CHAPTER 10 #4
A note was shortly afterward delivered into Mr. Bennet’s hands.
The superscription, written in a firm and elegant hand, produced in Elizabeth a sensation of recognition so immediate that she became conscious, almost at once, of having fixed her attention too visibly upon her father’s expression while he broke the seal.
Mr. Bennet read the contents with greater seriousness than such communications generally received from him; though before many moments had elapsed, the corners of his mouth betrayed the first symptoms of restrained amusement.
“Well, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet cried, unable to support suspense another instant, “you cannot imagine that an entire family will sit quietly while you read in silence.”
“It appears,” Mr. Bennet replied, folding the note deliberately before him, “that Mr. Darcy finds himself unexpectedly obliged to return for a short time to Derbyshire upon business connected with Pemberley. Before leaving Hertfordshire, however, he requests the favour of speaking with me privately for a few minutes this morning, if I should happen to be at leisure.”
Mrs. Bennet’s curiosity instantly revived in full force.
“With you? Privately? Good heavens, what can he possibly have to communicate of such importance?”
“That,” Mr. Bennet returned calmly, “is perhaps precisely what Mr. Darcy proposes to explain.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes toward her plate, though not before Jane had observed the sudden colour which rose into her cheeks.
The interval which followed proved considerably less tranquil than the one preceding it.
Mrs. Bennet advanced successively through conjecture, certainty, contradiction, renewed certainty, and complete bewilderment in the space of scarcely ten minutes; while Lydia declared herself convinced the matter must concern Netherfield, Kitty imagined it connected with servants or repairs, and Mary suggested that gentlemen entrusted with extensive property were naturally exposed to serious and confidential affairs.
Mr. Bennet, having at length escaped from these speculations under pretence of attending the business requested of him, withdrew to his study shortly before eleven o’clock.
Mr. Darcy arrived not many minutes afterward.
He was shown immediately into the study where Mr. Bennet awaited him; and though the morning had advanced little beyond its first quiet hours, there existed already within the room that settled air of occupation which long habit had rendered natural to its master.
Several letters lay open upon the desk beside him, though whether they had received more genuine attention than the sounds and movements elsewhere in the house might reasonably be questioned.
Mr. Bennet rose upon his visitor’s entrance and received him with easy civility.
“I am sorry to hear that business calls you from Hertfordshire so soon, Mr. Darcy,” he observed after the first salutations had passed between them. “Though I suppose Pemberley possesses claims upon its owner which cannot always be postponed for the convenience of newer acquaintances.”
“There are matters connected with the estate which require my presence for a few days, sir,” Mr. Darcy replied. “I should not otherwise have thought of leaving Hertfordshire at present.”
Mr. Bennet inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging an answer perfectly reasonable in itself, though perhaps not entirely sufficient to explain the seriousness with which his guest appeared to regard the interview.
“I believe,” he said after a brief pause, resuming his seat and motioning Darcy toward another near the window, “that your note suggested some further subject upon which you wished to speak with me privately.”
“It did, sir.”
Although he seemed not entirely at ease, Mr. Darcy spoke without haste, yet not without visible effort toward preserving the composure proper to what he had undertaken.
Whatever confidence habit and character ordinarily gave him in the conduct of serious affairs, the present occasion appeared less easily governed.
“At Rosings,” he began at length, “circumstances arose which permitted me the honour of becoming far better acquainted with Miss Elizabeth, in a manner quite unexpected to me. Since that period, and still more since arriving in Hertfordshire, I have become increasingly sensible how greatly my happiness depends upon her good opinion.”
Mr. Bennet’s expression altered very little; yet his attention, already engaged, became now entirely fixed upon the speaker before him.
Darcy continued more steadily.
“Before I return to Derbyshire, I could not reconcile myself to leaving Longbourn without first requesting your permission to speak privately with your daughter.”
The request, though offered with perfect propriety, admitted little misunderstanding.
Mr. Bennet remained silent for several moments.
There was nothing youthful or impetuous in Darcy’s manner, nothing resembling the hurried enthusiasm of an attachment lightly formed.
On the contrary, the restraint with which he spoke appeared only to lend additional gravity to sentiments which a less guarded man might perhaps have expressed too rapidly.
“You are aware, I imagine,” Mr. Bennet said at last, “that my daughter is not easily influenced where her own judgement is concerned.”
“I should esteem her less if she were otherwise,” Darcy said, briefly lowering his gaze before recovering his composure.
The answer followed neither too quickly nor too studiedly, but with a quiet firmness which appeared entirely sincere.
Mr. Bennet leaned back slightly in his chair.
“I do not pretend to govern Elizabeth’s affections, Mr. Darcy; nor have I ever found attempts of that nature particularly successful where she is concerned. But I believe her fully capable of hearing any gentleman whose conduct and character entitle him to her respect.”
Darcy bowed his acknowledgement of this with visible feeling, though still under the same careful command of himself.
“You are very obliging, sir.”
“No,” Mr. Bennet replied with composed dryness, “merely old enough to understand that daughters generally form their opinions whether fathers interfere or not.”
For the first time something approaching ease appeared in Darcy’s expression.
“The shrubbery walk beyond the south lawn is usually quiet at this hour,” Mr. Bennet continued after a moment. “If you remain here another few minutes, Elizabeth will almost certainly pass that way in the course of escaping her mother’s domestic arrangements. I shall see to that.”
A faint smile touched Darcy’s countenance before disappearing almost immediately again beneath habitual composure.
“In that case,” he said, rising, “I am indebted to you for more consideration than I have perhaps any right to expect.”
Mr. Bennet rose likewise.
“Not at all. I have long observed that life becomes unnecessarily difficult whenever sensible people are prevented from speaking plainly to one another.”
Darcy bowed with grave respect.
“I hope, upon my return from Derbyshire, to have the honour of seeing you again at Longbourn, sir.”
“I believe Hertfordshire will not object to reclaiming you,” Mr. Bennet returned mildly. “And as a Meryton assembly approaches, I daresay the county will soon expect your attendance whether you intend it or not.”
“If circumstances permit,” Darcy replied, with a steadiness which suggested that circumstances would be made to permit it, “I shall hope to be present.”
Mr. Bennet accompanied him as far as the door of the study.
“Then I wish you a safe journey to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy.”
“And I thank you sincerely, sir.”
***
Mr. Darcy waited where Mr. Bennet had directed him, in the quieter walk beyond the south lawn, where the shrubbery descended gradually toward the lower meadow and the trees, already touched by autumn, cast an irregular shade across the gravel path.
The place possessed that mixture of seclusion and openness which old country houses often afforded without deliberate design; sufficiently removed from the windows of Longbourn to permit privacy, yet still near enough to preserve every appearance of propriety.
Though outwardly composed, Darcy found the interval of waiting far less easily commanded than many situations of far greater public consequence had ever appeared to him.
Mr. Bennet’s permission, though granted with intelligence and kindness, offered no assurance beyond the liberty of addressing her freely; and now that the moment itself approached, he became more sensible than before how much depended upon Elizabeth’s reception of what he had not yet entirely trusted himself to say.
At length lighter footsteps became audible upon the gravel beyond the laurels, and Elizabeth appeared from the direction of the terrace walk.
There was nothing hurried in her manner, though neither did she attempt the appearance of accidental wandering. If colour rose somewhat into her cheeks upon first perceiving him waiting there alone, it merely rendered more striking the composure with which she advanced beneath the trees.
Darcy immediately went forward to meet her.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet. I must thank you for indulging my request for this interview before my departure.”
“My father informed me that you wished to speak with me, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth replied with gentleness, though not entirely without reserve. “I understand business now calls you suddenly back to Derbyshire.”
“For a few days only, I hope. I should not otherwise have chosen to leave Hertfordshire at present.”
Something in the quiet earnestness with which he spoke these last words prevented her from treating them merely as common civility.
“And does Mr. Bingley submit patiently to being abandoned almost immediately after establishing himself at Netherfield?” she asked, endeavouring with partial success to restore a lighter tone.