Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
March began in an unseasonably warm manner, affording Elizabeth the chance to walk among the burgeoning trees and flowers in Hyde Park. It did much to relieve her spirits.
Bingley had proposed to Jane towards the end of February, and he was accepted with tearful joy.
Elizabeth was happy for her dear sister though Mrs Bennet was excessively unhappy, uncomprehending of the notion that Jane could love a man who lacked a title and had ties to trade.
Mrs Bennet had been so distraught that she had hastened to London to talk sense into Jane, leading to several days’ worth of disagreement and sobbing.
At last, Elizabeth had intervened, telling her mother that she must accept Jane’s decision else risk estrangement from both daughters.
She then offered for her mother to hold the breakfast at Towton Hall at any expense.
Mrs Bennet’s ire had not been completely lost, but it was subsumed by the need to plan an elegant wedding.
This was its own sort of vexation as her mother was alternately demanding, petulant, and unreasonable with only occasional bursts of good sense.
Jane bore the largest share of it, occupied as she was in shopping and planning for the breakfast with her mother, but Elizabeth heard enough to make her want to run off. Miss Bingley, too, wished to be a part of the preparations, and soon enough, Elizabeth saw the three forming an alliance.
Jane and Mr Bingley were to marry at St. George’s in Hanover Square.
Mr Darcy would stand up with his friend and Elizabeth with her sister.
All was set for March 19, and Jane’s wedding clothes made her obligations to the dressmaker nearly as great as Elizabeth’s.
Seeing her sister so happy and so in love with her betrothed made Elizabeth equally felicitous, but it also made her lonely, particularly when she considered her sister living apart from her, perhaps returning to Hertfordshire.
You will have your son, and the Gardiners are nearby.
What else could you want? A look at Jane and Mr Bingley whispered the answer—she should marry, not just for her son, and not just to fulfil some obligation, but for herself.
For companionship, for friendship, and to have someone by her side… it might be quite nice.
Elizabeth began to look a bit differently at the gentlemen at the various soirees, balls, and events she attended.
One gentleman she favoured was Mr Copley.
She had danced with him at one of the first small balls she had attended in town and frequently saw him elsewhere in the later weeks.
He was the eldest son of Viscount Beauchamp and a well-favoured man, intelligent and well read.
He had no sense of humour however; her attempts to tease him were met with a blank look or a misunderstanding.
Perhaps that would come later. Despite her more sombre demeanour of late, she still loved to laugh and could not imagine being with one who could not be diverted by follies and whims.
Then there was Mr Hanley.
Mr Hanley, her husband’s dear friend, called frequently—never more than was proper but enough to make her wonder about his interest in her.
She danced with him once and saw him at the theatre several times.
He was a fine man but very dull, speaking little and seeming disinterested in most of what was occurring around him.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had also crossed her mind more than once as a prospective marital partner.
Perhaps not handsome in the classical sense, the colonel had a rugged manliness she found appealing.
He needed to marry a woman of fortune, and she, courtesy of her late husband, was now in possession of a fortune as well as a home in which they would live.
They got along famously when they were together, and she was already nearly a part of his family.
It was, in many respects, favourable for a union.
In the weeks since Elizabeth had appeared on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arm at that first, and often discussed, night at the opera, he had enjoyed a great enhancement in his popularity.
The situation had been furthered by a report, the origin of which Elizabeth could not apprehend, of a rather salacious comment made in his favour, ostensibly by her.
As the story was told, an unnamed someone asked Elizabeth why she was always going about with “that soldier…a second son, is he not?” Where and when this had occurred varied: sometimes at a ball, sometimes the opera; that part of the rumour did not signify.
Supposedly, Elizabeth raised one eyebrow and said, “Second sons, if you can afford one, are much to be preferred in my opinion.” When the person asked her why, Elizabeth smiled and replied, “Because they…work…harder.”
Elizabeth had never said this; nevertheless, the story was told with increasing delight in many a drawing room.
It was all part and parcel of the belief that widows, especially young ones, were a licentious, unfettered bunch.
Even though she was appalled to be so considered, she could not be too distressed over it; apparently, a widow’s reputation was as sturdy as a maiden’s was fragile.
Such a witticism could only add to her appeal in many quarters.
And those she called her friends knew she would never say such a thing.
Colonel Fitzwilliam found himself very nearly hunted courtesy of his friendship with Lady Courtenay.
In his presence, fans and handkerchiefs were dropped with alacrity, bodices were strained against dangerously, and hair was toyed with madly.
For his part, the colonel quite enjoyed these displays, almost insufferably so.
Elizabeth watched him one night at a concert.
She had been speaking to him, but his attention was drawn by a gaggle of young ladies eyeing him from across the room.
He was so enamoured of their interest, he did not notice that Elizabeth had stopped speaking in the middle of her story.
It recalled to mind another occasion when they had danced while he exchanged glances at a lady nearby, neglecting Elizabeth.
She could not despise him for it, but it did make her understand the sort of husband he might make.
She would not wish to vie for attention; devotion was important to her.
With Colonel Fitzwilliam, amiable as he was, she could not truly feel she had him.
He did not seem to be a man content in domesticity or satisfied within his family circle.
The wedding day of Bingley and Jane was soon upon them. Elizabeth thought her heart would burst with happiness for her dear sister.
Mr Darcy had done a great deal for his friend, assisting him with the legal matters associated with marriage and giving him advice on a permanent home.
Elizabeth could have no quarrel with him in terms of the friendship he offered to Mr Bingley and, by extension, her sister.
They spoke amiably at the breakfast when he complimented her on the arrangements.
“It is no credit to me,” she assured him. “My mother and my household had the run of things.”
“I think Mr and Mrs Bingley will be very happy together.”
She tilted her head, allowing a mischievous smile to play upon her lips. “I am surprised you would say so.”
“Why?”
“I understood you were not inclined to look favourably upon the match. I have it on the highest authority.” She glanced towards Miss Bingley, ensuring that her words remained light and teasing.
Mr Darcy paused a moment then returned her teasing. “I did it for you.”
“For me?”
“Wholly for you.”
“How so? If my sister had not known she would see your friend in town, she might have been rather miserable, and I must have hated you for ruining the hopes of a most beloved sister.”
“How fortunate that did not occur. Instead, you will have the most sublime pleasure of all. We shall be old and grey and see the happy Bingley family with their many children and prosperous estate around them. On that day, you may tell me that you were right and I was wrong, and I shall be forced to cede to your much greater authority. Could anything be better?”
She laughed, her spirit delighted with his unexpected remarks. “No, I do not believe there can. I must always maintain our acquaintance so that I do not lose the privilege.”
“Once I have won your hand, maintaining our acquaintance will be easy.”
“That again! You must take Lady Matlock’s view that a demurral is not a finality.”
“There is a certain stubbornness in our family, coupled with an innate and fervent desire towards having things to our liking. Have you not seen it before?”
“I have now.” Elizabeth shook her head at him. “Yet, despite this fervent desire to marry me, you do not even ask me to dance. We have been at three or four of the same parties these past weeks, and you have not asked me once.”
She kept her words light-hearted although it was a subject that had unaccountably plagued her. He had offered friendship, along with a wish to let their past be laid to rest, and she had agreed. So why did he never ask her to dance? And why did it bother her so?
She had seen him at a large ball the previous week, dancing with a beautiful lady who she learnt was a distant relation of Lady Matlock.
Elizabeth was equal parts jealous, curious, and vexed with herself for thinking of him at all.
Mr Darcy and I are only friends. He may dance with whomever he chooses.
He was quiet. Had she gone too far with her banter? “Forgive me. You may dance with anyone you wish. I did not intend to beg for a partner.”
He laughed, much to her relief. “Nor do you need to. I assure you, I would like to dance with you. I have not asked because…” He stumbled over his words, seeming embarrassed. “Well, it does not signify. May I ask you now to reserve me a set at the next ball we attend together?”
“Yes, you may. However, I fear it might be some time as I am for Kent soon.”
“Lady Catherine told me of your visit. I, too, plan to be in Kent at that time. I go every year to provide any assistance she should require with her spring plantings and her tenants.”
“You are a dutiful nephew.”
“Is there a particular reason for your journey?”
“To see Mrs Collins. I have had several letters assuring me of her felicity with my cousin, but I need to see my dear Charlotte’s face to know the truth.”
Mr Darcy seemed puzzled by her answer. “Do you have cause to suspect otherwise?”
“No reason. It was a prudent match. I only wish to satisfy myself that she is content with it.”
“Do you intend to stay at Rosings? My aunt must surely have extended an invitation.”
“I thought I would reside at the parsonage.”
She saw his surprise and then watched as he restrained himself to say neutrally, “Of course; you must wish to spend as much time as you can with your friend.”
A smile crept over her face. “Well done, Mr Darcy! You covered your alarm very well, but I am teasing you again. Lady Matlock has arranged an invitation for me to stay at Rosings. With the servants I must bring with me, to reside at Mr Collins’s house would be difficult and disruptive to them.”
He appeared relieved. “Would you do me the honour of travelling with me, then? I always find such journeys made more agreeable with a companion.”
She was surprised by his request but could not think how to politely refuse.
Surely, she did not dislike him so much that she would insist on her own arrangements, not when they both went to the same place at the same time—in fact, she did not dislike him at all.
She enjoyed spending time with him. Thus, what could be more sensible than to travel together?
“I have promised Charlotte I would bring her sister to her.”
“Oh yes. I was surprised to see Miss Lucas in town for the wedding and wondered why she had travelled that way, but having her along will do very well. We require a chaperon in any event.”
“Quite right,” Elizabeth replied with an arch smile. “I would not wish you to think I wanted to compromise you.”
He laughed a bit awkwardly but then offered plans much to her liking. They would go to Rosings together on Monday next.