. The snow had ceased overnight, and the sun shone.

“That is the question.” George considered it seriously. “The idea will be met with such resistance that in the end I would not be surprised to find myself doing as I did last night.” He looked up and saw such an expression on John's face as to make him exclaim under his breath, “Don't look at me like that! I stayed in my own room, and she in hers.”

John grinned before he turned away.

How dare he call his elder brother to account!

Before long, George felt himself grinning too. He glanced at Emma, who was soothing her father as he worried his way through goodbyes to Isabella and his grandchildren. He caught her eye, and his smile softened as he dwelt on their secret—secret to Mr. Woodhouse, in any case, and perhaps to the children.

He imagined Twelfth Night would be his favourite holiday for years to come.

A Little Night Musing:A Netherfield Short

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(2022)
Pride and Prejudice
Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy settle one of their arguments at Netherfield by moonlight.

---

Elizabeth stood in Netherfield's dark, empty drawing-room, wondering at herself. She ought to have gone up to her room before the last candle went out, but her mind was not at rest.

She was no longer worried about her sister's health. Jane was asleep and would be well enough to return home in the morning. Elizabeth's unease stemmed from another source. Had she been in company with more congenial people these last few days and not been goaded into quarreling every evening, she might feel more settled. Once at Longbourn again, she would be content enough. So she hoped, in any case, as she stared at what remained of the fire.

It was strange, this restlessness. It had been strong enough to draw her back to the scene of its beginnings: yet another argument with Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley might say any thing she pleased, and Elizabeth would reply in kind and find herself unaffected or even amused. The Hursts, whose disdain most often took the form of neglect, required little from her. Mr. Darcy, however, was another matter. Talking to him was like playing a chord that wanted resolution, like singing all but the last note of a song. Something always seemed to hang in the air. She could not leave well enough alone when it came to him, and it irritated her that he had had the last word in their latest skirmish.

She decided to think instead on the benefits of her stay at the grand manor house. How sweet a domestic picture her sister and Mr. Bingley had made this evening, engrossed in their conversation, oblivious to their surroundings! They were a perfect pair. It did her heart good to see Jane so happy.

Miss Bingley interrupted her contemplation by peeking into the room and saying, “Oh, there you....Hmph.” Elizabeth thought her rather rude until she realised Miss Bingley had not looked her way and therefore probably had not noticed her. She supposed her hostess had come hoping to find a certain person and, being disappointed, had left.

Elizabeth heard tapping beyond the door and retreated into the shadows. She hoped Miss Bingley was not returning. Surely not, for she could now hear the lady instructing a servant in one of the nearby rooms. Had the footsteps been less tentative—less furtive, perhaps—and more regular in their rhythm, she would have sworn they were Mr. Darcy's.

The door opened and closed, and her eyes met the tall form of a man as he approached the window. The steps had been Mr. Darcy's, worse luck. She must have made a sound, for he suddenly turned and saw her, but before he could speak, more steps were heard, quick and light, outside the room.

Mr. Darcy positioned himself among the heavy draperies, presumably to keep his presence from being noticed by the next person to enter. Elizabeth smirked and said nothing.

It was only one of the maids, who had come to extinguish the fire. She rushed in and out again, focused only on her task. Miss Bingley's voice was heard once more, this time farther away, from the direction of the stairs.

By unspoken agreement, the two occupants of the room remained motionless until they no longer heard any sound in the hall.

Elizabeth was just wondering how she might safely navigate the path to the door in the dark when a pale but sufficient light removed her difficulty. She stepped forward.

“Lovely, is it not?” Mr. Darcy's voice was pitched at a low, intimate tone that, despite its maturity, put her in mind of a child who did not wish his nurse to realise he had no intention of going to sleep just yet.

Elizabeth turned towards the man, who was now peering through the parted curtains into the night.

“There is something about the moon,” he continued, “so far away and yet so very large and indispensable, that makes me feel my smallness.”

His words reminded Elizabeth of a phrase she had heard not many days ago at Longbourn. She stepped closer until she stood next to him and looked out as well. The words came to her: “When I consider Thy heavens...the moon and the stars...what is man, that Thou art mindful of him?”

“Exactly.”

She slid her eyes to Mr. Darcy's to find him regarding her with interest. “My sister Mary is fond of quoting extracts from the sacred text and her collection of sermons. Occasionally one stays with me, though I have not admitted as much to her.”

He nodded and faced the window again.

It was her turn to regard him with interest, comfortably done while his attention was elsewhere. He was a handsome subject of study, even more so now that he was smiling. She thought about what he had said. It had seemed an odd thing to confide in her, but she never knew why he said the things he did. “I suppose a man of your stature does not often feel small,” she said. “It must be an unwelcome feeling.”

“On the contrary, sometimes I feel that I take up too much space.”

The sentiment did not fit her idea of him at all. “I can hardly believe that of a man who does not consider an excess of pride to be a fault,” she said.

His laugh was a quiet, delectable rumble that made her want to wrap her arms about herself. “You persist in misunderstanding me,” he said.

“You admitted to pride yourself this very evening! How can you claim I have misunderstood you?”

“As I recall it, I implied that pride under good regulation is not a weakness.”

“Exactly!” she said, deliberately choosing to repeat the word he had used. She smiled at how easy the man made it to laugh at him. “Only a person eaten up with pride could make such a statement.” She had not intended to be so frank, but he would provoke her.

He turned to her fully. “I take back what I said. You are determined not to misunderstand but to misconstrue.”

Elizabeth hardly needed his confession to know he was full of conceit. She looked boldly into his eyes. He looked every inch a man completely convinced of the rightness of his opinions, but she was not intimidated. For weeks now, from the very beginning of their acquaintance, he had been looking at her with a critical eye, and she had grown accustomed to it.

“Or perhaps you aim to score a point against me,” he said. He looked at her with an eyebrow raised and his head tilted. “If your beautiful eyes did not sparkle so beguilingly with each hit, I would not find half so much pleasure in this game.” He smiled broadly. “Do tell me, Miss Bennet, are we ever to be on the same side? Must we always be in competition in your mind? You must know I find you a delightful partner for debate, but it would be pleasant to end the day in agreement for once.”

His speech took her by surprise. She could scarcely believe his last several words echoed her earlier thoughts so closely. The disagreeable man was also weary of their constant disagreements! Of the rest, she did not know what to think. She was astonished that he should compliment her and speak to her so...well, so flirtatiously, as if he liked her!

“What, Miss Bennet? Have you nothing to say in reply?”

“I can hardly credit what you say.”

“Why ever not?

“When you first came into the neighbourhood, I heard from your own mouth that I was just tolerable, not handsome enough to tempt you to dance. Now you say I have beautiful eyes, and you speak as though I am trying to tempt you. Utterly ridiculous!”

She watched him breathe. It should have been a crime for the man to be so physically compelling while doing nothing but breathing.

“Did I not, this very evening, confess to admiring your figure?”

She had quite forgotten that was how the evening's quarrel had begun. “That remark was a general one,” she said, recalling the moment and thinking aloud, “as it included Miss Bingley.”

Mr. Darcy made a quiet sound, a small, derisive laugh. “When,” he asked her, “have you observed me to go out of my way to compliment Miss Bingley, or to treat her as more than the sister of my friend? She would read far too much into any particular gesture, and I should not like to give her false hope. My remark was not general, no matter how it appeared, and it was inspired by you. Miss Bingley only caught my attention because she was with you. In fact, I am convinced that is why she was with you. She would have known I could hardly keep my eyes away. I once betrayed my admiration of you to her, unwisely as it turns out, for she has teased me about it ever since.”

“You are serious?”

The haughty look was back. “I am not in the habit of lying.”

“How funny that Miss Bingley should have known what I did not.”

“I never intended—” He stopped there, and the silence stretched on for several seconds.

“You never intended for me to find out,” Elizabeth whispered. “You never intended to act upon your admiration,” she surmised, and she found confirmation in his lowered eyes. She nodded to herself. “I imagine my insignificant dowry is not tempting enough, either. Or perhaps it is my less than stellar connections? I am sure you know that one of my uncles is a local attorney, and the other is in trade.”

“It is not merely your family's position in society but, more importantly, their behaviour that I find objectionable. With the exception of yourself and your eldest sister, of course,” he murmured. He had turned towards the moon again and was not looking so comfortable as he had before.

This time the short, mocking laugh came from Elizabeth. “So the...silliness, shall we say, of some of my family offends you as much as your arrogance offends me.” She saw him stiffen. For her part, she inwardly recoiled from the still-fresh embarrassment that assailed her at the recollection of her mother and younger sisters' visit to Netherfield the day before. She had tried at the time to temper the worst of her mother's excesses. Her mother had admonished her not to run wild on that occasion, and here was Mr. Darcy claiming to admire her while presumably disparaging her mother. What irony.

Elizabeth remembered that Mr. Darcy had excepted Jane from his strictures as well; that was something, but hardly enough. She wondered if he had ever admired Jane, who was certainly more beautiful and amiable than Elizabeth, but she had seen no evidence of it. She allowed the loveliness of the night to calm her spirits so that calmness might be reflected in her speech. “I suppose I should be flattered—I suppose part of me is flattered—that you did not take a fancy to Jane instead,” she admitted. “Or perhaps you did at first, but your friend was there before you? You may yet have some gentleman-like impulses where your intimate friends are concerned. In any case, it is fortunate neither of you took a fancy to the other. The object of her admiration is not so fastidious. If Mr. Bingley were to take your view, Jane would be heartbroken. No, you have chosen well. Your public and very decided disapproval of me some weeks ago ensured that I can have no hopes for you to disappoint.” She ought not to have disclosed such personal matters, but so much had already been shared that there was little point in holding back.

It appeared this time that Mr. Darcy had no reply to offer.

She had had the last word. She ought to be satisfied, but she was not.

She could feel him thinking. She had no idea what he was thinking, of course, but she sensed that he had not just dismissed her words out of hand. He was considering them and considering what he might say, whether there could be anything worth saying. As before, something hung in the air between them.

She had been watching him, so she knew it the moment he heard the sound. He looked towards the room and then at her, and he closed the curtain carefully around them to shield them from view. By that time, she had heard it too. Within seconds, she was caught in an improvised embrace.

She understood at once what he did. With his arm extended between them and the curtain such that they were pressed against the window as well as each other, the fabric was pushed forward only a little. The slight change in shape might go unnoticed in the dark, whereas a pair of bulging silhouettes might catch the eye of a casual searcher.

“He must be here.” Elizabeth thought the door must be open at least a little, for Miss Bingley's voice was very clear.

“Caroline! This is ridiculous! Do you want him to start hiding from you in earnest?” And that was Mrs. Hurst.

“I think his man lied to me.”

“If you start chasing him about the house at night, do not be surprised if he instructs his man to misdirect you. See?” The door was definitely open now. “It is perfectly dark and empty.”

“Oh, very well,” Miss Bingley said. “But he was not in the library or in Charles's study.”

“I would not be shocked to find him in the wine cellar. You will drive the man to drink if you keep up this unseemly pursuit. I have told you again and again: let him pursue you.”

“You are one to talk! You pay him almost as much attention as I do.”

The door closed again, and the voices receded. Soon all was quiet except their breathing. Mr. Darcy's arm had relaxed, and he held her more naturally now.

“I had not anticipated a game of hide-and-seek when I entered this room tonight,” Elizabeth said from her place under his chin, trying to keep her voice even and light. She felt too many different things to name, but first and foremost was that she felt far too comfortable to move out of his arms.

“Forgive me,” he whispered over her head, “for taking up too much space.”

“You did what you must to avoid an unpleasant and embarrassing encounter.”

“That is not what I meant, though I ask your forgiveness for that as well.” He moved back far enough to look into her eyes, but he did not release her. “My views and feelings took up too much space. I was concerned only with myself. I did not make room for your feelings and opinions. Nor did I fully consider the impact of my words and behaviour. It was unkind of me.” He looked away. “It was also a stupid thing to do, considering how well I have learnt from our discussions to value your mind.”

The quiet was exquisite. She looked her fill and thought over his surprising words. Perhaps he had gotten his pride under good regulation after all, or perhaps he really had no improper pride. There was humility behind that confident demeanour he presented to the world. He did not consider himself above correction.

“Do you?” His words broke the thrall. He was staring at her.

“Do I what?”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. That is very fortunate.”

She could not imagine what difference her forgiveness would truly make in his life, though she had to admit the brilliant smile he now wore was an appealing consequence of it. “Why,” she asked, “is it fortunate?”

He laughed nervously. “I am half afraid you will leave if I tell you.”

“I may as well hear you out.”

“If you had not forgiven my earlier offences, you would never forgive this.”

He leant forward, and Elizabeth gasped at the brief sensation of his mouth touching hers.

He looked at her intently for a moment. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, for his lips met hers again, and he cradled her face in his hands.

Even in the midst of such pleasurable activity, after some time had passed, Elizabeth's curiosity got the better of her. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, putting a little space between them.

He looked pained. “I have offended you again.”

“No, no,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek to keep him from turning his face away. “I just want to know what changed. What was it? Or did you not intend to kiss me any more than to reveal your admiration?”

He kissed her once more and then turned her in his arms until her back was to him and they faced the window. “You heard them, Miss Bingley and her sister. There are so many ladies like them: pursue and keep pursuing until you are caught. Some are worse. I would not join a house party with certain women in attendance. Then there are those who show no interest themselves but take the man's interest as their due. Others seem willing to accept any sort of match as long as the man is good enough, and they are not so nice about what constitutes a 'good' man. You are different. You would not only require your husband to be a good man, you would expect him to become a better one if he ought. You would care about the man himself.”

With the kissing and the mention of a husband, Elizabeth wondered if she had just received a rather unconventional marriage proposal.

“I should have taken a turn about the room with you before. Your figure is even more admirable up close.” He snuggled up to her. “But it is cold here. We should not stay long.”

They exchanged few words after that, enough to arrange a discreet exit from the room and a private meeting the next day.

Elizabeth, with her hand in Darcy's, took a parting glance at the window that had framed what henceforth must be considered one of the most important events of her life. The event had not gone according to plan; in fact, it had not been planned at all.

And if, because of this, it was not quite the picture of perfection—though they were perfectly happy with the result—what cared they, with only the moon to witness?