Chapter 11
Netherfield was in a state of bliss. Not only did the future couple and their guests partake in the joy, but it seemed that the estate itself was flourishing in their honour.
The house and gardens were being decorated by a celebrated architect, who had come from London two days before the wedding.
He had some unusual—but exquisite—ideas, which he claimed had come from Marie Antoinette’s entertainments at Versailles.
“I hope this gentleman knows that the Queen of France is dead, and that we are still at war with Napoleon,” Mr Bennet observed in his usual sarcastic manner.
But as he was alone with Elizabeth, his words had no dangerous effect.
Their chief concern was Jane, who was so afraid that something might go wrong at her wedding that she surrendered herself to every ancient superstition.
“I suppose this is how brides are—full of anxieties. That is why she imposes so many demands upon us.”
“Whims, not demands,” Mr Bennet replied, rather morosely. “I only hope to survive these next two days,” he added in a lighter tone.
“You are unfair, Papa.” Elizabeth smiled, reproving her father with affection. “She is happy and excited, and it is only natural for a future wife to behave so.”
“Yes, of course, my dear. I can only speak freely before you and my brother Gardiner, because you understand how happy I am for Jane. My last words were only the whims of an old man.”
“I know, Papa,” Elizabeth said, looking at her father. She would not allow herself to see him as old, nor to imagine life without him.
Jane’s wedding was a joyful occasion for the whole Bennet family. Charles Bingley, with his well-known benevolence and generous heart, refused any marriage settlement that included a dowry.
“Sir,” he said in his unpretending manner, “all that I possess is for Miss Bennet and our…offspring. My solicitors have been instructed to prepare a marriage settlement on that understanding. And I wish you to know that, from this day, you are my family.”
It was his delicate way of saying that, whatever might happen to Mr Bennet, he would support his widow and daughters. Mr Bennet valued that assurance, which made him feel more secure in the future of his family.
“I think highly of Mr Bingley, and I am convinced Jane has found the perfect husband—generous and cheerful, a rare combination in a man. Indeed, your sister is fortunate…but what is the matter with you?” He scrutinised his daughter.
For some time, he had noticed in Elizabeth’s eyes a shadow of sadness.
Strangely enough, it was Mrs Bennet who first observed it, though she rarely attended to the subtler moods of her daughters.
“Leave her alone,” he had said then. “Lizzy and Jane have always been inseparable, and it is difficult for Lizzy to remain behind—not merely for a short time, but for the rest of her life.”
But the longer he observed his favourite daughter, the more he doubted that Jane’s impending departure was the sole cause of her sadness.
Elizabeth’s sorrow had a quality more suited to disappointed love.
Formerly, like most men, he had understood little of women’s feelings.
Yet after living among five daughters as they grew up, he had begun to read certain states of mind and heart.
And Elizabeth was the only one who had never given him cause for anxiety.
“Come,” he said with tenderness, “I shall walk with you to the gates of Netherfield. You ought to be with the young people while your aunt and uncle are there for the day.”
They walked on together, and the silence between them convinced Mr Bennet that Elizabeth’s sadness had another source. It was too deep, too settled. And with Jane to live less than three miles away, the sisters would still be able to see one another as often as they pleased.
“You know that you may tell me anything that troubles you,” he said, somewhat hesitantly.
Elizabeth looked at her father in surprise.
She had never imagined that anyone could perceive her torment, so carefully had she tried to conceal it beneath her eagerness for Jane’s wedding.
Yet perhaps it was true that with her father, she was less guarded than with others.
Though glad of his kindness, she could not tell him the cause of her distress.
No one, save Aunt Gardiner, knew what had passed at Hunsford Parsonage.
“I know, Papa, but there is nothing to trouble yourself about.”
But that was far from the truth. Almost two months after the unhappy proposal, she remained in the same state of profound regret and despair.
She had waited with increasing anxiety for an answer to her note. It was a daring step, from a social point of view, for an unmarried lady to write to a gentleman, but her message might well be regarded as an answer to his.
She had considered long what she ought to write, and at last resolved to send a brief note rather than a full letter.
Aunt Gardiner had read every version—there were perhaps ten of them—and finally chose the one that conveyed her feelings with propriety and a shade of sorrow, neither too severe nor too apologetic.
Mr Darcy,
Thank you for your letter. I appreciate your honesty regarding those persons and incidents you related.
I prefer to forget the sharp words that passed between us and remember only your warm feelings.
Such a resolution on both our parts may alter the present situation and lead to an honest friendship.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth Bennet
Yet no answer came. The days she spent in London were filled with expectation; whenever a message arrived, she ran to the door, only to return to her room in greater despair.
It made no sense. He had proposed to her; he had been deeply interested in her; and yet his sudden silence was wholly uncivil.
He might at least have sent a note saying that everything between them was at an end—but some answer was necessary.
He could not be so angry as to ignore her forever.
Every morning she awoke with hope, and every evening she fell asleep regretting that she had written at all.
Returning to Longbourn was still more difficult.
In spite of her aunt’s promise that any letter from him would be sent by express, Elizabeth’s impatience made each day a torment.
Jane’s approaching wedding only increased the strain.
She was obliged to laugh and assume a gaiety she did not feel.
Her only remaining hope was that she might see him at the wedding.
The last two days before the great event were the most difficult of all.
As she approached Netherfield with her father, she ardently hoped that Darcy had already arrived.
Indeed, it was her principal reason for going that morning, for the house and gardens were in such a state of bustle that no quiet pleasure could be expected there.
Servants were at work everywhere, completing the arrangements, while the parlours, the music-room, and even the library were full of noise and laughter.
She longed to see him, and yet she was afraid.
As she wandered through the house in search of Jane or her aunt, Elizabeth found it impossible to avoid the crowd.
At last, she determined to ask a maid to conduct her to Mrs Gardiner’s room.
The Gardiners had arrived the day before and were to remain at Netherfield until the wedding as special guests of the bride.
She found her aunt before the mirror, making her final preparations for the visit to Longbourn. But the moment she saw Elizabeth, her tranquil manner changed entirely. Something had happened—something connected with him.
Elizabeth sat down upon the sofa and murmured, “He is not coming…”
Mrs Gardiner only nodded and came to sit beside her.
“But why?” Elizabeth asked in desolation. “He is Mr Bingley’s closest friend. It is because of me. He would not see me again.”
Mrs Gardiner remained silent, for she herself believed as much. Yet seeing Elizabeth so overcome, she attempted another explanation.
“It seems they have some family gathering that he could not avoid.”
But Elizabeth dismissed the suggestion with a slight movement of her hand. Consolation was useless. He was not coming because of her.
“It is over. His absence from such an important event is the clearest proof that he wishes to have nothing more to do with me. I must accept it and try to be happy for Jane.”
Mrs Gardiner approved the resolution with all her heart. Among the guests, she had already noticed one or two young gentlemen who might, in time, help Elizabeth forget so painful a disappointment.
“Jane wishes you to accompany them to Bath for their wedding journey,” she said, but Elizabeth shook her head.
“No—I am happy for her, and I shall assist in every way I can, but I cannot go with them. Pray make her understand. I am certain Kitty and Lydia would be delighted to go.”
There was no more hope. Hard though it was to submit to such a conclusion, she must do so. She would probably meet him again, sooner or later; but by absenting himself from the wedding, he had made his meaning plain. It was over, and his resolution final.
“My dear,” Mrs Gardiner said, as she prepared to leave the room, “the best thing for you would be to spend the summer in London with us.”
Elizabeth tried to appear cheerful, but the ceremony itself was difficult to bear.
Part of her stood with Jane at the altar, in the deep love she felt for her sister; but another part could not help imagining that she too might have been a bride.
Two months after his proposal, she saw herself for an instant… and Darcy beside her.
Yet it was over. And a few days after the wedding, Elizabeth accompanied the Gardiners back to town.