Chapter 39 The Trompemont
THE TROMPEMONT
Mr Bennet had no scruple in taking Elizabeth to task immediately, scolding her fiercely as they awaited their wraps in the front hall.
“Was I not clear, Elizabeth? Did I seem ambivalent in some way? Because from my perspective, I felt I had told you in no uncertain terms that you must not, under any circumstances, sneak off with a man, any man, but particularly Mr Darcy.”
“I did not sneak off—”
“On the Lucases’ dark balcony, no less. Was their garden not to your liking?”
He very nearly tossed her wrap at her after the maid arrived with it. He did not help her into it, only donning his own and walking briskly out of the door. Elizabeth quickly wrapped her pelisse about herself and followed him while pulling on her gloves.
After several minutes of tense silence, during which Mr Bennet marched resolutely towards Longbourn, he continued, “I cannot comprehend what came of Sir James today, but tomorrow is not in question. When we are home, you will go to your bedchamber where you will remain until I summon you in the morning to go to Ashworth. Is that understood?”
“Papa,” she said, a little breathless from the rapid pace her father kept. “I do not understand why you are so—”
“Because you have disappointed me. I have indulged you, cosseted you, because I thought you were uncommon. The best, the finest of all my daughters! What a fool I was to think any such thing. You are as silly and ignorant as any young lady I have ever seen, and it grieves me more deeply than I can bear.”
“For going into a room?” she said disbelievingly.
“For acting so stupidly and ruining your entire future,” he retorted. “I can only hope you will behave respectably once married. Now pray be silent, for I am done with you for the night.”
It did not signify, she supposed, that she was not done with him, or that she thought he was behaving unfairly and cruelly.
She could not account for it, her dear father behaving in this way, but he wished for silence and so she would allow him that, for at least as long as it took them to return home.
Once they were home, and Hill had taken their wraps, she decided she would try just once more. “Papa?”
He did not answer but simply looked at her, disappointment radiating from him.
“I truly am sorry.” She swallowed. “I hope that once—”
“As of tomorrow morning,” said Mr Bennet, with no sign of softening, “you will be Sir James’s problem and not a moment too soon as far as I am concerned.” He turned and left her.
Elizabeth stared after him. I may have disappointed you, but you have proved a disappointment to me too.
A group of men had retired outside to smoke their pipes and speak further on subjects begun in the dining room.
It was there that Darcy found Saye, deep in conversation with Sir William Lucas about London and its vast superiorities to the country.
At last Sir William went away, joining a small knot of others and wholly persuaded that in Saye he had found a kindred soul. Saye turned his attention to Darcy.
“It seems your little gambit for time this morning worked,” Darcy said. “Sir James did not go to Longbourn today.”
“Sir James was afflicted with a bit of dysentery,” Saye reported. “Quite unseemly if I must say so. One can hardly make love to a woman with his breeches round his ankles and his arse fastened to the chamber pot.”
“How did you—”
“Surely you cannot think me capable of giving a man dysentery?”
“In fact, I do,” Darcy said. “But the whys and hows, I will do best not to know.”
To this, Saye could only smirk. Down from them, the rest of the men burst into laughter, Sir William recounting one of the tales Saye must have lately told him.
“You really must get your girl out of this ghastly place,” Saye opined.
“She told me she loves me,” said Darcy, the bittersweet pleasure of that remembrance bursting into his chest. “Alas, she left me nevertheless. Her father dragged her away and told me I could shove off.”
Saye took a decisive draw of his pipe and blew the smoke on his cousin. “It is time for the trompement.”
Darcy waved away the smoke. “My trompement happened on the balcony.”
Saye shook his head. “No, that was a weak parry at best. You must elope with her.”
Darcy considered it. “It surely will not help her reputation.”
“I am not sure how much a reputation matters in such a mad little place as this,” Saye replied, turning to face Darcy.
With pokes of his finger accompanying his words, he said, “Sir James has tried to poach”—poke—“your”—poke—“pigeon”—poke—“and it is high time you remind him of just whose land he is on.”
Darcy wondered if it meant he was drunk, or mad, or both that Saye’s sentiments made sense.
Sir James had not loved Elizabeth all these months.
He had not reformed his character for her, and he did not know her as Darcy did.
He had never faced her ire. He had never tasted the sweetness of her kiss.
In short, he had poached Darcy’s pigeon, and Darcy meant to take her back.
“Would it be strictly considered an elopement if the settlements were delivered to her father…say, in the morning?”
Saye considered that through more smoke-blowing. “No,” he said decisively. “Absolutely not.”
“Then it seems I am soon to marry,” said Darcy, a lightness he had not felt for four days altogether coming over him. “You must forgive me the lack of a breakfast.”
“You can make it up to me with a ball,” Saye replied with a clap on his back. “You know how I feel about cake at a wedding.”
“I need a piece of paper and a pen,” Darcy said.
“I know just where I might find you both,” Saye told him.
Shockingly, Elizabeth did not cry once she reached her bedchamber.
Instead, she sat on her bed, looking at the walls of the place in which so many girlish dreams and plans had been uttered.
She was numb, shocked by her father’s meanness.
She supposed she ought not to have been.
Her own mother had suffered from his biting wit for all of Elizabeth’s life, hid under the guise of humour.
Indeed, none of it was funny. It was painful, and at once, Elizabeth felt deeply pitying of her mother who must also have disappointed Mr Bennet and paid the price ever since.
“Lizzy? Are you— Oh. You are not even ready for bed?” Jane entered the room with a smile. “What are you doing?”
“Just sitting here. Thinking.” Elizabeth smiled at her sister. “At least one of us will have happy dreams tonight.”
Jane smiled and took a seat on her own bed across from her sister’s. “I am so happy, Lizzy. Even happier than I was before. He really does love me.”
“Marriage is for better or for worse,” Elizabeth said lightly. “So I daresay it might be a good thing you are starting with the worst, for it can only improve from here.”
“I have something for you,” said Jane. Reaching into her skirt, she extracted a folded page and handed it to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth laughed as she took it. “A message concealed in your garters? My goodness, what can this be?” Her laughter stopped as she started reading.
My dearest, darling Elizabeth,
I will make this brief and put aside my inherent tendencies to search for four-syllable words. Time is of the essence as you are well aware.
If you love me, if you trust me, then meet me at dawn tomorrow.
I shall be in front of Longbourn, by the oak that stands where the lane turns into the drive, with my carriage ready to take us to London where we will marry by licence as soon as may be.
I do not like stealing you away in such a manner, but it occurs to me that there have been a great many interferences to our happily ever after, and I do not mean to allow them to defeat us, no matter how I must act.
In the words of Machiavelli, although the act condemns the doer, the end may justify him.
Though I cannot agree with too many of that gentleman’s philosophies, in this I believe he might have the right of it.
The matter and my heart rest in your hands. I will await you at dawn and if you do not arrive, I shall know how to understand it.
FD
Elizabeth inhaled sharply. Elopement. Exceedingly scandalous and equally tempting.
For a moment, she imagined it, stealing away in the night with a valise, making a mad dash for London where…
Where she would find herself married to Darcy.
The notion both thrilled and terrified her, but what terrified her more was the idea of losing him forever.
This was it, she realised. It was now or never.
Time to do or to die, to lay the proud usurpers low, as the poem went, even if she still was not quite sure who exactly the proud usurper or usurpers were.
She looked up to see Jane putting some things in a valise. Elizabeth’s things. “What are you doing?”
“I think you should go,” Jane said. They had, each, a chest of drawers, and she moved to the one that was hers, extracting a filmy bit of lacy nothingness from it.
“What is that?” Elizabeth cried out.
“A gift our aunt gave me,” said Jane with a smile. “You will need it for your wedding night.”
The excitement and the trepidation those words brought made Elizabeth shiver, even as she protested, “It is yours, for you and Bingley.”
“Well, then I shall expect you to come back from London with another.” With a smile, Jane closed the valise. “I daresay that is all you will really need for a few days in London.”
Elizabeth took the valise from her hand. “Am I really going to do this?”
“Do you want to become Mrs Darcy? Or Lady…Lady whatever Sir James’s name is.”
“Shaw,” said Elizabeth faintly. “Lady Shaw. And no, I most assuredly wish to become Mrs Darcy.”
“Then it seems the choice is clear. As you have not yet put on your nightclothes, might I suggest you put on a travelling dress instead? Dawn will be here before you know it.”