Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
As predicted, Mr Bingley arrived at Netherfield early the following week.
This news surprised no one at Longbourn; what did surprise them was that, the very next day, he and Mr Darcy together called at the house.
Even more astonishing, the gentlemen were first received by Mr Bennet in his study, where they remained for several minutes.
Mrs Bennet could scarcely contain her agitation at this unprecedented step, her imagination leaping at once to visions of at least one proposal taking place immediately.
At last, the gentlemen entered the drawing room, much to the anticipation of those contained within.
“Good morning,” Mr Bingley said with his customary cheer, his eyes seeking Jane almost before he had completed his bow.
She coloured and kept her gaze lowered, unable to look directly at him.
But Bingley was undeterred. At Mrs Bennet’s eager urging for the gentlemen to be seated, he lost no time in claiming the place nearest Jane, his expression alight with pleasure at being once again in her company.
Mr Darcy’s greeting was more subdued, entirely in keeping with his reserved manner. Yet when Elizabeth greeted him, her warm smile brought a light to his features that did not escape her notice. With quiet deliberation, he moved to sit beside the lady who owned his heart, speaking to her quietly.
Mrs Bennet sat in breathless astonishment, her eyes darting between the two pairs.
That Mr Bingley should attach himself to Jane was only what she had long anticipated, but that Mr Darcy—aloof, proud Mr Darcy—should walk directly to Elizabeth, her most troublesome daughter, and place himself at her side, was more than she could comprehend.
For once in her life, Mrs Bennet was struck speechless.
She could find no explanation, no ready comment, to account for such a pairing.
After several moments, when Mrs Bennet had regained the power of speech, she was uncertain what to say.
Without her direction, it appeared that the young people had arranged themselves easily enough, and Jane and Mr Bingley were in quiet conversation, with Kitty near enough to interject her thoughts occasionally, while Elizabeth, Mary, and Mr Darcy were in deep discussion over some book that Mrs Bennet had never read nor would she ever seek to.
Instead of interjecting herself into the conversations, Mrs Bennet sat back and observed, her eyes darting constantly between the two groups as though she scarcely trusted what she saw.
After a quarter hour of polite discourse, Elizabeth suggested that they might walk out, as the day was particularly fine.
Her proposal was eagerly accepted by both gentlemen and by Jane, who coloured prettily as she rose.
Mary declined, preferring to remain indoors at the pianoforte, while Kitty showed little inclination to join them.
Since Lydia’s departure, she had been curiously adrift—restless, uncertain, and less inclined to thrust herself forward as she once had.
Though Mary especially had tried to draw her into more studious pursuits, Kitty remained uneasy in the company of her elder sisters, and this morning she chose to stay behind.
It suited them both, for in this way the two couples might walk and converse with greater ease, each pair enjoying a degree of privacy. Elizabeth and Darcy, being far more accustomed to brisk walking than Jane or Mr Bingley, soon outpaced the others without any conscious effort.
“How are you, my dearest Elizabeth?” Darcy asked softly once they were a few paces ahead. His tone was tender, his gaze intent upon her face.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm at the endearment.
My dearest Elizabeth. The words filled her with a rush of joy, yet also left her suddenly uncertain—how was she to answer him, when so much still seemed unspoken between them?
“I am very well, Mr Darcy,” she managed at last, though her eyes remained fixed upon the path rather than lifting to his.
He studied her in silence for a moment, his brow faintly drawn. “Is something troubling you?” he asked gently, puzzled by her reluctance to meet his gaze.
“What did you and Mr Bingley speak to Papa about?” Elizabeth asked, glancing up at him with curiosity.
Darcy chuckled and, with his free hand, gave hers a gentle, reassuring pat where it rested upon his arm.
“We thought it proper to call on him first. Neither Bingley nor I had much occasion to speak with him during our last visit, and I considered it wise to begin differently this time. After all, I ought to have at least one or two ordinary conversations with him before I request the hand of his second eldest daughter.”
Elizabeth’s steps faltered, her mouth forming a silent O.
For an instant she could scarcely draw breath, convinced she must have misheard.
Did he truly mean…? Was he speaking in earnest?
A flood of warmth surged through her chest, half wonder, half disbelief.
She longed to speak, to laugh, to cry—all at once—but her tongue refused to form the words.
All she could do was gaze up at him, her heart pounding wildly, as the truth of his meaning settled upon her.
“So, you do mean to marry me still?” Elizabeth asked, astonished.
At once she saw the look that crossed his face, and words tumbled from her in haste.
“I know you said before that you still loved me—that you always would—and I know you kissed me when we met that day at Oakham Mount, but I… I was never certain you truly intended marriage. Not so soon after the scandal that touched my family. You are a good man, honourable and steadfast, but I thought perhaps you might only come to visit—that you would not wish your name connected with mine so quickly after Lydia’s disgrace.
Oh, I told Jane, all blithe bravado, that we might both be married before the year was out, but I did not believe it.
Not truly. It was only a foolish attempt at courage, to bolster her own spirits when we heard that Mr Bingley was to return. ”
Darcy stopped short, turning fully towards her, his expression so intent that Elizabeth’s words faltered.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low but resolute, “you must never doubt my intentions when it comes to you. I came to Longbourn today for no other reason than to make it plain. I love you—more than I ever thought myself capable of loving—and nothing, not even scandal, could alter that. Do you think I would have returned if I meant only to visit? No. I came because my dearest wish is to bind my life to yours, openly and without delay.”
He reached for her hand, enclosing it between both of his. “If you will accept me, Elizabeth, there is no shame, no disgrace, no shadow of the past that could make me hesitate. You are all that I desire.”
Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, a radiant smile breaking through. “And you are all that I desire, Mr Darcy,” she confessed. “I love you so very much, and I was a fool not to accept you in April.”
“Perhaps,” he said, his lips curving in a brief grin before his expression grew more sober, “but perhaps not. Had you accepted me then, I would not be the man I am today. You humbled me, Elizabeth—and even you must acknowledge that I was in need of humbling. My pride was excessive, my manner disdainful. I thought myself above all those in Meryton. When I offered for you in Kent, I believed I knew best, and I assumed your acceptance as though it were my right. I do not think I would have loved you as well had you not refused me that first time.”
He paused, thoughtful, and then gently guided her to continue walking with him.
“I thought I loved you in April, but it was a selfish love. I considered nothing of what you might feel, nothing of what you might want. Even had you cared for me then, our marriage would have been a miserable one, for I should have believed myself condescending by offering for you, rather than blessed by your acceptance. No—it was only in losing you that I began to recognise what a treasure you truly are.”
Elizabeth tightened her hold on his arm, her smile softening into something far more tender.
“You must not reproach yourself so harshly,” she said.
“For if you had much to learn, so had I. My pride was every bit as dangerous as yours, and I let resentment and vanity blind me to your true worth. I believed Mr Wickham’s lies and delighted in thinking ill of you.
How could such folly have led to anything but misery? No, I, too, needed humbling.”
Her voice grew more earnest as she looked up at him.
“But we are not the same people we were in April. You have learnt humility and patience; I have learnt discernment and gratitude. Whatever pain we endured then, it has brought us here—together, wiser, and, I hope, better. That is why I can say with all my heart that I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and why I believe our marriage will be happy indeed.”
Darcy smiled, a soft light suffusing his features.
Elizabeth had never seen him look so completely at peace, and in that instant she understood just how deeply he loved her.
Glancing back to ensure Jane and Mr Bingley were still at a distance, she rose quickly onto her toes.
Darcy bent his head, expecting a whispered word—but instead she pressed her lips lightly to his cheek.
The unexpected gesture brought a flush to both their faces. Darcy stilled, his breath catching, before his hand tightened warmly around hers. Her simple act of affection touched him more profoundly than any words could have done.
“I love you, Elizabeth,” he murmured, before doing just as she had done a moment earlier. Once he was assured they were unobserved, he pressed his lips to hers—briefly, but with all the feeling he dared to show.