Chapter 41 Hoping, Eloping, and Disclosing
HOPING, ELOPING, AND DISCLOSING
Pale fingerlings of dawn had only just begun to breach the night when Darcy exited his carriage, quietly taking a place beneath an ancient oak beside the lane.
He had not slept, his thoughts a tumult, endlessly telling himself yes, she would come, or no, she would not.
He prayed she would even if he would understand why she did not.
A twig snapped and through the pearly light, he saw her, a slight figure moving with swift determination, holding her pelisse tightly against herself with one hand while the other clutched a valise.
“Elizabeth?” His voice emerged rough and raw, the product of a sleepless night and his emotion.
She stopped, seeming to peer towards him, and then, in a rush, ran into his arms, throwing herself into his embrace.
He laughed through the upswell of emotion that beset him. “I cannot believe you came.”
“Did you doubt I would?”
“A little.”
“I did too at first,” she admitted. “But then I realised…I believe in us too. In the happily ever after that awaits us. And if you wish for a wild, scandalous sort of wife, then who am I to interfere with your plans?”
He chuckled and then gestured towards the lane where his carriage awaited them. “Then let us be gone, madam, and may the happily ever after commence.”
“I love you,” she said, her dark eyes earnest upon his. “My heart is in your hands.”
Darcy reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed it once, and then pulled her close to kiss her lips. “As mine is in yours. You are my everything.”
“Let us go,” she said with a smile, “and really give them all something to talk about.”
She did not spare Longbourn another glance, moving towards the carriage with confident steps. The coachman opened the door, and Darcy moved to hand her in but paused.
“I need but a moment. Do you think any of the servants are about?”
She tilted her head, looking curious. “Likely not yet.”
“Perfect.” He instructed the coachman on where he wished him to go and where he must stop so that the sound of the horses would not be heard.
When they stopped, Darcy told her to await him and quickly ran to the house, gently easing open the door Elizabeth told him would be open.
He then went on silent feet to Mr Bennet’s study where he laid the folio containing the settlement articles on the gentleman’s desk along with a note from Saye requesting an audience with him at noon.
“What if they come after me?” Elizabeth asked worriedly. It was the fear that made her gnaw at her lip all night long. Her father would not likely wish to bestir himself, but Sir James? She could not know what he might do.
“You will remain with my aunt and uncle at Matlock House until we marry. I do not think Sir James would know to look for you there. In any case, my uncle has been hard at work on the licence. Perhaps we might marry as soon as today.”
“Today!” she exclaimed, Jane’s nightgown coming to her mind almost immediately. But such anxieties were easily quelled by looking at the man beside her on the bench. Yes, today would do very well. “That is exciting,” she said to him. “But how is that legal? I thought—”
“Anything is legal so long as you throw enough pounds at it,” he told her with a smile and then explained the various steps that had been undertaken to make their elopement—“which cannot truly be considered an elopement as your father has the articles”—a done thing.
“Saye means to go to Ashworth this morning to speak to Sir James. And after that… He has asked your father for an audience.”
“Lord Saye wishes for an audience with my father?” Elizabeth tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because he knows who it was who began the stories about you.” Darcy told Elizabeth the whole of the story, the closet, the intrusion of people into the room, and lastly, Charlotte’s confession.
“Charlotte?” Elizabeth was astonished, and yet not; Charlotte’s strange conversation the night prior, and the inconsistencies produced, had already led to some small suspicion. “But why would she do such a thing?”
Then again, she also knew why. Because Charlotte had felt superior to her old friend, by virtue of her marriage, and Elizabeth had come along and threatened to take away that feeling. She sighed. “Oh, Charlotte.”
“I am sorry,” Darcy said feelingly.
“So am I. I could never have imagined it of her.”
Darcy appeared to be exhausted; like her, she imagined he had not slept at all the night prior. She snuggled herself into his arms, feeling the amazement that, for as much as she had never done so before, to sleep beside him felt very familiar. Like she was in the place she was always meant to be.
Sleep would prove impossible. She sat with her eyes closed, feeling the delight of being, very soon, Mrs Darcy; the shock of being betrayed by a dear friend; the fear of being chased; and the worry that somehow none of this would work out.
Through it all, Darcy’s embrace consoled her.
Saye brought with him a large party to Longbourn.
Mrs Collins was needed, of course, and having Mr Collins along to blather and rattle would add to his amusement.
Sir William came because evidently he fancied himself the neighbourhood alderman, and Miss Goddard accompanied them likely just to have more time in his presence. Or at least he supposed.
They were shown in to the drawing room where they found Mrs Bennet sitting with Miss Bennet and the two silly sisters, one stout and one pallid. The one with spots was nowhere to be seen, but those who were present would do well enough. The spotty one did not seem the sort to spread news anyhow.
Mrs Bennet rose to her feet in an immediate fluster. “Oh, my lord! Sir James! How good…but you must wish for some coffee or some tea? What do you all do here? Sir James, Lizzy is just out on the lane, I am sure. I shall send a boy after her directly.”
Saye’s brow wrinkled, and he shot a look at Miss Goddard.
Did the lady truly have no idea where her daughter was?
Sir James just stood beside him like a useless lump of horse manure and said nothing, so Saye said, “Pray do not think of that, Mrs Bennet. The only other person we are in need of is your good husband. Is he here?”
“Oh yes, yes, I will go and get him myself. No! I shall send a footman. Or Hill.” She bustled out of the room, still naming various people who might be prevailed upon to find Mr Bennet.
Miss Bennet invited Miss Goddard to sit.
The stout Miss Bennet went and joined them, while the pallid one left the room.
Sir James stood far too close to Saye, so he asked him if he might like to sit somewhere else.
Unhappily, he declined. On Saye’s other side, Mr Collins rocked to and fro on his feet, his countenance beaded with sweat.
“Mr Collins, you might wish to tend to your forehead,” Saye informed him.
“My…forehead?”
Saye rolled his eyes. “Your handkerchief, sir. Remove it from your pocket and rid your countenance of its sheen.”
At least Mrs Collins looks appropriately penitent, Saye thought with some satisfaction.
Indeed, she rather looked like she might be ill, whey-faced with her head lowered and rounded shoulders.
Suffering rather nicely, he concluded with satisfaction, but nothing compared to what Elizabeth—whom he presumed might be his cousin by now—had endured these last days.
Mr Bennet entered looking wary, his wife by his side. “Good morning to you all.”
A few of the others echoed the greeting, but Saye did not, keeping a silent appraisal of the man while he leant back, keeping himself the picture of ease on the chair.
“Sir James, you have brought quite an audience with you,” Mr Bennet said, still seeming concerned. “I trust there is no alteration in your sentiments and plans with regards to Elizabeth?”
Sir James opened his mouth and then closed it again, then gave Saye a helpless look.
Evidently, I am to be the master of ceremonies. Saye sighed heavily, then said, “Mrs Collins, I believe we must begin with you. Mr and Mrs Bennet, you might wish to sit.”
Mrs Collins raised her head briefly and then lowered it again, tears already gathered in her eyes. “Mr and Mrs Bennet…I-I am deeply ashamed to admit that I invented the tale about Elizabeth and Sir James. None of it was true.”
Mr Bennet and Mrs Bennet both merely stared at her, the silence heavy. Finally Mr Bennet said, “You invented the tale?”
Mrs Collins nodded miserably.
Mr Collins alas entered the conversation. “As it says in Proverbs, ‘he that covereth his sins shall not prosper’! Mrs Collins has erred most grievously—”
“Why would you do such a thing, Charlotte?” Mr Bennet enquired mildly. “You and Lizzy have been dear friends since you were just girls. We treated you as another daughter.”
Mrs Collins looked at her husband, then back to Mr Bennet. She did not answer the question, and only whispered, “I am so very sorry.”
“‘Jealousy is the rage of a man!’” Mr Collins proclaimed. “Or rather, woman, in this particular instance—”
“Mr Collins, pray save your verses for your next sermon,” Saye interjected. “The material point is this: Mrs Collins created and spread about scurrilous tales of Miss Elizabeth and Sir James. Sir James was, in my opinion, equally complicit in not contradicting the rumours—”
Sir James spoke. “I did not think anyone would—”
“Yes, yes, we have all heard your excuses,” Saye interrupted witheringly. “No one gives two straws.”
At this, the stout girl barked out a loud laugh.
Saye gave her a wink for her contribution, then continued to speak.
“Sir James and Mrs Collins mean to go about the town today, correcting the misapprehensions they have lain. What misfortune befalls Sir James thereafter, I cannot say. As for Mrs Collins, I have written to my aunt, dear Lady Catherine who I daresay will be most interested in aiding Mrs Collins in learning the proper conduct of a parson’s wife. ”
At this, Mrs Collins began to weep while her husband only turned red.
Turning to him, Saye smirked. “What censure she has for you in choosing a liar and gossip as a wife, I cannot predict, but I am confident there will be some.”
Mr Collins was rendered blessedly silent, the disapproval of his esteemed patroness no doubt heavy upon him.
“I do wish to add my voice to the apologies,” said Sir James.
“I suppose it is Elizabeth herself who deserves to hear all of this regret pouring forth,” said Mr Bennet. To his wife, he enquired, “Has John found her?”
“John will not find her,” Saye interrupted. “For she is not here. She has gone to town with Mr Darcy. I daresay the letters on your desk have explained things, Mr Bennet?”
“Letters on my desk?” Mr Bennet looked bemused. “I am not sure I comprehend you.”
Saye raised on brow. “Have you not yet read your morning correspondence?”
Mr Bennet did not reply directly to that. “Jane, go to my desk and see if there is a letter there from…?”
“From Darcy,” said Saye with an excess of impatient patience. Lord above, even I read my letters! “Who by the bye has taken Miss Elizabeth to town to marry her.”
“Gone to town with Mr Darcy?” Mrs Bennet cried out. “Oh, that girl! Straight from one jumble into another! Whatever will we do with her now?”
“I daresay you would do best to be good to her, for she will be Mrs Darcy next you see her,” Saye replied smoothly. “You will want an invitation to Pemberley. It is a lovely place.”
Mr Bennet still appeared mightily bemused. “I do not understand you.”
“Lizzy eloped, Papa!” the stout sister cried out with a giggle and a snort. “With Mr Darcy!”
“An elopement! Oh Mr Bennet, we are ruined!” Mrs Bennet again cried out.
“She will be Mrs Darcy. Indeed she might be already,” Saye replied mildly.
“Married by licence in Darcy’s parish. More a triumph than ruination, I should say.
Further, I cannot think it can rightly be an elopement when the wedding shall occur in Darcy’s parish with my own father having helped with the arrangements. ”
“It seems it has all been managed, then,” said Mr Bennet, sounding relieved. “Sir James, I do hope you will not do anything as foolhardy as chasing after them? Hardly a spurned suitor, are you?”
Sir James shook his head. “No sir, I daresay my interference will end here.”