Epilogue #2
“I suspect,” Mr. Bennet replied, “that he has discovered reconciliation to be less expensive than litigation.”
Elizabeth accepted the pages from her father and read the relevant passage herself.
Mr. Collins professed the deepest regret for past misunderstandings, assured his cousin of his Christian desire for harmony, and expressed the earnest hope of renewing family affection before circumstances deprived either gentleman of the opportunity.
“It is touching,” Kitty observed.
“It would be,” Mr. Bennet answered, “had I not met the author.”
Darcy wryly informed Mr. Bennet that it was likely his aunt had insisted her rector find a bride.
The explanation appeared infinitely more plausible.
“My aunt has always maintained that an unmarried clergyman neglects an important portion of his example,” Darcy said. “She believes matrimony contributes greatly to respectability.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled.
“Then your cousin has become respectable by anticipation.”
“I fear she would argue just so.”
Elizabeth could not help imagining Lady Catherine lecturing the unfortunate Mr. Collins upon his domestic obligations with the same confidence she displayed upon every other conceivable subject. The picture required little effort.
“She has certain beliefs about matrimony,” he hedged.
The understatement delighted Mr. Bennet so thoroughly that he laughed outright.
“My dear Darcy, I begin to suspect your aunt possesses certain beliefs about nearly everything.”
“I have never known her deficient in opinions.”
Even Mrs. Bennet smiled at that.
“One is her certainty that I shall offer for my cousin. That is quite impossible, for I am already engaged.”
Mrs. Bennet looked scandalized on Elizabeth’s behalf.
“Your cousin! What an extraordinary notion.”
Darcy accepted the reaction with admirable composure.
“My aunt has advocated the match for several years. She considers family connections exceedingly desirable.”
“I imagine she will not be pleased.”
“No.”
His answer required no elaboration.
Elizabeth reached beneath the table to squeeze his hand briefly.
He copied the pressure with grateful amusement.
He requested that the marriage articles be signed quickly, just to avoid any conflict from that quarter.
The suggestion, though offered with evident humor, contained sufficient seriousness that no one dismissed it entirely.
“My aunt is capable of many things,” Darcy admitted. “Preventing our marriage is not among them. Nevertheless, I should prefer to remove every opportunity for interference before she conceives one.”
Mr. Bennet nodded thoughtfully.
“I cannot fault such prudence.”
Mr. Bennet happily obliged him.
The solicitor was summoned within two days, and the settlements received careful examination before every necessary signature was affixed.
Mrs. Bennet confessed she understood none of the legal language, though she declared herself perfectly satisfied whenever anyone mentioned Elizabeth’s comfort or future security.
When all had been completed, Darcy appeared visibly relieved.
“There,” Mr. Bennet said, sanding the final page. “Your formidable aunt must now seek another occupation.”
“I sincerely hope she finds one.”
For a brief while, everyone believed the matter concluded.
Mr. Collins’s proposed visit never occurred.
Before Mr. Bennet could reply, he received a scathing second letter from his heir, condemning the match his noble patroness’s nephew had made with the Bennet family, and swearing he would cast the entire family out before his successor was cold in his grave.
The transformation proved so complete that Elizabeth wondered whether the two letters could possibly have come from the same gentleman.
Every expression of reconciliation had vanished.
In its place appeared page after page lamenting Lady Catherine’s profound disappointment, warning of the disastrous consequences of disobliging so distinguished a patroness, and hinting darkly at future displeasure should Mr. Bennet persist in encouraging the connection.
Mr. Bennet read several passages aloud with theatrical gravity before surrendering altogether to laughter.
“I believe,” he declared, wiping his eyes, “that my cousin writes most eloquently when someone else supplies his opinions.”
Darcy accepted the letter with an expression somewhere between embarrassment and resignation.
“I recognize my aunt’s influence in every sentence.”
“Except the longest ones,” Elizabeth replied.
“They belong entirely to Mr. Collins.”
That observation restored everyone’s spirits.
Mr. Darcy solemnly promised Mrs. Bennet that she would have no need to worry on that count.
Turning toward his future mother-in-law with complete sincerity, he said, “Whatever my aunt may think, neither she nor anyone else shall deprive you of your daughters’ welcome at Pemberley. You have my word.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes filled with grateful tears.
“My dear Mr. Darcy, I knew you would never permit such a dreadful thing.”
He calmed her nerves with his vow and earned his future mother-in-law’s permanent approbation.
From that day forward, Mrs. Bennet regarded him with a degree of admiration that nothing—not even occasional disagreements over wedding arrangements—could materially diminish.
Whenever anyone praised Mr. Darcy’s fortune, manners, or consequence, she invariably added that he possessed something far more valuable still.
“He is a gentleman who keeps his promises,” she would say with unmistakable satisfaction. “One cannot ask for more than that.”
During the months preceding the wedding, the old friends rebuilt their confidence in one another by degrees. Neither attempted to deny the injuries of the past, but both ceased allowing those injuries to govern every present judgment.
Mr. Wickham stood up with Mr. Darcy in lieu of having the colonel there.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had written with genuine regret, explaining that military duty admitted no argument.
His letter contained warm congratulations for the happy couple, affectionate assurances regarding Georgiana’s continued improvement, and an earnest apology that he could not stand beside his cousin upon so important a day.
Darcy accepted the disappointment with the resignation of a man long accustomed to the demands of a soldier’s profession, though Elizabeth knew he would have welcomed his cousin’s presence.
When the morning of the wedding arrived, Wickham appeared before the church punctually, dressed with appropriate elegance but without any unnecessary display.
He greeted Darcy with the easy familiarity that had gradually been restored between them, pausing long enough to straighten one cuff before offering his hand.
“I trust you have not changed your mind overnight.”
Darcy accepted the offered hand with a smile.
“I have had no such temptation.”
“I am relieved. Mrs. Bennet would never forgive either of us.”
Darcy laughed, the sound easing the last traces of nervous anticipation before they entered the church together.
His cousin had been called away with his regiment and sent his regrets.
The colonel’s absence was remarked upon by many of the guests, several of whom had anticipated meeting the famous Fitzwilliam relation whose praises Darcy occasionally, if sparingly, bestowed.
His letter was read aloud privately after the breakfast, where even Mrs. Bennet admitted that military obligations must occasionally supersede family celebrations, though she lamented that handsome officers invariably seemed to be elsewhere when society most desired their company.
Mr. Hurst stood up with Mr. Bingley in the joint ceremony.
No one expected Mr. Hurst to display great enthusiasm for the proceedings, and yet he acquitted himself remarkably well.
Though he maintained his customary air of comfortable indifference, he arrived on time, wore an expression of suitable gravity during the service, and even offered Bingley a sincere, if somewhat sleepy, word of congratulations afterward.
Mrs. Hurst declared herself astonished by her husband’s attentiveness, while Bingley accepted it as naturally as he accepted every kindness offered him.
The church itself seemed unusually bright despite the chill of the December morning.
Evergreen garlands adorned the pews, candles glowed warmly against the pale winter light filtering through the windows, and nearly every familiar face from Meryton appeared among the assembled guests.
The rector, who had christened several Bennet daughters years before, confessed afterward that few ceremonies had afforded him greater pleasure.
Jane and Elizabeth each chose a sister.
The decision had occupied surprisingly little discussion.
Both brides desired to honor their family equally, and neither wished the occasion to produce disappointment among those they loved.
After much cheerful conversation, they arrived at an arrangement that satisfied everyone save, perhaps, Mary, whose preferences differed from those of her sisters in nearly every respect.
Since it seemed likely that Lydia would marry before Mary or Kitty, Jane chose their youngest sister.
Lydia accepted the distinction with unconcealed delight.
Her gown suited her admirably, and she performed every duty entrusted to her with an earnestness that surprised those who still remembered the impulsive girl she had once been.
More than once during the ceremony, Elizabeth observed Wickham’s gaze resting upon Lydia with unmistakable admiration.
Lydia, fortunately, remained entirely attentive to Jane until the service concluded.
Mary politely declined when Elizabeth asked, and so Kitty took her place.
Mary explained with characteristic honesty that she preferred witnessing the ceremony from beside her parents rather than participating in it.
“I believe,” she said with a modest smile, “that Kitty would enjoy the distinction far more than I.”