CHAPTER 11 #7
The dance then concluding had scarcely ended before Mr. Bennet, whose mind once settled rarely lingered unnecessarily upon hesitation, requested quietly that the musicians delay beginning the next set for only a few moments.
Such interruptions, though uncommon, were not sufficiently extraordinary in provincial assemblies to produce immediate alarm; yet the unusual gravity with which Mr. Bennet advanced toward the centre of the room gradually attracted attention from every quarter.
Conversations lowered themselves almost instinctively.
The dancers paused. Even the servants moving toward the supper-room appeared to slow their passage beneath the growing expectation that something of consequence was about to occur.
Mr. Bennet himself, though little accustomed to public declarations and perhaps less naturally suited to solemn exhibition than most gentlemen present, nevertheless possessed that calm species of authority which, once exercised seriously, commanded attention far more effectively than louder importance might have done.
He allowed the room to settle fully before speaking.
“My friends,” he began with composed clarity, “as Hertfordshire has this evening displayed so generous an interest in the affairs of my family, I believe it only fair that I spare the neighbourhood any further labour in improving them through speculation.”
A slight movement of amusement passed through portions of the room, though curiosity remained visibly stronger still.
“It therefore gives Mrs. Bennet and myself very sincere satisfaction,” the kind gentleman continued, “to announce the engagement of our daughter Elizabeth to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, with our full approval, esteem, and every expectation of their future happiness.”
For one brief instant the entire assembly appeared suspended between astonishment and comprehension. Then the effect became immediate.
Mrs. Bennet uttered a small cry of triumphant delight which no effort at restraint succeeded in moderating.
Sir William Lucas stepped forward almost before the final words had fully concluded, overflowing with congratulations so rapid and ceremonious that half the room scarcely understood where one compliment ended and another began.
Mrs. Phillips clasped her hands in transports of astonishment and satisfaction; Lady Lucas smiled with evident relief; while Jane, tears already brightening her eyes, turned instinctively toward Elizabeth with an affection too sincere for concealment.
At that moment Darcy himself advanced beside Elizabeth through the parted assembly, and whatever uncertainty or suspicion had previously circulated throughout the room seemed to dissolve almost visibly beneath the simple authority of their united appearance.
There existed no longer any ambiguity capable of sustaining scandal.
Mr. Bennet’s public approval had transformed what only an hour earlier society had treated as doubtful speculation into an acknowledged honourable engagement; and many amongst the company who had listened most eagerly to the earlier rumours now displayed an equal eagerness to forget ever having believed them at all.
Elizabeth’s colour remained heightened beneath the sudden attention now directed universally toward her; yet there was in her expression neither confusion nor embarrassment, but rather that mixture of happiness and composure which rendered her beauty infinitely more striking than mere triumph could have done.
Darcy, standing beside her with a seriousness softened now by unmistakable relief, bowed repeatedly beneath the flood of congratulations gathering from every side, though his eyes returned so frequently toward Elizabeth that no observer present could possibly mistake where his deepest attention rested.
Even Bingley, whose delight entirely overcame every attempt at moderation, seized Darcy warmly by the hand and declared aloud that no news in England could possibly have afforded him greater happiness unless Miss Bennet herself had agreed simultaneously to make Netherfield the happiest estate in Hertfordshire.
Laughter and applause followed immediately.
The musicians, uncertain whether ceremony or celebration now governed the evening, waited only until Sir William loudly insisted that such an occasion demanded immediate festivity before striking once more into lively music.
The whole temper of the assembly altered almost instantaneously.
Whatever whispers had earlier spread uneasily through the room now disappeared beneath the far stronger satisfaction of possessing an engagement universally acknowledged, publicly approved, and romantically unexpected enough to delight every imagination present.
Only one countenance in the assembly remained entirely untouched by the general satisfaction.
At the farther end of the room Wickham stood perfectly still, his expression preserved outwardly within the ordinary bounds of composure, though the sudden hardness now visible beneath it rendered concealment no longer entirely successful.
He had expected uncertainty, hesitation, perhaps secrecy; he had anticipated confusion, wounded pride, and private distress.
Instead, before the entire neighbourhood, Darcy now stood openly received by Elizabeth Bennet’s family with every appearance not merely of acceptance, but of distinction and esteem.
For several moments Wickham remained where he was, exchanging one or two final civilities with those nearest him; yet whatever ease had earlier animated his manners appeared now visibly forced.
At length, perceiving perhaps more clearly than anyone present that the evening had turned irrecoverably against him, he bowed briefly, requested his hat from a servant near the entrance, and departed the assembly with a composure which deceived nobody sufficiently observant to look after him carefully as he left.
Mr. Bennet, watching the retreat from a distance beside his newly engaged daughter, allowed himself at last the smallest expression of private satisfaction.
“Well, Lizzy,” he murmured quietly enough for her alone to hear, “Hertfordshire has been deprived tonight of an excellent scandal, though I suspect it will console itself tolerably well with an engagement instead.”
The remainder of the evening unfolded beneath an altered atmosphere.
Speculation no longer moved uncertainly between conflicting impressions but settled steadily, irresistibly, toward one conclusion.
By the time supper concluded and the final dances approached, half the room already regarded Darcy less as Netherfield’s reserved friend than as a gentleman whose connection to Longbourn might soon become permanent.
Mrs. Bennet, incapable now of silence under such happiness, whispered triumphantly to Lady Lucas, to Mrs. Long, and finally even to Mrs. Phillips herself that she had always believed Mr. Darcy infinitely superior to common first impressions, though precisely when this conviction had originated remained somewhat difficult to determine afterward.
Mr. Bennet alone preserved complete composure.
Yet as the evening drew gradually toward its close, and as Darcy at last approached Elizabeth once more with a gravity softened now by unmistakable warmth, her father observed them together with an expression in which irony, affection, and satisfaction had at length settled themselves into something very nearly resembling peace.
***
Shortly after the assembly, the more malicious tongues of Meryton began circulating a singular account concerning one of the newly arrived militia officers attached to the regiment stationed in Hertfordshire—a certain Mr. Wickford, or Wickhard, or even Weakhen, for the neighbourhood, though unanimous in professing intimate acquaintance with his affairs, appeared considerably less certain regarding the gentleman’s actual name.
According to these reports, the young officer had been transferred with remarkable haste to some northern situation connected with the oversight of a prison establishment, whether near Middlesbrough or Durham no version entirely agreed, for the geography altered almost as rapidly as the accusations themselves.
Some maintained that Mr. Phillips, whose professional acquaintance with Colonel Forster was tolerably understood in Meryton, had personally recommended the removal and furnished reasons sufficiently persuasive to secure it without delay; while others insisted that the officer in question had distinguished himself less by military merit than by an unfortunate attachment to gaming tables, unpaid debts, and young ladies possessed of comfortable fortunes.
A few described the former militia officer merely as an habitual drunkard; others, with considerably greater severity, considered him one of those agreeable young men whose manners are forever seeking an income larger than their principles can honestly obtain.
There were even several amongst the neighbourhood inclined to observe, with that species of wit country society most enjoys when exercised at another person’s expense, that the gentleman appeared for some time to have lived so near the wrong side of the bars that a transfer connected with prisons might ultimately prove the safest distinction between guarding one and inhabiting one himself.
Yet what reliance can ever be placed upon the rumours of a country town, where certainty rarely survives three conversations unchanged? Upon one point alone did Meryton society remain perfectly united: after the assembly, nobody ever saw Mr. Wickford, Wickhard, or Weakhen again in Hertfordshire.