Chapter 17
WHERE ELIZABETH FINDS RELIEF FROM HER MOTHER.
As the morning of Jane’s wedding wore on, so did Elizabeth’s equanimity wear thin.
Having now married off two of her five daughters, Mrs Bennet seemed more determined than ever to see the other three settled as well.
After enduring countless comments and hints about Mr Ellis’s attentiveness to her second daughter and her expectation that another wedding would likely follow on the heels of Jane’s, Elizabeth could bear no more.
With a tight smile, she excused herself from the circle of well-intentioned matrons gathered around her mother and made her way to where the tea things were placed.
She was in the midst of refilling her teacup when she was joined by Mr Bingley’s aunt.
Unlike her two married sons and their wives, Mrs Lawrence had not left the country for a relative’s house in Essex from the church steps but was bent on going to London with Miss Bingley and the Hursts instead.
Elizabeth well recalled her words to her eldest, and the twinkle in her eyes as she had pronounced them:
“I may be old, but I am not yet dead, and I should like to go to the theatre again before it happens. I shall write to you, but only if I have nothing better to do.”
Elizabeth liked her prodigiously.
“Goodness,” she said to Elizabeth as she selected several marzipan sweets sculpted to resemble asparagus and placed them upon a painted china plate.
“If I am ever of the mind to take another husband, I do believe I will impose upon your dear mother to arrange the entire affair, including the office of finding the bridegroom.”
Though it was far from her favourite topic, her companion’s words inspired Elizabeth to imagine her mother throwing herself wholeheartedly into the business of finding Mr Bingley’s aunt, a woman at least twenty years Mrs Bennet’s senior, an eligible husband.
She was excessively diverted by the prospect.
“How are you enjoying Hertfordshire, Mrs Lawrence?” she asked, pursing her lips so she would not laugh.
Mrs Lawrence saw what she was about and gave Elizabeth a conspiratorial wink. “I daresay I would enjoy it better if I had a touch of brandy in my tea.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I believe my father has some brandy in his library if you would like some. It will be the work of a moment. No one need know.”
Mrs Lawrence regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, but then sighed and shook her head.
“I shall wait until teatime. I am a patient woman, Miss Bennet. You must have patience, you know, when you have a household to run, six lusty boys to manage, and an incorrigible husband bent on behaving like one.”
“You are a widow, are you not?”
“A rich widow,” she replied, and grinned.
“Let us sit.” She linked her arm with Elizabeth’s and led her towards a cushioned window seat on the far side of the room.
She rearranged several pillows and settled herself in the centre, taking care to balance her plate upon her lap.
“This will do nicely. It is bright and comfortable, and out of earshot of the gossips.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth agreed. Her lips twitched as she claimed a seat beside her.
“Oh, to be young again,” Mrs Lawrence said pleasantly, regarding Elizabeth with what could only be described as a mischievous look. “I well remember being desirable, pretty, and in love. You seem to be in quite a pickle.”
“Whatever makes you think so?”
“Because it is true.”
Elizabeth raised her brow archly and took a sip of tea.
Her companion laughed and patted Elizabeth’s hand affectionately.
“I like you very well, Miss Bennet. It is no wonder you have two handsome young men who pay you every attention. It is a pity your mother is so determined to see you married to the one you do not want. A fool could see it is the other gentleman who has captured your heart, and rightly so, for he is besotted with you. Your poor mother, bless her, is oblivious to the entire business. She will see you married to the other one or die trying. I must admire her tenacity, if not her discernment.” She dropped her voice and said conspiratorially, “Fear not. Your lover will never allow it. Still waters run deep you know. I have never been to the sea, but I imagine it to be much like your Mr Darcy—calm and even-tempered at the shoreline, but intense and passionate the farther one ventures from the coast. You are a lucky woman to have captured the heart of such a man.”
Elizabeth could only stare at her. That Mr Bingley’s aunt would speak so unreservedly of such topics was extraordinary, but even more extraordinary was the lady’s pronouncement that Darcy was Elizabeth’s lover, and an ardent one at that!
Mrs Lawrence clucked her tongue. “I did not mean to discompose you, my dear. I am old and therefore have adopted the habit of speaking my mind whenever I see fit. I have lived enough in the world to recognise a love match when I see one. I wish you much joy, and hope you are not offended by my boorishness.”
“I am not offended, Mrs Lawrence,” Elizabeth stammered, “but I am surprised. No one in my family, save for my Aunt Gardiner, has discerned our regard for one another. Not even my sister, Mrs Bingley, is aware of the depth of our attachment.”
“Mrs Bingley seems a very pretty, sweet-tempered, pleasant girl but, as is often the case with those in love, she is likely oblivious to its existence in others. Your aunt, Mrs Gardiner, strikes me as an astute, genteel lady, and she seems to be well acquainted with your Mr Darcy. Have they known one another long?”
“They met in the summer when we were visiting Derbyshire. It is where Mr Darcy makes his home.”
“And since then, they have been in company together many times I daresay.”
“They were in company together but three days,” Elizabeth replied, “and have not met again until this week, when my aunt and uncle arrived from town.”
Rather than offer further comment on the topic, Mrs Lawrence inclined her head towards the door.
“The gentlemen are come to join us. Your young man will be by to claim you in a moment. I shall not leave you, however, for I should like to know him better. I imagine he is as stimulating a conversationalist as he must be a kisser.”
Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea.
In the privacy and quietude of Mr Bennet’s library, Darcy penned an express to Colonel Fitzwilliam while his future father-in-law stared pensively out of the window.
Their interview had gone well, Darcy thought, all things considered.
Mr Bennet, though surprised to learn of his desire to marry Elizabeth, did not deny his permission.
His chief interest, he claimed, was to see his favourite daughter respectable and happy, and if she insisted marrying Darcy was the way to do it, Mr Bennet would give the couple his blessing.
Wickham was another matter. Darcy had no idea whether Mr Gardiner had divulged any of Darcy’s personal dealings with Wickham to Elizabeth’s father, and since Mr Bennet did not know it was Darcy who had brought about Wickham’s marriage to Lydia, he was reluctant to bring them up.
The fewer people who knew of his involvement the better; but in the end Darcy decided a little enlightenment would benefit Mr Bennet far more than keeping the man in the dark.
He revealed only the most necessary particulars of his history with his former friend: Wickham’s penchant for gambling and carousing, his lack of ambition, his refusal of the living Darcy’s father had left to him, and the squandering of the three thousand pounds he had received from Darcy in lieu of that living.
Darcy said nothing of Wickham’s attempt to seduce Georgiana to gain her fortune; neither did he mention arranging Mrs Wickham’s marriage, purchasing Wickham’s commission, or paying the blackguard’s debtors.
When he had done, Mr Bennet had been subdued, but not angry. In fact, he had shown very little emotion at all. He had simply risen from his chair and walked to the window, answering in the affirmative when Darcy had requested paper and pen to write to Colonel Fitzwilliam. At the window he remained.
Darcy finished addressing his letter, then laid aside his pen. He had used his signet ring with his own coat of arms upon it to seal the missive; it was imperative his cousin recognise the letter not only originated with Darcy, but that there was likely urgency attached to it.
“Mr Bennet.”
Mr Bennet turned from the window. “Have you finished your letter, Mr Darcy?”
“I have, sir.”
“Then I will call for a servant.” Longbourn’s master gave the bell pull a firm tug. “You may rest assured it will reach London by nightfall, well before the departure of my most worthless son-in-law.”
Darcy rose from his chair at the desk, crossed the room, and handed his letter to Elizabeth’s father.
He took it and bowed his head, giving the impression of reading the address.
“He is a true scoundrel. The very worst of men,” said Mr Bennet gravely.
“It appears I have been remiss with my daughters, even my favourite. Elizabeth warned me of the dangers of sending Lydia to Brighton. She begged me to curb her wild animal spirits and to keep her at home, and do you know what I did, Mr Darcy?”
Though he had a good idea what her father had done, Darcy answered in the negative.
“I laughed at her. I laughed at her, then asked if her younger sisters’ silliness had scared off any of her lovers. I told her no squeamish youths were worth her time and sent her on her way.”
Darcy trained his eyes upon the carpet beneath his feet as he struggled to maintain a respectful silence.
If asked, he would have confessed to feeling equal portions anger and sorrow—anger that Mr Bennet had not only discredited but dismissed and ignored Elizabeth’s counsel on such a matter, and sorrow over the pain she must surely have felt when he had.