Chapter 4
ELIZABETH
Mr Darcy arrived at Longbourn the day after our return, and my mother's hopes were immediately kindled.
She did not know the reason, however.
I had confided only in Jane. Charlotte had kept silent, and Mr Collins still knew nothing.
My mother watched the carriage from the window with the agitation of a woman who could recognize a fortune before grasping its purpose.
“Mr Darcy comes alone,” she announced. “Why would a man of such importance call on us alone? Jane, fix your hair. Kitty, take off that ridiculous ribbon. Lydia, for heaven's sake, don't mention the officers.”
“Perhaps he's come for Lizzy,” said Lydia.
Silence fell.
My mother turned to me.
I took a sip of tea that wouldn't go down.
“Why would he come for Lizzy?” she asked.
“Because he was always looking at her at Netherfield.”
“He looked at everyone as if he regretted their existence.”
The drawing room door opened before Lydia could defend her observation.
Mr Darcy entered.
He greeted my mother, my sisters, and me with impeccable propriety. Only his gaze, when it met mine, betrayed the importance of this visit. A restrained warmth flickered there, then vanished behind his reserve.
“Mrs Bennet,” he said, “may I request an interview with Mr Bennet?”
My mother opened her mouth.
No sound emerged.
I never would have believed I could witness such a remarkable phenomenon.
“My husband is in his library,” she finally replied. “I shall have him called.”
“I would prefer, if you permit, to go to him myself.”
“Of course. Certainly. Lizzy, show Mr Darcy the way.”
“I know the way,” he interjected, before my mother could transform a walk down the corridor into a compromising tête-à-tête.
He bowed, then left the drawing room.
The door closed.
Four faces turned to me.
“Well?” my mother demanded.
“Well what?”
“You know why he wishes to speak to your father.”
Jane lowered her eyes to hide her smile.
“Perhaps Mr Darcy has a question about hunting,” I suggested.
“He didn't come all the way from Kent to talk about partridges!”
“He might be very devoted to their fate.”
My mother pressed a hand to her chest.
“Elizabeth, if you're hiding something of such consequence from me, I shall never recover.”
“You'll recover enough to announce it to the entire parish before dinner,” Mary murmured.
For once, she wasn't wrong.
The wait lasted less than a quarter of an hour. It felt longer to me than the journey from Hunsford.
At last, the door opened. My father stood on the threshold.
“Lizzy, come see me.”
I rose.
Mr Darcy appeared behind him. His face revealed nothing, but his hand clenched once against his thigh as I walked past.
In the library, my father closed the door.
“Mr Darcy has just asked my permission to marry you.”
“I rather suspected as much.”
“That reassures me. I would have feared he'd gotten the wrong daughter.”
I smiled, but his gaze remained grave.
“You've consented?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I had prepared myself for this question. I discovered I had prepared no answer likely to satisfy the man who had known me since birth.
“Because I believe I was mistaken about him.”
“That is not a reason to marry him. That is a reason to offer him an apology.”
“He loves me.”
“That is an excellent reason for him. I am looking for yours.”
I lowered my eyes to the carpet.
“I esteem him more each day. He acknowledged his mistake concerning Jane. He kept his word to Mr Bingley without waiting to learn whether you would consent to our marriage. And he listens to me, even when what I say displeases him.”
“Do you love him?”
My father would not have asked Jane this question with the same concern. He knew, however, what I had always affirmed. He knew above all what loneliness could grow in a marriage where esteem faded.
“Not as Jane loves Mr Bingley,” I replied.
His face shuttered.
“Then refuse him.”
“I don’t want to refuse him.”
This truth burst out before any other.
My father studied me.
“Does his fortune convince you better than his character?”
Shame pricked me, though he had the right to ask.
“His fortune protects our family in my mind, but it would not make me accept Mr Collins, nor any man I would despise. I no longer despise Mr Darcy. He troubles me. His opinion already matters far too much. The thought that he might withdraw his offer pains me.”
“That is still not love.”
“No.”
I held his gaze.
“But I believe I could love him. I want the chance to find out. If I refuse today, he will not ask me a second time.”
My father went to the window. His silence held no mockery.
“I have long thought you needed a man capable of matching your wit,” he said. “I now fear you have chosen one who might break it.”
“He will not.”
“Are you certain?”
I thought of Hunsford. Of his pride, his jealousy, the harshness of certain words. Then of his promise not to decide for me, of the letter intended for Bingley, of the way he had stopped when I refused a kiss.
“I am certain he could hurt me,” I replied. “I also believe he would rather hurt himself than take away my choice.”
My father turned around.
“And have you told him that your heart is not yet as engaged as your word?”
I felt warmth rise to my cheeks.
“I told him that my opinion was not fixed, that I still held grievances, and that I did not know what kind of man he truly was.”
“That is not quite the same thing.”
“I know.”
“Does he know it?”
I did not answer.
My father sighed.
“You have inherited my capacity to avoid a painful conversation, Lizzy. I wish you fewer reasons to regret it.”
The reproach was deserved.
“Will you refuse your consent?”
He looked at me for a long time.
“No. You are no longer a child, and you know what this marriage entails. But I ask you not to let Mr Darcy discover too late a truth you hope to see change.”
I promised.
I still believed I had several weeks to keep that promise.
My father called Mr Darcy in.
He remained near the door, upright, silent, but the wait had whitened his knuckles.
“My daughter confirms her consent,” said my father. “I grant you mine.”
Relief crossed Mr Darcy’s face with a force that made him almost unrecognizable.
“I thank you, sir.”
“Do not thank me yet. Elizabeth is the liveliest of my daughters and perhaps the most imprudent when she believes she is acting reasonably. If you make her unhappy, I will find the journey to Derbyshire much less painful than you imagine.”
“I will never take her happiness lightly.”
My father inclined his head.
Mr Darcy turned toward me.
He did not touch me. He did not speak my name. Yet his gaze made me feel alone with him in the middle of the library.
“May I announce our engagement to your family?”
I thought of my mother behind the door, probably with her ear pressed to the panel.
“It would be cruel to prolong her torment.”
We returned to the drawing room.
Mr Darcy had not finished the sentence asking my mother to consider our engagement official when she let out a cry.
This time, it was allowed.
“Ten thousand pounds a year!”
“Mama,” I murmured.
“Perhaps more! Oh, my dear Lizzy, my dearest child, I knew your spirit would eventually attract a man of consequence. Mr Darcy, you must forgive me for all the times I may have… well, I cannot recall any particular offense, but if there was one, you understand that a mother…”
Mr Darcy stood in the middle of the drawing room with admirable composure. Jane hid her smile behind her hand. Kitty looked back and forth between my fiancé and me, searching for the secret to such an enchantment. Lydia hid nothing.
“I thought you couldn’t stand him, Lizzy!”
“Lydia!” my mother exclaimed. “Everyone has always seen that Mr Darcy paid her the greatest attention.”
No one had seen anything, not even me.
A slight flush colored the tops of his cheekbones. In another man, I would have attributed it to embarrassment. In him, it could herald either flight or execution.
“How did you do it?” my mother asked, rushing toward me.
“I answered him when he spoke to me.”
“Don’t jest! A man like Mr Darcy does not ask for a young woman without fortune for mere conversation. You must have encouraged him.”
“I contradicted him for several months.”
“That’s what must be done, then,” Lydia declared. “I shall contradict Denny tomorrow.”
Mr Darcy turned toward me, his expression caught between amusement and panic.
“You warned me,” he murmured.
“You didn’t believe me.”
“I am beginning to understand the extent of my error.”
Jane soon drew me away to our room, happy to rescue me from my mother’s calculations and Kitty’s questions.
As soon as the door closed, Jane took me in her arms.
“My dear Lizzy, are you happy?”
The question was harder than any my father had asked.
“Not yet in the simple way you are with Mr Bingley. But I want to learn to be so with him.”
Jane drew back just enough to look at me.
“And if Father had refused his consent?”
“I would have suffered for it.”
“Then you are not marrying him solely for Longbourn.”
I went to the window. Mr Darcy’s carriage waited outside the house.
“I esteem him. Perhaps I even desire him,” I added, feeling my cheeks warm. “And I do not want him to disappear from my life.”
“Does he at least know how uncertain your heart remains?”
“I have shown him my doubts.”
Jane gently squeezed my hand.
“He can only understand what you choose to tell him, Lizzy.”
I looked at the closed door.
“I will speak to him before the wedding.”
She did not ask me when. Her silence alone made my promise weigh heavier.
When I found Mr Darcy in the vestibule, he was preparing to leave for Netherfield, where he would stay during the engagement.
“My father has spared you, then.”
“He threatened me with great elegance.”
“It is his way of expressing his affection.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
“He asked me if I was certain I could make you happy.”
“And what did you answer?”
“That I would devote my life to that task.”
The intensity of his voice made my promise to Jane harder to utter.
My mother announced from the drawing room that she had already invited the Phillipses to dinner.
Mr Darcy briefly closed his eyes.
I laughed.
When he opened them again, he looked at me with such visible warmth that my laughter died. We were surrounded, separated by propriety and several feet of parquet. Yet my body reacted as if he had drawn near.
“Quite the preparation awaits you,” I said.
“I will not retreat.”
He said it softly, for me alone.
I knew he was not speaking of the dinner.
I let the opportunity pass once more.