Chapter 24
That evening Elizabeth confided her engagement to Jane, mentioning the Whartons as well—but not the love affair between Concetta and the young Thomas Bennet.
Bingley and Darcy called next morning, and Elizabeth had to wait in suspense for over half an hour as Darcy conferred with her father.
The nuptials, she imagined, would be approved quickly, but there was much else to discuss—Wickham as well as Concetta and Simona.
They emerged at last, the happy news was announced, and Elizabeth was left with contrasting emotions: relief at Mrs Bennet’s ecstatic approval, and embarrassment at her mother’s attempts to deny her former opinion of Darcy.
Bingley and Jane had also conferred, and come up with a suggestion: there would be a double wedding, allowing remote guests such as the Gardiners to attend both events in a single journey.
The disadvantage was that Darcy would have to hasten to the nearest bishop for a license.
To this he readily agreed, and all was settled.
She glanced at Darcy, sharing a joke with her father, and instinctively reached to cover his hand with hers.
How superficially she had judged him once; how deeply she was coming to appreciate him now.
Walking in Netherfield, or up Oakham Mount, he had spoken of his mother, frail but determined, who had risked a second pregnancy in defiance of medical advice; and of his schooldays at Harrow, where he had been shunned by boys interested in drinking, gambling, smoking, raiding birds’ nests, and other pursuits they considered manly.
She had admired in London how wide-ranging were his interests, the key to his character, she felt, lay in a desire to nurture: it was for this reason that he despised excesses like drinking and gambling that led nowhere.
He cared for his sister, and had worked hard to help her grow in confidence and attainment; he cared for his estate, introducing new farming methods while keeping its natural beauty; he cared for his tenants and staff; and he would care, she had no doubt, for herself, and their children.
She thought of her quest to solve the enigma of the fanciulla, and Darcy’s help in what must have seemed an eccentric endeavour.
Suppose she had never visited Pemberley and come across the painting again—would she now be seated beside this man, bearing his name?
The portrait had given them a project, an opportunity to collaborate, replacing misunderstanding with trust and respect.
Perhaps they would have ended up together anyway …
But perhaps not. And without the painting she would never have met Concetta and Simona, whom she thought of almost as a second family.
Two bridal suites had been improvised at Netherfield, and to the one in the guest wing Elizabeth retreated after dinner, alone at last with her husband.
They sat on a divan in the boudoir, next door to the bedroom in which the mysteries of the wedding night were to unfold.
Rely on your husband had been her mother’s advice.
She would have liked a little more information; still, Darcy would know what to do. He usually did.
‘You look thoughtful,’ he said with a smile.
‘Really?’ She snuggled against him. ‘I have been pondering my good fortune, and all that might have happened to prevent it.’
‘Such as rejecting an honourable proposal of marriage?’
‘That too!’ She aimed a punch at his arm. ‘But what really perplexes me is how you contrived to stay single for so long. How many London seasons have you attended?’
‘More than I care to remember.’
‘Were the young ladies overawed?’
‘On the contrary. They did all in their power to draw me into their net.’
‘So you ended up proposing to the only woman in England who didn’t want you?’
‘I was resolved to marry for love.’ He looked away, serious now.
‘Of course there is always pressure to produce an heir, and as year followed year, I had to weigh my personal happiness against my duty as custodian of the family estate. I did try, Elizabeth. I went to balls and soirées, visited friends like Bingley with sisters, and observed as mothers and aunts pointed me out to their charges.’
‘You must have liked some of them.’
‘Certainly. But love, no. And I began to consider this a weakness in myself.’
‘My father said much the same, when he confided in me about his trip to Venice. Marry in haste, repent at leisure, they say. But he did not marry in haste. He waited years before concluding that love might never come.’
‘Then married—and fell in love.’
‘With a woman he could not have.’
She nodded. ‘A treacherous game, is it not? I discussed it once with Concetta. Man strives, God laughs, she said.’
‘And so I fell in love with a woman that hated me.’
‘Perhaps that was the reason. You wanted to hunt rather than being hunted.’
‘You see yourself as my prey?’
She laughed. ‘I escaped your trap the first time.’
‘But I caught you finally.’
‘Caught me? I practically walked into your arms.’
‘I promised, if you recall, not to renew unwelcome attentions. I had to await some sign of encouragement.’
‘So much passion, drama, disappointment, luck. Yet to our children, the outcome will be merely a fact of life. Our marriage will be a cornerstone of their world, as stable and unquestioned as the house and park where they grow up.’
‘I’d like them to think so, especially in their early years. Later they may take a longer view.’
She sighed. ‘Do you think father and Concetta will ever be reunited?’
‘Who knows?’ He framed her face, and kissed her. ‘But we have been more fortunate than they.’
‘It is our turn now. A new beginning.’ She clung to him, half crying, half laughing at the bittersweet comparison between her father’s tragedy and her own joy.