Chapter 36
AN UNEXPECTED NOTION
In the end, she waited until the next morning to send word to Darcy.
After all, what did she have beyond an excerpt from a gothic novel?
Miss de Bourgh had not changed the name of her unfortunate heroine from ‘Theodosia’ to ‘Elizabeth’.
While it was certainly not a pleasant or happy scene she had sent, neither was it specifically threatening.
He did not delay a moment in coming to Longbourn—by Elizabeth’s reckoning, he must have called for his horse immediately upon receiving her note. Thankfully, only Jane was in the drawing room, sitting across from her on the sofa opposite, when Darcy arrived.
“Mr Darcy, welcome,” Jane greeted, but then paused at his expression. “Is there a problem? Are you well?”
“I am not, particularly,” Darcy replied, stone-faced and very obviously displeased. “Tell me, Elizabeth, that at least you have informed your family of your vulnerability, since you delayed dangerously in apprising me of the advent of her letter?”
“What danger? What has happened?” Jane, now appearing alarmed, glanced at Elizabeth.
It was difficult not to match his harsh tone, but realising his genuine concern, she forced a calmness she did not quite feel. “No, I did not tell them, since I do not feel particularly vulnerable. She did not threaten me, dearest.”
At the gentle endearment, he seemed to regain control of himself, and moved into the room until he stood before her. To her surprise, he pulled her up into his arms, giving her a resounding kiss right there before Jane—and anyone else who might pass by in the corridor.
Shock froze her; it took her a dazed moment before she recognised the firmness of his lips upon hers, before she realised the full outburst of mouth and tongue sealing across hers in overwhelming, electric heat.
Within seconds, however, he was carefully reseating her, as if he had done nothing astounding, while her own knees trembled.
Coolly he settled himself on the sofa beside her.
Jane stared, open-mouthed, at them both.
“Now, then,” Darcy said with a stern matter-of-factness belying his prior actions. “I hope you might allow me to read the letter whilst you explain the actions of my cousin to your sister.”
With an unsteady sigh, Elizabeth withdrew the letter from her skirt pocket and handed it to him before turning to Jane.
“Mr Darcy’s cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh, is…is distressed by the news of our forthcoming marriage. She has departed her home and family, and no one is quite certain where she can be found.”
“Oh, dear,” Jane said sympathetically, obviously still confused. “But…this is a danger to you?”
“It probably is not.” Elizabeth shrugged. “She is something of an amateur novelist, however, and she left behind an alteration to a title of one of her works which was somewhat threatening.”
Darcy looked up from the letter he was examining, frowning ferociously.
“Elizabeth is understating the matter. My cousin has behaved insensibly in the past, and I am unsure how fully is her grip upon reality. The title she changed was from The Death of a Dream to The Death of Mrs Darcy. Might she physically attack Elizabeth, or Elizabeth’s family? She might.”
A stab of guilt pricked Elizabeth’s thoughts.
“That is true—I do not know her, or of what she is capable. I ought to have told you and Mr Collins, Jane, and at once. I did not…I did not wish to cast aspersions upon a woman I do not know, who will soon be my relation, on the basis of a few scribbles.”
“I understand,” Jane said quietly, but her arms had gone protectively again to her middle.
“This is all nonsense,” Darcy muttered, his attention back upon the pages he held. “Manfred? Theodosia?”
“I believe Miss de Bourgh is writing another story, or else this is an excerpt from an old one. Do we know how the heroine meets her end in Death of a Dream? Or anything else about her writing practises? Does she, for instance, routinely kill off her main characters? What of her personal habits? Does she ride and hunt? Is she strong and...and lively?”
Darcy sighed. “I do not know what sort of drivel she regularly produces from her pen, but assuredly, Anne is not at all intimidating in person—in truth, she is slight of both figure and presence. I do not believe she could physically overpower you herself, but she does have the means to hire help.” He reached for her hand.
“Elizabeth, I think we should marry. Today. You might then come back with me to Netherfield and remain under my protection, and to the devil with rumours or secrecy.”
“But…but we have not even spoken to Mr Palmer about calling the banns! And you wished first to introduce me to your sister!” People might wonder why they had married in such a hurry, but she could not care less what the neighbours believed.
Those who loved her would be happy for her.
It was only that she was so startled by the suddenness of the suggestion!
“I purchased a licence last week, in St Albans, as I warned you I might. You knew that I never meant to wait for weeks after the ball to make you mine. I hope my sister will be pleased, but if she is not, it changes nothing. She may remain with my aunt, if she so desires. Are these your only objections?”
Elizabeth had not been prepared for this ordinary Thursday morning to be her wedding day; she had meant to make preparations of both wardrobe and, to be perfectly honest, of courage.
But she knew this: she truly loved this man, and to know that after today they would face the future together was a wondrous notion.
“None at all,” she said, and for the first time since his arrival, he smiled. He stood, helping her rise, and Jane came to her with an open armed embrace.
“Oh, Lizzy, I am so happy for you!” she cried, and Elizabeth clung for just a moment, gladness and apprehension and awe threatening to overwhelm her.
“It is settled then,” Darcy said, after receiving Jane’s congratulations. “I will go to the church now and make arrangements with the Palmers. Shall we meet there in, say, an hour?” He tucked the letter from his cousin into his coat pocket.
Elizabeth nodded and he took both of her hands in his. “Thank you,” he said. “You are about to make me the happiest man in the world.”
“We are to be the happiest couple, I think.”
“I know it. And if we are not—we will discuss it, and I will apologise, and then do everything in my power to correct my behaviour, and treat you as you deserve.”
“Oh, please not that,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. “Let us treat each other much better than either of us could possibly deserve.”
He laughed, and for just a moment, she caught a glimpse of an expression on Jane’s face—a stricken sort of yearning expression. But it was gone very quickly.
“Jane, would you and Mr Collins take me to the church in, say, an hour?”
Jane’s smile again bloomed. “Oh, yes! I shall inform Mr Collins, and he shall order the carriage! The horses are at the farm, but we shall call for them at once and bring her to you promptly, sir, you may be certain.”
“I shall wait at the church for as long as it takes,” he assured, adding, “as long as you are there well before noon. I truly wish for a wedding today.” With only a little reluctance, Darcy departed and Jane left her alone in order to apprise Mr Collins of all that had happened.
Elizabeth had no need to change her clothing—indeed, in anticipation of seeing Darcy that morning, she had put on her nicest day dress, and spent careful time on her hair.
In far less time than she had expected, Jane reappeared with Mr Collins, he in his Sunday best and Jane looking lovely in one of her newest gowns.
“I rejoice over this happy news!” he exclaimed, looking genuinely pleased.
“Indeed, I cannot imagine anything better, especially after what you have experienced at the hands of the Ashwoods. To know that your future is assured is everything your dear father wanted for you, and now it is coming to pass, just as he would have preferred.”
It was all he would have wanted, she knew—only that she be taken care of, at any cost. Perhaps Mr Collins idolised her father a bit more than was deserved, and perhaps his devotion to Jane left him somewhat oblivious to others, but his heart was good, just as her father’s had been.
God only knew, both men were and had been imperfect.
But then, flawed men and women were all He ever had to work with, herself included.
A final, fleeting resentment towards her father for arranging the marriage to Ashwood flickered and died, forever banished.
“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth replied, turning to her sister. “Does Mama know?”
Jane succeeded in looking rather sly. “She has a megrim this morning, and I thought it best not to disturb her rest,” she said, smiling serenely. “Lydia is still abed as well. Mary, however, is dressing now. I thought she might like to go to the church, and you might like to have her there.”
“I would,” Elizabeth agreed.
Mrs Hill entered at that moment. “Excuse me, mistress,” she said, addressing Jane. “But you have callers—Mr and Mrs Ashwood.”
For just a moment, Jane appeared anxious, but almost immediately her expression firmed. “Please tell them, Mrs Hill, that I am not at home.”