Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
SLOW BURN
The days that followed Mr Bingley’s proposal, or rather his capitulation, were pleasanter than Elizabeth could ever have imagined the morning that she had received Jane’s letter.
Mr Bingley was making a good start to things, quick to return to his prior role as Jane’s lover.
He called often, usually in the company of his friend, and was every bit the gallant they had known last autumn in Hertfordshire.
Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst attended him one morning and even managed to behave as if they were happy with the rapidly forthcoming nuptials.
What they knew of the truth of the matter, Elizabeth could not say, but even if the courtesies were forced, it was well enough.
Jane’s child would have a father and Jane would have a husband, and those two facts alone produced immeasurable delight.
A more surprising source of delight was her own beau.
Darcy was everything good and charming and attentive, and as the days went on, she found it extraordinary that she might ever have disliked him.
She enjoyed spending time with him and anticipated his visits eagerly.
She admired his cleverness and his humour, and his willingness to hear her opinions, to practise with her the little debates which she so enjoyed.
Of his handsomeness and his kisses, she dared not think overmuch.
Yes, she liked them both, liked them very well indeed.
Perhaps too much. They had lingered one evening in the vestibule so long that Mr Gardiner had been forced to come thumping down the first part of the stairs with the tread of a man twice his size, calling, “Elizabeth? I daresay you have bade Mr Darcy farewell long enough.”
It was after that incident that she was obliged to explain to her dear aunt and uncle that she had accepted Mr Darcy’s offer of marriage. They were both well pleased for her but remained silent on the subject, understanding that overt jubilation must await Mr Bennet’s blessing.
“I should never have imagined that the mistress of Pemberley might be someone I know,” said Mrs Gardiner wonderingly. “An extraordinary turn of events!”
Trepidation beset Elizabeth when Darcy arrived early in the morning to call upon her father the day after he had arrived in Gracechurch Street. Darcy bowed stiffly, then asked, “Sir, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?”
“Of course,” said Mr Bennet. “For what?”
Darcy looked uncommonly awkward and said, “A private conference, sir, if you will.”
Mr Bennet shrugged. “Come into my brother’s book-room, then.”
Elizabeth watched anxiously as they exited the room, sitting next to Jane on the sofa in the parlour. Her hands had gone ice cold, and she was thankful that her mother and Mrs Gardiner were yet lingering in the breakfast room over tea and not anywhere that they might see her anxiety.
Darcy returned unfortunately rapidly. “Your father asked to see you, Elizabeth.”
Jane shot her a sympathetic look as she rose and hurried from the room.
Her father was walking about her uncle’s room, looking grave and anxious. “Elizabeth, what are you doing? Are you out of your senses to be accepting this man? Pray do not be in such a fever to match Jane—”
“Papa, I assure you, I am not in any fever to match Jane.”
“It makes no sense!” Mr Bennet sank into the nearest chair. “Have not you always hated him?”
How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate!
It would have spared her from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give; but they were now necessary, and she assured him, with some confusion, of her attachment to Darcy.
Mr Bennet was unimpressed; neither was he in any way appeased. “Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane; but will they make you happy?”
“I do not care two straws for what fine clothes and carriages Mr Darcy may offer me,” she protested, standing before her father.
“Then what draws you to him? We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him.”
“I do—I do like him,” she replied, knowing undoubtedly how true it was. “More than you can imagine. He has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms.”
Mr Bennet sighed heavily. “I have given him my consent. He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable unless you truly esteemed your husband.”
She took a seat next to her father, though it had not been offered. “I do, Papa. I esteem him greatly and anticipate spending a lifetime with him eagerly.”
“I wish I might understand what must have effected such a change of heart,” said Mr Bennet. “This is very different from the evening you sat in your mother’s drawing room and assured us you would never so much as dance with the fellow!”
Of course she could not tell him. What her father might think when Jane produced a grandchild in August was unimaginable, but never would he suppose that it was gratitude for the husband by Jane’s side which had led to his second daughter’s union.
Even now she knew not if it was wholly true. Yes, Jane’s situation had been a spark, but the fire which was growing from it was more than a spark, and more than mere gratitude. Every day she found more to admire in Darcy; every day she felt her heart opening more and more to him.
“My change in heart,” she said with a swallow, “was produced when I learnt how little I had known him before. Indeed, most of what I believed I knew was the product of misapprehension if not outright lies. Once those were done away, I found a man who was admirable and good, more so than any other man I have ever known.”
Mr Bennet greeted this assertion by drawing back in a parody of offence. “I beg your pardon,” said he. “Any other man?”
Relieved to see him teasing her, she leant over and kissed his cheek. “All of them save for one.”
He chuckled and then, evidently feeling the paternal obligation had been met, patted her shoulder. “Consider it a wedding gift to you that I will extend the news to your mother and bear the largest portion of her felicity that the expression of it might be more moderate when you see her.”
“You are too good, Papa,” she said.
“Perhaps you will repay my goodness with some of your own,” he suggested. “Marry him now, alongside Jane and Bingley. Kill two birds with one stone while we can and spare me the conversation and expense of a second event.”
Elizabeth paused. It was an appealing notion, even if it simultaneously filled her with trepidation.
A rapid marriage might shift some of the gossip in her own direction, it was true, but she would be in London or Pemberley and never hear of it anyhow.
And as Darcy had said before, Mrs Darcy would be of such a position as to make gossip against her unwise.
Darcy was unlikely to revolt against the notion; he had raised it himself in teasing-but-not-really accents before.
“I will mention it to Mr Darcy,” she said. “I suppose the greatest impediment will be the licence, but what Mr Darcy wishes for, he seems to be able to get.”
“Aye, that is the advantage of tremendous wealth,” Mr Bennet agreed. “Well, run along, then. We would not wish him to suffer long the deprivation of your charms.”