Chapter 6 #2
If I had only seen him today, or if Mr Bingley had brought a message from him, then perhaps I would not feel as though something truly awful is about to befall me.
It was similar to the sensation she had had the morning in Lambton when she had told Mr Darcy of Lydia’s elopement.
How certain she had then been that all association between them was at an end!
Yet, he had returned to her and proposed for the second time, fulfilling a wish she had hardly been willing to admit she had.
Her father cleared his throat and lowered his hands, the fingers of one beginning to tap out an irregular rhythm on the wooden tabletop.
“I have been hearing of the most extraordinary goings-on. A carriage purportedly belonging to my cousin Collins’s patroness—the same Lady Catherine you were so fortunate as to be in company with last spring—has been seen at Netherfield Park.
It appears that another, even more impressive equipage, was also spotted.
It must belong to very wealthy people, and ones of some importance, given the crests upon the doors. Mr Darcy’s relations, I assume?”
Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Elizabeth said that he was correct, explaining, “His aunt, Lady Catherine, is there, along with her daughter. The other carriage belongs to his uncle, the Earl of Romsley. With him are his wife and their two sons.” Her father’s tone—at once sarcastic and deceptively calm—made her wary and increasingly sick with apprehension.
He made a noise of interest and slowly nodded before saying, “And why have they come? I know you saw them yesterday. I recall Mr Bingley’s garbled tale this morning of a servant finding you whilst you and Jane were walking with the gentlemen to say that Mr Darcy was needed at Netherfield at once.
I admit, I was surprised to see Mr Darcy here again so soon.
Perhaps I ought to first ask what Lady Catherine wanted with you when she was here—when was it? Last week? The week before?”
Elizabeth was unsure how much to admit, feeling that her past with Mr Darcy was a secret between the two of them.
One that was precious in its own way, because it had helped them both come to a better understanding of themselves and each other—she believed he would agree with her—and which would allow them to share the most marvellous love.
The pause before she spoke was brief, but long enough that her father took note of it.
His brow arched, and he kept a steady eye on her.
Well, there is nothing for it. I shall have to explain some part of my connexion to Mr Darcy. “I suppose I should first tell you that I met Mr Darcy again this past summer, when my aunt, uncle, and I were in Lambton, which is near his estate.”
“You did? Was he as disagreeable as he was last autumn?” There was humour in his voice, and she was not sure whether he expected her to answer yes—in which case they might share a laugh—or no, in which case, he might find reason to tease her.
“He showed us exceptional friendliness and hospitality. We were to dine at Pemberley, and would have, had not I received Jane’s letters that same day.”
“That is surprising, especially regarding the Gardiners. What accounts for his remarkable change in manner, for such it must have been, compared to when we first knew him?”
A proposal and refusal I shall never tell you about.
I can hardly believe he not only accepted my reproofs then, but acted on them.
It is because he loves me. But did he love her enough to overcome the entreaties—insistence—of his relations to give her up?
Try as she might to push aside the memory, she heard his words from Easter when he had spoken of the inferiority of her connexions and how his family would object to their marriage.
He had been correct; she had evidence of it herself.
In answer to her father, she said, “I could hardly say, but he was polite. You might not recall that we also met when I was in Kent.”
“You did?” he interjected. “Ah, yes, I seem to recall you or Collins mentioning it. I did not have the impression you saw much of him.”
Knowing she was prevaricating, Elizabeth said, “It was enough to show me he was more than the arrogant man we initially believed him to be. Much of the general poor impression of him was due to Mr Wickham’s tales of mistreatment, but we know now that he lied.”
Once again, he interrupted her. “Do we? My son-in-law is hardly an honourable man, but that does not mean he lied about Mr Darcy’s actions.”
“He did,” she insisted, her voice heated.
“You cannot truly doubt that, Papa, not after everything we have learnt of Mr Wickham!” Mr Bennet shrugged, and she quickly continued, hoping to avoid listening to him disparage the man she loved.
“Then, this summer, we were able to meet as friends”—she tightly clasped her hands and continued in a rush—“and Mr Darcy wishes to marry me.”
Her father’s fingers stilled, and, although the sound of his drumming them on the desk had been faint, the resulting silence was heavy. At length, he said, “Mr Darcy wishes to marry you? And what are your feelings on the matter, Lizzy?”
The back of her neck burnt. “I return his affection. In fact, we were just about to settle the matter when Mr Bingley’s servant found us.”
Yet again, her father did not respond immediately.
When he did, his words were not ones to please her.
In short order, he forced her to admit that there was more to her connexion to Mr Darcy than what she had told him, and, soon after, she found herself obliged to explain the whole of it—including their argument in Kent, Lady Catherine’s true purpose in coming to Longbourn, and what had happened at Netherfield the previous day.
To say he was displeased was an understatement, though she was not sure if it was so much by what had happened or that it had and he had been unaware of it all.
His sentiments were nothing to her own by the time he finally permitted her to leave the book-room and return to her chamber. She would not leave it again that day, too indisposed to join the family for dinner. She even refused to speak to Jane when her sister came to enquire into her well-being.