CHAPTER TWENTY
THREE DAYS AFTER Mr. Darcy’s last visit, Longbourn was again alive with a gentle stir of excitement.
Word had arrived that morning that both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley would call, and Mrs. Bennet had been in a flutter ever since, ordering the parlour to be swept, the hearth to be lit, and fresh tea to be laid out with a plate of sweetmeats “fit for the gentlemen of Netherfield.”
Elizabeth stood by the window when the carriage finally came into view.
Apollo leapt down first, bounding ahead of his master with a joy that startled even Hill at the doorway.
When Darcy and Bingley entered, the warmth of welcome was genuine—especially from Elizabeth, whose eyes went at once to the dogs.
Apollo approached Pippin, who lay upon a soft rug by the fire. The greyhound crouched low, tail wagging, as though aware of her still-tender paw. Pippin gave a short, delighted bark and stretched forward to nose his cheek. The sight drew an indulgent smile from all who watched.
“How good it is to see them both so well again,” Jane said softly.
“Indeed,” Bingley replied, “I daresay they have weathered their adventure better than we did.”
After a round of cheerful inquiries, Mr. Bennet, who had been observing the reunion with quiet contentment, turned to Darcy. “Now, sir, if you would be so good, I am eager to hear what news you have of Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy inclined his head. “It is settled at last, Mr. Bennet. Wickham was found two days past, near St. Albans. He could not travel far on his injured leg and was forced to seek medical attention. Colonel Forster’s men apprehended him there.”
A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Lydia, her expression unusually subdued, leaned forward. “And what is to become of him, sir?”
Darcy’s expression remained unchanged. “He owes a number of debts, and it is likely he will face the debtor’s court. There are also charges of deceit and forgery in Hertfordshire and beyond which must be addressed.”
Mr. Bennet nodded grimly. “I am not astonished. I saw a handbill three days ago—his name printed in bold, offering a reward for his capture. I confess, I thought it would come to this.”
Mrs. Bennet shuddered. “Such a terrible fellow! I heard talk that he borrowed money from several in town. Even Mrs. King said her husband lent him a considerable sum.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Bennet said dryly. “It amazes me how ready people are to trust a smooth tongue. To lend money to a stranger merely because he wears a uniform is folly itself.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “He has ever possessed the art of persuasion. It is his greatest weapon.”
“In his defence,” said Mr. Bennet, “the militia has always enjoyed a degree of trust in every town they inhabit. People are inclined to believe a man in regimentals.”
Darcy gave a faint, rueful smile. “Perhaps too inclined. The investigation continues, though one matter has already been made plain. Miss King — Mrs. King’s daughter — has come forward.
She has shown the letters he addressed to her, urging her to elope with him.
There was never any true affection in it, though he contrived to make her believe so.
His interest lay chiefly in her fortune. ”
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands. “Heavens! Mrs. King’s fortune is common talk. She inherited near ten thousand pounds from her late aunt. Every man within ten miles has had designs upon it!”
Mr. Bennet turned sharply toward Lydia. “You see, child? I warned you about what comes of excessive flirtation with officers. Imagine if you had been the one deceived. I doubt you would have had the sense to refuse him. You might have ruined yourself and shamed your whole family.”
“Mr. Bennet,” cried Mrs. Bennet, scandalised.
Her husband paid her no mind.
Lydia coloured and dropped her gaze, while Kitty whispered a feeble defence about officers being “so very gallant.”
Elizabeth gave a quiet laugh, though her amusement was tempered by thought.
Her father was not wrong. Lydia was far from strong-willed in matters of admiration, and she had spoken of Mr. Wickham with enough enthusiasm to concern any prudent sister.
Elizabeth felt a shiver of gratitude that Miss King’s dowry was considerably larger than Lydia’s own, for she could scarcely bear to imagine what might have happened otherwise.
When the tension had eased a little, Darcy spoke once more, his tone thoughtful rather than accusatory.
“Wickham remains my late father’s godson,” he said.
“And though I cannot defend his conduct, neither can I entirely abandon him. He will be held until his debts are reviewed. I have considered the best I can do for him. If he consents to quit England for the Americas, I shall pay his passage and discharge what he owes. It is, I believe, a small price to ensure his absence.”
Mrs. Bennet, astonished, declared, “How very generous of you, Mr. Darcy! To do so much for such a wretch—it is noble indeed.”
Darcy’s smile was faint, almost wry. “Not noble, madam — merely practical. I would far rather part with a few thousand pounds than endure his mischief again. The thought of the harm he has done, and might yet do, is too disturbing a risk to leave unanswered.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “You would rid England of him only to burden the Americas.”
Darcy’s eyes brightened with amusement. “If what my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, says is true, the Americas are full of men as cunning as Wickham himself. I trust they will know how to deal with him.”
Elizabeth could not help but smile. Inwardly, her heart swelled with quiet admiration. His generosity, his fairness even toward one who had wronged him so deeply, touched her deeply. He is the best of men, she thought. The truest I have ever known.
***
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, when the gentlemen and the two Miss Bennets they most wished to attend were persuaded to take a turn in the garden, the light lay clear and cold upon the paths, the air touched with the scent of damp earth and the last of the winter roses.
Apollo trotted ahead with his usual elegance, while Pippin, still favouring her paw yet determined to keep pace, followed with cheerful resolve.
Jane and Mr. Bingley strolled a little apart, their low laughter blending with the faint rustle of branches overhead.
Darcy and Elizabeth walked on in silence for several moments, the frost beneath their boots giving a soft, crisp murmur with every step. The garden lay pale and still about them, touched with the faint rose-gold of the waning afternoon.
At length Darcy said, “Longbourn’s garden is quite altered since our last walk. Winter sits upon it more gently than I expected.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You have a singular way, sir, of turning our every conversation into a discourse upon gardens.”
He paused, his expression gentling. “Perhaps because my most meaningful conversations appear determined to take place in one.”
She felt her breath catch at that, though she managed a light tone. “Meaningful conversations, Mr. Darcy?”
He faced her fully then. “Yes. Very much so.”
The quiet between them deepened; the distant sound of Jane’s laughter carried faintly over the hedges.
Darcy drew a steady breath. “Elizabeth, when first I spoke of my feelings, I did so in haste, with more emotion than judgment. I was certain of my own regard, yet wholly uncertain of yours, and all too aware that we had not long been acquainted nor, indeed, always on the most agreeable terms.” He paused, his voice dropping to a more intimate quiet.
“Since then I have come to see that affection is not commanded, but earned — that true regard grows by understanding. Your companionship has become dearer to me than I ever anticipated. May I hope that your thoughts of me have altered for the better?”
Elizabeth turned toward him, her heart beating rather faster than she wished him to perceive.
She had expected many things upon this walk; this question was among them, though its arrival still caught her by surprise.
For a moment she could only look at him, arrested by the quiet sincerity in his eyes.
“They have,” she said at last, her voice soft but clear. “More than I ever expected.”
A warm, unguarded light broke across his features. He stepped nearer, though not so near as to alarm her. “Then, Elizabeth… would you allow me the greatest happiness of my life? Will you be my wife?”
Her breath trembled. The moment seemed suspended; even the winter air felt still upon her cheeks. She had not imagined she would hear such words so soon, yet as they fell upon her, something in her heart settled with a sense of rightness she could not deny.
She let out a long, quiet breath. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I will.”
His eyes closed briefly, as if in gratitude, and when he lifted her hand to his lips, she felt the faint tremor in his fingers.
Ahead of them, Bingley turned at the sound of their footsteps and, seeing their joined hands, let out an exclamation of unconcealed delight. “Darcy! Upon my word, I knew it would happen. Jane, did I not tell you?”
Darcy’s smile deepened, though he did not look away from Elizabeth. “So did I,” he said softly.
At that moment Apollo came trotting toward them, with Pippin limping valiantly behind, her tail wagging with all the enthusiasm her paw would allow. Elizabeth knelt to greet them both.
“See,” she said with a laugh she could not restrain, “even our most faithful companions approve.”
Darcy bent beside her, his gaze warm. “And with such judges, I could ask for no greater blessing.”
The winter sun dipped behind the hedges, casting the garden in a gentle amber glow. With the dogs at their feet and the quiet promise of a new life before them, Elizabeth felt a certainty bloom within her. Whatever lay ahead, her heart had already chosen its home.