Chapter Seven
Elizabeth
The drawing room felt impossibly small with the Bennets assembled.
Elizabeth stood near the fireplace, acutely conscious of every eye upon her.
Her stomach churned with anxiety, making her regret attempting even the minimal breakfast she had managed that morning.
Her sisters were scattered across various points of the room and Wilhemina and Effie sat on either side of Aunt Ahearn on the sofa.
Mrs Bennet perched on the edge of her chair, hands folded expectantly. Mr Darcy had taken up residence near the bookshelf, his posture rigid.
“Well, Lizzy?” Her mother’s voice carried equal parts anticipation and impatience. “You summoned us all here with such urgency. What matter requires this dramatic assembly?”
Elizabeth inhaled deeply, steadying herself. “I must explain how my engagement to Mr Darcy came about. The circumstances are irregular.”
“Irregular how? You are engaged, he is wealthy and respectable. What irregularity could matter at this point?”
“The betrothal was not formed through proper courtship. At the garden party, I witnessed several ladies attempting to trap Mr Darcy into a compromising situation. They intended to manoeuvre him somewhere private, then ensure witnesses appeared at an inopportune moment.”
Aunt Ahearn’s intake of breath was audible. “Mrs Thorne and her granddaughters.”
“You know them?” Elizabeth asked.
“By reputation, unfortunately.” Her aunt’s mouth thinned into a disapproving line. “They were certainly not on my invitation list. They must have attached themselves to another family’s party.”
“That counts as untoward behaviour, doesn’t it?” Kitty asked.
“It does, indeed. The grandmother, Mrs Thorne, has been attempting to secure advantageous marriages for her granddaughters. From what I have heard, her methods have grown increasingly desperate and questionable.”
Elizabeth resumed her narrative. “I saw Mr Darcy being herded towards the house, the ladies blocking his retreat. I acted without thinking. I inserted myself into their group and I…” She faltered, the mortification fresh despite having rehearsed this confession to her more judgmental family members.
“I declared that Mr Darcy and I were engaged.”
Nobody spoke for what felt like an eternity. Then Lydia shrieked with laughter. “You announced your own engagement without actually being engaged?” She clapped her hands together. “That is the most wonderfully outrageous thing I have ever heard!”
“It is in fact brilliant,” Effie said. “Like something from a novel. The heroine rescues the hero from scheming villains.”
“It is not brilliant,” Elizabeth interrupted. “It is a disaster. The news spread throughout the entire party, as you well know, and beyond. Now Mr Darcy and I are trapped in a fiction that has become fact, and I have no notion how to extract us from it.”
Mrs Bennet had gone very still, her usual animation suspended. When she finally spoke, her voice held unusual gravity. “Lizzy, tell me you did not fabricate an engagement before dozens of witnesses.”
“I did. And Mr Darcy confirmed it rather than expose my lie publicly.”
All heads turned towards the gentleman in question. He met their collective scrutiny with remarkable equanimity. “Miss Bennet’s intervention, however misguided, was well-intentioned.”
“Well-intentioned or not, it has created an impossible complication.” Aunt Ahearn wrung her hands in visible distress.
“If the truth were to emerge that the engagement was fabricated, the scandal would be catastrophic. Elizabeth would be ruined. The dishonour would damage her sisters’ prospects and reflect poorly upon our entire family. ”
“Hence why we gathered you here,” Mr Darcy said smoothly. “To seek counsel on how best to proceed.”
Mrs Bennet recovered her voice with renewed vigour. “There is only one sensible course. You must marry immediately. Before anyone questions the arrangement and the gossip turns malicious. Before this becomes worse than it already is.”
“Mama…”
“Do not ‘Mama’ me, Lizzy. You have compromised yourself and a gentleman of considerable standing. Marriage is the only honourable solution.” She pressed her hand to her forehead dramatically.
“What will people say if you do not wed? What will this do to Jane’s chances?
To Kitty’s? To Lydia’s? Oh, it worries me immensely to think about it! ”
“Sister, please calm yourself.” Aunt Ahearn rose, crossing to her sibling. “Hysteria serves no purpose.”
“Hysteria? My daughter has thrown herself at a wealthy man in public, and you call my concern hysteria?”
“I did not throw myself at anyone,” Elizabeth responded, indignation flaring.
“You announced an engagement that did not exist!” Mrs Bennet’s voice rose. “If that is not throwing oneself, I do not know what is!”
The room erupted into cacophony. Lydia and Effie whispered excitedly to each other. Kitty attempted to interject various observations that no one acknowledged. Mrs Bennet continued her lamentations whilst Aunt Ahearn tried unsuccessfully to moderate her sister’s distress.
Mr Darcy remained stationed near the bookshelf throughout this domestic chaos, observing the scene with an expression Elizabeth tried to decipher. Alarm? Resignation?
Perhaps a mixture of both. This was, she mused with sinking dread, the family he would inherit should they proceed with matrimony. The Bennets in all their unrestrained, undignified glory.
Jane caught her eye and mouthed, “It will be fine.”
But would it? She no longer possessed any certainty about what would or would not be fine.
“Ladies.” Mr Darcy’s voice cut through the noise without being raised. The sheer authority in his tone commanded immediate silence. “If I might offer an observation?”
The silence held, tension crackling through it.
“Mrs Bennet is correct. Marriage is the most prudent course available to us.” He addressed the room at large, but his gaze settled on Elizabeth.
“Attempting to dissolve the understanding now would create greater scandal than proceeding with the union. Miss Bennet’s entire future depends upon our handling this matter with discretion and honour. ”
“But surely—” Elizabeth started, desperation making her voice tremble.
“I should like to speak with Miss Bennet privately,” he continued, still holding her gaze. “If you would all excuse us?”
Mrs Bennet opened her mouth to likely protest propriety, but Aunt Ahearn laid a restraining hand on her arm. The family began filing out, some reluctant and concerned, others relieved to escape the tension.
Lydia paused at the door, turning back with a mischievous grin. “How romantic! A private conference between the betrothed.” She winked at them before Wilhelmina firmly steered her into the corridor.
The door clicked shut, leaving them alone.
Elizabeth remained by the fireplace, her hands gripping the mantel edge. “You need not do this. There must be some alternative to forcing you into an unwanted match.”
“Unwanted? What makes you believe I find the prospect unwanted?”
“You barely know me. You cannot possibly wish to bind yourself to a stranger.”
“You are not a stranger. We have conversed at length. I know you possess intelligence, courage, and a remarkable capacity for swift action. Sometimes too swift, admittedly, but never from malicious intent. These are qualities I admire.”
She shook her head. “Admiration is not sufficient foundation for matrimony.”
“No, but it is more than many couples possess when they wed.” He moved near enough now that she could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw. “Miss Bennet, I must correct a misapprehension you appear to harbour.”
“What misapprehension?”
“That I am not attracted to you.”
She curled her hands. “I did not mean to presume…”
“You did presume, and you presumed incorrectly.” His gaze held hers with disconcerting steadiness. “I find you exceedingly attractive. Your spirit delights me. If I regret anything about this situation, it is only the brevity of our acquaintance, not the prospect of calling you my wife.”
Words failed her. She could only stare at him slack-jawed, her pulse hammering against her throat.
“I am asking you, Elizabeth,” Her name on his lips felt lyrical, its own form of poetry. “With full awareness of the unusual circumstances that have brought us to this moment. Will you marry me?”
A thousand objections crowded her mind. They had not courted properly. This was rushed and contrary to how she had imagined her eventual betrothal. Yet beneath the objections lay something else, a whisper of possibility.
“I will marry you,” she murmured. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You must ask my father’s consent. Properly.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I would not dream of circumventing that formality. Where might I find Mr Bennet?”
“The study. Third door on the left when you head upstairs.” She managed a tremulous smile.
“I should warn you, he has been sequestered there since we arrived. I am not certain he even knows about the engagement. Mama attempted to inform him, but Papa has a remarkable capacity for selective attention when absorbed in his books.”
Mr Darcy or Fitzwilliam, as she supposed she ought to begin thinking of him, bowed. “I shall endeavour to capture his full attention, then. Wish me good fortune.”
“You will need more than good fortune with my father. You will need patience.”
His soft laugh echoed as he slipped from the room, ringing through the space long after he departed to face what might prove the most challenging negotiation of the afternoon.
***
Darcy
The study smelled of leather, pipe tobacco, and the particular mustiness that accumulates in spaces where books outnumber people. Mr Bennet sat behind the desk, spectacles perched on his nose, absorbed in a volume that appeared ancient enough to require archaeological expertise.
Darcy cleared his throat. No response whatsoever. He tried again, slightly louder this time. Still nothing.
“Mr Bennet?”
“Mmm?” The older gentleman did not look up. “Not now, Mrs Bennet. I am at a crucial passage.”
“I am not Mrs Bennet, sir.”
That achieved the desired effect quite dramatically. Mr Bennet’s head snapped up, his eyes widening behind the spectacles. “Good Lord. Who on earth are you?”
“My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy, sir. I recently inherited the estate at Glenmont Hall some miles from Westport.”
“Glenmont? Never heard of it.” Mr Bennet removed his spectacles, polishing them on his waistcoat.
“Forgive my ignorance of local geography. Social gatherings and their attendant introductions tend to blur into one indistinguishable mass of meaningless chatter in my recollection. What brings you to interrupt my reading?”
“Your daughter, sir.”
“Which one? I have five, you know. Quite an excessive number, really, but Mrs Bennet was absolutely determined to produce a son and heir. She has still not entirely forgiven me for failing in that particular regard, despite repeated efforts to explain the biological limitations involved.”
Darcy blinked at this unexpectedly frank commentary. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Ah, Lizzy.” Mr Bennet’s expression softened perceptibly. “My second daughter and by far the cleverest of the lot. The only one who inherited my wit along with her mother’s beauty, a combination that has proven both blessing and curse for the girl. What about her?”
“I wish to marry her. I am here to formally request your consent.”
Profound silence filled the study. Then Mr Bennet leant back in his chair, studying Darcy with unnervingly acute attention that suggested far more perception than his earlier flippancy had indicated.
“Marry her,” he repeated. “How extraordinary. Mrs Bennet burst in here twice yesterday speaking about engagements and wedding dates, but I admit I was not paying attention at the time. I assumed she was indulging in her usual matrimonial fantasies.” He tilted his head in growing interest. “You are serious about this, I take it?”
“Very serious indeed, sir.”
“And Lizzy has agreed to this?”
“She has.”
“How remarkable. And how unprecedented in its speed. You have known each other, what? Three days?” At Darcy’s confirming nod, Mr Bennet’s eyebrows rose. “That must be some sort of record, even for my wife’s ambitions.”
“The circumstances are unusual,” Darcy admitted.
Mr Bennet gestured to the chair opposite the desk. “I should imagine so. Sit. I may as well hear this tale properly if I am to give my daughter’s hand to a gentleman she met apparently three days ago.”
Darcy explained the essential facts with as much dignity as the situation permitted. Mr Bennet listened without interruption, his expression moving from amusement to concern, perhaps, and what looked like grudging respect.
“So Lizzy announced a false engagement to save you from fortune hunters,” he summarised when the tale concluded. “How very like her. Well-meaning and utterly heedless of consequences to herself. She gets that from her mother’s side, naturally.”
“Your daughter acted with admirable courage.”
“She acted like a fool.” But Mr Bennet’s tone held affection rather than censure.
“A brave fool, I grant you, but a fool nonetheless.” He replaced his spectacles, peering over them with unnerving shrewdness.
“Tell me, Mr Darcy, do you find my daughter too forward? Too garrulous? Too clever for her own good?”
“I find her intelligence stimulating, her liveliness enchanting, and her directness refreshing. She is exactly clever enough. Which is to say, exactly as clever as she ought to be, without apology or diminishment. Any man who requires his wife to be less than she is does not deserve her.”
Mr Bennet’s severe expression cracked into a smile. “Well said, young man. You have my consent, then. Treat her well, or you shall answer to me.”
“I shall endeavour to make her happy, sir.”
“See that you do.” Mr Bennet shook his hand firmly, then waved towards the door. “Now go tell Lizzy she is to be married. And for heaven’s sake, take her mother with you. She will want to begin planning immediately, and I have books to finish.”
As Darcy departed the study, he reflected that he had just gained not merely a wife, but an entire family of bewildering complexity. The thought should have alarmed him.
Instead, he discovered himself almost eager to see what came next.