Chapter 22
Elizabeth, accompanied by her family, arrived in London a month after Mr Darcy.
While Mr Bennet and Mary chose to stay with the Gardiners, Mrs Bennet, Kitty, Lydia, and Elizabeth were warmly received at the Bingleys’ town house.
The happy couple delighted in having guests, and none was more welcome than Elizabeth.
Elizabeth learned of Mr Darcy’s misfortune through Jane’s letter.
Neither Jane nor her husband suspected that his stay at Netherfield had been prompted by anything beyond the need for rest. For once, Mrs Bennet kept her promise and did not speak of it to anyone, though such restraint cost her more than she would ever have imagined.
Not without some effort to conceal her amusement, Elizabeth, upon arriving at the Bingleys’ house, expressed proper surprise and concern at Mr Darcy’s situation, and spoke with sincere hope that he might find strength to overcome so distressing an event.
“He did perfectly right to attend the theatre and appear with his family,” said Bingley.
“We went as well, to the Matlocks’ box, and remained for nearly two acts,” Jane added with animation, glancing at her husband, who confirmed it with a nod.
“But are people discussing…the affair?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course they are—it is the most recent incident in London society…scarcely a few days old. You should hear Louisa and Caroline. They speak of nothing else. Still, Mr Darcy’s reputation in London is firmly established, and all blame rests upon her—an unstable young woman who nearly ruined the life of an honourable man. ”
“And do you know where she has gone?”
“There are countless rumours. Some say she is in Scotland, waiting for the divorce to marry there—”
“So she eloped…with a man?”
Jane looked at her in astonishment. “Certainly. What else could you suppose? I heard that he did not reach the church in time to prevent the marriage, and that he afterwards followed them to Pemberley. Only imagine what might have occurred, had he been of a violent disposition.”
Elizabeth struggled not to smile. She received a letter from Darcy almost every day, and now that the story had spread through London, he appeared far more at ease.
There was much talk; but friends and family showed kindness, striving to divert him and soften his melancholy.
Invitations were abundant—dinners, morning rides, shooting parties at neighbouring estates.
His appearance at the theatre was widely regarded as an act of dignity and composure.
Their first meeting after a month was almost dramatic; but, to the relief of those who knew the truth, Jane believed it to be nothing more than the antipathy she had long attributed to Elizabeth towards Mr Darcy.
She perceived neither the colour in Elizabeth’s cheeks nor the sudden, almost awkward bow with which Darcy greeted her—for in truth he was only held still by the irresistible impulse to go to her and take her in his arms.
Jane observed her throughout the evening, fearful lest she should endanger her acquaintance with him, her husband’s dearest friend.
“Pray go and speak to him, Lizzy,” she whispered, as they made their way towards the music room, where Mary was to play.
To her satisfaction, Elizabeth seated herself beside Mr Darcy, and they appeared, if not on easy terms, at least perfectly civil.
“I believe I shall die,” he murmured at last, when the music began.
“Pray not before the wedding,” Elizabeth returned.
She was plainly far calmer than he; for, beyond the possibility of being excluded from London society—which to her was no great misfortune—nothing disturbed her.
Her resolution was taken: even if he should never obtain a divorce, or be denied the right to marry again, she would follow him to Pemberley.
She had told her parents as much, and they had seemed to consent; but even that signified little to her.
“You are dreadfully calm,” he said in reproach.
“Someone must be.”
“I begin to wonder whether you love me.”
She only smiled at those words and made no reply.
They met often at the Bingleys’, and for the first time in her life, Elizabeth found her mother’s lively and unceasing chatter a blessing. It allowed her and Darcy to exchange a few words without being observed.
That same morning, at his club, Darcy had declared to the friends gathered about him that he had no intention of retreating into sorrow, but meant to resume his life and, in time, to seek an honest and affectionate wife.
“Excellent,” said Lord Downpatrick, with evident approval. “The worst course in such a situation is to indulge suffering.”
Darcy nodded with gratitude, and his close friends expressed their wish to see him restored to the good spirits he had always possessed.
“It is strange,” he confessed, “that misadventure should have strengthened my determination to marry. But you may be certain that, this time, I shall choose much better.”
They laughed at his words and applauded, pleased to see their friend returned to himself.
Darcy had long considered the proper moment to reveal his intentions towards Elizabeth.
Still, he sought to prolong that period of supposed search for a wife.
They wished everything to appear natural, as a simple falling in love, and not as the result of a design long formed.
The only person who knew the whole truth was Mrs Gardiner, and she concealed it even better than they did.
“I know it is far too soon to ask…but have you anyone in mind?” Bingley inquired, as they sat together in the carriage returning from the club.
Since Darcy’s return to town, their friendship had deepened considerably. The Bingleys had been among the first to learn of his unfortunate marriage, and the confidence he placed in them spoke plainly of his regard.
“You know I have always felt a particular regard for Miss Bennet,” he said.
“You have?” Bingley replied, surprised, though he recalled a conversation they had after leaving Hertfordshire, when Darcy had indeed expressed admiration for her. He also remembered his wife’s concern that Elizabeth did not like him.
“Yes. I admired her, and when we met again in Kent, my admiration only increased, but I preferred Anne. I was mistaken in believing that my family’s interests outweighed my own feelings—see what has followed.”
Bingley nodded.
“My sentiments remain unchanged. It is only to be discovered whether she returns them.”
“That I do not know,” he answered with caution, fearing his friend might fix his affections upon a lady who did not value him—a misfortune, after all he had endured. “You may see her this evening and speak to her.”
Darcy, however, had no wish for mere conversation. He longed to silence her with a kiss and to hold her as he had not been able to do for weeks.
Disguise and pretence were foreign to his nature; he had always spoken plainly, with conviction.
Now, however, he was obliged to assume a part—to encourage society to accept his future marriage to a young lady as yet unknown to them.
At present, they were only acquaintances, and under the guidance of his aunt, he must first establish a friendship, and then something more, so that his return to happiness might be acknowledged by all.
“Yes, I think Miss Bennet is the lady I admire most. And we have met often enough for me to appreciate her character. I confess I am uneasy lest she should be sought by another before my divorce is granted.”
“If you will allow me to offer advice…” Bingley began, somewhat hesitantly.
“Most willingly.”
Encouraged, Bingley resolved to assist him in every way he could. He recalled how, upon his own engagement, Mrs Bennet had contrived to leave him alone with Jane, if only for a few minutes.
“I am certain,” he said in a lowered voice, glancing about, “that you might secure ten minutes alone with Elizabeth this evening.”
Darcy felt his heart quicken, though he preserved an appearance of calm. “You see the difficulty—what proposal could be made, when nothing may be concluded for a year?”
“You must not think of it so. A private understanding would suffice. If she feels for you as you hope, a year will pass quickly.”
Just before dinner, Charles and Jane left the rest of their party with Mrs Bennet and Mrs Gardiner to show Darcy and Elizabeth a newly acquired painting.
Thus it was arranged: they met again, alone, for the first time in a fortnight.
“Listen to me—listen,” he whispered, as he drew her into his arms with urgency.
“I am, my love.”
“Do not call me ‘my love’ unless you wish me to lose all command,” he said, as he caressed her face and neck.
“What shall I call you?” she asked, with playful submission.
“Sir…” he answered—and then he kissed her, compelling her to yield to him in the very manner she had imagined for weeks.
“Sir,” she whispered when his lips left hers for her neck and shoulders.
Breathing unevenly, he forced himself to pause, mindful of their limited time. “Tomorrow you will receive an invitation from my uncle and aunt.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“I have told Lady Eleanor nearly everything. She will present you to society.”
“Nearly everything?” she repeated, amused.
“As with the rest, they know only what we choose to reveal. You must appear as the discovery of the Season.”
“You intend me for a duke?” she teased.
He stopped at once and fixed her with a look of warning. “Do not jest on such a subject. I should not answer for myself if any man presumed—”
She saw the seriousness in his expression and thought it wiser not to continue.
“You will attend Lady Matlock and Lady Wharton. They will see you properly presented.”
“But—”
“No questions. Trust me. Fitzwilliam has secured an excellent property in Derbyshire, which will serve our purpose.”
They spoke in brief intervals, broken by quiet embraces and hurried kisses, content with even so little time together.
“We must have some place where we may meet without observation,” he said. “Darcy House will answer. I shall speak to Mr Bennet.”
Elizabeth might have objected or questioned him, but she refrained. She trusted him—not only with her affection, but with the direction of her future. London mattered to him; his family mattered. For herself, she desired only to be worthy of Pemberley.
“And how do you propose to persuade my father to bring me into your den—you dangerous wolf?”
“I have a plan, miss,” he replied, smiling. “Tell me—what does your father value most?”
She needed but a moment. Her father loved his daughters dearly; but books were his weakness.
“Books?”
“Precisely. And your future husband possesses a library fit for a king.”
Elizabeth laughed freely. “I doubt our king has much inclination towards reading.”
“My dear Elizabeth,” he said with mock despair, “must you always oppose me?”
She offered no answer; and as their arguments rarely ended to his advantage, he chose a surer method. Drawing her close once more, he silenced her with a fervour that left her breathless, until she was obliged to plead for release from the determined attentions of his lips.