Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“Ihope you are proud of yourself,” said Mrs Cahill, taking a seat beside Elizabeth on the couch in her niece’s bedchamber. “Poor Martha worked herself into quite a lather. She thought that I would dismiss her for failing to keep you chaste.”
“Oh dear.”
“Oh dear, indeed. If she thinks that a few kisses shared between an engaged couple translates to a loss of chastity, she is in for quite a shock on her wedding night.” She patted Elizabeth’s knee. “I congratulate you, Elizabeth.”
“For mortifying poor Martha?” she cried, attempting to suppress her laughter.
“No. On your engagement, you goose. It warms my heart to know that you have made such a match, with such a gentleman as Mr Darcy. Your mother, were she in a fitter state, would be thrilled beyond measure to claim him as her son.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I believe she would be—but only after the shock of my choosing him, or rather, of Mr Darcy choosing me, receded, which, knowing Mama, would likely have taken weeks.” When her aunt looked at her askance, she informed her, “Mr Darcy’s manners were very different in Hertfordshire.”
“They appear perfectly fine in Yorkshire, albeit a bit forward in the drawing room this morning.”
“They have since improved. He is perfectly amiable.”
Her aunt laughed. “He is utterly besotted! But I daresay that you are equally enamoured of him.”
“I confess that I am. He is the best man I have ever known.”
“A man who sees your value, and listens to what you have to say, be it something teasing or something serious. It bodes well for your marriage.” Her aunt, who was rarely emotional, wiped wetness from beneath her eyes. “Your father, Elizabeth, would be happy for you.”
Her pronouncement made Elizabeth wipe tears from beneath her own eyes.
She had no doubt that her father would be pleased to know that she was well loved by the man she would marry, but he likely would have been as shocked as her mother to learn that it was Darcy who wanted to marry her.
That she had grown to love Darcy might have induced an apoplectic fit!
Of course, once Mr Bennet had been to Pemberley and seen his son-in-law’s library, he probably never would have wanted to leave.
“I miss him,” she said quietly, resting her head on her aunt’s shoulder, much in the manner she used to do with her father.
“As do I,” said her aunt, reaching for Elizabeth’s hand.
“But he lived a good life. A rich life, even if he was appallingly neglectful with his youngest daughter.” She sighed.
“No one is perfect. Least of all, me. I never should have allowed my stubbornness and my prejudice to consume me when your father married your mother. She was never bookish. She was never deep. She liked pretty things and harmless gossip. But she loved my brother.”
They sat in companionable silence for some time, watching the fire crackling and popping in the grate, lost in their own introspections. When one or the other did speak, it was to share a memory, or to relate an amusing anecdote about Mr Bennet that made them both laugh.
The gentle knock on the sitting room door was unexpected.
Darcy had spent the entire day with Elizabeth, her sisters, and her aunt, but he had since returned to Sallow Hall to share the news of their engagement with his relations.
Mrs Cahill had allowed them a private goodbye that lasted far longer than was appropriate.
Fortunately, Martha did not make an appearance as Darcy, after kissing Elizabeth breathless in the darkest corner of the anteroom, pressed his lips to her shoulder and murmured that he loved her, most ardently.
“Come,” said Mrs Cahill, bidding whomever happened to be at the sitting room door to enter.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Bennet,” said Martha, struggling to preserve the integrity of the enormous arrangement of flowers she held in her arms, “but these have come for you just now. And there is a note. The paper looks to be very fine.”
“That it does,” said Mrs Cahill. “Those are lovely, Elizabeth. Perhaps Martha could retrieve a vase and put them in water for you.”
Martha, taking the hint, laid the flowers on a table and departed at once.
“And I believe I shall follow Martha’s example myself and go home. It has been a long day—an exciting day—and I am tired.” She kissed her niece’s cheek. “Sleep well, my dear girl. Your Mr Darcy is an excellent man, and I could not be happier for you.”
Elizabeth pressed her hand, and Mrs Cahill took her leave.
And then Elizabeth was alone.
The flowers were beautifully arranged and utterly extravagant.
Carnations, poinsettias, roses, and petunias, all in varying hues of white, pink, and red, were barely contained within the paper wrapping that held them.
The colours were symbolic of romance, passion, and love, as were the flowers themselves.
She tenderly touched the petals of each, a smile playing upon her lips. They could only be from Darcy.
She loved them.
She loved him.
As she admired her flowers, Martha returned with a large vase half-filled with water.
Although Elizabeth was reluctant to do so, she surrendered her bouquet and watched as Martha arranged each bloom with utmost consideration and care.
When she had done, she removed the largest, prettiest rose from the display and offered it to Elizabeth.
“I thought you might like to press this one, miss, as it’s by far the loveliest.”
Elizabeth thanked her, and Martha smiled as she bid her a good night.
The scent of the rose was heavy and sweet. She brought it to her lips, closing her eyes as she relished the softness of its petals.
And then she turned her attention to her note.
Martha had been correct when she had said the paper was very fine.
It was cream-coloured, and thick, and as luxurious as the flowers that accompanied it.
The seal was familiar; the Darcy coat of arms had been pressed into the wax seal of his previous letter.
Hopefully, this missive would prove to be lighter than the first.
She broke the seal, opened the note, and read:
My Dearest Elizabeth,
Had I any words sufficient to tell you how incredibly happy you have made me, I fear that my tongue would never cease speaking.
Yes, my Darling, I am that happy. I love you, most ardently, and have since almost the first moment of our acquaintance.
Considering how our acquaintance began, it seems remarkable to me that we will be married, but we shall.
In truth, I cannot fathom what I might have done to be handed such a gift as you have bestowed upon me today.
I do not deserve you, but I cannot bear to live without you and so you are stuck with me.
You must know that I consider myself the most fortunate, the happiest man in the world.
I am yours, forevermore,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Yes, Elizabeth decided once she had read it through no less than a dozen times, this missive has far exceeded his first.
“Jane!” Elizabeth cried, rising so quickly from her chair that it tipped backwards and fell to the floor.
“How I have missed you!” There were tears in her eyes as she embraced her dearest sister fiercely, and in Jane’s as well.
Kitty and Mary soon joined them, and much hugging and kissing and laughing ensued.
“My sweet girl,” said Mrs Cahill, addressing Jane as she always had, “I am very glad to see you. And you as well, Mr Anderson. I trust your journey was without incident?”
Mr Anderson was a tall, handsome man, with blond hair, wide shoulders, and a quiet, steady demeanour.
He allowed Mrs Cahill to kiss his cheek, then, with a wry twist of his mouth, said, “Unless you consider forgetting one of our trunks at home and nearly having to share a bed with strangers at the inn, then yes, our journey was rather uneventful.”
“Oh dear,” her aunt replied, horrified.
“All is well,” Jane assured her. “We retrieved our trunk, survived the inn, and have arrived in one piece, as has our carriage, which is new and absolutely lovely.”
Mr Anderson kissed her cheek. “Not half so lovely as you are, my dear.”
Had such words been uttered by Viscount Emerson, Elizabeth would have believed him insincere, but the tone of her brother’s voice coupled with the tenderness of his gaze as he regarded his wife was proof that he meant every word.
As Kitty claimed Jane’s hand and led her to the other side of the sitting room to admire a painting she had recently completed of the dale, Elizabeth smiled, offered Mr Anderson her hand, and said, “I am pleased to see you, Brother.”
“And I you, Lizzy,” he said, placing a kiss upon it. “I have yet to meet your Mr Darcy, but Colonel Fitzwilliam has assured me there is no better man alive.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I believe Mr Darcy would say the same about the colonel. You need not worry. I am in good hands. Mr Darcy truly is the best man I have ever known.”
“Jane has had much to say in his favour as well. If she is satisfied, there is nothing for it. You shall be the happiest couple in the world, after us, of course.” With a wide, affectionate smile, he directed her attention to his wife, who was speaking animatedly with her sisters and aunt across the room.
“Since she received your letter announcing your engagement to Mr Darcy, my Jane has spoken of nothing but how very pleased she is for you both.”
“You are a saint among men,” Elizabeth told him with a grin.
“Hardly,” he replied as Jane called Elizabeth’s name, requesting her presence within their little circle of ladies.
“I am simply married to the best woman of my acquaintance. There is nothing I would not do for her, including urging her dearest sister to join her for a long-awaited chat.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Go to her. She has much to say.”