Chapter 23 #4
Lady Catherine entered the room begrudgingly and found the place wanting. “How quaint,” she said though without the least appearance of amusement, but she did not sit. She went to the window and turned. Her gaze shifted, swiftly and decisively, to Elizabeth. “You remain, Miss Bennet?”
“Miss Elizabeth, Aunt.”
She frowned.
Elizabeth met her look without hesitation. “I do, madam.”
Darcy closed the door behind them, then came forward with measured composure. “Aunt, what are you doing here? To come so far, and without notice…?”
“I shall not trouble myself with preliminaries,” she said. “I believe you are perfectly aware of the reason for my visit.”
“I can have no doubt of it.”
A pause followed – brief, but not insignificant.
Lady Catherine turned again to Darcy. “I have been informed,” she said, “of an understanding – improper, ill-advised, and wholly unsuitable – which I can scarcely credit, even now, as true.”
Darcy did not answer immediately. “Pray be explicit, madam,” he said at last. “It will save us both time.”
Her eyes flashed. “Very well. It was reported to me that you intend to marry this young woman.” She did not look at Elizabeth again.
The question – though delivered as an accusation – hung in the room.
Darcy answered without hesitation. “It is my intention.”
Elizabeth’s lips parted in involuntary relief; she lowered her gaze almost immediately, mastering the expression before it could be observed.
Darcy saw.
Lady Catherine drew herself up. “I am astonished.”
“I expected as much.”
“You expected it – and yet you persist?”
“I do.”
She took a step toward him.
“And upon what grounds,” she demanded, “do you justify such a decision? Do you imagine that inclination alone is sufficient to determine a connection of this magnitude?”
“No,” said Darcy calmly. “But I consider it essential.”
“Essential?” she repeated. “Essential?” Her tone sharpened. “You speak as though you were at liberty to indulge your preferences without regard to consequence. You are not. You never have been.”
“I am aware of my responsibilities.”
“Are you?” she returned quickly. “Then you must also be aware that you are acting in direct opposition to them.”
“I do not admit that.”
“You do not admit it?” Her voice rose slightly – not uncontrolled, but emphatic. “You, who were brought up to understand the consequence of your position – you, whose family expectations have always been clear – will now pretend ignorance?”
“I pretend nothing,” Darcy said, his tone still even, though no longer mild. “But I do not accept that those expectations require me to form a marriage devoid of respect or regard.”
Lady Catherine stared at him. “You speak as though these were matters of sentiment. They are not. They are matters of propriety, of connection, of consequence.”
“And I do not consider them incompatible.”
“You must,” she said sharply. “You must – unless you mean to place yourself, willingly and deliberately, in a situation beneath you.”
At this, Elizabeth’s colour rose, but she did not speak.
Darcy did. “There is nothing in Miss Bennet’s character, understanding, or conduct that can justify such a description.”
Lady Catherine’s gaze turned at last to Elizabeth.
“No,” she said coolly. “Only in her connections. Her relations are not such as could be overlooked. People in trade.”
Elizabeth inclined her head slightly. “If Mr. Darcy did not think them an obstacle, they can be nothing to you.”
“Insolent girl. Men may be blinded by preference…”
“Lady Catherine,” Darcy said, firmly now, “that is enough.”
But she would not stop just yet. “You do not shrink from advancing yourself.”
“I advance myself by nothing,” Elizabeth returned. “I accept what is offered, and no more.”
Lady Catherine turned back at once to Darcy.
“You see?” she said. “You hear how she speaks – without reserve, without proper deference, without any sense of the distinction which ought to guide her.”
“I hear only that she speaks honestly,” Darcy replied.
“And you admire it?”
“I do.”
Lady Catherine drew a breath.
“Then you are determined,” she said, more slowly now. “Determined to disregard the claims of your family, the expectations of your name, and the engagement – long understood, if not formally declared – which has always existed between you and my daughter.”
Darcy’s expression did not change, but something in it hardened. “No such engagement has ever existed, except in expectation,” he said. “It was formed without my consent, and it will not be fulfilled.”
Lady Catherine’s composure wavered – only for a moment, but unmistakably. “You cannot mean to say…”
“I mean to say,” he interrupted, “that I will not sacrifice my own happiness, nor that of another, to satisfy an arrangement I never sanctioned.”
There was a silence.
“You could have Rosings. You would be a fool to relinquish it.”
A longer one.
When she spoke again, her voice was lower, but no less firm. “You have changed.”
“Yes.”
“I scarcely recognise you.”
“That may be so.”
“And you attribute this change…” she said, with a pointed glance toward Elizabeth, “…to this acquaintance?”
“I attribute it,” Darcy said after a brief pause, “to wanting joy in my life, and… this lady having touched my heart.”
Elizabeth could no longer pretend indifference. She looked up at him; and Darcy, turning slightly, met her eyes with a smile.
Lady Catherine watched them closely. “You sentimental fool. And you suppose,” she said at last, “that this… discovery entitles you to overturn every expectation that has governed your life?”
“No,” he said. “But it obliges me not to persist in error.” He kept looking at Elizabeth.
Another pause.
Then, with renewed force, “I will not consent to it.”
Darcy met her gaze. “I did not ask for your consent. I am master of my own conduct – and answerable only for it.”
The words fell quietly.
But they did not yield.
Lady Catherine stood perfectly still. For the first time, she seemed uncertain – not of her authority, but of its effect. Her eyes moved once more to Elizabeth. “You are resolved, then,” she said.
Elizabeth answered with calm steadiness.
“I am resolved not to act against my own understanding.”
“And you imagine that sufficient?”
“I imagine it necessary. As Mr. Darcy said.”
Lady Catherine drew herself up once more. “This is not the end of the matter,” she said.
“No,” Darcy replied. “It is the beginning.”
That, at last, provoked a visible reaction.
Not anger – no, never so open. But something sharper.
“You will regret this,” she said.
“I do not think so.”
She turned away.
“I must say I am thoroughly disappointed.”
Her ladyship looked at both of them one more time and, without a word, she straightened – if that was at all possible – and stormed out of the room. She left the door ajar.
***
Darcy and Elizabeth both looked toward the now empty door with mixed feelings.
The room, which had so lately contained tension, seemed now almost too still. Elizabeth moved a little further into it, as though uncertain whether to remain or withdraw; but finding no reason to do either, she turned instead toward Darcy.
He had not yet moved from where he stood. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he said, “I must beg your pardon, for having exposed you to such a scene.”
“You must do no such thing,” she returned at once. “Had I not been present, I should have been very ill satisfied.”
“I cannot doubt it,” he said, with a faint inclination of the head. “You have shown a degree of composure which I had no right to expect – and every reason to admire.”
Elizabeth smiled slightly. “I cannot claim composure throughout,” she said. “Your aunt was determined to try it severely.”
Darcy stepped closer to Elizabeth.
The tension that had filled the room before had altered – but it had not vanished. It lingered, though softened now into something quieter.
Darcy looked at her. He took her hand in his. “May I ask you something?”
“You may.”
“This morning – before my aunt arrived – you seemed… to have something on your mind – did you wish to tell me something?”
Elizabeth hesitated – but only for a moment. “I did.”
“And may I now hear it?”
Her eyes met his. “I believe you may already have heard it,” she said.
He did not look away. “I would rather be certain.”
Elizabeth drew a small breath. “I had thought,” she said, “that you might wish for an answer – that I ought no longer to delay giving it.”
Darcy came nearer still.
“And may I understand,” he said, more quietly, “that you accept me – fully – and that you would consent to become my wife?”
Elizabeth’s composure did not falter, but something in her expression softened. “You may understand it perfectly,” she said.
A silence followed, but it was no longer uncertain. Darcy stood very still, as though the weight of what had been resolved had not yet entirely settled.
“You have made me,” he said at last, “happier than I can easily express.”
Elizabeth’s smile deepened, though she would not allow it to become too warm. “I should like to hear you attempt it some time,” she said, “but for now, that is sufficient.”
He looked at her steadily. “Then I do not mistake you?”
She laughed. “No, you do not.”
He drew a breath. “Elizabeth… thank you.”
There are few satisfactions more universally felt than that of being accepted where one most wishes to please; and even a gentleman of Mr. Darcy’s consequence was not above the comfort of it.
For a moment, he did not release her hand. The quiet between them, though softened, still held something of the gravity of what had just passed. Elizabeth met his look, and there was in her expression a warmth she did not attempt to conceal.
Then, with quiet playfulness, Elizabeth added, “I must confess, however, that I had not expected your aunt to be present at such a moment.”
“Nor I.”
“She has, at least, spared us the necessity of any further delay.”
“That she has.”
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “And she has afforded me another comfort besides.”
“May I ask what that is?”
“That I am not, after all, the only one in possession of… troublesome relations.”
Darcy’s composure gave way, for a moment, to unmistakable amusement. “You are perfectly right,” he said. “I must beg that you will extend your patience to mine.”
“I shall endeavour to do so,” she returned, “though I cannot promise success in every instance.”
“I shall be satisfied with your attempt.”
There was a quiet ease between them now. No uncertainty. No reserve.
Darcy lifted her hand with quiet reverence and pressed his lips to it. When he straightened, they smiled at each other – openly, without disguise or restraint.
“Fitzwilliam… I am very happy also.”
Darcy, affected, offered her his arm. “Shall we return?”
Elizabeth placed her hand upon it without hesitation. “Yes,” she said. “I think we may.”
And together, with a composure which neither of them had possessed when they first entered, they left the room.
***
When the door opened, the hum of conversation in the parlour ceased almost at once. All eyes turned toward them.
Darcy entered first, Elizabeth beside him.
There was something in their manner – composed yet unmistakably altered – which did not escape notice.
Mrs. Bennet rose immediately. “Well? What has happened? What did she say? I declare I have not known a moment’s peace since you left us!”
“My dear,” said Mr. Bennet, without rising, “you will allow them at least the time to cross the room before requiring an account of all that has passed.”
Mrs. Bennet made a sound of impatience but subsided only slightly.
Georgiana, who had rejoined the company after her aunt’s departure, watched her brother with anxious attention. “Fitzwilliam…”
“It is settled,” he said quietly.
She understood him at once – and her expression changed to one of visible relief.
Meanwhile, Mr. Bennet’s attention had shifted elsewhere.
“Mr. Bingley,” he said, “you appeared earlier to be in some difficulty of expression. Perhaps the present moment will suit you better.”
Bingley, though still somewhat discomposed, glanced at Jane and gathered his courage. “Sir, I wished to say… that my attentions have not been without meaning… and that, if Miss Bennet does not object…”
“I believe she does not,” said Mr. Bennet, looking at his daughter.
Mrs. Bennet gave a small cry of delight. “My dear Jane! I knew it. I was certain of it!”
Jane coloured deeply, though her happiness was evident.
“… in that case, with your permission, sir, I would like to court your daughter.” Bingley finished at last.
Lydia declared it “the most delightful news imaginable,” and Kitty echoed her with enthusiasm.
Amidst this general satisfaction, Darcy stood still for a moment longer. Elizabeth did not move toward Jane at once, but remained where she was – at Darcy’s side. They shared a glance and then, with quiet deliberation, Darcy spoke. “Mr. Bennet, if I may.”
The room stilled again.
Mr. Bennet regarded him with interest. “You may, sir.”
Darcy’s tone was composed, but there was no uncertainty in it.
“I should not wish the events of this morning to give rise to any misunderstanding. My intentions toward Miss Elizabeth Bennet have been of the most serious kind. My aunt’s interference had no affect on either of us.
With her full consent, I have the honour to declare myself engaged to her. ”
A brief silence followed.
Elizabeth did not lower her eyes.
Mrs. Bennet stared, then sat down rather suddenly. “Good gracious!”
Mr. Bennet looked from one to the other. “At present,” he said, “I see no reason to oppose the happiness of either of my daughters. You have my consent, sir.”
Darcy bowed.
Across the room, Lydia clapped her hands. “An engagement and a courtship! How excessively fine!”
Georgiana stepped to her brother. “You are to marry. I am very happy for you.” Darcy, usually more restrained, received her with unfeigned warmth, and for a moment allowed himself the indulgence of her affection. They embraced. “It will be nice to have a sister.”
Kitty laughed. “I think you are mistaken. You have gained all five of us, Georgiana.”
This was met with general agreement and no small degree of delight.
Jane, still blushing, turned to Elizabeth with a look of the warmest affection.
Elizabeth returned it – then, after a moment, allowed her glance to rest upon Darcy.
There was no longer any doubt between them.
Time, which had once seemed to divide them, had done its work at last – correcting, softening, and revealing what neither had first been willing to see.
What had begun in uncertainty had been shaped – by chance, by circumstance, and by growing understanding – into something neither of them would now wish undone.
And in that, they were perfectly content.