Chapter 12 #6
She gasped in mock outrage and lunged forward to poke him in the ribs.
He grabbed her wrist and tugged her with him to recline into the cushions at his end of the sofa.
“I am sorry for Bingley,” he continued as he laced his fingers with hers.
“It is not in his nature to expostulate, yet he will have to address her conduct, for it will injure his respectability if she continues thus.”
“And hers,” Elizabeth replied quietly. Her melancholy did not last, though, and with a deep breath, she pushed herself upright and twisted to look down at him. “I hope you invited Mr Bingley to join us at the theatre tomorrow.”
“I did not.” He reached to toy with a few curls of her hair that had come loose. “I wished to have you to myself.”
“Well, you cannot have me to yourself. I have asked my aunt and uncle to join us now, so you may as well invite him.”
Darcy fixed her with a look, resisting the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, lest it stretch so wide it made him appear ridiculous. “You see? Utterly uncontrollable.”
She knocked his hand playfully out of the way and bent forward to push herself to standing—then promptly let out a small cry and sat back down again heavily.
Darcy sat up. “What is it?” His heart leapt into his mouth to see her hand on her stomach. “Is it the child?”
“Yes, I—oh!” she gasped again. Far from looking distressed, however, her countenance was a picture of wonderment. She raised her eyes to his. “I felt it!”
There truly was no end to this woman’s assault on his sensibilities. His heart returned to its rightful place with a thud and promptly swelled to overfill the cavity with elation.
“Oh my,” she said softly. “I have been so anxious something must be wrong, but ’tis really true!”
He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips to kiss it. “I have been convinced of that far longer than you. Might we announce it now?”
So amenable to this suggestion was she that nothing would do but to set about writing to their families that instant.
Darcy submitted to her urgency with perfect complacency, overjoyed both to be finally at liberty to declare his news to the world and to perceive her delight, which trepidation had for so long kept at bay.
His beloved Elizabeth would be mother to his child, and nothing and no one had ever been so precious to him.
Pevensey Hall
13th October
Jane,
I am gravely vexed. Your sister has somehow managed to inveigle her way into the affections of my husband’s aunt and poison her against me.
I am threatened with action if I speak out.
So be it! Let them all suffer in ignorance and be disgraced in the end.
You and I shall know better! I never wondered at your disliking her. Now I applaud you for it.
In respect to the other matter of which you wrote in your last letter, you must spare it not another moment’s thought.
You are far from alone in suffering such a disappointment.
It is a universally accepted fact of married life.
It is also a universally guarded fact, never spoken about in polite circles.
Keep your counsel in this matter, allow B to do likewise, and in the fullness of time, when your house is filled with your children (an eventuality I personally would delay as long as possible), such disappointments will no longer be of any significance to anybody.
Be sure to write again with news of your sister’s next calamity that we may laugh together at our being entirely removed from her ruin and disgrace.
Yours thus, Elizabeth clearly heard the remark that Mr Greyson’s bumping into her had been contrived to facilitate a daring exchange of letters beneath her husband’s nose.
She pressed her lips together in amusement. My, bad news travels quickly!
“Darcy! It is you!” boomed a large gentleman coming towards them using his glass of wine like a scythe to clear a path through the crowd. “I thought it was. What brings you to London at this time of year?”
Relieved that not every person was foolish enough to concern themselves with idle gossip, Elizabeth gladly consented to being introduced to Mr Thatcher and joined Darcy in satisfying his curiosity about the Montgomerys’ wedding.
Thereafter, the conversation moved on to matters interesting only to landowners, and the party naturally divided.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner struck up their own exchange, and Bingley turned to Elizabeth.
“This is precisely why I prefer balls—less talking and more dancing.”
“And precisely why Darcy dislikes them,” she replied, turning to him with a grin. “However did the pair of you end up friends?”
“I sincerely hope Darcy has not deprived you of too many dances because he does not enjoy it himself.”
“We are going to a ball in a few days, as it happens. If I am very lucky, I might persuade him to a dance or two.” She resisted the urge to turn and stare incredulously at whoever it was behind her conjecturing about her affairs with both Mr Craythorne and Mr Greyson.
“And what are your plans in Town? Do you intend to stay long?”
“Regrettably no, I must return tomorrow.”