Chapter 19
Longbourn
The Next Morning
Mary hugged the surrounding shawl against the thin, searching wind.
The horse stamped and blew, the white gravel crunching beneath its feet.
The blacksmith's strapping son sat patient as a rock on the seat of the Stanhope gig, waiting for his hired passenger to finish his farewells and signal the start of their trip.
It was all one to the youth whether they made it to Meryton in time to catch the stage to London or were delayed for another day.
With his sturdy coat, thick gloves, and wool muffler pulled high around his ears, he was content.
Mary looked up at Mr. Collins and then reached up to snare her hat as a sudden gust threatened to snatch it away.
“You ought to go inside, my dear Mary,” Mr. Collins said, gazing fondly down on his bride to be. “It is such a cold day.”
“I will,” she replied, pulling her pelisse closer to herself and tightening her scarf, “but I wished to make certain that you are comfortable with purchasing a common license. It is rather expensive, and if you wish to call for the banns, I…”
To her utter surprise and blushing delight, he cut her off by leaning forward to plant an affectionate kiss on her lips.
When he straightened back up, he wore an amused smile. “My darling, I wish to wed you as soon as possible, and it will make everything far easier for everyone if we can join our wedding with Jane and Mr. Bingley. Now I really must go. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
“I look forward to see you too,” she replied simply, and she meant it.
He grinned at her and then climbed into the gig.
The blacksmith's son flicked the reins, clucking at the horse and guided it down the gravel drive towards the lane.
Mary stood watching, her shawl pulled tightly about her.
The gig turned around the shrubbery and into the lane, and the wind puffed past again.
Mary shivered and turned to hurry into the house.
She shut the door gratefully against the gloomy cold outside and drew off her gloves and pelisse, rearranging her shawl about her shoulders once more.
Many tasks lay ahead of her, and there was not much time in which to accomplish them.
She needed to pull out her luggage, begin sorting through her dresses, and decide what she wished to take with her the fifty long miles to Kent.
Jane was likely having an easier time of it, for it would be a simple matter to send a servant the mile between Longbourn and Netherfield for any forgotten items. Mary would have no such option and must be both careful and attentive to what she was packing.
She could not pack too much, for her room at Hunsford would be smaller than her room at Longbourn.
The parsonage, her future husband had warned her, was a reasonably good size but much snugger than she was accustomed to.
A soft tap at the door interrupted her, and she turned and called, “Come in!”
The door opened to reveal Elizabeth, who stepped in and said, “I know William just left. Are you well?”
She nodded. “I am.”
Elizabeth pushed the door gently behind her and said, “I confess that when I first heard that William had offered for you, I was a little worried because you did not know a great deal about one another, but the more I have talked to him, the more I think that he is the perfect husband for you.”
“I agree,” Mary replied and walked over to her wardrobe, pulled the door open, and took out her dark blue dress. “He is kind and sensible, and I am looking forward very much to serving as mistress of his parsonage.”
Elizabeth walked up next to her. “What are you doing?”
“I am searching through my gowns. I need to determine which ones I ought to take to Hunsford and which to give away, and also I need to make certain that the dresses I am bringing to Kent do not have torn lace or holes.”
“Would it help to pull all the gowns out and lay them on your bed? That way we could look at each one. The ones you want to take with you can be placed back in the wardrobe for now, while the others can be moved out of your room.”
Mary considered this for a moment and then said, “I think that is a wonderful idea.”
Together the two sisters carefully laid the frocks on Mary’s bed and then, one by one, began assessing which ones ought to be kept and which ones passed on to a sister.
They worked in peaceful amity, and it was not until they were nearly finished that Mary decided to broach the subject of Mr. Bennet’s health.
“Lizzy,” she asked while lifting a dark pink dress from the bed, “have you noticed that Father is rather short of breath on occasion?”
Elizabeth paused, looked at her, and frowned. “Short of breath? Not really? I mean…”
She thought for a minute and then continued, “I confess I did not notice, exactly, but he does seem to grow winded easily. Do you think something is wrong?”
Mary sighed. “Yes, I fear so. You see…”
She explained, at some length, Mr. Jones’s concerns about Mr. Bennet, and when she had finished her recital, Elizabeth looked suitably grave.
“I had no idea,” she confessed, “and I feel guilty about that. How could I have missed his decline?”
Mary shook her head. “You ought not to feel badly, Lizzy. I would not have noticed if I had not been looking for it, as his deterioration has been a slow one. My William’s own father had similar issues, actually, and he said he did not notice his father’s problems until he returned after being away from home for a number of months.
But the important thing is this; I have been quietly caring for Father in subtle ways for some time.
There are things that he cannot do with ease, and I make sure he does not need to do those things.
I will be leaving for Kent soon and am of the view that an extra manservant ought to be hired to care for Father. ”
“I could do what you have been doing,” Elizabeth offered.
Mary smiled. “I am confident that Father would enjoy having you spend more time with him in the library, but you are far more active than I am, and would quickly chafe at being forced to spend so much time indoors. Moreover, with me and Jane leaving Longbourn soon, Mamma will require more attention from you and Kitty and Lydia, and you know our younger sisters are rather selfish and not liable to care about the needs of either of our parents. I think we need at least one more servant, possibly two, and given that our parents have two fewer daughters to support, well...”
Elizabeth considered this and then nodded. “You are quite right. But do allow me to thank you for your diligent care of our father. I knew that you spent a substantial amount of time with him, but did not realize it was because of health concerns. I am very grateful.”
Mary blushed and said, “I decided that it was my duty. Now, where shall we put the gowns that I am not taking with me to Kent?”
***
Longbourn
Noon
Thursday, 19th December 1811
Steam rose like dragon smoke from the horses’ nostrils as the gray gelding and black stallion trotted side by side down the road that joined Netherfield and Meryton and Longbourn.
The frosty air was at least blessedly still, so no breath of wind bit through layers and chilled the bones.
The welcome heat of the horses rose through blankets and saddles to warm their riders, who were conversing as they rode.
“I am grateful to you for coming back in time for the wedding, Darcy,” Bingley said cheerfully.
“I would not dream of missing it,” Darcy said truthfully.
He was still of the view that Bingley’s choice of Jane Bennet was not particularly wise, but he would not, of course, say such a thing to his friend’s face.
Moreover, Bingley’s situation and temperament were very different than his own.
Indeed, for Bingley, marriage to the daughter of a country squire would be considered a step up socially, since his own fortune was derived from trade.
Longbourn came into sight, and Bingley spurred his horse into a faster trot, apparently unwilling to wait even a minute longer than necessary to see his love.
Darcy followed readily enough. Phoenix had carried him from London only this morning, but the stallion was strong and sturdy and had plenty of energy for a brisk trot.
When they arrived at the stables, servant boys were waiting to take their reins and guide the horses inside.
Darcy swung down from Phoenix and adjusted his hat and coat and cravat, which had been disarranged by the wind. He was far too much of a gentleman to appear in any company without looking neat, after all.
“Shall we, Darcy?” Bingley asked eagerly.
“Lead the way.”
Bingley strode toward the front door of Longbourn via a well-swept brick path, while Darcy trailed a step or two behind his friend, his stomach tight.
He had departed from Netherfield and Meryton and the dangers that lurked there a little over a fortnight previously.
It had been too long since he had seen his sister, and he had thoroughly enjoyed the days spent with Georgiana.
She was blossoming into a beautiful and accomplished young lady, and he was incredibly proud of her.
He was also relieved that she seemed to be recovering well from the trauma of the previous summer, when George Wickham had nearly succeeded in whisking her off to Gretna Green for a marriage over the anvil.
He looked forward to returning to Darcy House and spending the Christmas season with her after Bingley’s wedding. Two weeks was not nearly long enough for him to reacquaint himself with his young sister.
Nor, apparently, was it long enough for him to forget the fascinating Miss Elizabeth.
It made sense, Darcy supposed, for two weeks really was not that long at all.
No man could be expected to immediately stop thinking of a most enchanting woman; it simply was not reasonable.
She still danced through his dreams, and he treasured them each morning before resolutely banishing them from his mind.
He still found himself wishing to solicit her opinion on some on-dit or bit of trivia or happening, only to remember belatedly that she was thirty miles away and that he was not supposed to be thinking of her…
Darcy was forced to admit to himself that his infatuation with Miss Elizabeth had not abated at all.
It mattered not. He would stay for Bingley’s wedding to Miss Bennet on the morrow, and partake of the wedding breakfast, and wish the couple happiness.
He would be polite to Miss Elizabeth, and to her boisterous sisters, and to her vulgar mother, alike.
Then he would depart once more for London, where he would eventually meet the Bingleys in company, and Mrs. Bingley’s next younger sister when she visited them.
By then it would have been months since he had last seen her pleasing figure and enchanting eyes, and his fixation would have had time to subside.