CHAPTER 47 #4
Bingley swallowed, nodded, and looked again at his wife as if he had discovered a new duty and meant to like it once he had stopped being ashamed of not seeing it sooner.
That was why Elizabeth had spoken. Bingley could be taught by love.
Not everyone could.
The party broke apart slowly after that.
Mrs. Bennet had to be persuaded into her cloak, Lydia had to be reminded she was going back to Gracechurch Street only to collect her things, Kitty kissed Jane and Elizabeth with more feeling than she probably intended, and Mary informed Mr. Darcy that she hoped to discuss Mr. Pratt’s variations with him another time, provided he had sufficient patience for modern errors in structure.
“I shall prepare myself,” said Mr. Darcy.
Mary approved.
At last Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Doddridge, and Pom-Pom were in the carriage together, the door shut against voices, lamps, footmen, family, and the bright strain of Brook Street.
Pom-Pom settled in Mrs. Doddridge’s lap and gave a sigh of exhausted judgement.
For several moments no one spoke.
The carriage moved into the dark.
“Could you bear this at our wedding?” Mr. Darcy asked.
Elizabeth turned to him at once. “This was not our wedding.”
“No.”
“Nor was it allowed to become as bad as it might have been.”
“That is why I ask.”
She looked out at the darkened glass. The lamps passed over it in brief, wavering lines.
“You think Papa meant it as a trial.”
“I think he wished to see what would happen before the day itself required an answer.”
“That gives him a great deal of credit.”
“Perhaps. But not more than is useful.”
Elizabeth was silent.
It had been useful. That was the most irritating part.
Mrs. Bennet had not been transformed by warnings.
Mr. Bennet could be made to speak, but not relied upon to speak soon enough.
Jane would make peace until peace had eaten her.
Miss Bingley, of all people, had proved that vanity could be turned before it became grievance.
Mrs. Gardiner had removed Lydia from Longbourn without making the act look like rescue.
Mary had played better because someone had finally given her proper instruction.
Kitty had seen it and wanted more, though she had asked for nothing.
It might have been worse.
That did not make it good. It made it instructive.
“Then we must not make the wedding large enough for everyone’s feelings,” Elizabeth said.
Mr. Darcy turned his head toward her.
“Everyone not of Portman Square will be a guest.”
“Including your family?”
“Especially my family. Blood does not confer management.”
“No,” said Mr. Darcy. “It does not.”
“A short service in church,” she continued. “Then Portman Square for breakfast. Two hours. At the end of two hours, everyone will be asked to leave, whether they are family, friends, guests, persons of consequence, or persons who believe themselves injured by not being more consequential.”
Mrs. Doddridge said, “A comprehensive list, miss.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Darcy’s mouth moved slightly. “And if they linger?”
“They cannot. We shall have left first.”
He looked at her.
“A short trip after the wedding,” she said. “Nothing elaborate. Only sufficient to give the house a reason to empty itself.”
“You intend to use our wedding journey to dismiss your relations.”
“I intend to use every respectable instrument available to me.”
He was silent for a moment, and then laughed softly.
Elizabeth felt the sound like warmth.
“That is a very severe approach to romance,” he said.
“No. It is a very romantic approach to severity.”
Mrs. Doddridge, from the opposite seat, said, “Very sensible, miss.”
Pom-Pom sighed again, apparently in agreement.
Mr. Darcy’s laughter deepened and then quieted.
“It might have been worse tonight,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes.”
“But only because enough people prevented it from becoming worse. That is not a thing to trust to chance twice.”
“No.”
“Then we shall arrange the wedding before anyone arrives, and arrange our departure before anyone can stay.”
The carriage drew up before Mr. Darcy’s door sooner than Elizabeth expected.
Pom-Pom opened one eye and seemed to approve of the arrangement by not objecting.
Mr. Darcy took up his hat, then paused.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I shall call with a list of possible locations.”
Elizabeth looked at him. “For our journey?”
“For the respectable emptying of Portman Square.”
“You make it sound very grand.”
“It is an important undertaking.”
Mrs. Doddridge said, “Very important, sir.”
Elizabeth laughed, and the last of the evening’s tightness loosened.
Mr. Darcy took her hand, bowed over it, and kissed it with grave deliberation.
“Until tomorrow,” he said.
The words were ordinary.
The kiss was not.
“Until tomorrow, Fitzwilliam.”
He left them then, and the carriage moved on.
Elizabeth sat back with her hand still warm inside her glove. The evening had not been happy. It had not been simple. But it had been useful. It had shown where the wedding might break if left to hope, and where it might hold if arranged with care.
Pom-Pom sighed in Mrs. Doddridge’s lap.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth softly. “I am of your opinion.”