Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“Miss de Bourgh?” The remainder of the pieces fitted into place. Miss de Bourgh was Mary’s coconspirator. It hurt a little that she hadn’t come to Elizabeth.
“Yes. She’s enjoying my secret romance. She even accompanies me sometimes and eats what I cook.”
“She’s a good friend.” The sort of friend Elizabeth should be to her sister. “Are you going to write Papa?” Should she mention her already written letter? It seemed mean to show up Mary’s news by telling her about Mr. Darcy’s proposal.
“No,” Mary said with another shake of her head. “I think it would be better if we, that is Gavin and I, speak to Father in person.”
Taking in the worry on her sister’s face, Elizabeth said, “That’s sensible.”
“Do you think we can go soon?” Mary asked eagerly.
“I’m terribly grateful to Lady Catherine for having us, and I’ll miss Miss de Bourgh, but we want to ask Papa as soon as possible.
Do you need much more time to go through Mr. Collins’ property?
Gavin is done with the designs. Now he’s helping with the work, but his father and brothers can do that.
I know Lady Catherine said last night that we’d begin meeting local gentlemen soon, but I don’t care to, do you? ”
“No, I don’t care to, either, and I’ve finished with Mr. Collins’ possessions, except for the property Lady Catherine is trying to sell.
” Elizabeth, too, wished for an answer from their father, although she felt she could be more certain of a favorable reaction.
“We could leave soon. Maybe even tomorrow.”
“Lady Catherine might not want to arrange for us to travel that quickly.”
Elizabeth couldn’t keep a grin that she knew to be foolish from her face, or hold in her news any longer, overshadowing or no. “I believe I speak for Mr. Darcy when I say that he would be happy to take us to Hertfordshire.”
Mary stared at her. “No? Truly? Mr. Darcy proposed to you?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks ached, she grinned so hugely. “He did, and I accepted his proposal.”
Mary wrapped her in yet another hug. “Lizzy, that’s wonderful. Congratulations. I’m so happy Miss de Bourgh was right.”
“Miss de Bourgh?”
“She said he would ask soon. She said he’s in love with you. I honestly couldn’t tell, but she’s known him a great deal longer.”
Elizabeth squeezed her sister tight before letting go. “I couldn’t tell, either. I’d begun to doubt.”
“But now you don’t have to doubt anymore. Neither of us does.”
“But you can’t tell anyone. Not until we’re certain of Papa’s approval.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t, and neither can you.” Mary grimaced. “I can only imagine what Lady Catherine would say. Something horrible.”
“She does have a certain way about her, doesn’t she?”
“She does, and I’m so happy, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep her from noticing.”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement, full of the same worry.
It turned out they hadn’t any need for concern.
Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh announced their engagement at dinner, to general approval and joy.
Lady Catherine readily took any excess joy on the part of the other young people as Anne’s due on the occasion.
It entertained Elizabeth, taking in the looks exchanged around the table, to realize that everyone else knew, though whether by word of mouth or guess, she couldn’t be certain.
It amused her that their secrets were secret only from Lady Catherine.
The following day, those few of Mr. Collins’ possessions she wanted with her packed, Elizabeth bid a fond farewell to Mr. Darcy’s cousins, and to his aunt.
Mary and Miss de Bourgh hugged, bringing a lump to Elizabeth’s throat, but even as Mary’s closeness with Miss de Bourgh stirred a touch of guilt for not being a better sister, it pleased Elizabeth that Mary had found such a good friend.
She and Mary climbed into Mr. Darcy’s carriage while he made his farewells, and they headed to the cottage the Murphys stayed in to collect Gavin.
Over the carriage ride, Elizabeth studied Gavin Murphy, whom she’d liked from the moment she met him.
Taking in the loving way he looked at Mary, how he hung on her every word, Elizabeth’s fondness only grew.
Even if she would need to learn to cook and clean house and wash laundry to be the wife of a furniture maker, Mary would be very happy.
When they reached Hertfordshire, they first dropped Gavin at a cottage he’d worked on, where he said he’d be welcomed, and was.
In truth, the more Elizabeth thought on it, the more she realized she’d never heard a single ill word spoken about any of the Murphys, and certainly not about Gavin.
She approved of his strategy, which he’d admitted was to wait until Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had heard about Mr. Darcy’s proposal to Elizabeth before asking for Mary.
Gavin and Mary felt that with two daughters so well married and Kitty engaged to a good, upright man, Mr. Bennet would be more amiable to permitting Mary to wed a man in trade.
They arrived at Goldfinch cottage late in the afternoon.
Elizabeth alighted, studying the neat little building with fresh eyes.
When she’d come from their brief stay at Lucas Lodge, tired and eyes red rimmed from tears, she’d deemed Goldfinch Cottage a mean, desolate little place.
Now, laden with snow, a warm glow behind the curtains and smoke drifting up from the chimneys, the squat building appeared cozy and loved.
Still, once they made their way inside to shed their outerwear and be shown into the parlor, Goldfinch Cottage did seem very small.
Greetings were exchanged and people retook their seats, Lydia moving to the sofa with Elizabeth’s parents.
Kitty took the chair farthest from her younger sister, Mary beside her at the window, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy the two seats by the fire.
Transferring the tabby cat who slept there to her lap, Elizabeth claimed the one closer to her family, smiling at Mr. Darcy as she did so.
“Shall I send for tea?” Mrs. Bennet offered.
“Not yet, Mama,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t know that Mr. Darcy will remain long. He’s expected at Netherfield.”
“Where we should all be living,” Lydia muttered, arms crossed over her chest.
“We’ve been over that, dear,” Mrs. Bennet said mildly, to Elizabeth’s pleasant surprise.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. “I received your letters and responded. It is annoying to have written replies that will have to be sent on from Rosings, making them useless. You do not have permission to do that again.”
Mr. Darcy glanced at her, and Elizabeth nodded. “That is not the permission I’ve come to ask, sir. I would like your permission for Elizabeth and me to marry.”
“What?” Mrs. Bennet said quickly.
Beside her, Lydia dropped her arms to her sides and stared.
“Yes, your letter made that very clear, Mr. Darcy, and I will tell you what I tell all suitors of my daughters. Expect a hundred pounds and a one fifth share of my estate after I and Mrs. Bennet are dead. Consistency is a wonderful thing. It saves me the trouble of making decisions.”
“You want to marry Elizabeth?” Mrs. Bennet cried. She turned to her husband and asked, “And you knew but didn’t you tell me?”
Mr. Bennet shrugged. “I didn’t quite believe it. I don’t recognize his handwriting.”
“But Papa,” Elizabeth protested, wondering if her letter had been even less coherent than she’d realized. “I also wrote you. Surely you recognize my handwriting.”
“I was sure someone must have forged your letter. My sensible daughter wouldn’t have said she was going to use Mr. Collins’ money to help me rebuild.”
“Is that why you wanted me to put value on my wardrobe?” Mrs. Bennet asked. “And the ornaments and dishes and flatware?”
“And my gowns and hats and shoes?” Lydia added.
Mary leaned over and whispered something to Kitty, who giggled.
Lydia folded her arms back across her chest and glared at them before turning to Mr. Bennet. “Does that mean we’re getting everything back?”
“No,” Mr. Bennet said firmly. “If Mr. Collins had lived, no court would have given full value to me. I’m forty-six. I could die any day.”
“Papa,” Elizabeth protested.
“Or you could live another thirty years and it wouldn’t be unusual,” Mr. Darcy said.
Addressing him, Elizabeth’s father countered, “Twenty percent of the value would be reasonable.”
Mrs. Bennet, Lydia, Mary and Kitty looked back and forth between the two men.
Mr. Darcy, very earnest, countered, “Eighty percent of the house and contents would be more reasonable. Some of what you lost was not entailed. For those items, you should be compensated for the full value.”
Elizabeth worked to keep in a chuckle at Mr. Darcy’s serious demeanor. Did he realize he was arguing away money that would go to him when they married? Certainly, he did.
“But I benefited, because his actions give me full rights to will my estate to my family.” Triumphant, Mr. Bennet concluded, “And using that argument, I should get nothing.”
“I believe we are acting on the assumption that you should get as much money after Mr. Collins’ death as he would have owed you if he’d lived,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Why would you make such a silly assumption? Don’t you want your wife to bring you money?” Mr. Bennet asked.
“Why aren’t you arguing for more money?” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Don’t you want to rebuild?”
They all turned to regard Elizabeth’s father, waiting for his answer.
After a long moment, Mr. Bennet shrugged. “I’m not certain I do.”
“But Papa,” Lydia wailed. “My hats.”
Ignoring her, Mr. Bennet addressed his wife, saying, “I enjoy having a sensible wife who cooks what we eat and no more. I like being forced to live together with everyone having to learn to get along, even though I know Lydia and Kitty are at odds.”
“You’re still at odds?” Mary asked Kitty. “Your last letter made it sound as if you were once again getting along.”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement, though she and Mary only had Kitty’s side of the story. She and Jane wrote regularly, though about vastly different things, but Elizabeth had only one letter from Lydia since they left, and Mary hadn’t had any.
“Kitty doesn’t believe my Wickham will marry me,” Lydia said, lips jutting out in a pout. “As if her Mr. Carter is any better. He left, too.”
“But Mr. Carter writes me. Mr. Wickham stopped writing you.”
“That’s Lizzy’s fault. She asked how a person might reach him, and I told him that I told her, and he never wrote again.” Lydia’s voice rose as she spoke, in volume and octaves, until she finally wailed, “No matter how often I write him.”
“I’m sorry, Lydia,” Elizabeth said, trying to stave off more wails. “I didn’t mean to contribute to your estrangement.” But she wasn’t unhappy that she had.
Lydia sobbed noisily.
“Ignore her, Lizzy,” Kitty said primly. “She’s only crying because she knows Mr. Wickham will never return.”
“Well, I don’t think Mr. Carter will come back, either,” Lydia cried.
“He will,” Kitty said confidently.
“That’s enough,” Mrs. Bennet said firmly.
Elizabeth cast another surprised look at her mother. In the past, Mrs. Bennet would have taken Lydia’s side or let the argument continue. Maybe there was something to her father’s desire not to rebuild.
Turning to Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet asked, “How much is Mr. Collins’ property worth?”
Elizabeth shook her head, bemused by her mother. “We still don’t know.”
Mrs. Bennet looked from her husband to Elizabeth, then Mr. Darcy. “Well, then, we can reconvene this discussion when we do know.”
Mr. Bennet nodded. “I agree. For now, we consider the matter closed.”
“Then if you will excuse me?” Mr. Darcy asked. “I’m expected at Netherfield.”
Loath to see Mr. Darcy leave but understanding his desire to end his journey and to be away from Lydia’s whining, Elizabeth stood as he did, returning the cat to her chair.
“Do you know, Mr. Darcy, you never had the chance to see the table Mr. Murphy made for Papa. I haven’t even seen it, Lady Catherine whisked me away so quickly. ”
“I did expressly wish to see Gavin’s work,” Mr. Darcy replied.
“It’s in the dining room,” Kitty said. “I can show you.”
Elizabeth started walking before Kitty finished her offer, ushering Mr. Darcy from the parlor before her. Not slowing, she called back, “I know the way, but thank you.”
“Why does she get to break the chaperone rule?” Lydia whined.
“Papa made the rule for you and me,” Kitty replied as Elizabeth led Mr. Darcy to the dining room.
They stepped into the dining room and for a moment, struck by the elegance of the table, Elizabeth forgot her true goal of a moment alone with Mr. Darcy. She walked around the beautiful piece, running a hand over the smooth top and taking in the very faint lines where the leaves met.
“This expands?” Mr. Darcy asked, sounding as impressed as Elizabeth was. He folded in half to peer beneath. “Remarkable.”
“He truly is talented, is he not?” Elizabeth finished her circuit and came to stand before Mr. Darcy. “It’s lovely.”
Mr. Darcy straightened back to his full height. His gaze quickly found her, and heat lit deep in his eyes. “Yes. Lovely.”
“I imagine that if we don’t walk back past the parlor door soon, someone will come to look for us.”
He drew her into his arms, exactly where she wished to be. “Then I’d better kiss you now, before I miss the opportunity,” he murmured, and he did.