Chapter Nineteen
The house was bustling with activity when Darcy returned to Hollydale.
He had been involved in the apprehension of Mr. Fitch, and so Darcy felt it right to recuse himself from the duty of a magistrate.
Miss Bennet met him at the door with her accustomed cheer.
“Mr. Darcy, do forgive the commotion. My father sent a message ahead to tell us he will arrive today. The rest of my family shall be here a week before Christmas, and there are quite a few of them, so we are preparing their rooms. I trust all went well with Mr. Erickson?”
“It did, Miss Bennet.” He handed the silver candlesticks to a waiting footman.
“Freedman and Thatcher are returning the other items to their proper places. Mr. Fitch has confessed and will be held in gaol until the assizes. He is likely to be sent to Australia, unless your father recommends otherwise.”
Miss Bennet paused to look him directly in the eye. “Are you making a suggestion, Mr. Darcy?” She arched one eyebrow.
“He did not, as I had feared, intend any of you personal harm. He might be sent somewhere out of the country, as an indentured servant for a year or two to learn a skill, a better way to earn his keep and away from those to whom he owes debts of honour.”
“Rather than Botany Bay, you mean. And do you happen to know someone who has such a position for Mr. Fitch?” she inquired.
Darcy glanced away. “I might.”
She shook her head at him and smiled a little. “Of course you do. You made a recommendation, I assume.”
“Was I wrong to do so?” He did not believe so, but he berated himself for not conferring with Miss Bennet and her mother first. He did not believe Mr. Fitch a hardened criminal, and Miss Bennet was always so forgiving. . .
He released the breath he had been holding when she said, “You were not.” She invited him into the drawing room. “My mother will be down soon.”
Anxious, Darcy cleared his throat before he began to speak, his voice low and earnest. “Miss Bennet, now that your father is returning to Hollydale, there is a matter of great importance I wish to discuss.”
Her breath caught, but she maintained her composure. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
“When Mr. Bennet arrives, I would like to speak with him.”
Miss Bennet waited for a moment, but when he did not continue, she said, “You have spoken to him many times, sir. You need not make a formal request.”
Typically he would return her banter, but he was nervous. He was never nervous, and he did not care for it. “I see I must be direct. I wish to request your father’s permission to formally court you.” Darcy took a breath. “But of course, I would like to seek your permission first.”
A smile bloomed on Miss Bennet’s face, her eyes shining with what he hoped was happiness. “I would like that very much, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy reached out his hand, palm up, and waited for Miss Bennet to place hers in it.
When she did, he raised it to his lips slowly, deliberately.
The kiss he placed upon her fingers was soft yet lingering, a gesture he hoped spoke to his deep devotion.
They stood, enjoying the tenderness of the moment, before Darcy reluctantly ended it.
“I would not interfere with your family’s arrival, and Georgiana is certainly awaiting my return to Pemberley. I shall call again soon.”
She tipped her head to one side and smiled impishly. “Come tomorrow, Mr. Darcy, if you are able. And bring Miss Darcy with you.”
He smiled broadly. It was such a relief to know things were again as they ought to be, that he would be welcomed back, that Mrs. Bennet's aversion to him had been resolved. But most of all, Miss Bennet’s invitation warmed his heart.
“Tomorrow?” Darcy raised an eyebrow, his own eyes glinting with amusement. “Miss Bennet, I fear you may be overestimating my ability to stay away. I might return this afternoon.”
Miss Bennet laughed. “Should I be concerned about your lack of restraint, Mr. Darcy?”
“I assure you, Miss Bennet,” Darcy’s voice was low and teasing, “my restraint is formidable, except when it comes to you.”
“How convenient,” Miss Bennet retorted, her smile widening.
“Well then, Mr. Darcy, I leave it to you to determine when we shall next meet. Though I must warn you, you are quite redeemed in my mother’s eyes, and she may have plans to thank you for your heroics.
You ought to prepare yourself accordingly. ”
“I shall consider myself duly warned, Miss Bennet. Until we meet again.” With a final bow, Darcy took his leave.
“I look forward to it,” she replied softly.
Mr. Darcy had mounted his horse and ridden away with his men not two hours before a small carriage that appeared a bit worse for wear rattled up the drive and her father’s arrival was announced.
Elizabeth folded and put away the letter she had been reading from Mr. Milner that outlined some of his ideas for a village school.
She addressed a maid as she walked towards the front door.
“Please tell Mrs. Bennet my father has arrived.”
To her astonishment, the carriage had scarcely rolled to a stop before Mr. Bennet flung open the door, nearly tumbling out in his haste. His usually composed features were etched with worry, and his cravat was slightly askew–a testament to the urgency of his journey.
“Lizzy!” he called out, striding towards her with surprising speed for a man of his years and habitual indolence. “Are you and your mother well?”
Elizabeth rushed over to meet him, embracing him tightly. “We are well, Papa. All is well.” She buried her face in his shoulder, expecting to breathe in his familiar scent of tobacco and coffee, but instead she detected sandalwood. She sniffed delicately.
Papa cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Your mother likes it,” he grumbled.
She almost giggled, so surprised was she by his remark. But as she stepped back, she saw Mamma had come outside and was standing by the front doors, her eyes luminous.
Her father spied Mamma only a moment later, and he huffed out a relieved breath as he went to greet her. “My dear Mrs. Bennet,” he said, reaching for her hands and meeting her gaze. “How good it is to see you both safe. Your letter was panicked, Fanny. It greatly concerned me.”
“Oh Thomas,” she breathed, leaning into his embrace. “We are quite well now, I assure you. But you have missed quite an adventure!”
Papa’s countenance creased, and his next words were a little sharp. “An adventure, you say? What has happened?”
“Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside?” Elizabeth asked. “The wind has a bite to it today. We may see snow.”
“I hope that will not keep the girls and my brother’s family away,” Mamma fretted.
“They have weeks yet, and will have Edward to guide them, Fanny,” her father said as he held out his arm and she took it. He patted her hand and led them inside. “Your brother is eminently sensible and will plan for any contingency.”
Before Elizabeth could ring for her, Mrs. Riggs appeared, holding a tray of steaming tea and a plate of freshly baked biscuits. She set them down and, with a smile for Elizabeth, left them to their reunion.
Her parents sat close together on the settee. Elizabeth poured the tea while she began to recount the events of the previous night, starting with the eerie calm that had settled over Hollydale in the late hours.
“It was around midnight, and I had only just fallen asleep,” Elizabeth explained, her eyes distant as she recalled the scene, “when I heard Mamma scream loud enough to freeze my blood.”
Mr. Bennet leaned forward, his tea forgotten.
Elizabeth continued, describing Mr. Fitch’s actions. When she recounted her mother's intervention, Mr. Bennet's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.
“Your mother did what?” he exclaimed, his voice indicating both disbelief and admiration.
“Oh Mr. Bennet!” Mamma cried. “What else could I do? Lizzy was in the house.”
Elizabeth’s heart beat hard against her chest. Her mother had been protecting her?
Papa swallowed and took Mamma’s hands.
“You always were quite ferocious when it came to protecting the little ones,” Papa said.
“I have not done so in these last years, though.” Mamma shook her head at him. “I meant well, but I was so afraid. Last night—I think you would have been proud of me.”
Papa kissed her temple. “I am very proud of you, Fanny. Never doubt that.”
Mamma withdrew her handkerchief to dab at a few tears. “And Mr. Darcy was there so quickly. He was so brave and gentlemanly throughout it all.”
Papa was not yet aware that Mamma had insisted Mr. Darcy remove from the house, so he was not surprised by the man’s presence in their tale.
“Well, my dear, you have all handled this situation splendidly. I am relieved to find you safe.” He paused.
“But one thing I do not understand, Fanny. Why were you in the kitchen at all, let alone at that time of night?”
Elizabeth had been curious, but there had never seemed to be a good chance to inquire. Mamma’s eyes widened, and for once in her life, she seemed at a loss for words.
“I only wished . . .” she stammered, her fingers twisting her handkerchief into knots. “I was just looking for some milk to settle my stomach.”
Mr. Bennet froze, his teacup halfway to his lips. “Milk?” he repeated, his voice hoarse.
“But you dislike milk, Mamma,” Elizabeth said, puzzled. “You have always said it disagrees with you.”
A slow smile began to spread across Mr. Bennet's face, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of realization and joy. “Except,” he said, gazing warmly at Mamma, “when she is with child.”
The words hung in the air for a moment. Elizabeth was shocked into silence, but now it all made sense, for she had seen her Aunt Gardiner go through the same with each of her own confinements, though not to such extremes—the erratic, irrational behaviour, the bouts of illness, the fainting spell.
The signs had been there all along, but given her mother’s nervous behaviour before Elizabeth inherited Hollydale and the fact that it had been fourteen years since her youngest sister Lydia was born, she had missed what now seemed obvious.
Mrs. Bennet's eyes welled with happy tears, a tremulous smile on her lips. Mr. Bennet set down his teacup with a clatter to kneel before his wife and kiss her hands.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “you continue to surprise me.”
“What if this one is a girl as well?” Mamma asked in a small voice.
“Then we shall love her as we do the others,” Papa murmured. “And I will be a better father to them all and a better husband to you than I have been. I promise you this.”
Mamma leaned forward to touch her forehead to his. “You had better,” Mamma said, “for I am now proficient in culinary combat.”
Papa barked out a laugh, and Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her own—she would not interrupt this loving moment for anything. Who knew Mamma could be witty?
Elizabeth watched her parents with a full heart. The gift of Hollydale had made this possible, and for perhaps the hundredth time, she sent up a prayer of thanks to Mr. Ellis for it.