Chapter 27
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Now that some hours had passed, she was not nearly so annoyed with Miss Bingley as she had been in the moment of insult; in truth, the woman had only made herself look pitiful with her ham-handed attempts to interfere in Elizabeth’s life.
Perhaps the lady would be more pleased tomorrow, once the Bennet sisters had departed Netherfield. Jane said Darcy had advised Mr Collins that their drive had been enough activity for his wife for one day, and that he should return in the morning prepared to bring them both home.
She had one more evening to spend with Darcy.
Of course, Elizabeth knew he meant to propose, once his relations were informed. But what if his aunt begged for another delay? Those delays could go on endlessly if they both truly feared for his cousin’s safety and the world’s opinions.
It was not fair, but life seldom was.
She would never demand that he incinerate his relationship with his family in order to marry more quickly; the situation was not so simple as that.
The weight of years had gone into the making of it, and she could not expect resolution to occur within weeks.
She was only determined to act in a manner, which would, in her own opinion, constitute her happiness.
He made her happy, and while she wanted all the rest of her life with him, it would not be such a terrible thing to receive his letters and visits, to take things slowly and carefully while trying to hurt others as little as possible.
That meant he might have to leave soon, to reassure, to wade through emotional distress and uneven dispositions.
It also meant that his relations would have ample opportunity to attempt to dissuade him from his course.
Miss Bingley had not been wrong in that Elizabeth was not what he had been raised to expect, or anything close to what his family wanted for him.
She meant to be realistic, and try not to wish for too much. He might, after all of that, change his mind. She hoped he would not, that he was as constant as she dreamt and wanted in a man who would be her husband. But good outcome or bad in the future, for now, she had tonight.
Darcy was the first to greet her when she came downstairs, a few minutes before her sister and the others appeared.
He came to her immediately, taking both her hands in his.
His voice, when he spoke, was low, for her ears only.
“You are astonishingly lovely tonight,” he said.
“I thought you beautiful in scarlet, then in green. I have come to realise that all colours are simply decoration for an ever-present appeal you wear like an ornament, no matter the shade.”
She could not help it, smiling up at him and feeling pink heat tingeing her cheeks.
“I am so happy to see you,” she said, adding with an honesty that ought to have been difficult but somehow was not. “The day has been too long without you in it.”
His answering smile was wonderful to see, her heart lifting. The Bingley sisters entered the room then, interrupting the moment, but he held on to her hands for a few seconds beyond what was merely polite, even so. Miss Bingley’s smile turned sour, as she noticed it immediately.
The night was the easiest they had managed thus far at Netherfield.
Mr Bingley attempted to dominate Jane’s attention, but plainly she was leery of allowing it, and made a greater effort to speak with the others, especially Elizabeth and Louisa Hurst. Mr Bingley seemed to take Jane’s drifting awareness in stride, Elizabeth was glad to see, joining in the conversation with others.
Darcy did not talk much; it was not his custom, but when he did speak, he was always interesting and perceptive.
Elizabeth was hardly required to notice Miss Bingley, because that lady contributed almost nothing to the discourse. Mrs Hurst frequently tried to engage her grim-faced sister, but even she was unable to breach the wall of discontent.
When the women separated, it grew even more awkward.
Jane and Elizabeth settled beside each other on a sofa where the greater share of the seating was arranged.
Miss Bingley took a seat so far away, it may as well have been in another room.
Mrs Hurst hesitated, looking at her sister. “Caroline, are you not feeling well?”
Miss Bingley shrugged brusquely.
Given little choice between overt rudeness to her guests or indulging her sister’s insolence, Mrs Hurst opted for good manners over boorish behaviour.
Her powers of conversation were considerable, and the three were soon laughing over her descriptions of an entertainment she had attended in town.
She did try, two or three times, to compel Miss Bingley to join them, but was refused.
When the gentlemen entered, Darcy approached immediately; it did not seem strange at all to Elizabeth that she moved closer to Jane to make space for him. It was astonishing, however, when he took her hand in his larger one.
Mrs Hurst’s eyes grew wide with outright shock, and Mr Bingley stopped speaking mid-sentence. Miss Bingley, from her perch across the room, gaped. Even Elizabeth froze—what would everyone think, if they could not yet reveal their engagement?
Into the sudden silence, Darcy spoke. “I have an announcement to make, here amongst my friends. Mrs Ashwood has done me the very great honour of agreeing to become my wife. We will not be announcing this happy news for a couple of weeks yet, and would prefer it was spoken of only amongst ourselves, until such a time as we make it known to others.” He looked into Elizabeth’s eyes.
“I hope you will forgive my impetuous announcement, my darling. My excitement for that coming day is such that I find it impossible to disguise my affections, here, where we can be certain of discretion.”
She found herself grinning back. “I suppose I shall.”
“Why, this is wonderful!” Mr Bingley declared. “Darcy, you sly devil, I did not suspect a thing! We must celebrate!” Libations were called for; toasts were offered.
Jane hugged Elizabeth, her happiness over her sister’s good news genuine, if not quite astonished.
“Someone in this room is hoping you have the world’s shortest memory,” she whispered, glancing over at a white-faced Miss Bingley, who had surrendered her sulk immediately, and even proposed one of the toasts ‘to the happy couple’.
It was the quickest about-face Elizabeth had ever seen, an obvious bid to retain her connexion to Darcy.
“Now tell us, Darcy, when can we share this news with the world? I have been thinking of holding a ball since the day we cleared the ballroom of its holland covers. A dance would be the perfect occasion to announce your joy.”
“Now, Charles,” Miss Bingley hastened to interject, “not everyone is like yourself. There are some who find such entertainments more insufferably tedious than diverting.”
“If you mean Darcy,” remarked her brother, “I daresay he would find himself enjoying such amusements, once he is not pursued by every frantic mama with a marriageable miss to fob off upon him.”
“I am certain he would find it a great yawn,” Miss Bingley argued.
“Actually, I agree with you, Bingley, if my bride-to-be is amenable.” He gave Elizabeth an enquiring look.
“It would be nice to tell everyone at once, and would save approximately one hundred morning calls from those seeking to discover if the rumours are true,” she replied. “But when?”
“I have written my letters,” Darcy said. “A few weeks ought to be ample for my family to digest the news, and I refuse to delay endlessly, regardless. Let us say, the tenth of December?”
“Capital!” Bingley cried. He began to speak of musicians and refreshments, and was joined by Jane and Mrs Hurst; even Miss Bingley managed to pretend to a degree of enthusiasm for their avid planning.
Darcy did not interrupt until they began to speak of invitations. “I say—you do not intend to invite the Ashwoods, do you?”
The Bingleys stared at him in surprise.
“Oh, but they are a leading family in the neighbourhood, and Mrs Ashwood is a particular friend of Mrs Collins,” Mrs Hurst cried.
“Fanny Ashwood is no friend of mine,” Jane immediately disagreed, lips pursed in disapproval.
“They have treated my dear Elizabeth abominably, and at the most vulnerable time in her life. Each of them is a miser of the worst kind. They ought to be known as Mr Nipcheese and Mrs Skinflint, and if they attend, Elizabeth and I will not,” Darcy said in a voice that brooked no dissent.
“I, for one, would never invite them,” Miss Bingley declared virtuously, in yet another sea-change of opinion. “I would not consider allowing either one into our home.”
“Nor I,” Mrs Hurst averred, anxious to join her sister in this disavowal of her former friend. The conversation turned back to the more pleasant subject of their preferred decorations.
Elizabeth leant her head against Darcy’s shoulder. “I think I love you,” she whispered.
He smiled down at her. “Only think? When I am madly, wildly in love with you? I shall have to work harder to persuade you, I see.”
“If you were any more persuasive, I might grow as foolish over you as Lydia is for the officers.”
“Or Bingley for his snuff boxes?”
She let out a little giggle. “I love you even more than he loves those, already. But my sister Lydia can be very foolish. I was under the impression we were going to give your family a much longer period of, um, digestion.”
He pulled their joined hands up to his lips.
“Perhaps, originally, I believed such a delay to be possible. However, even a few weeks seems endless at the moment, and I cannot think it wise to drag out their acceptance. Shall you mind if I procure a licence? I cannot imagine waiting another three weeks beyond the ball to make you my wife.”
“I shall not mind,” she said, a feeling of being enveloped in his strength merely by the clasp of hands a sensation wholly unusual and even remarkable. Since his proposal, she had experienced great happiness—but for the first time, she allowed herself to feel perfectly peaceful as well.