Chapter 12
She did not have to wait long. Having been informed of the events at Netherfield by a servant dispatched by Mr Bennet, her mother descended upon the house in great haste, accompanied by her three younger daughters.
Seen from a distance, they formed a formidable party indeed, capable of frightening away any suitors, though perhaps less so Mary, who followed some ten feet behind the others.
Leaving the carriage before the house, they hurried towards the garden where the reunited lovers were still walking arm in arm.
Like a vulture descending upon its prey, Mrs Bennet rushed to meet them, and tears, embraces, and laughter blended into a heady confusion difficult to endure, particularly for those outside the family.
Fortunately, Jane and Mr Bingley, entirely absorbed in their own happiness, perceived no danger.
Mr Bennet rose and went out to moderate his wife’s loud and impassioned behaviour.
He alone possessed the power to calm her sufficiently for her to meet their other guest in something approaching a composed state.
She curtseyed to Darcy with indifference, then immediately cried out for her other daughters to come inside and leave the newly betrothed couple alone.
The only person amused by the spectacle was Uncle Thomas.
To him, it was something entirely new. Elizabeth admitted that, to most people, her mother’s exuberance and inability to govern her nerves might appear disturbing, if not downright irritating.
Yet she could not concede that Mr Darcy had been right to judge her on that account.
Such a privilege belonged exclusively to Mrs Bennet’s family.
“Elizabeth,” Thomas said suddenly, “Mr Darcy wants to see the horses we received from Morocco. Please take him to the stables.”
Surprised, she looked at her uncle with amused reproach.
Everybody knew she feared horses and disliked riding, even Mr Darcy, who had once invited her to ride with him during their time in Kent.
She glanced again at Uncle Thomas, who was now engaged in lively conversation with Mrs Bennet and appeared entirely absorbed in it.
Shrugging, she invited Mr Darcy to follow her.
The proposal offered a perfect escape from the growing commotion. Her mother and sisters had transformed what had been a peaceful afternoon into something approaching chaos.
As they walked through the garden, however, she found herself enjoying the day, the walk, and the company.
Mr Darcy showed no sign of resentment towards her, though any man might well have felt it after so decisive a refusal.
His presence beside Mr Bingley suggested a desire for reconciliation, and on his side, he had done everything possible.
“We have to talk,” she said.
Even she was startled by her own directness.
She had often prepared a speech for such an occasion.
Sometimes, late at night whilst Jane slept beside her, she would quietly rehearse the words she wished to say.
Yet it had always remained a dream, since she had been almost certain they would never meet again.
The only place where such a meeting might have occurred was at Mrs Hurst’s house, and Caroline guarded that territory too fiercely, still regarding Mr Darcy as her property.
Now that he stood before her, she could not remember a single sentence of that carefully composed speech. Those simple words escaped her lips instead, causing Darcy to stop in astonishment.
“I agree. Perhaps we can begin with…the regrets.”
Elizabeth nodded vaguely remembering her discourse.
“I do not regret the substance of what I said. I still believe most of my opinions were justified. Yet I recognise that there were moments when I allowed anger to speak in my place.”
“I see,” he replied, his voice altered in a manner she had never heard before.
He glanced back towards the parlour. By now, they were far enough away to prevent anyone from overhearing them, though laughter and raised voices still carried across the gardens.
His concern was merely that they might be interrupted, but Elizabeth interpreted the gesture differently, as though he were once again demonstrating his discomfort with her family.
“I must admit that there are occasions when some members of my family behave less appropriately than they ought,” she said rather reluctantly, indicating the house.
“No, Miss Elizabeth. Your words were deserved, and if you regret only the tone in which they were delivered, that is more than I could ever have hoped for. No family is perfect. It was my mistake to judge yours whilst overlooking faults far greater in other families, including my own and Bingley’s. ”
Both felt that their conversation was progressing favourably, as their wishes were, in essence, the same.
“I agree. Mama can become too enthusiastic under certain circumstances, and enthusiasm occasionally produces unfortunate results.”
She smiled as she spoke, a sign that she no longer intended to condemn him too severely.
“I agree. Yet you know I spent much of my life without a proper family. After my mother’s death, my father withdrew into his grief and became increasingly melancholy.
We did not laugh together or enjoy lively conversations.
In many respects, we became rather dreary people.
You accused me of being proud and conceited, but I am inclined to think I am merely gloomy and therefore inclined to judge exuberance unfairly. ”
Elizabeth stopped in the middle of the path and turned towards him.
It was such an intimate confession that she felt her excitement grow in a strange way.
She wished to comfort him, to tell him that no man or woman was condemned to sadness forever and that happiness might be found in the most unexpected places.
The words never reached her lips, but her expression reflected them clearly enough.
Mr Darcy seemed satisfied even with that.
For the first time since arriving at Netherfield, he saw sympathy and kindness in her face.
The severity had vanished, and curiosity had taken its place.
“It is difficult for me to speak openly about feelings.”
“But it is easy to criticise other people,” she replied. She was smiling, and he could only acknowledge the justice of the remark.
“I am ready to make another confession,” he said unexpectedly.
For one alarming moment, she feared he meant to propose again. Part of her wished to stop him immediately. Another part urged patience.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I hate parasols.”
Elizabeth laughed. Relieved, she shifted the parasol to her other shoulder, allowing him a clear view of her face.
“Better?” she asked with an impish smile.
“Yes. Much better. Thank you.”
They continued their walk in companionable silence, moving steadily farther from the house. Elizabeth was convinced that nobody would notice their absence, but she was mistaken. From the parlour windows, both Mr Bennet and Uncle Thomas observed them and exchanged a meaningful glance.
“So, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said at last, more at ease than before, “have you continued your habit of advising other people?”
He laughed and shook his head.
“You are mistaken, Miss Elizabeth. This time, the decision belonged entirely to Bingley. Yesterday we met at our club, and he informed me of his intention to travel to Hertfordshire.”
“To settle certain matters connected with Netherfield?”
“No. Netherfield was merely a stage upon the journey. His true destination was Longbourn.”
“So it was not a coincidence? Not an impulsive decision?”
“No. Whether Netherfield existed or not, he would have come to ask forgiveness and to propose.”
“That is the piece of news I like best, Mr Darcy. I confess I still worry somewhat about how easily Mr Bingley allows himself to be influenced by others and by circumstances.”
“You need not worry. It may sound as though I am attempting to excuse myself, but these past months have changed him greatly. The gentleman who stands before you now is not the same man who left Hertfordshire. Believe me.”
She was already inclined to believe him. Indeed, she found herself dangerously inclined to believe almost anything he chose to say.
“We do not appear to be heading towards the stables,” he observed as some of his confidence and humour returned.
“No.”
“Still afraid of horses?”
“Yes, Mr Darcy,” she replied mischievously, which made him smile.
“Well, Miss Elizabeth, we shall have to remedy that.”
The intimacy of those few words made her blush with pleasure. Left to herself, she would never attempt to overcome her fear. Yet the prospect seemed far less impossible if approached together.
“You sound exactly like Uncle Thomas,” she said with mock reproach.
“Yes, because we think alike. The horse is a man’s best friend.”
“A man’s, perhaps. Not a woman’s.”
“I expressed myself badly. A horse is a person’s best friend, whether man or woman.”
“I find that difficult to accept. A horse nearly killed me when I was a child.”
“I am very sorry to hear it.”
For one alarming instant, she thought he might take her into his arms as he moved towards her. Instead, to her secret disappointment, he stopped and merely offered her his arm.
She accepted, and for a long while neither spoke, each content simply to enjoy the other’s closeness.
Perhaps it is the heat, Elizabeth thought, feeling her heart beating wildly. Yet it was already afternoon, and she was accustomed to taking long walks even at noon when the sun stood directly overhead.
Darcy had no such doubts. He knew perfectly well what his excitement meant. He had known the answer long before their meeting in Kent and required no further confirmation. Unlike Bingley, however, he did not dare ask the question again.
“You said that only yesterday you learned of Bingley’s intention to travel to Hertfordshire?”
“Yes.”