Chapter 23
Three days later
They reached Longbourn by late morning having stopped overnight at Hitchin, a staging post offering good accommodation.
The mood in their carriage was joyful. Another day had been spent with the Whartons; Georgiana had met them; and the pretence had been established that Elizabeth and Simona were friends—who happened by chance to look like two peas from the same pod.
To Georgiana, the nature of this friendship came as a surprise, given its short duration: the two joked and squabbled as if they had known one another since childhood.
But Georgiana was far more interested in a second outcome of the visit: it was admitted at last that her brother and Miss Bennet were to marry.
In Elizabeth’s mind the main emotion was relief: confusion had been replaced by clarity.
She knew for sure who she was; her instinct about the fanciulla had proved correct; her doubts concerning Darcy had been swept aside.
After weeks of collaboration and intimate conversation she knew Darcy far better than Jane knew Bingley—or Thomas Bennet had known Fanny Gardiner, or Concetta Pavan had known Enzo Basso.
She felt as certain as one could ever be that the marriage would flourish, providing excitement as well as security.
Her only anxiety now lay with her father. Later that day, if she found opportunity and courage, his world would be turned upside-down, and much would depend on his reaction.
Of course her family knew nothing of this: their minds were focussed entirely on the wedding.
She had written she would be travelling back with the Darcys (without mentioning Cambridge), but this was assumed to be a penance endured out of civility to Bingley’s best friend.
In the forecourt they ran out to greet her: Darcy was thanked, Georgiana presented, refreshments offered.
But Darcy declined, eager to reach Netherfield.
A few words of congratulation to Jane, and the Darcys left.
Over lunch, Elizabeth deflected questions.
It had been convenient to accompany Darcy, who was trusted by Mr and Mrs Gardiner after their visit to Pemberley.
Yes, they had detoured to visit Darcy’s tutor at the university.
Jane kept very quiet: perhaps she knew from Bingley just how much time Elizabeth had spent with the Darcys in London.
In the afternoon a trip had been planned to Meryton to order gloves, shawls, hats, and other accessories in the latest fashions, so as to make an impression at the wedding.
Mr Bennet declared himself uninterested in such frippery; everyone else was to go.
The opportunity was too good to miss. Elizabeth said she was tired, and in any case in no need of these items, having shopped at Bond Street.
She retired to her room, waited for the shoppers to leave, then entered her father’s study.
Her first revelation was met with a dismay that surprised her.
I know your disposition, child. You will never be happy unless you genuinely esteem your husband.
Patiently she explained that her former dislike had been based on prejudice.
She spoke of Darcy’s excellent reputation at Pemberley as a fair and honest master, his tender concern for Georgiana, his many kindnesses to her, before coming to her second revelation: his rescue of Lydia, at great expense, carried out in secrecy from no other motive than an exaggerated sense of responsibility.
A long silence greeted this news, followed by a sigh of relief—and no further reservations about Darcy.
‘He will call on you tomorrow,’ Elizabeth said. ‘For various reasons we thought it better that I should speak to you first. If you give your consent …’ She smiled sweetly. ‘We can inform the whole family. I only hope mother will not be too upset.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘She will judge ￡10,000 a year a persuasive point in his favour, I imagine. Is that all?’
‘No.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have news known only to myself and Mr Darcy. No-one else, not even Jane or Mr Bingley. It concerns you directly, and I can think of no alternative but to state the facts and assure you of my continued secrecy—if that is what you wish.’ She paused a moment before continuing, ‘We have met the lady you knew as Concetta Basso. She came to England in 1806 after the death of her husband, and is now married to a professor.’
‘Upon my word …’ He broke off, his face overcome with an expression of intense sadness. Eventually he mastered his emotions sufficiently to ask, ‘How could you possibly know …’
Elizabeth explained. Darcy had located the Leightons. Sylvie had run into Concetta at an exhibition. Concetta had been ill, but was recovering …
And had a 20-year-old daughter.
He stared at her. ‘Impossible.’
‘The doctor made an error. We have met the daughter, who lives with the Whartons in Cambridge. Her name is Simona and she shows a striking resemblance to—myself.’
A gasp, and for the first time in her life Elizabeth saw her father’s face flush bright red.
‘My God,’ he whispered. ‘What have I done?’
‘Father, they are wonderful people. Simona is charming and has been the consolation of Concetta’s life.’
‘She has other children?’
‘None.’
A sigh. ‘You will think me no better than Wickham.’
‘On the contrary! Rules have exceptions, and afterwards you returned home to fulfil your responsibilities. The estate. Your wife. Jane.’ A smile. ‘You even produced other daughters, for which I am grateful.’
Another long silence.
‘Mr Darcy is aware of all this?’ he murmured eventually.
‘As I said.’
‘And will marry you nonetheless?’
‘It seems the sins of the fathers, if sins they are, shall not be laid upon the daughters.’ She smiled. ‘We may hope that both weddings proceed. But perhaps we would do well not to spread this information too widely?’
‘You are accepting the situation with remarkably good cheer, Lizzy.’
‘What is there to be sad about? I am to be married to the finest man I ever met. We have resolved the riddle of the portrait. And I have a secret half-sister whom I enjoy enormously.’
‘You will continue to see her?’
‘As friends.’
‘And Concetta?’
‘Is married to an acquaintance of Mr Darcy. So there is no awkwardness in the two families meeting up.’
He sighed, spirits returning. ‘I pray your mother never finds out. Or your sisters.’
‘Jane would be discreet. All the same …’
‘I still feel guilty over missing her first year.’
‘She never realised?’
He shook his head. ‘We recall very little of our first few years, I believe, and most of that comes from what we have been told by others.’
‘I would prefer to know the truth, in her position.’
‘As would I. But people vary.’ He regarded her fondly. ‘It will be a blow to have you so far away, Lizzy.
‘You will always be welcome at Pemberley.’
‘That would depend on your husband’s disposition as well as yours.’ A shrug. ‘But I shall not rush to judgement. Let’s see what the young puppy has to say for himself tomorrow.’