Chapter Twenty-Three
Elizabeth tightened her hold upon Darcy's hand.
“Is anything amiss, sir?”
He did not answer at once.
“It is from your father,” said Mr. Gardiner at last. “You are required to return home. Immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“Without delay.”
“That cannot be,” said Darcy, “Miss Bennet was not to leave for several days. The arrangements were already made. She was to return under proper escort; there was no necessity—”
“There is now,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Your father insists upon it.”
“But why? He never, at this time of year; there is nothing that requires—”
She broke off suddenly. “Unless something has happened.”
“My dear—” Mrs. Gardiner moved nearer.
“The tenants,” Elizabeth continued. “It must be something among them. He would not send for me otherwise. There must be some difficulty, some distress. I ought to be there.”
“He expects you to travel at once?” said Darcy, turning back to Mr. Gardiner. “In what manner is Miss Bennet to undertake the journey?”
Mr. Gardiner hesitated only a moment. “By post.”
“No,” said Darcy. “That cannot be allowed.”
“I have travelled so before,” said Elizabeth.
“That does not make it proper. Nor safe. Not in such haste, and not under present uncertainty.”
“She would not be alone,” said Mr. Gardiner. “James would attend her.”
“It is not sufficient,” said Darcy. “If Miss Bennet must go, she shall not go in that manner. You told Mr. Bennet that business alone detained us. That remains true. But she shall not be sent off by post. I will not allow it, not when I can prevent it. If Mrs. Gardiner will accompany us, my carriage shall be ready by morning. I will go with her to Longbourn myself. Two footmen shall attend, and you may depend upon her safety entirely. Mrs. Gardiner may remain, or return as she chooses.”
Mrs. Gardiner looked toward her husband. “It is the best arrangement.”
“It is a generous one,” said Mr. Gardiner.
“It is a necessary one. But I must go at once, if it is to be prepared.”
Mrs. Gardiner turned to Elizabeth.
“My dear, you will walk with Mr. Darcy.”
At the door Darcy turned to her and took both her hands. “I gave you my word. Nothing shall separate us. You believe me?”
“I do. Yet I fear I am not free to keep that promise as I wish.”
“You are free in every way that matters.”
“I ought not to have joked of delay.”
“You ought not to have delayed at all. Had we been less prudent, we should not be standing here making plans.”
“Then we should already be regretting it.”
“On the contrary,” said Darcy, “we should already be beyond regret.”
Her hands tightened in his.
“You speak as though you would have had me run away with you.”
“I speak as though I would have spared you this moment.”
“I would not have been easily persuaded.”
“No. But I should have tried.”
“You are mine in every way that matters. That will not be altered by distance, nor by any demand made upon you.”
He raised her hands and pressed them briefly to his lips.
“All will be well.”
When Elizabeth returned, Mrs. Gardiner drew her close at once.
“My dear child—”
“It is nothing,” Elizabeth said. “Or if it is something, it will soon be explained.”
“I shall go with you,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “And remain, if it is necessary. I shall not leave you to manage it alone.”
Mr. Gardiner, who had been watching them both, spoke more quietly. “You will not be without support. Mr. Darcy has arranged matters too carefully for that. I have no fear he will fail you.”
Preparations began almost immediately. Engagements were altered, trunks called for, messages sent; and by the following morning they were upon the road. The journey passed without incident. Once or twice Mrs. Gardiner attempted conversation, but it soon fell away again.
As the carriage drew up before the house, the Longbourn chaise was already turning toward the stables, its purpose superseded.
Mr. Darcy's second carriage followed close behind, carrying his servant, luggage, and the horses he intended to use during his stay.
The footman descended and lowered the steps, but no one came.
Then, from the corner of his eye, Darcy caught the movement of a curtain drawn aside and as hastily dropped. Elizabeth had seen it too.
Darcy offered his hand without remark. She accepted it, her chin lifted a fraction more than was strictly necessary, and descended to the gravel.
He handed Mrs. Gardiner down next. The front door opened with considerably more enthusiasm than the occasion required.
Something in her expression closed, very slightly, as though against a draught she had long since learned to expect.
“Good heavens, what carriage is that?”
Mrs. Bennet appeared first upon the step, her attention moving at once between the equipage and the tall gentleman who stood beside Lizzy. Lydia pressed close behind her, then Kitty and Mary. Jane came last.
Mrs. Bennet took in the second carriage, the quantity of luggage, the horses that were clearly not hired, and the fact that Lizzy had arrived at her own door in a stranger's equipage when the Longbourn chaise had been sent expressly to prevent any such thing.
“Lizzy,” she said, taking her daughter's hands, “the carriage was sent to meet you. That has always been the arrangement.”
“The arrangements were altered, ma'am. There was no opportunity to write ahead. I am sorry for the inconvenience.”
Mrs. Bennet looked from Elizabeth to Mrs. Gardiner, and from Mrs. Gardiner to the gentleman who had not yet been explained.
“Mother,” said Jane.
Mr. Bennet had appeared in the doorway. He came forward with his usual composure, though his attention settled upon Darcy at once.
“Mrs. Gardiner,” he said, “since you have returned my daughter in a manner somewhat different from what I had reason to expect, you will perhaps oblige me by introducing the gentleman who has conveyed you.”
Mrs. Gardiner did not hesitate. “Mr. Darcy, allow me to present Mr. Bennet and his family.” She named them each in careful order. Then, turning back, she added, “Mr. Darcy, my godmother's son.”
Mr. Bennet glanced at Mrs. Gardiner, as though he understood rather more than she had said. The ladies curtseyed. Darcy inclined his head. Mr. Bennet regarded him for a moment before returning the civility.
Lydia had been studying Darcy with the frank appreciation she brought to all handsome newcomers, and her conclusion was swift and entirely uncomplicated.
He was the most striking man she had ever seen arrive at Longbourn, and she said so, in an undertone to Kitty that was not quite as private as she intended.
Kitty agreed with her eyes before she agreed with anything else.
She stole another glance, coloured slightly, and then looked at Elizabeth instead, with an expression that asked something she did not put into words and received no answer for.
Mary observed the whole with the expression of one whose principles were, at least, consistent.
Elizabeth had not looked at Darcy since she stepped from the carriage.
She had warned him, as honestly as she could, of what Longbourn was, and believed herself prepared for his reception.
Standing before the house with him now, she found the reality less easy than the anticipation.
Mrs. Gardiner drew quietly to her side, and together they entered the house.
The parlour held two gentlemen. One rose at once.
“Darcy!” said Mr. Bingley, with the easy warmth of a man whom nothing had yet taught to be guarded. “You are early. I had not looked for you for another few days.”
"I sent an express," Darcy said.
“So you did. I had not fully attended to it, I confess.” His glance had already moved, by no very deliberate process, toward the window, where Jane stood in the pleasant light with the unaffected ease of someone who had chosen that position with some care.
“You will not mind the house being not quite in order. It answers well enough for my purposes, though my sisters would say otherwise.”
Jane returned the attention with a smile of particular quality; warm, unguarded in appearance, and uncommitted to anything specific. She had looked at Darcy once when he entered and seemed content to leave him to his own observations. Her attention returned to Mr. Bingley, who was still talking.
The second gentleman cleared his throat.
He was dressed with the careful respectability of someone who understood the importance of appearances without possessing a natural instinct for them. His eyes travelled about the room and came to rest upon Mrs. Gardiner's cap. Something in his expression altered.
Mrs. Bennet, who had followed them in with the cheerful authority of someone who knew exactly whose house this was, drew breath.
“Mr. Bingley, I see you are already acquainted with Mr. Darcy. This is my sister, Mrs. Gardiner. Mr. Collins, this is my sister, Mrs. Gardiner; her friend, Mr. Darcy; and my most dutiful daughter, Elizabeth Bennet.”
Mr. Collins stepped forward with solemn consequence before anyone could remark upon it.
“Mr. Darcy.” He bowed with the depth of a man paying tribute to a principle.
"I am most particularly honoured to make your acquaintance, and I flatter myself that you will not think it presumptuous if I mention that I have the honour of being intimately acquainted with your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
I have the living of Hunsford, which is in her ladyship's gift, and I may say, without exaggeration, that her condescension and benevolence toward those in her patronage is quite without parallel in my experience of the great.
I had the privilege of dining at Rosings no fewer than four times in the last month alone.
" He paused to allow this distinction to be appreciated.
"Her ladyship is all graciousness. I trust I may take the liberty of saying, Mr. Darcy, that she speaks of Pemberley with the warmest admiration, and of yourself with a particularity of regard that reflects the greatest credit upon her feeling heart. "
Darcy bowed and said nothing. He had considerable practice in receiving this particular speech.
During its delivery, he looked at Elizabeth.
She was not attending to Mr. Collins. Her attention appeared fixed elsewhere; yet when she became aware of his gaze, she looked at him in return, and the understanding between them required no explanation.
Mr. Collins, satisfied with his own address, turned his attention to the room. His gaze moved methodically among the younger ladies before settling upon Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, was giving him more attention than she wished. There was something in the ease with which he had been received, and in her mother's manner toward him, that she did not entirely like.
Mr. Bennet regarded the scene with increasing dissatisfaction.
He had a plan; orderly, if not generous.
Collins was a reasonable man; obedient, unimaginative in the particular way that makes a man manageable, and entirely without the inclination to question his good fortune.
Elizabeth would manage him as she managed everything else.
The estate would remain in order, and life at Longbourn continue as it had, with the minor adjustment of a clergyman at the table.
It had appeared a sufficient arrangement until Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley walked into his parlour and stationed himself within two feet of Elizabeth Bennet.
Mr. Bennet turned the situation over with the methodical calm of a man who keeps his alarm very close to his chest. Collins was still in the room. Nothing had been declared. There was time, if he moved with care, if he managed his wife, if he introduced the matter in its proper order.
His gaze returned to Darcy and settled there with a quietness that had nothing comfortable in it.
His plan would not fail. He had not permitted himself to consider the alternative.