Chapter 18 #2
The words mollified Darcy; he nevertheless remained unsettled, unaccustomed to having so serious a subject treated with such levity.
Yet beneath Mr Bennet’s wry manner he discerned something genuine, and he wondered whether the man’s sardonic humour was not indifference at all but a shield for deeper feeling.
Darcy was, after all, taking away the daughter he had proclaimed as his favourite, and he supposed that watching any daughter prepare to leave a father’s protection for another’s would be difficult.
At last, he allowed himself to breathe more freely.
Elizabeth, watching her father with a mix of affection and impatience, chose that moment to intervene.
Meeting Darcy’s gaze, she offered him a steady smile before turning back to her mother.
“Come, Mama, let us discuss this matter inside. Mr Darcy still needs to speak with Papa, and we must allow them some time before any decisions are made.”
“Of course, but you know that your father would never refuse a man like Mr Darcy,” Mrs Bennet agreed readily.
“But come, we must speak of plans for the wedding. I am certain I will need at least six months to prepare it properly; early June would be perfect—plenty of time for all the arrangements that must be made. It will be the finest wedding that Hertfordshire has ever seen.”
“Mr Darcy will not be able to remain in the area for so long, Mama,” Elizabeth interjected as they entered the house.
Darcy glanced back and winked at her before following Mr Bennet into his study, drawing a small, private smile from her as she turned into the drawing room beside her mother.
“He has his own estate and must return long before June.”
“Then he may go to Pemberley and do what needs doing while we remain here and make our plans,” Mrs Bennet insisted, undeterred.
“You, of course, will need to go to London for your trousseau, and your father must release the funds proper for a marriage to so wealthy a gentleman. Bond Street, naturally—and if Madeline can secure us an appointment with a modiste, so much the better. I daresay once it is known you are Mr Darcy’s intended, every door will open to us!
Your sisters, of course, must all have new gowns—not only for the wedding, but for the balls that are certain to follow.
Oh, I should think Mr Darcy’s relations will host one themselves to celebrate such an occasion! ”
Mrs Bennet clasped her hands in delight, her eyes sparkling with visions of grandeur.
“Imagine it, my dear Lizzy—a society wedding before the ton! A ball hosted by a countess! Why, the gossip alone will make us the envy of all Hertfordshire. I had always said Jane—or even Lydia—was more suited to such a splendid match, but it seems Mr Darcy has chosen you. Well! I suppose a bookish wife has her uses, yet I marvel how you managed it. To think—Mr Darcy of Pemberley wishing to marry you! After calling you only tolerable, no less! What a turn of fortune!”
She leant closer, her words slipping out in a hiss meant for Lizzy’s ears alone, even though they carried plainly enough to anyone nearby. Thankfully, the other girls had wandered off, and only Jane remained in the room with them.
“Did something happen at Netherfield? Tell me truthfully, Lizzy, for no one would have guessed such an outcome when you arrived at Mr Bingley’s estate.
You were not compromised, were you? Surely that would explain his eagerness.
Or—heaven help us—are you with child? Is that why this wedding must be rushed? ”
Jane gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in horror at their mother’s suggestion.
She knew her sister well enough to believe Elizabeth would never act so improperly, yet a tiny seed of doubt unsettled her.
Could some circumstance have arisen that Lizzy had not confessed, some necessity that made the marriage urgent?
Her gaze flicked anxiously to her sister, searching her expression for reassurance.
If it were true, it would give troubling weight to Mr Wickham’s accusations—an idea Jane wished with all her heart to dismiss.
She loved her sister, but there was so much she could not understand, and the continued tension between the sisters was unfamiliar and awkward.
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed, heat rushing to her cheeks.
“Nothing of the sort occurred. Mr Darcy and I came to know each other better while I was at Netherfield, and it was then my opinion of him began to change. That is all.” She drew a steady breath, mastering her irritation and forcing calm into her tone.
“But please—we must wait for Papa and Mr Darcy before making any decisions. I have no objection to a brief stay in London, but I feel certain Mr Darcy will not wish for a London wedding, nor to delay our marriage for months.”
Mrs Bennet waved away her daughter’s caution with a flourish as though she had already forgotten the shocking claims she had made only moments before.
“Nonsense, child! What do men know of such things? Six months at the very least will be required to prepare a wedding worthy of Mr Darcy of Pemberley. He has ten thousand a year—likely more—and is nearly as good as a lord. Nothing less than the finest celebration will do! You may leave the details to me, Lizzy. I know what is proper for a gentleman of his wealth and consequence, even if you do not.”
Elizabeth sat beside her mother, her smile fixed though her patience grew thin.
She had expected exclamations of delight, yet the sheer exuberance was nearly overwhelming—particularly when set against the accusations her mother had only just levelled against her character or perhaps even against Mr Darcy’s.
She could not be certain how they had been intended.
At least, she thought with some relief, he was in her father’s study and spared from hearing her mother’s unguarded triumph.
What he had heard outside had been bad enough.
How she had hated that he must listen to her mother’s careless comparisons!
He had borne them with courtesy, but she could not entirely forget his careless remark about her at the assembly.
Of course, his aunt had been scarcely better behaved, and as Elizabeth’s understanding of him deepened, she realised how easily her family’s conduct might have coloured his opinion of them all.
It was not quite disdain she had seen in him, but something nearer to censure—derision or contempt born of frustration.
Seated beside her mother, Elizabeth could not altogether deny that there was some cause for it.
No, she thought firmly, she could not subject Mr Darcy to her mother’s effusions or her younger sisters’ antics in London; they would mortify them both.
She must do all in her power to shield him from the worst of their folly and ensure that, whatever her mother contrived, their wedding would reflect their own wishes rather than her mother’s vanity.