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Chapter 29

As the party progressed towards the dining room, Elizabeth looked around her, if not with great expectations of a delightful evening, at least without an impending sense of doom. The conversation with Darcy earlier in the afternoon had considerably improved her spirits and had given her enough reasons to be sanguine about the remainder of her stay at Netherfield. Their walk had to be cut short, despite their own wishes, as both agreed that Mrs Jennings’ witticisms did not require fuelling, but the precious moments of privacy had gone a long way in re-establishing their ease, as well as their good-humour.

Thankfully, the conversation at dinner did nothing to threaten her recently-won equanimity.

Her mother was loud, Mrs Jennings was brash, but as long as she was persuaded she needed not blush for them for Darcy’s sake, she could be as unperturbed by their demeanour as she had been in Devonshire. She smiled as the thought occurred to her. She had been mortified earlier that day by Mrs Jennings’ comments regarding Darcy’s visit in Portman Square, and yet they were nothing to the persistent innuendos regarding Colonel Brandon, which had left her completely untouched – precisely because the same could have been said of her heart.

As her musings reached the subject of her heart, Elizabeth filtered a glance across the table to where Darcy was placed, thankful to dear Jane’s ability to ascertain that, under the present circumstances, she was likely to derive more pleasure from being seated across from him rather than by his side. She found him conversing amiably with Kitty and Marianne and was reassured to note that he was overcoming his habitual reserve, and also that he could be nothing but comfortable in the present company. Her mother and Mrs Jennings were located towards the other end of the table – poor Charles! – and were happy to chat amongst themselves, only occasionally attempting to engage others in conversation.

“Hertfordshire is a delightful country,” she heard Colonel Brandon commenting at her right. “I have not had cause to visit it before, but from what I have seen, I believe I should like it quite well!”

Elizabeth smiled and refrained to mention that for months he had given a distinct impression of being able to like any country quite well, provided it also hosted Marianne.

“I am happy to hear it,” she answered instead, “but presumably not for a great length of time.”

“Why so?”

“You would miss the hills, Sir, and the sea,” Elizabeth answered with a smile. “For one used to the windswept beauty of the coast, Hertfordshire must seem a tame and dull country indeed!”

Tame, perhaps, but not dull – not by a fair margin! Darcy thought, casting a glance in her direction. She looked lovely – but then she always did – and it was reassuring to see her at ease. He had not caught what was next said, engaged as he was in a different pursuit, but it must have been diverting, for she laughed lightly, her eyes sparkling in merriment. Darcy looked away, lest his open adoration became quite visible for all to see, thinking in passing that he would not have imagined, less than a month ago, to experience not anguish but calm satisfaction at the sight of her laughing light-heartedly with Brandon. Unable to resist the temptation, he looked her way again, this time his gaze drawing hers, in a brief but heart-warming exchange, before he turned to engage Miss Marianne Dashwood in conversation.

“And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood? I believe I heard your sister mention that you have not always lived there.”

“We had lived in Sussex all our lives until last spring, but although we have not been in Devonshire above five months, it now feels very much like home,” Marianne smiled in response.

“I am happy to hear it. I have visited the country only once myself, as a very young boy, but I fear I do not have strong recollections of it.”

He could not have. He was barely seven at the time, travelling with his parents to visit his recently married Aunt Isabella. He remembered virtually nothing of the place, save for a truly memorable day out sailing with his father and Lord Farringdon - his very first and, for many years afterwards, his only experience of the kind.

“I believe I can relate to what Elizabeth had just said,” Marianne replied. “Sussex, although a very happy place for us, is probably quite tame and dull by comparison. I have longed for it when we left, but now I can hardly envisage living anywhere but in Devonshire,” she added, with a glance towards Brandon.

“A fine country indeed, with much to recommend it,” Mr Ferrars agreed with a smile, and Marianne turned towards him.

“It is remarkable that we should both think so, although we do appear to admire polar opposites, do we not?”

Mr Ferrars laughed.

“My admiration of it, Miss Marianne, I can feely give, but you must not enquire too far. Remember I have no knowledge in the picturesque, and I shall offend you by my want of taste if we come to particulars. I call it a very fine country – the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber, and the valley to Barton village looks comfortable and snug – with rich meadows and several neat farm houses scattered here and there. It exactly answers my idea of a fine country, because it unites beauty with utility.”

“It is fortunate that it does appeal to you, then, given that it shall become your home,” Marianne answered sweetly, then turned to Elizabeth. “You do not know of one of our greatest joys,” she added, with another fond smile to her betrothed. “Elinor will be settled very close to us, as E-… Mr Ferrars is to be the new rector of Delaford parish.”

While Elizabeth warmly congratulated the four most likely to benefit from the arrangement, Darcy digested the intelligence regarding Ferrars’ connection, or rather future connection to the Dashwoods, and Mrs Jennings finished chewing her sweetmeat, so that she could add:

“That was a very generous gesture, Colonel, but it does not surprise me, and no, I do not wish to imply that young people would do anything for love, for it is my firm belief that you would have offered Mr Ferrars the living of Delaford even without the added incentive of trying to please your future bride and her sister!”

Brandon civilly accepted the compliment without any comment, and Marianne addressed Mr Ferrars again, in an endeavour to steer the discussion away from anything that might give the Colonel unease.

“On the subject of picturesque, though, it baffles me why should you boast of your disinterest of it.”

“I suspect,” said Elinor, “that to avoid one kind of affectation, Mr Ferrars falls into another. Because he believes many people pretend to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel, and is disgusted with such pretension, he affects greater indifference and less discrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses.”

Once more, Mr Ferrars laughed softly in response.

“You must allow me too feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect, but not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted, blasted trees. I admire them much more if they are tall, straight and flourishing. I do not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond of nettles, or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snug farm-house than a watch-tower – and a troop of tidy, happy villagers please me better than the finest banditti in the world.”

Marianne looked at him with amazement. Elinor only laughed.

“Spoken like a young man of sense!” Mrs Bennet interjected, nodding vigorously. “You always know where you are with a troop of English villagers, which is more than I can say about others! Why, you only have to look at the mischief on the Continent, some years ago…”

Elizabeth could briefly wonder how did her mother become informed about the ‘mischief on the Continent’, as she put it, given that she only read the society pages and engaged in nothing more elevated than gossip, before Mr Ferrars gravely bowed his head in Mrs Bennet’s direction.

“I thank you, Ma’am. However, knowing your taste for wild beauty, Miss Marianne, I wonder at your not having travelled to Exmoor and beyond, to the North coast.”

“There is still time,” she replied with a smile. “I was not aware that you have previously visited in Devonshire, though. Have you seen much of North Devon?”

“No, not as such. It was but a short visit, on a whim, on one of my annual return journeys from Plymouth.”

“Annual?”

“Yes,” Mr Ferrars confirmed, with a frown.

“Pray, why would you travel annually from Plymouth, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mrs Jennings interjected. “It is hardly on the way to anywhere…”

As it happened, Mr Ferrars very much minded her asking, but he could not think of a way of avoiding a straight answer and, cursing his own foolishness, he replied:

“My tutor resided near Plymouth, Ma’am.”

“Indeed… And who was your tutor?”

“A Mr Pratt.”

“Not Mr Aloysius Pratt, from Longstaple, surely!”

“The very same…” Mr Ferrars confirmed, with a sinking feeling.

“Goodness gracious me, but it is a small world indeed! Who would have thought that my cousin should have been your tutor!” Mrs Jennings exclaimed, and Mr Ferrars turned an interesting shade of grey, even more so when Mrs Jennings added: “Then you must know my younger cousins, too. They have lived with Mr Pratt for many a year. The Miss Steeles? Or at least you must have known them both as Miss Steeles…”

“Oh, yes! Your cousins,” Mrs Bennet interjected and prevented him from answering, thus unknowingly earning Mr Ferrars’ premature gratitude. “Have you any further news of the youngest and her predicament?”

Elizabeth privately thought that anyone’s predicament was hardly a fitting subject for the dining table and cast a vaguely apologetic look at Darcy, only to see him quite unperturbed by the exchange. To her extreme surprise, it was Mr Ferrars who looked positively ill.

“No, I have not. The last I have heard of Mrs Wickham was in July, when she wrote to thank me for my assistance. ”

“Mrs Wickham…”

The faint whisper came from Georgiana’s lips, and had she not been seated at Elizabeth’s left, her future sister would have missed it altogether. She could not miss, however, the look of extreme concern on Darcy’s countenance, and the distinct impression that he was sorely tempted to leave the dinner table to come to his sister’s side. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know what had the power to utterly discompose two people so wholly unconnected to each other, as Georgiana and Mr Ferrars were.

“I shall write back when we return to town,” Mrs Jennings added. “As you can imagine, I would dearly like to know if she succeeded in getting her annulment…”

“What do you think of Hertfordshire, Colonel?” Bingley asked, a trifle too loudly.

He had no understanding whatsoever as to the source of the disquiet, but he had sensed it in at least three of his guests, so clearly a change of topic was in order.

“I was just telling Miss Elizabeth that I find it delightful,” Brandon answered in a matching tone, a willing participant in the scheme.

“Perhaps you would care to go riding with me one day… There are many pleasant prospects, and places to explore. I believe my stables can cater for anyone who would be interested in the pursuit. Perhaps Mr Ferrars would like to join us, too. And the ladies. I fear we might not be able to persuade Darcy, seeing that…”

Bingley swallowed his words, with a gulp and a creditable bout of contrived cough. Considering that he had set out to smooth awkward tensions at the table, it was ironic that he was about to cause a commotion himself, by openly acknowledging that they would not persuade Darcy to join them, seeing that Elizabeth was no horsewoman…

The look of laughing panic in his eyes amused his dear wife, who fortunately had it in her power to rescue him, by standing and inviting the ladies to join her in the drawing room for coffee and leave the gentlemen to their brandy, claret and port.

The gentlemen stood and bowed as the ladies rose to depart. Having cast another glance at her betrothed, Elizabeth could note that, with an earnest look upon his face, he was attempting to catch Georgiana’s eye. She could not see what message her future sister had conveyed, but it must have been acceptable, for Darcy’s countenance appeared to lighten. Elizabeth resigned herself to not knowing what it was all about – it was hardly her business, in any case – and sought to alleviate the discomfort of both sister and brother by gently taking Georgiana’s arm and openly showing her desire to put her friend at ease. Georgiana’s smile was a reward in itself, had she sought any.

She did not, but was amply rewarded by the look of gratitude that Darcy cast her way, before the dining room door closed behind her.

With a sigh, Darcy accepted the glass of brandy offered him and resisted the impulse to down it in one gulp. That blasted name – will they ever be free of the curse it entailed? He took a sip of his drink and acknowledged that he could – possibly – be jumping to the wrong conclusion. He had merely heard a name, in passing. What reason had he to believe that it had any connection at all with their Nemesis, particularly as it was pertaining to a Mrs Wickham, and heaven only knew that marriage to the niece of a mere tutor was hardly the first thought on that… creature’s mind.

In any case, it was not the name that concerned him, not as such, but Georgiana’s painful reaction to it, still strong, after all this time. It was a great relief to know her in Elizabeth’s capable hands, otherwise, despite his sister’s attempts to reassure him before she left the dining room, he would not have been able to remain therein, with any semblance of composure...

The dining room had become very quiet and suddenly very large, almost uncomfortably so, when their number had decreased to four - and Darcy could be almost certain that Bingley was the only one who did not feel quite out of place. He was, however, an excellent host – not even his few enemies could dispute that – and regardless of his abilities to feel at ease in most circumstances, Bingley was quick to ascertain when others did not.

“Would you care to join me in my study for drinks, gentlemen? Unless of course you prefer to remain here…” he offered, although he already knew the answer.

The study was, by far, the better choice. The more subdued lighting, the dark panelling, the obviously masculine paraphernalia went a long way in putting them at ease and, although none were prone to excessive imbibing, the brandy also helped.

At first, Darcy had looked around him and almost laughed at the thought that Bingley will have his hands full in entertaining this party! More often than not, the society his friend attracted was very much like himself – expansive, voluble, convivial. Yet there he was now, caught between three reserved men, two of whom he barely knew and with whom he most certainly had very little in common!

Of the two, Ferrars seemed the more withdrawn. Having been placed on the same side as him at the dinner table, unlike Elizabeth, Darcy had not been able to ascertain the turning point for his earlier good-humour, but there was little doubt that there was something weighing on the man.

“Would you be inclined to go riding on the morrow, Mr Ferrars?” Bingley enquired, and the other started.

“I… I thank you, but no. I’m afraid there is a pressing matter I should attend to. Perhaps another day…?”

“But of course…”

“I would be happy to join you, Mr Bingley,” Brandon offered. “There is always something to be learned from touring another estate…”

“I would be delighted to tell you all of my crops and pastures, Colonel,” Bingley laughed, but Netherfield is not very large, nor am I, I fear, too proficient in managing it. You are more likely to have an enlightening discussion with my friend Darcy.”

And – quite surprisingly – they did. About their estates at first, then gradually drifting to talk of all manner of unrelated topics including France, the West Indies, the current unimpressive government and coarse fishing, of all things. With great relief, Bingley occasionally joined in their conversation, leaving only Ferrars to make no more than minimal contributions.

When the gentlemen had repaired to his friend’s study, Darcy had followed without any particular expectation of enjoyment, but after a while he had to concede that the interlude had been more agreeable than he would have thought. Brandon was a well-travelled, well-spoken man, with a great deal of common sense and substantially more than average understanding, who had commanded his grudging good opinion from the beginning of their acquaintance, although for much of the time Darcy’s appreciation of his fine qualities was painfully tinged with envy. There was no cause for envy now, of course, and further acquaintance only served to evince their similarities of thought and disposition and indicate that they could grow to form a lasting friendship – little as he would have credited it earlier in the year. By the time Bingley suggested they should return to the ladies, Darcy had found himself thinking that it would be quite pleasant to invite Brandon and his future wife to join them at Pemberley sometime – and, to his surprise, he came to acknowledge that he was actually looking forward to it.

Elizabeth took their second cup of tea to her mother and Mrs Jennings, then returned to her seat next to Georgiana and Marianne.

A discussion of music had kept her two friends pleasantly occupied over the past half-hour, the commonality of interest succeeding in drawing the reserved younger girl out, more than anything else could. Although her own skills on the pianoforte had improved substantially through many hours of practice during their stay in Devonshire, Elizabeth lacked both the dedication and the thorough knowledge of music which Marianne and Georgiana possessed, therefore she could contribute but little to their discussion, and was content to note the improvement in her future sister’s spirits, while conversing companionably with Kitty, Elinor and Jane.

Mrs Bennet and Mrs Jennings were equally happy, although significantly louder in expressing their opinions and merriment. In point of fact, of the entire party, it was only Jane whose enjoyment was constantly under threat of being curtailed, as she was persistently drawn into Mrs Bennet and Mrs Jennings’ conversation, to provide details regarding either the drawing-room furnishings or her neighbours’ business.

“You have not met my middle daughter,” Mrs Bennet could be heard announcing from the other end of the room. “I was so proud of her when she managed to secure Mr Collins! She was my first daughter to be married, though she has not a tenth of Jane’s beauty, dear soul. But then Jane and my dear Lydia soon followed suit – and did so much better!”

Elizabeth cringed inwardly at the unspoken reference to Lydia’s new husband, unsure whether to wish for the subject to be aired now, before the gentlemen returned, so that Elinor could be spared the double mortification of hearing it in Mr Ferrars’ presence, or wish for a temporary reprieve – for she knew full well that there was no hope of avoiding the discomfort altogether.

“I am delighted for you!” Mrs Jennings replied, endearing herself even further to her friend by adding, “And now of course you remaining daughters are sure to benefit from the connections, as they will undoubtedly be thrown into the path of other rich men…”

Elizabeth swallowed uncomfortably as she heard Georgiana falter in her discourse.

Dear Jane, however, turned to Mrs Jennings with a civil smile and mercifully intervened:

“You will be able to meet my sister Mary tomorrow, Ma’am. She and her husband will join us for dinner,” she added, with a brief apologetic look towards Elizabeth, aiming to convey that it could not be helped. While agreeing with that, her sister’s eyes nevertheless widened, but Mrs Bennet was beside herself with joy.

“How thoughtful of you, dear Jane! I do declare that no-one equals you in thoughtfulness and sweetness! To have our family once again reunited ‘round the dinner table, so soon after our arrival at Netherfield! Such a great shame dear Lydia and her husband could not be with us as well, at a time like this!”

Elizabeth’s complexion brightened and she looked away, thus missing Elinor’s reassuring glance. Marianne’s comment she could not miss, however, for she said clearly and with feeling:

“We were all delighted to hear of the youngest Miss Bennet’s marriage, for many reasons, which I shall not take your time with – not now, at least. I should not, however, discount from our many sources of felicity the joy of becoming related to our dearest friends,” she added with a warm smile to Elizabeth as she reached to clasp her hand, leaving her quite mystified as to the meaning of this. Mr Ferrars, Elinor and, by extension, Marianne could not possibly be pleased with the drastic diminution in income and its unjust redistribution which Mrs Ferrars had recently decreed - and yet Marianne had shown no sign of displeasure regarding the affair! Baffled as she was by her friend’s assurances, however, Elizabeth could not doubt them. Their increasing intimacy in Devonshire had taught her that Marianne was nothing if not honest - sometimes to the point of giving offence - and had, in all probability, never been able to utter a civil falsehood in her life!

Diverted as much as reassured, Elizabeth looked up, only to be further buoyed by the return of the gentlemen. When the drawing-room opened to admit them, to her surprise and not insubstantial pleasure, she could see Darcy advancing into the room with an air of unreserved good-humour, apparently in the process of concluding an amiable conversation with Colonel Brandon. She smiled to witness it and, after exchanging a glance with her betrothed, she turned back to Marianne to thank her for the sentiment.

“We should talk later, Elizabeth,” Marianne whispered, and her friend nodded her agreement and almost giggled in return, remembering the night spent in conversation some weeks previously, in one of the guest bedchambers of the house in Portman Square, when Elinor’s engagement was made known to her. They should talk later, indeed. They needed to clear the air about this uncomfortable business of Lydia’s, of course, but there was much more to it than that. This time, she had her own momentous intelligence to impart!

As though on cue, Mr Darcy approached her and his sister, to enquire about their evening. To his relief, a glance at Georgiana persuaded him that the earlier discomposure in the dining-room was already forgotten. However, it was the glance at Elizabeth and the sight of her rosy countenance that engendered his own discomposure, of a wholly different kind.

“Would you care for some coffee, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked and stood, uncannily accurate in reading his mind and perceiving his need for a moment of temporary and rather illusory privacy.

He followed her to the coffee table and stood by her side, screening her from the rest of the room as he bent towards her and quietly enquired:

“You are not uncomfortable about the evening… are you?”

“No, not at all!” she replied truthfully, and could not help impishly adding, “I am perfectly satisfied with it, I thank you. Particularly at this moment.”

Elizabeth looked up to him and their eyes met briefly, his countenance warming at her words, then she turned her attention to pouring his coffee.

“How much longer, Elizabeth?” he whispered suddenly, with barely concealed impatience.

No further than a month ago, he had been quite proficient at disguising his interest, but after the intervening weeks of happiness, taking up the act again was neither easy, nor desirable. He longed to be open in his attentions once more, and the sooner their understanding was disclosed, the better!

“This pretence…” he added. “I fear it will be seen through soon enough, you know!”

She handed him his cup, briefly caressing his fingers as he reached for the saucer.

“You will be pleased to learn, then, that it will not be long.” She looked up and smiled mischievously. “Brace yourself, Sir. The communications will be made tonight.”

“Communications?” he asked in some surprise, and Elizabeth blushed at the slip of the tongue.

She sighed. It could not be helped now and besides, he undoubtedly deserved at least as much honesty as her mother, who would be informed before the night was out. With the excuse that, as soon as her mother knew, everybody would, Elizabeth whispered, paying undue attention to pouring more coffee into a fresh cup:

“Yes… Jane has an announcement of her own…”

“Oh!”

He had known, of course. One evening, some weeks previously, when they were alone in the library, Bingley had informed him of it quite unexpectedly, in obvious need to share his joy. Then, not much later, he had excused himself and had returned to his wife, leaving his friend alone with his brandy and with all manner of ungovernable thoughts.

As soon as the door was carelessly slammed shut, Darcy had leaned his head against the back of the chair and had closed his eyes with a long sigh.

It was enough of a trial to nightly contemplate the notion of Elizabeth above stairs, her bedchamber mere yards from his own, without the added emphasis upon the difference between his and Bingley’s situation! His loneliness and longing intensified by his friend’s disclosures and eagerness to retire, Darcy had toyed with his brandy, in turn tormented and exhilarated by thoughts of Elizabeth and their upcoming – yet all too distant marriage.

He was glad to see his friend so clearly overjoyed, of course, and was cautiously pleased for them both, yet Bingley’s propensity to float through life in a perpetual whirl of rose-tinted clouds never ceased to astound - nay, annoy him. Darcy had huffed in some impatience at the recollection of the younger man bounding about the room as he shared the intelligence, unable to contain his elation at the prospect of becoming a father and completely oblivious, apparently, to the frightful risk to his wife’s health – her life, even.

Darcy had suddenly drained his glass at the thought, knowing full well that elation would not be his first sentiment, in like circumstances. He wanted an heir, of course, and the mere thought of becoming one in body as well as spirit was enough to rob him of every last shred of peace and patience, yet he could not help finding the prospect of Elizabeth with child other than utterly terrifying. It was a reflection of his own mother’s premature passing, shortly after being brought to bed, he understood that well enough, and he saw it for the irrational fear that it was, yet dispassionate logic was as far from his grasp as it was futile.

“Would the ladies be so kind to indulge us with some music? Miss Marianne, can we persuade you? We have much heard of your proficiency,” Bingley suddenly called, disrupting his thoughts and the general murmur of conversation.

Privately conceding that their tête-à-tête had to end for now, lest they attracted untoward and premature attention, Elizabeth glanced up to her betrothed with a warm smile of amused resignation, before returning to her seat, to add her entreaties to Bingley’s polite request.

After an attempt to convince Elizabeth or Georgiana to precede her – earnestly negatived in both cases – the younger Miss Dashwood graciously agreed to play and walked over to the instrument, while Darcy leisurely made his way to the chair she had just vacated. From the adjacent sofa, his betrothed and his sister looked up to welcome him, before their attention was drawn to Miss Marianne’s exquisite performance.

It was not surprising that Georgiana could not be induced to play and thankfully no one had discomfited her with undue insistence. Darcy cast another glance towards his sister, only to see her clearly drawn by the enjoyment of music, her sweet countenance free of the diffidence she habitually displayed, particularly in large company.

It was a joy to see her thus, and even more so to witness the ease with which she turned to Elizabeth, at a pause in the performance, to express her delight with it. The picture they presented warmed his heart. Heads bent together in earnest conversation, Georgiana’s animated expression and Elizabeth’s affectionate response - it was just as he had hoped, and more.

His chest swelled and a smile brightened his countenance at the thought that he will see them thus at Pemberley, in Berkeley Square, or wherever they would choose to go, and that Elizabeth’s presence will enrich his sister’s life as surely as it was to redeem his.

He needed her more than he had ever needed anyone, with an intensity he found both novel and terrifying. As time goes by - they say - this longing, this aching emptiness at each inevitable separation eventually matures into the calmer joys of companionship, into the security of a shared life. Perhaps - but in his case, he rather doubted that it would. He might just come to trust in his good fortune and conquer the wild fear of losing her, somehow – but he could not see his sentiments becoming tame and placid, just as he could not envisage no longer loving her.

Music filled the room again, alert and sparkling, soothing other spirits. Marianne’s performance was flawless and she sang very well, her rich timbre complementing the fine Italian aria, but the excellence of her skill had no power to deflect Darcy’s attention from his thoughts and the arresting sight before him. Unexpectedly, Elizabeth turned, the sudden jolt engendered by her eyes meeting his a stirring reminder of her power over him. Their eyes held for a long, exquisite moment – and then she looked away with a smile and a charming blush, while Darcy exhaled deeply, sat up in his chair and, for at least the hundredth time that month, he willed the time to fly.

Much later, as he was finally repairing to his chambers after a stretch in the billiards room with Bingley and Brandon, Darcy was temporarily stopped in his tracks by a loud exclamation – in all fairness, it was more like a shriek – coming from the end of the corridor, where Mrs Bennet’s quarters were. He could not distinguish what was said of course, but the voice was unmistakable, and so was the fact that it was a rather violent explosion of joy. Darcy raised his eyebrows, in equal measure embarrassed and relieved. Elizabeth’s communication had apparently been made. All that remained now to be seen was how long it would take for the news to spread, he thought dryly and, despite the overwhelming tiredness, went directly to his writing desk. He had neglected to fulfil his promise to his uncle and had not written to Rosings yet – and by all accounts, he would be well advised to write that very night!

He was partially correct in his estimation. Mrs Bennet had been informed, but it was Jane’s news that had prompted the audible reaction. The intelligence Elizabeth had to impart came a few minutes later. And not a living soul – himself included – could have anticipated that Mrs Bennet’s response would be nothing but a long, stunned silence. There was no danger, however, of any material change in the lady’s disposition and temper, as eventually shown by her readiness to recover, fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder and bless herself. Thankfully, by that time Darcy was sequestered behind tightly closed doors, intent upon his difficult piece of correspondence, and Mrs Bennet’s effusions were for her daughters’ ears alone.

Even later still, when Darcy had finally written his letter to his aunt, and had emerged from his chambers to place it below-stairs on one of the cabinets in the hallway, whence all post was sent out early in the morning, the sliver of light coming from under Elizabeth’s door gave him pause. He stopped just outside, long enough to distinguish a merry mix of subdued voices coming together in eager whispers, accompanied by the occasional bout of girlish giggles.

His countenance grew softer at the thought of Elizabeth excitedly discussing their engagement with her friends. He smiled, the look in his eyes softer still. He forgot sometimes how much younger than him she really was – her obvious maturity and wisdom belied the difference in their ages.

The thought of her childish enjoyment in the late-night gathering of a tight-knit confrerie warmed his heart as he walked away.

He made his way downstairs, found the cabinet and dropped his letter on the silver tray alongside others and was pondering what to do with himself next, when the sound of footsteps made him look up, only to see Bingley leisurely descending, a solitary candle in his hand.

“Care to join me for another drink?” his friend asked with feigned unconcern and, despite himself, Darcy burst out laughing. He had not expected Mrs Bingley to be part of the girlish scheme, but it suddenly seemed quite fitting. There must have been many nights like this in the Bennet household, and he was happy for Elizabeth – and for her sisters as well, for that matter – to know that they could, for once at least, attempt to recreate the past.

Wickedly diverted by the thought that he was not to be the only one nursing his loneliness and brandy in the library that night, Darcy followed a bemused Bingley down the darkened hallway, rather ineffectually endeavouring to contain his uncharitable amusement at the sight of his friend, clearly disoriented by the unprecedented abandonment.

“Rather unnerving, is it not, to know that we are spoken of behind closed doors!” Darcy quipped in a sudden display of unreserved good-humour. “And had I not known better, I’d say we send for Brandon and Ferrars for mutual support, or safety in numbers, or simply to unnerve them too, for I do not see why they should be allowed to rest in blissful ignorance of it!

Chapter 30

Darcy descended the wide staircase on his way towards the breakfast parlour, not really knowing what he should expect. To his great joy, however, it soon became apparent that life at Netherfield had not materially altered. Elizabeth was there, and she was alone. Not strictly speaking, of course. There was a footman serving her with tea, and two others busying themselves with a vast array of covered dishes laid out on the dresser, in preparation for the much larger party expected to congregate for the morning repast. It was an age since he had been at liberty to hold her, to kiss her, to merely take her hand, but a wise man would derive comfort from such as he is given. At least he was not required to disguise his joy at seeing her, nor temper the warmth in his eyes and address when he came to greet her and sit down by her side.

“This is an unexpected pleasure!” he said softly as he did so.

“Unexpected, Sir?”

“I would have thought you retired rather too late for such an early breakfast,” Darcy elaborated casually and Elizabeth laughed.

“Oh, dear! Were we so very loud, then?”

“No, not as such. Just the odd sound of voices and a school-room-full of giggles…” he teazed, delighting in the beautiful picture she presented, a blushing vision with sparkling eyes.

“It was not so!”

“Oh, I would beg to differ!”

Elizabeth’s eyes crinkled in amusement. Perhaps it was, in truth. They had gathered before the fireplace with cushions and quilts and cups of chocolate, which Jane had the inspiration to ring for, and as they shared their thoughts, if not all their secrets, there is little doubt that there were girlish giggles, from her part and Kitty’s - and Marianne’s - at least. The others were more reserved to begin with – but then they always were. Before too long, however, their reticence was conquered, at least in part, and the long hours spent in conversation had very much felt like a reunion of sisters. Which is exactly what it had been, come to think of it. How utterly delightful! They were all sisters now - or very soon shall be.

“What do you know of giggles in the school-room, Mr Darcy?” she turned to her betrothed with an impish smile. “I would have thought you were the perfect student at all times!”

“You could not be more wrong, I fear!” he offered, with a matching smile of his own.

“Is that so! That I should like to hear about!”

“I do not doubt you will. In point of fact, I am prepared to wager that my cousin will so mistrust my version of events that he will tell you his - twice, at the very least - before the year is out. And as for Georgiana, she had her fair share of school-room scrapes and giggles, as I remember, which I am certain she will share with you someday.”

“I do believe that she already had, at least in part.”

“She had?”

“Oh, yes! Some stories have emerged last night, and I could scarce believe them, given your sister’s quiet disposition!”

“I am sorry, are you saying that Georgiana was with you as well?”

For a brief moment, Elizabeth wondered whether he disliked the notion of his younger sister staying up so late, instead of getting her much-needed rest, but it did not take her long to ascertain that nothing could be further from his mind. There was no disapproval in his voice, but utmost surprise, so much so that Elizabeth looked up at him in disbelief:

“You did not think we would exclude her, surely!”

“I did not think you would be comfortable speaking with your friends of our engagement, in my sister’s presence…” Darcy offered tentatively, and Elizabeth laughed, wide-eyed.

“Goodness! What did you think I was prepared to tell them? There is nothing I should wish to share that you or Georgiana could not hear!”

She shook her head in mild amusement as she turned to pour his coffee. She stirred in just one lump of sugar, while Darcy silently watched her, all manner of unconnected thoughts warming his heart. In part, it was her kindness to his sister, and the notion that Georgiana had been made to feel not merely welcome, but surprisingly at ease – enough to share childhood memories, apparently – with several young ladies whose society could not fail to bring forth the very best in her. And then it was Elizabeth’s warm laughter, and her gentle teazing. And the quiet, delightful intimacy brought on by the simple fact that there she was, naturally pouring his coffee, not needing to ask if he desired any, or how he chose to take it, for that matter, with all the ease of a longstanding habit, as though they had been married for some time.

Elizabeth looked up as she handed him the cup and saucer, the sudden look of tenderness in his eyes making her crease her brow in smiling wonder as to its cause and purport.

“Is… anything the matter?”

“No,” he answered softly. “Nothing at all.”

He took the proffered drink and thanked her, then absent-mindedly put it down.

“You are… truly remarkable, Elizabeth,” he could not stop from adding, his voice lowered to a mere whisper, as he reached to briefly hold her hand and bring it to his lips. It was not much – no, not enough by far. But it was more than he had been allowed to hope for since their walk the day before, and in all likelihood will have to - somehow - see him through the many hours until the morrow’s breakfast, if he was in luck.

“For preparing you a cup of coffee?” she teazed, a sparkle in her eyes, and Darcy smiled, reluctantly releasing her hand.

“Why, yes, in point of fact – and for many other reasons alongside.”

With some effort, he turned to his plate. The muffin he had chosen earlier from the selection one of the footmen brought was quite cold by now, but he began to butter it nevertheless.

“I hope the communications were well received,” he said, after a pause.

Elizabeth looked up with a mild smile, very much suspecting that he need not ask.

“They were indeed,” she replied briefly and returned to her cup, unwilling to pursue the subject of communications and delighted mothers.

“Thank goodness! I do not think that I could have pretended another day to hardly knowing you!”

Elizabeth laughed softly in response, his engaging smile reminding her exactly why she had endeavoured to rouse herself for breakfast after so very little sleep.

“I am at liberty to ask if you would take a turn with me, then… am I not?”

“You most certainly are – and I should like that very much.”

“Before we go, though, would you allow me to speak to your mother?” Darcy asked, jesting manner aside, and Elizabeth valiantly suppressed a little grimace, in the full knowledge that it had to be done.

“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “I just hope it will be…”

Quiet? Decorous? Bearable? She could not find quite the right word to express the inexpressible, so she did not finish her sentence, but Darcy smiled reassuringly in response.

“It will be well. Now, where would you like to walk?”

The turn of her countenance said ‘Anywhere!’ and they both laughed, in unspoken agreement.

“Hm… I have not given it much thought,” she eventually replied. “The path to Ashford is certainly appealing. A lovely walk by the side of the river, with the added charm of being nearly seven miles…” she added, smiling at the attractive prospect of having him all to herself for such a length of time.

But no, she recollected. That will not come to pass. Now that their engagement had become so public, it was not to be expected that they could abscond together in this fashion anymore. They will have to content themselves with shorter walks and find convenient companions, Elizabeth told herself, and just as she was endeavouring to see the diverting side of the matter, a sudden thought intruded, one which under no circumstances could be construed as diverting.

Her countenance fell visibly, and Darcy could not fail to notice.

“What troubles you, my love?” he whispered solicitously, and she gave a brief grimace.

“I have just remembered that Mr Collins will join us for dinner tonight…”

“I daresay we shall survive the experience…” Darcy offered with a wry laugh, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“Yes. Only just! It pains me to expose you to such displays, however…”

“Pray, do not make yourself uneasy, not on my behalf! I should say there is sufficient congenial company to be had, which even Mr Collins cannot detract from!”

Despite his assurances, Elizabeth gave a little rueful smile.

“I thank you for your efforts to spare my feelings, but… congenial company notwithstanding, you were not at ease yesterday, nor did you look happy - and I dread to think of adding Mr Collins to the mix…”

“Did I not?” he needlessly asked as he looked away, quite unprepared for this and not altogether convinced he appreciated her ability to read his disposition – although perhaps not to interpret it.

“Not exactly, no.” Elizabeth put down her cup, and turned to face him. “I therefore assumed that something troubled you.”

“Perhaps…” Darcy owned cautiously, “but not what you imagine.”

“What, then, if you do not mind my asking?”

“Idle thoughts,” he offered, dismissing them with a wave. “Do not concern yourself, I beg you, all is well,” he added, only to instantly regret his flippant manner, as the turn of her countenance clearly told him that she had hoped for a better answer.

He exhaled and all but shook his head at his faux pas.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly, with a small penitent smile. “There is a great deal I shall have to learn…” He covered her hand with his and continued. “I have grown accustomed to keep all my vexations to myself, over the years. Old habits die hard, they say, but I shall try to quash them sooner rather than later, if you can bear with me…”

She could not help but laugh at this and he lowered his voice even further.

“Yesterday I chose to brood on my reluctance to share you with so many others, particularly as we had to keep our distance, and on all manner of idle thoughts of the same bent, such as the unprofitable exercise of counting the days of our engagement, or dwelling on my fears of somehow losing you,” he owned with sudden candour and a smile that endeavoured to made light of his disquiet. It was hardly the best time - or indeed the best setting - for heart-felt disclosures, he knew that well enough, but he was not about to let the moment pass before reassuring her that it was not his intention to keep his thoughts from her, either now or later – and the look he received in return was well worth the exertion to go against his ways.

“You will not, you know…” she barely had the time to whisper, before the door opened and their privacy was gone.

Their hands swiftly returning to their earlier employment, they both looked up, rather assuming it would be Georgiana, although it was not quite her usual time. In fact, it was Kitty and Darcy was amused to notice that although the distance they were keeping was - at that moment at least - the very essence of propriety, she blushed quite noticeably at having interrupted their tête-à-tête, leaving him in no doubt as to her good information. Should he have not guessed it already, Miss Catherine gave proof of it herself, when she gathered the courage to come and congratulate them warmly and express her unrestrained delight at their future connection.

Colonel Brandon joined them shortly, then Georgiana, followed by Bingley and his wife and, before too long, family and guests were all gathered ’round the breakfast table.

Mrs Bennet was amongst the last to arrive and when the door opened to admit her, Darcy’s back unconsciously stiffened as he braced himself against the expectation of a warm and very public welcome into the family fold. To his increased but rather well disguised dismay, as he looked around, he noticed that by his side was one of the few remaining unoccupied chairs. He cleared his throat and suppressed a sigh, praying for ease and patience – and the ability to keep his discomfort under good regulation.

To his surprise, Mrs Bennet appeared a great deal less eager than expected to occupy that particular seat, and her manner, in response to his civil greeting, was such as to baffle him exceedingly. Had he not known better, he would have stared. She was subdued and – by Jove – quiet! Other than offering very flustered thanks when he assisted her in her chair, for the entire duration of the meal she barely spoke to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion. It was, therefore, with raised spirits and sanguine expectations that Darcy rose from the breakfast table some time later, along with all the others. Elizabeth could barely hear him, surrounded as they were by the light-hearted chatter of several other people, but she could have sworn there was nothing but the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice when he quietly and very civilly requested the privilege of a private interview from her suddenly fidgeting mother, before bidding her a silent adieu and following Mrs Bennet out of the breakfast parlour.

Upon inspection, the adjoining sitting room appeared to be as good a choice as any, assuming of course that the rest of the party would repair to the drawing room instead. The interview was brief and to the point. Although Elizabeth did not require anyone’s permission to marry, it was only natural for him to seek her mother’s blessing for the union and, having had more than his share of untimely interruptions, Darcy lost little time in doing so.

Fortunately for him – and for Mrs Bennet – she had been pre-warned, and thus they were both spared the first raptures of her joy, as well as the violence of her delight and approbation. The lady proceeded instead to vigorously fan herself, her complexion so heightened that the young man almost entertained some fears for her safety. The blessing he sought was hastily although incoherently given, followed in mere moments by a thorough repetition of the same, presumably in order to eliminate any possible doubt regarding her wholehearted approval. Eventually, as the lady proceeded to express disjointed thanks for his condescension, Darcy bowed and attempted to excuse himself, only to be stopped by a breathless enquiry:

“You would wish to be married as soon as may be, I assume!” Mrs Bennet offered, and Darcy could not quite decide whether to be diverted or affronted by the obvious concern that he might reconsider. Old sayings about gift horses sprung to mind as he forbore from reassuring her that it would never happen.

“I do, but ultimately, it will be Miss Bennet’s choice,” he said instead.

“So very good of you to say so, Mr Darcy. Of course, of course. But she is, you know, as good natured a girl as ever lived, my Lizzy. She will not object to any scheme that will make you and her family happy!”

Darcy bowed in response and Mrs Bennet continued.

“Would you wish to be married in town? Or in Derbyshire? I fear Farringdon might be too far off the beaten track for your taste…”

“It is of no consequence, Mrs Bennet.” As long as we do wed, and do not tarry long. “I would assume, however, that Miss Bennet would prefer to be married from Netherfield, if it could be arranged. I have not spoken to her of this, nor to my friend or Mrs Bingley, but seeing that she is bound to have a greater attachment to Longbourn Church, perhaps this is the path to be considered.”

“My dear Mr Darcy, what a splendid notion! Married from Netherfield, by a special licence! We could ask my late husband’s cousin to officiate, you know. You have met, have you not? Reverend Collins. He is now married to my third daughter, Mary. He will be here tonight, they are invited to join us for dinner, Mrs Bingley assured me. We can ask him then. It adds to the occasion, do you not think, to have the ceremony performed by one’s relation! Unless, of course, there is a man of the cloth in your family, whom you would wish to be married by…”

“Miss Bennet and I will, I am sure, be quite satisfied with the rector of Longbourn Parish,” Darcy hastily replied. “But we can resolve later upon such details.”

“Oh, yes, we can indeed! There is so much else to be considered… The wedding clothes… I must make arrangements for the wedding clothes… It shall take a long time, if I do not start directly! Such a great pity that I had not heard of it while I was still in town! I could have gone to the best warehouses and arranged every thing! Every thing that could be settled without Lizzy’s measurements of course! Now we shall have to rely on my sister Gardiner’s assistance, and my brother’s of course, but what do men know of such things? Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mr Darcy, of course you would know, what with having a younger sister to dispose of in marriage…”

The brief flustered pause in the lady’s discourse gave him a good opportunity to interject:

“I am persuaded that all will be arranged to everybody’s satisfaction, Mrs Bennet. Perhaps we could discuss it later, and make plans to travel to town after the ball. Miss Bennet will, no doubt, wish to be included in the preparations…”

“The sweetest girl there ever was, my Lizzy!” the lady interjected, sentiment with which Darcy could not but concur. “But I should write my brother Gardiner directly! They were going to join us just before the ball, you see, he had some business to attend to, something about a delay in shipping, but surely Lizzy’s forthcoming marriage takes precedence over that! They will be wanting to be here and rejoice with us, I am sure! Lizzy had always been a favourite with them, you see, so much so that… Well, it is of no consequence! I am persuaded they will drop every thing and come directly, as soon as they hear of it…”

Having made a note to warn Elizabeth about her mother’s sudden interest for correspondence, Darcy eventually managed to extricate himself from Mrs Bingley’s sitting room.

It was only much later, as they were strolling down the paths meandering through the southern gardens, leisurely followed by Miss Catherine and Georgiana, that he was able to do so.

“Have you had a chance to write your uncle and aunt in town about our engagement?” he tentatively mentioned.

“I have written my aunt Gardiner the day before,” she owned. “Why do you ask?”

But then it occurred to her, and she blushed.

“I daresay my mother has expressed her intention to write them directly,” she offered, and he made no reply. His silence served as confirmation, and Elizabeth sighed.

With a smile, Darcy was about to turn to her and remind her of the pact they had made at the end of their walk, on the previous day, whereby they had agreed to be diverted by what they could not change, when a murmur of voices coming from somewhere ahead of them gave him pause.

Before they could change course, a subdued exclamation reached their ears:

“And all this time, then, you have been engaged?”

A deeper voice replied, which they both recognised as Mr Ferrars’.

“Until Mrs Wickham wrote me, I was. I have known myself so, bound by a youthful fancy I had long regretted. Elinor, I…”

“Should we return for luncheon?” Darcy quietly suggested, as they stopped in their tracks and turned to retrace their steps, instead of joining the main walk ahead.

“By all means!” Elizabeth agreed, privately wondering what was about that particular bench, on the path leading to the shrubbery, to make it so conducive to all manner of disquieting confessions between lovers. Perhaps she should ask Jane if it had been cursed! Or, come to think of it, it just might have been blessed, she mused, thinking of their own better understanding, as she happily leaned on her betrothed’s arm.

“Mrs Jennings, may I introduce Mr Collins and my sister, Mrs Collins.”

“Delighted, Ma’am!” Mr Collins announced, with the same unctuous civility which Elizabeth could remember only too well, while Mary curtsied.

It was destined to be a long evening. Mr Collins’ relatively recently gained independence from any other person’s benevolence and whims did not make him any less obsequious. He was master of his own estate, and in no further need to bow and scrape, but apparently it had become his second nature to do so, regardless. His manner of address to people of higher social standing, and to Darcy in particular, could do nothing but test the patience of his more discerning relations. It was a most mortifying mixture of servility and self-importance, of abject deference to the house of his former patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, juxtaposed to a sense of self-elevation which increased the length of his discourse, but could not improve on either quality or sense.

Throughout the time spent in the drawing room before dinner was announced, Elizabeth’s only source of comfort was to occasionally endeavour to catch Darcy’s eye, and silently commiserate with him for the exposure to the former pastor’s parading and obsequious civility.

The atmosphere at dinner was tolerable, and although Mr Collins did his best to monopolise the conversation, the party was large enough for him to be less than successful. It was only later, when the gentlemen had again adjourned to Mr Bingley’s study, that his addition to what had been quite enjoyable company was more than acutely felt. Despite Darcy’s endeavours to engage Brandon in as rewarding a conversation as the one they had shared the day before, Collins’ determination to have his say had ensured that nobody else did. It was therefore with great relief that Darcy heard his friend’s suggestion that they should return to the ladies.

The first image that caught his eye as soon as he entered the drawing room was Elizabeth’s rather heightened complexion. Within seconds, the reasons for it became apparent, as Mrs Jennings accosted him, before he had advanced many steps.

“What say you, Mr Darcy?” she called. “I have just been saying to our little friend Lizzy here that slyness does not go a long way with me. Have I not said that you appeared distinctly disappointed when you called in Portman Square? Well, I can assure you, you did not look disappointed when I saw you again at Netherfield! It is amazing, is it not, what difference a few weeks can make, when people follow their heart! Well, I am delighted for you, and delighted for my reputation, I’m sure!” she heartily laughed. “It would not do to be said that my powers of perception are failing me, as I advance in age…”

“I have found, dear Madam, that powers of perception become, if anything, ever more acute. Why, I remember, when I have notified my esteemed patroness of my forthcoming marriage….”

“Would you care for some coffee, Mr Collins?” Mary interjected, leaving Elizabeth to wonder how much of her sister’s apparent contentment with the married state was derived from real comforts, and how much was due to constant and attentive management.

“Thank you, my dear, that would be very good. As I was saying, when I have had the honour to announce the Lady Catherine de Bourgh of my impending nuptials, the great lady was able to ascertain, merely from my descriptions, without even having met my future wife, that I have been fortunate to be able to follow her ladyship’s instructions to the letter. ‘Chuse properly,’ she had said, ‘chuse a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up too high, but able to make a small income go a long way.’ Not that our income is small nowadays, but nevertheless… ‘Find such a woman as soon as you can,’ her ladyship had advised, ‘bring her to Hunsford and I will visit her.’ And you can rest assured that her ladyship was true to her word, not that a person of her moral standing could be otherwise! Is it not so, my dear? We have been greatly honoured by her ladyship’s attentions, for the two short months we have resided in Kent. Of course, we had to relinquish the superior society our intimacy with Rosings had bestowed, when a certain sad event occurred, of which I shall speak no further... Lady Catherine would be, of course, quite unable to condescend to call upon us here…”

Darcy sipped his coffee, nearly scalding himself in the process, as he wondered what – if anything! - governed the man’s tongue. Within the space of mere moments, he had contrived to put together a speech guaranteed to distress, mortify or offend virtually every person in the room. The look on Elizabeth’s face spoke volumes of the depth of her vexation, and without further ado, Darcy put down his cup and walked to her side.

“Miss Bennet, can I persuade you to take a turn about the room with me?” he said, thankful for the small mercy of no longer having to withhold his attentions. She nodded, but before she could make her excuses and leave her seat, Mrs Bennet spoke.

Truth be told, she never really got to like the little man. Not even the removal of the threat of the entail through Mary’s engagement, followed by the bequest of Farringdon, had ever reconciled her with the notion of having to quit her home in his favour. And now his careless references to Mr Bennet’s passing, as well as his pining for the superior society in Kent could do nothing but further antagonise her. The only consolation was currently derived from the sight of Mr Darcy, all solicitous attention for her dear Lizzy. What a clever, clever girl to have made such a great match! Even dear Bingley was nothing by comparison, nothing at all!

“Perhaps you should have remained at Hunsford, then, Mr Collins!” she said tartly. “I am sure that others could have managed Longbourn in your stead. As to the society in Hertfordshire, I daresay not even the great lady herself will find cause to object, when she comes to attend her own nephew’s nuptials in Longbourn Church!”

“Good Lord!” Darcy muttered, as he briefly met Elizabeth’s eyes.

Very few others had reacted, as knowledge of their family connection was not at all widespread.

It was only Bingley, his wife and Elizabeth that had looked up in astonishment, after Mrs Bennet’s smug pronouncement. As for Mr Collins, the snub had gone completely unnoticed, and it was solely the intelligence regarding her ladyship that had made an impression.

“Lady Catherine’s nephew marrying in Longbourn Church? Which nephew is that?”

“Why, Mr Darcy, of course! How many nephews does her ladyship have?”

Five, actually. Three on the Fitzwilliam side, Darcy privately supplied, quite at a loss how best to end the matter, without causing Elizabeth further distress. He noticed Collins turning away from Mrs Bennet to cast him a look of stupefaction, and for a moment Darcy hoped that the man would not have the gall to question him outright. He was wrong.

“But Mr Darcy, why would you marry in Hertfordshire?”

“The details have not been fixed yet, Sir,” Darcy replied evenly, not wishing to be drawn into it.

“I would urge you to try the walnut cake,” Mrs Bingley tactfully intervened. “Shall I cut you a piece, Ma’am? Mr Collins?”

Her mother’s effusions, however, were not to be stopped with walnut cake.

“Because, Mr Collins, in his condescension, and I daresay his great affection for his bride, Mr Darcy thinks that Lizzy might wish to be married in the church she had attended ever since she was a little girl!” Mrs Bennet triumphantly announced and Darcy clenched his hands on the back of Elizabeth’s chair, wondering how it was possible that a man of his understanding could fail to learn a valuable lesson: under no circumstance talk to Mrs Bennet of anything but the weather!

However, he could at least note that the look of vexation and inexpressible distress on Elizabeth’s countenance had temporarily softened into something akin to tenderness, before she remembered to blush for yet another of her mother’s improprieties.

Across from him, Mr Collins gaped.

“Lizzy? My cousin… er… Lizzy? Mr Darcy is to marry Lizzy?”

“Yes, Mr Collins, I am to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy replied in a voice dangerously reminiscent of the last occasion they have spoken, almost a twelvemonth ago, at Longbourn. “Do not make yourself uneasy about not having wished us joy”, he added, dryly. “You could not have known. It has not been formally announced yet.”

“Indeed,” Bingley interjected, belatedly coming to his friend’s aid. “The intention was to announce it at the ball.”

“My dear Mr Bingley, how very, very thoughtful! The ball was meant to be in honour of their engagement! Oh, dear! I fear I have spoken out of turn, then!” Mrs Bennet remarked, rather flustered, and there were many in the present company who valiantly resisted the temptation to roll their eyes.

Oh, Madam, surely not!

Marianne - who had caught a little of the discussion from where she sat, at the other end of the room, in conversation with her sister, their future husbands, Kitty and Georgiana - wondered whether now was a good time to approach and offer her formal congratulations, over and above the previous evening’s unrestrained expressions of delight. However, she thought better of it and turned her attention back to her companions, fully intending to pretend she had heard nothing, as soon as Mr Collins’ stutter reached her ears:

“But… But… what of the fair Miss de Bourgh?”

“What of the fair Miss de Bourgh, Mr Collins?” Mrs Bennet enquired in some irritation, and before anyone could intervene, the unstoppable cleric made public his concern:

“Miss Anne de Bourgh, Lady Catherine’s daughter, had been for many years expected to marry Mr Darcy! Cousin Elizabeth,” he urged, turning to her, his countenance a picture of solemn horror, “I beg you and your noble admirer to consider and not run hastily into a marriage which defies family obligations and can never be properly sanctioned! There is no doubt that her ladyship will be most seriously displeased!”

At least five people in the room gave the distinct impression that they might consider extreme measures to silence the man, but it was Darcy who spoke first, without any further attempt to disguise his annoyance.

“Mr Collins! Your diligence on my family’s behalf is quite extraordinary, but I would thank you, Sir, to desist from addressing matters which are none of your concern!”

Then, with voice and manner instantly softened, he turned again to Elizabeth.

“May I have the pleasure of your company, Miss Bennet?” he asked and, as she rose, he perfunctorily presented their excuses and led her through the open door onto the terrace.

Uncomfortable silence followed in their wake, until Bingley quite suddenly cried:

“Do let us have a little music! Catherine! Miss Marianne! Mrs Collins! Can we persuade you?”

Judging by the superior execution, Elizabeth ascertained that it must have been Marianne who had swiftly acceded to the request. With a long sigh, she came to rest her palms on the cool and smooth top of the stone banister. She was almost afraid to raise her eyes to the man standing beside her - half wondering how it was possible that he should still be at her side - but nevertheless did so, only to find him observing her with undisguised concern. A muffled sound escaped her – half laughter, half sob – and she voiced the thought that gave her pain.

“I fail to see why you would still wish to marry me…”

His first response was to exhale – a violent, impatient sound.

“Elizabeth, no more, I beg you! You are my life, and we shall marry, because we would not wish it otherwise!”

Her soft little laugh was genuine this time as she briefly leaned her head against his shoulder.

“In that case,” she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear, “perhaps we should begin to consider Gretna Green!”

A good semblance of a convivial atmosphere awaited in the drawing room some – too short – minutes later when they returned to the house. Unbeknownst to them, however, Mr Collins had not been silent in their absence. Darcy’s outburst had merely succeeded in deterring him from making it such a quasi-public concern, but had not silenced him altogether. Throughout Marianne’s song, his profound disquiet had been amply addressed in a monologue to his wife, whose repeated attempts to change the subject had been utterly fruitless.

Fortunately for everyone involved, Mrs Bennet was seated too far from him to overhear, and thus could not be vexed by anything but the incessant muttering coming from the insufferable man. The same could not be said about Jane, who had the doubtful privilege to be privy to every thought her less than amiable brother had expressed.

It was wholly contrary to her nature to assume the worst of people and circumstances, nor was she likely to place much reliance on Mr Collins’ words, having had ample opportunity to form a just impression of their value, but the overhearings gave her an unsettling understanding of what sort of welcome – or rather lack thereof – Lizzy might expect from her relations by marriage.

She was not a stranger to the circumstance herself – after all, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst had hardly become her truly affectionate sisters! Mrs Bingley would not judge them – not quite – but that did not make her blind to their shortcomings. She had been saddened by their insincerity, but not truly pained. Her only true concern was on her husband’s behalf, but in that respect her fears had been appeased, for Charles - although fond of his sisters - was not close to them in any way that mattered. Mrs Bingley wondered if the same could be said about Mr Darcy and his relations. There was little doubt of his close kinship with his cousin. Would it be unreasonable to assume that he might be equally close to the rest of the Colonel’s family? And, should Mr Collins be remotely right in his estimations of that family’s response to Mr Darcy’s marriage, would it not impact most painfully upon their felicity?

Jane had no doubts of Mr Darcy’s affection for her sister, and fully rejoiced in it, for both their sakes. However, she could not help being concerned on Elizabeth’s behalf. Elizabeth was not like herself. She was warm and exuberant whereas Jane was calm and dispassionate. Jane - much like Mr Darcy, in point of fact, she came to see with some surprise - was not pained by reserve. Quite the contrary. The same could not be said about Elizabeth, who rejoiced in openness and trust. It was quite fortunate for them both that the reserved Mr Darcy was quite able to be anything but towards those he most cared about, yet would it be enough?

Elizabeth had spent her life surrounded by affection and esteem, more freely given from some quarters than from others. She had not been their mother’s favourite, there was truth in that, and more often than not she had met with nothing but silliness from their younger sisters, but she had never been maligned, despised or slighted. And whatever was lacking in nurture and obvious affection from the part of their mother, was amply compensated, throughout her life at Longbourn, by their father’s devotion and respect and, Jane would hope, by the sisterly bond she and Elizabeth shared. Theirs had been a noisy and sometimes less than decorous family, even Jane had to own that, but it had not ever been disapproving and cold. And Mrs Bingley was less than sanguine regarding Elizabeth’s lasting chances of happiness, if a large proportion of her new family would show her nothing but disdain.

Such thoughts, and the unwelcome recollection of the scene she had unwittingly witnessed from her window, not very long ago, conspired to make Mrs Bingley exceedingly uncomfortable, and it was this all-pervading disquiet that eventually prompted her to depart from her habitual reserve and decide that she had to speak out.

And thus, the following morning, Mrs Bingley apparently unconnectedly decided that her mother needed to see the preparations for the nursery, already underway, and admire the old Christening gown that had been used for two generations of Bingley babes, as well as all the lace and cloth and garments lovingly put together for the new arrival. Elizabeth and Kitty’s assistance and opinions had been sought, and it was with profuse apologies that Mrs Bingley later left her mother and sisters to their employment, begging them to wait, while she attended to a ‘household matter’.

Mrs Bingley smoothed her dress as she walked down the corridor towards the seldom-used smaller sitting-room on the first floor and rather unsteadily drew breath before opening the door.

She advanced into the room with a smile.

“Mr Darcy! How kind of you to spare the time. Pray be seated, Sir. I have ordered us some refreshment. Would you care for tea, or do you prefer coffee?”

Darcy declined both and eventually sat, not insubstantially puzzled about the purpose of this interview but persuaded there was more to it that sharing a cup of coffee. For a while, none spoke, the gentleman patiently waiting for the lady to gather her thoughts.

“I believe I should start by apologising, Mr Darcy, for my failure to control the situation the day before. Some of our relations are, I fear, not overmuch inclined to think before they speak,” Mrs Bingley eventually began.

Darcy put up a hand and smiled.

“Pray, do not make yourself uneasy. It is of no consequence. Who had not wished, at some time or other, for the good fortune of being allowed to choose one’s relations?” he quipped.

Jane’s response, however, was not a matching smile but a quiet “Precisely.”

She turned to the tray on the nearby table.

“Are you quite sure you would not like some tea?”

“Quite sure, I thank you,” Darcy replied, and Mrs Bingley poured herself a cup instead.

It was obviously done for no purpose other than to give her hands temporary employment, for she abandoned it on the small table as soon as she had poured it. After another silence, Mrs Bingley gathered enough courage to turn to her companion and look him straight in the eye.

“Mr Darcy,” she began, “you will, I hope, forgive me for what I am about to say, and ascribe it solely to the right cause. Elizabeth is, as I am sure you know, very dear to me. I should not wish to see her hurt in any way. She is… not as unaffected by adversity as she would wish us all to believe. My sister is a very private person, Sir, perhaps surprisingly so, given her lively disposition and open manner. She would be cheerful and apparently unflappable, would laugh at what she would call follies and nonsense, whim and inconsistencies and, I might add, unmerited slights. She will not show it, but she will not be unaffected by unremitting censure. And she will need a great deal of affection to compensate for it.” Mrs Bingley turned to her tea and took a sip to mask her discomfort, then slowly replaced the cup on the saucer. “I fear Elizabeth will not thank me for having spoken to you in this fashion,” she concluded with a little smile, in an attempt to make light of the situation.

“I will not mention it - not for a while at least,” Darcy assured her truthfully, “although you would imagine that I do not relish keeping matters from your sister.”

“No, of course not,” Jane replied quietly and Darcy leaned forward in his seat.

“Mrs Bingley,” he began. “I greatly appreciate your candour and the sentiments behind it. Pray allow me to respond in kind. I cannot vouch for all my relations, nor for the reception we shall have in town. But I will not allow any discourtesy, from anyone, in my presence or otherwise. As for affection,” he added softly, “I can but hope that it can compensate for such distress as that you have alluded to, for - you can rest assured - of affection your sister will never be in want.”

Jane smiled.

“I never doubted it, of course. I merely wanted you to understand.”

Darcy leaned back in his seat and returned the smile, oddly comfortable with the unprecedented circumstance of being taken to task by Mrs Bingley, the obvious devotion she had for Elizabeth bringing them together in a closer bond that they had ever shared. Quite unexpectedly, Darcy felt that he had truly acquired another sister and, with the same lack of reserve he would have displayed to Georgiana, he came to take Jane’s hand and bestowed a kiss upon it.

“I do understand and I thank you. You need not fear, Mrs Bingley,” he added with a little laugh, which Jane with some relief echoed, “I know when I have been warned!