Chapter 23 #2
“What did she say to you last night, to make you laugh?”
Darcy stared at her in consternation. “At the moment I cannot recall. Most likely, she was teasing me.”
“This young lady teases you?” Lady Carlisle enquired, seemingly surprised by such a response. “Is that why you like her so much? Because she teases you?”
“Her sense of humour is but one reason among many. Miss Bennet is warm-hearted, charismatic, artless, and intelligent. She is a great reader and plays the pianoforte. She sings. We share many of the same interests and tastes. I do not merely like Miss Bennet, your ladyship. I greatly admire and esteem her. I love her.”
“And does she love you?”
“I believe she does.”
Lady Carlisle sighed and turned back towards the hearth.
“Why are you here, Lady Carlisle?” Darcy enquired, not unkindly.
“I would like you to perform an introduction. Obviously, Miss Bennet cannot wait on me at Carlisle House. Darcy House will have to suffice.”
Darcy felt myriad emotions. Most prominent among them were shock, relief, perturbation, and incredulity.
He hesitated, unsure whether he ought to trust his aunt’s motives.
It was out of character for her to want to make the acquaintance of anyone she deemed beneath her notice.
Though Elizabeth was a gentleman’s daughter and possessed all the qualities and attributes Darcy professed, she was also sister to Bingley, cousin to Mr Collins, and practically undowried.
He did not want the countess to say or do anything that might upset or offend her. Knowing his aunt, it was highly likely.
“I would be honoured to introduce Miss Bennet to your acquaintance,” he said carefully, “but confess I am surprised you want to meet her. I was under the impression neither you nor my uncle approve of our engagement.”
“Your uncle,” she replied irritably. “Do not speak to me of your uncle, Nephew. I have no stomach for that man of late.”
Darcy could well imagine the disgust and humiliation his aunt suffered upon learning her husband had taken several mistresses during their marriage and kept one now. He made no reply.
“The man has used me extremely ill,” the countess continued, “but there is nothing to be done. He does what he wants. That is his way.”
The truth of her statement raised Darcy’s ire, but he held his tongue. His aunt sounded tired.
She walked to the broad leather sofa positioned before the fire and sat upon it.
“It has always been Henry’s way,” she uttered resentfully.
“Henry’s way, his father’s way, his grandfather’s way.
Your cousin Arthur is certainly no prize either.
I know Richard thinks her dull and perhaps she is, but Lady Josephine ought to be nominated for sainthood for putting up with a husband such as my son.
“Then there is Richard,” she said exasperatedly.
“He is above thirty and appears determined to remain a bachelor. I have introduced him to countless eligible young ladies, to no avail. He finds something to criticise in each one. I have begun to despair of him ever taking a wife, but he speaks highly of your Miss Bennet. Very highly, in fact.”
“They became quite friendly in Kent.”
“I know.” Lady Carlisle rolled her eyes. “Cousin to Catherine’s parson, Darcy? Really! Are there any other unsightly connexions Miss Bennet has of which I ought to be made aware?”
Darcy pursed his lips in annoyance. Though he appreciated Fitzwilliam championing Elizabeth, he would have a few choice words for him about talking too much.
“Miss Bennet,” he began perfunctorily, “has two uncles in trade and her eldest sister is lately married to my friend Bingley. She has three younger sisters. The youngest is married to George Wickham, and her mother suffers frequent fits of nerves.” It was better to get it all out at once, he decided, though he doubted any of what he related would be received by his aunt with any modicum of pleasure.
Lady Carlisle shut her eyes as though pained.
“Wickham!” she repeated scornfully. “I cannot believe you would dare to have anything to do with that scoundrel! How can you want to marry a woman so intimately tied to him! Good Lord. No wonder the poor mother suffers nervous fits. She must be appalled by the connexion!”
Darcy remained silent. No good would come of revealing Mrs Bennet’s fondness for the blackguard.
There was little chance the two would meet in any case.
He could not foresee his aunt travelling to Hertfordshire to wait on Elizabeth’s mother, nor did he believe Mr Bennet, who had long detested London, would consent to bring his wife to town.
Lady Carlisle shook her head disgustedly.
“Wickham,” she muttered once more. “It is most distressing! That connexion can never be mentioned, especially to your uncle. It would only serve to further enrage him. The parson poses a problem as well, but there is little we can do in that quarter. His connexion to Rosings is already established. Poor Catherine,” she lamented.
“Not only are you jilting Anne, but her funny little parson will be able to claim a familial affiliation to the noble House of de Bourgh!”
Darcy sighed as he joined Lady Carlisle on the couch. “Why do you want to meet Miss Bennet? You are displeased by her lack of dowry, displeased by her connexions, and displeased that I chose her over Lady Harrow’s daughter.
“While I will never acknowledge or consent to receive George Wickham, you should know I have grown extremely fond of Miss Bennet’s aunt and uncle here in London.
The Gardiners are very respectable people.
They are genteel and fashionable. Their manners are elegant.
Mrs Gardiner and Miss Bennet are close.”
Lady Carlisle lifted her hand to her forehead. “And where do this aunt and uncle of hers reside in town?”
“On Gracechurch Street,” Darcy replied. “Near Cheapside.”
“Cheapside!” she cried. “Really! That is simply…I cannot believe you…Cheapside…and Wickham, too! Oh, your uncle…!” Lady Carlisle stood, walked to the hearth, then returned to the couch and sagged upon it.
“Oh, the devil be hanged. I suppose it is to be expected with the uncle being in trade. But they are genteel people?”
“I have never met with pleasanter people than the Gardiners. They were among my guests at Covent Garden last night.”
Her ladyship huffed. “Very well. Is there anything else you must confess? Any skeletons in closets, or whispers behind hands? Has the lady been compromised in any way that would necessitate your marrying by week’s end?”
“No,” he said tersely.
“Good. Her virtue is intact. Unlike yours.”
“Not all men are cut from the same cloth,” Darcy replied irritably. He was not a saint, but neither was he in the habit of keeping a mistress like his uncle and half of London.
Lady Carlisle laughed disdainfully. “You are nearly nine-and-twenty, Darcy. Do not dare tell me you have never known a woman, for I will know it to be a lie.”
“I will not indulge such talk.”
His aunt rolled her eyes. “Because it is not proper, no doubt.”
“Because it is none of your business,” he snapped.
“You have yet to answer my question, Aunt. Why do you want to meet Miss Bennet? Be forewarned, should I condescend to arrange an introduction, I will not tolerate any manner of disrespect towards her. If it is your intent to abuse and disparage my future wife, you will regret it. Now, answer my question.”
The corners of the countess’s lips lifted an infinitesimal degree. “That is why.”
Darcy had little patience left for cryptic replies. “Speak plainly. I do not take your meaning.”
“You are the most level-headed gentleman I know. You make intelligent, well-informed decisions regarding all aspects of your life. You rarely allow your temper to get the better of you, nor is it your habit to respond to provocation.
“The other day, when you informed your uncle of your engagement, he berated and belittled you for your choice and insulted Miss Bennet.
You did not bite your tongue. You did not present a passive disposition as you have on countless other occasions.
You defended Miss Bennet, and you championed her with an ardency and a temerity no gentleman—including your uncle—has ever exercised on my behalf.
“Your passionate regard for Miss Bennet moved me and my curiosity was piqued. What sort of woman can affect such an alteration in such a cautious, conscientious man as yourself? Even within your family circle, you are the epitome of self-control and a slave to convention, yet you went against the expectations and wishes of all your relations and friends. You threw off convention, and proposed marriage to a woman of inferior birth who is practically undowried. You incurred your uncle’s ire and threatened to forsake your most prominent and important ties for this young woman whom you claim to love.
I ask you, Nephew, how can I not be curious, especially when she makes you laugh? ”
It was decided that Darcy would inform Elizabeth of his aunt’s desire for an introduction, but beyond that initial effort he could make no promises.
Despite her ladyship’s expectations of the meeting, the decision to wait upon her would ultimately be Elizabeth’s.
He could tell his aunt was not only displeased by his response, but affronted.
In the end, Lady Carlisle’s curiosity surrounding Elizabeth seemed to surpass her dissatisfaction with the terms and she acceded to her nephew’s proposal, albeit grudgingly.
As he had various matters of business that required his attention that could not be put off, Darcy was adamant that no introduction would take place that day.
He would attend to his correspondence, visit his solicitor, and call upon Elizabeth that evening.
Lady Carlisle adjusted her pelisse with a haughty sniff and informed him she would return the following day at two o’clock sharp.
Once she had gone, Darcy returned to his desk, but his mind was on his aunt’s visit, not on letter writing.
He assumed his uncle had no idea his wife had called in Brook Street, nor that she wished to arrange an introduction to his betrothed.
Should Lady Carlisle’s disloyalty be discovered, the earl would be outraged.
Darcy did not know if he was pleased or perturbed by the idea.
Her ladyship’s words were convincing, as were her sentiments, but Darcy knew her well.
Like her husband, she adhered to certain convictions, opinions, and societal protocols, however misguided and prejudiced Darcy considered them.
It had long been Lord and Lady Carlisle’s opinion that a fortune amassed from trade was almost as distasteful as being in trade.
It was no secret the countess held Bingley in contempt.
Elizabeth was now Bingley’s sister. Her uncle was in trade.
Would she treat her any differently? Darcy could not say.
He could only hope Elizabeth would still be amenable to marrying him after Lady Carlisle’s inquisition, assuming it ever actually took place.
He laid aside his pen—it needed mending anyhow—and reclined in his chair.
He had made so many harsh judgments upon Elizabeth’s family, many of which were undeserved.
His own family’s conduct was far from irreproachable.
From Lady Catherine’s condescension to Lord Carlisle’s crassness to Lady Carlisle’s snobbery to Darcy’s own arrogance and presumption, the conduct of each was not only lacking, but shameful.
Not for the first time did he marvel at Elizabeth’s ability to overlook his offences and forgive him.
He wondered what he had ever done, not only to deserve her love, but to deserve her.
Surely, it was not insulting her before they had ever been introduced, or separating his friend from her sister, or offending and demeaning her during his first proposal, or abandoning her for weeks on end when he believed she did not return his regard.
If Elizabeth had been any other lady, Darcy would have attributed such a pardon to Pemberley and all it encompassed—in short, to his extensive wealth.
But Elizabeth was unlike any other woman of his acquaintance.
She was charming, unaffected, discerning, and compassionate.
Her generous nature knew no bounds. Whether they argued or embraced, Darcy was enamoured.
He fully suspected that he could live the rest of his life with her and still she would continue to surprise him with her insight and her grace and her passion.
Her passion.
Darcy had barely done more than kiss her, yet she was responsive in a way he had scarcely dared to dream.
His wedding night could not come soon enough.
There was so much he wished to show her, so much he wished to share.
Would she enjoy being in his bed as much as she seemed to enjoy being in his arms?
Would she crave his lips and his hands on her body?
Would she kiss him often, as she had intimated, once they were man and wife?
Would she allow him to see all of her, to taste her and touch her and love her in the light of day?
Or would she only yield to her desire in the dark of night?
Would she feel all the pleasure he was sure to feel?
Would she tell him what pleased her, or would she be shy?
No, he thought, feeling a flush of heat and the insistent stirring of desire.
She might blush, but his Elizabeth would not be shy.
Darcy laid the back of his head against the supple leather of his chair and rubbed his hands over his face. Such thoughts were not conducive to attending to matters of business. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he straightened and began to mend his pen.