Chapter 30 Miss Bingley Interferes #2
Despite Miss Bingley’s intrusion—and her subsequent departure from Netherfield the following morning, which, by all accounts, followed much the same pattern as her previous exit—the next week alternately flew by and dragged.
The hours that Darcy spent in Elizabeth’s company—hours he considered far too few—flew by while the longer stretches he was forced to spend apart from her dragged endlessly.
He did his best to occupy himself with Georgiana, pleased to observe that her friendship with Miss Mary Bennet continued to deepen. Kitty, too, seemed to have developed a tentative but genuine regard for her, and Darcy was quietly grateful for it.
Only Lydia remained somewhat uneasy in Georgiana’s presence, and Darcy supposed it was, in part, because his sister was everything Lydia was not—quiet, reserved, and entirely unassuming.
Georgiana never sought to draw attention to herself, and her calm composure seemed to make Lydia acutely aware of her own restless energy.
Still, Darcy detected no unkindness in Lydia’s manner—only a certain self-consciousness that surfaced whenever she attempted to engage.
He suspected that Lydia, who had long flourished in the lively, flattering attentions of neighbours and officers, found Georgiana’s quiet gentleness both unfamiliar and a little intimidating.
Jane Bennet’s sweetness was warm and openly soothing—an easy comfort for anyone—but Georgiana’s reserve was of a different sort: softer, shyer, requiring a tenderness in return that Lydia was unaccustomed to offering.
Yet he also saw, to his quiet satisfaction, that Georgiana made a sincere effort to meet her halfway, speaking gently and offering to teach her to play the pianoforte or walk in the garden whenever the opportunity allowed.
Watching his sister grow more at ease among the Bennets pleased him more than he had expected. It was not simply that her confidence was returning, but that she was, at last, learning to distinguish true friendship from flattery—a distinction she had been forced to learn the hard way.
Darcy’s family began arriving a few days before the wedding.
Fitzwilliam missed Miss Bingley’s departure by only a few hours and was greatly amused by Darcy’s account of the events that had transpired.
Bingley himself had left that same morning with his sister, promising to return in time for the wedding.
When he spoke to Darcy before departing, he said little—only that he intended to take Caroline to London where she would remain until after the ceremony.
Then, he added grimly, he would return to deal with her properly.
Uncertain what exactly his friend meant by that, Darcy merely commended him for acting decisively and chose not to press for details.
His greater concern lay elsewhere—with the imminent arrival of his uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Matlock.
They were to meet the Bennets for the first time, and Darcy was not blind to the possibility of embarrassment for either himself or Elizabeth.
He trusted Elizabeth’s grace and wit implicitly, but her mother’s exuberance and tendency towards indiscretion were matters of less confidence.
At least, he consoled himself, the introduction would take place at Netherfield rather than Longbourn.
The Bennets were to dine there on the Monday before the wedding, and Lady Matlock had readily agreed to act as hostess for the occasion.
Bingley had chosen not to invite the Hursts, who were comfortably settled with Hurst’s parents at present.
He had confessed to Darcy that he preferred their next visit to coincide with his own wedding—an event he still hoped might take place within a few months once he had properly proven himself to Mr Bennet.
Bingley returned on the Saturday before the Matlocks’ arrival, surprising Darcy by calling at Longbourn while he and Georgiana were visiting.
With Mrs Bennet happily occupied in conversation with Mrs Annesley and the younger girls drawn off by Georgiana, Bingley was left alone with Darcy, Elizabeth, Jane, and Fitzwilliam, to whom he proceeded to recount the tale of his sister.
“She had read of our visit to London in the papers,” he began, “and, having decided she could do nothing to unsettle Darcy’s attachment to Elizabeth or my own to Miss Bennet”—both Jane and Bingley coloured at this mention—“she turned instead to securing her own advantage. I found a letter from my uncle in my study that evening, in which he wrote that she had been overheard boasting of a scheme to trade upon the connexion between our families, presenting herself as an inevitable fixture in my household until she might secure a husband and avoid establishing one of her own. Knowing how readily I had yielded to her wishes in the past, she presumed she might simply return uninvited and compel my acquiescence. She knew nothing of your engagement,” he added, inclining his head towards Darcy, “for it had not been made public while we were in London, and therefore did not realise how near the wedding now stands.”
Bingley sighed and turned to his friend.
“I truly believe she has given up any thought of pursuing you, Darcy. She only hoped, I think, to manipulate me once again into restoring her comfort and consequence. From what she said”—and here he coloured again—“she had somehow convinced herself that Miss Bennet and I were engaged, and that, once married, she would be able to dominate us both. In that way, even when she was required to relinquish the title of mistress of my house, she could continue to direct everything within it according to her will.”
Darcy could not suppress the faint curve of his mouth.
“She has always greatly overestimated her own influence,” he said drily, “and clearly underestimated your strength, Bingley. Good for you for refusing to do as she expected. When you do marry, your wife will thank you for having set such a precedent.”
Bingley laughed, the flush on his face betraying his discomfort.
“I cannot deny it was difficult at first,” he confessed.
“I have spent most of my life yielding to Caroline simply to avoid unpleasantness. But this time—well, I had no patience for her schemes. I told her plainly that she must learn to live without directing my affairs.”
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I imagine that was a scene worth witnessing, both at Netherfield and in the carriage when you took her to London.”
“Indeed,” said Fitzwilliam with a grin. “And one I should have paid handsomely to see. Bingley, forgive me, but I have always noticed how easily you gave in to your sister and, like my cousin, applaud you for standing up to her.”
Whatever sense of calm had existed faded when the Matlocks arrived at Netherfield on Monday afternoon.
While Darcy’s apprehension had eased somewhat—knowing that his aunt and uncle had made Elizabeth’s acquaintance in London and approved of her—he could not help but feel a flicker of unease at the prospect of their meeting Mrs Bennet.
His aunt’s manners were unfailingly elegant and his uncle’s humour genial but discerning.
Neither was unkind, yet both were accustomed to a certain refinement of company.
Darcy could only hope that Mrs Bennet’s exuberance might not overwhelm them.
Fortunately, he knew that Mrs Gardiner’s presence would provide a steadying influence.
Her good sense, tact, and quiet composure had already impressed the Matlocks during their previous encounter, and Darcy trusted that she would find some way to divert conversation should Mrs Bennet’s enthusiasm grow too lively.
Lady Matlock greeted him warmly upon arrival, expressing delight at seeing both him and Georgiana in good health. When Elizabeth and the Bennets arrived later that evening—accompanied by Mr and Mrs Gardiner—the reunion was, to Darcy’s relief, far more agreeable than he had dared to anticipate.
His aunt was as gracious as ever, receiving Mrs Bennet’s effusive compliments with perfect composure and polished civility.
Mrs Bennet’s voice, usually so shrill and exuberant, softened perceptibly in the presence of peers.
Darcy could only suppose that Mrs Gardiner had forewarned his aunt of what to expect, for Lady Matlock managed Mrs Bennet with a calm assurance that seemed almost rehearsed.
He suspected his aunt employed the same gentle firmness she had once used to guide her sons—and, to his astonishment, Mrs Bennet responded almost meekly.
Darcy was relieved to see his uncle in excellent humour, declaring himself delighted to renew his acquaintance with the Gardiners and to see his nephew so well settled.
He and Mr Bennet soon discovered several shared interests, and the two gentlemen spent much of the evening in animated discussion with Mr Gardiner on a variety of subjects—books, politics, and the management of estates among them.
“I have often thought,” Lord Matlock was saying, “that too many landlords neglect their tenants entirely once they quit the country for London. It is refreshing to meet gentlemen who think otherwise.”
Mr Bennet’s mouth twitched. “I cannot boast of great industry, my lord, but I have learnt that a tenant is far less troublesome when he feels his landlord has an ear for his concerns. That is why my daughters have assisted so frequently at Netherfield. Perhaps,” he said with a sharp look at his host, “if whoever purchases it would take an interest, my family and neighbours would not have to be so involved.”
“Practical wisdom indeed,” Lord Matlock replied with a chuckle. “I may quote you to several of my neighbours and my peers in the House of Lords, who view their tenants as something more like serfs instead of those who can freely choose.”
Mr Gardiner smiled. “It seems good sense is not confined to rank, my lord.”
Conversation between all parties flowed easily.
The Gardiners spoke sensibly and engagingly with the Matlocks on matters of travel and society in Town—Mrs Gardiner describing a recent exhibition at Somerset House that greatly interested Lady Matlock while her husband shared an amusing account of a journey through the Lakes that drew Fitzwilliam’s lively commentary.
Even Mr Bennet was drawn in, offering the occasional dry remark that earned Lord Matlock’s hearty amusement.
“Your father is a man of uncommon wit, Miss Elizabeth,” the earl declared across the table, still laughing at one of Mr Bennet’s observations.
Elizabeth met his eye with good humour. “He is, my lord—though I assure you, it is not always to the comfort of those about him.”
Laughter rippled around the table, even from Lady Matlock, who leant towards her niece-to-be. “My dear, you will be quite at home among us. William’s wit may be less mischievous, but it is no less sharp.”
Elizabeth smiled, the faintest blush colouring her cheeks. “Then I shall have to keep my own well-honed, my lady.”
Darcy, seated beside his aunt, observed the exchange with mingled pride and tenderness.
He could not recall a time when he had felt such pride—or such peace—watching Elizabeth hold her own among them.
What had once seemed an impossible union of temperament and class now appeared perfectly natural.
She belonged with his family; her intelligence, warmth, and composure had drawn them to her as surely as those very qualities had first drawn him.
That he had learnt to accept her family was equally important, and to see both families now conversing with such ease was deeply gratifying.
By the time the evening concluded, his earlier anxieties had all but vanished. As he watched Elizabeth speak with his aunt, her smile bright and unguarded, Darcy knew that the last lingering barrier between their families had finally fallen away.
When the company began to prepare for departure, he found a brief opportunity to draw Elizabeth aside into a small alcove near the drawing room. They could still be seen by those within, but not overheard.
“So,” she said softly, her voice low enough for his ears alone, “the day after tomorrow we shall at last be able to remain in one another’s company after everyone else has gone. You had said we would go to London—has that changed?”
“The day cannot come soon enough,” he replied.
“Bingley intends to travel to London immediately after the wedding. He asked whether I might prefer to remain here for a few days, and I confess I am tempted. If we tell no one our plans, we might be left entirely alone. That would be more difficult to accomplish in London.”
Elizabeth laughed quietly, the sound both teasing and tender.
“Then you must be certain that Mama does not hear of it. She would not hesitate to call the day after the wedding if she thought me still so near. As it is, she insists that tomorrow will be quite impossible for visits. There is far too much to do, and she has forbidden us to be at home to any callers—particularly any gentlemen from Netherfield. Your sister and aunt are the exceptions.”
“Then I will count the hours until I do see you again, Elizabeth,” he said with a small smile. “And when next I do, it will be as your husband.”
Her eyes softened. “I shall hold you to that, Mr Darcy.”
He bowed slightly, his voice lowering. “You may depend upon it, Mrs Darcy.”
Her laughter, light and full of promise, lingered in his thoughts long after she had gone. For the first time in many years, the prospect of the morrow brought him only peace.