Chapter Eighty
Despite an aching head, Mr. Bennet set out the next morning with Mrs. Gardiner.
After two hours of shopping in what must be the most crowded street in the world, his head was still aching, but he had a number of packages wrapped in brown paper – shawls, bonnets, lengths of material, ribbons, tea, and packages of the girls’ favourite candies.
They returned to the Gardiners’ home on Gracechurch Street, ate a small luncheon, and Mr. Bennet and Mr. Philips were then on their way back to Meryton. The carriage brought Mr. Philips home first, and then went on to Longbourn.
No conquering hero had ever been met with as much joy, love and appreciation as was Mr. Bennet that day. He was hugged and kissed and made much of, until finally, red-faced and grinning, he asked for tea.
Everyone sat in the parlour and begged Mr. Bennet to tell the story, from beginning to end, of the court appearance.
“And it was that fast!” Elizabeth marveled, when he was done.
“It was; I admit that I expected it to take a good deal longer,” Mr. Bennet said.
“Mr. Collins did not understand?” Mary asked.
“No, he did not seem to. Lady Catherine said she would explain it to him.”
Lydia snorted. “I wish her luck with that!”
“In any event, this seemed worthy of some celebration, so I did a little shopping in London,” Mr. Bennet said.
Mrs. Bennet’s mouth fell open. “You went shopping?” Her tone was disbelieving.
“With Madeleine’s assistance, yes. I do not see what all the fuss is about for you ladies, for it was a good deal of bother. Crowds everywhere! Horse dung on the streets! Dreadful experience!”
“What did you buy, Mr. Bennet?” his wife asked, hoping to recall him to the point.
“Oh! Well, I shall show you!” With that, he rose and left the room; he could be heard calling to his coachman, and very soon a footman arrived, carrying a pile of packages. At Mr. Bennet’s direction, he placed them on the largest table in the room and departed.
The Bennet ladies stared at Mr. Bennet and then stared at the packages, but no one made a move. Finally, Mr. Bennet said, “Well, what are you waiting for? These are gifts for all of you!”
No further encouragement was required. Lydia and Kitty immediately ran to the table and began ripping open packages.
Jane took charge of deciding who got what, but Elizabeth had to assist, or Jane would have had nothing for herself.
Everyone had a new bonnet, a new shawl, lengths of material, ribbons and candies.
There was even a shawl that had a small piece of paper bearing the words “For Mrs. Hill” pinned to it, much to that worthy’s delight!
The tea was for the household, of course.
Once the fuss had died down, Mr. Bennet reached into his coat pocket and produced a small package, wrapped in very fine white silk and tied with a white ribbon. “Mrs. Bennet,” he began. “You have had a good deal to put up with from your ungrateful husband.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands to her reddening cheeks.
“No, hush, I have not finished my little speech! Let me see; where was I?”
“Ungrateful husband,” Lydia supplied.
“Right; from your ungrateful husband. But that husband is now very sorry for his behaviour and promises never to be so unappreciative again. Fanny,” he said, now speaking very sincerely. “I saw this and thought of you at once, for this is the exact colour of your eyes.” He held out the package.
Tears gathered in those eyes as she took the little box, reverently, untied the ribbon, and unwrapped the silk. A black velvet box was revealed! She opened it, scarcely breathing, and saw a lovely brooch; a sapphire in a gold setting. Mrs. Bennet gasped.
“Allow me, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said. He offered a hand to help her rise, and then took the brooch and pinned it to her new shawl, which was also blue. “There! You are as lovely now as the day I met you.”
He opened his arms and she stepped into them.
He whispered to her, “I have heard you say that like must marry like, dear Fanny, but it is not true. Sometimes one may admire and love the differences, as well as the similarities. That I have hurt you so deeply for so many years is truly the greatest regret of my life.”
The girls could not hear him, but they could see him embracing his wife. They were silent, staring at their father, wondering at the great change that had come over him.
But the day’s surprises were not yet done.
When the Darcys and Mr. Bingley arrived, congratulations were offered, thanks were given, and there was a good deal of rejoicing.
Mr. Darcy left the room for a moment; when he returned, he was carrying a package wrapped in brown paper.
He pulled Mr. Bennet to one side and said, softly, “This is for you.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows rose, questioningly, but he set the package down on a table and began to unwrap it. When he saw what was inside the paper, he looked at Mr. Darcy, questioningly. “I do not understand,” he said.
“I purchased these books from Mr. Hatchard. He always alerts me when something special comes in. Pemberley’s library already had a copy of the Wicked Bible, but I was glad to get a first edition of Johnson’s Dictionary of the English Language and the first volume of Shakespeare’s Fourth Folio.”
Mr. Bennet opened the two books and saw his modest “T.B.” in the upper left-hand corner of the front flyleaf on each. “These are actually my books,” he whispered, looking up at Mr. Darcy in shock.
“They are, yes. I am sorry you had to part with them for these past years, but am glad to be able to return them to you now. I was unable to discover who purchased your Wicked Bible, but if I am ever able to find it, I will recover it for you.”
“I am rarely at a loss for words, Mr. Darcy, but this is one of the occasions,” Mr. Bennet said, wryly, shaking his head.
Mr. Darcy shrugged. “Your daughters saved my sister’s life,” he said. “These books are in no way a recompense, but it seems to me the right thing to do.”
Mr. Bennet wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I cannot refuse this gift, Mr. Darcy; I shall not even make the attempt. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, and briefly touched Mr. Bennet’s hand, an unusual gesture from this very private man, and then went to sit beside Elizabeth.
Elizabeth had watched her father open the package of books, but had heard none of the conversation. “You gave my father some books?” she asked Mr. Darcy, when he took the seat beside her.
“His books, actually.”
“His books? I do not understand.”
“You know, of course, that your father sold some of his treasures some years ago.”
“I have never been allowed to forget it,” she replied, shortly.
“Well, by some odd coincidence, it happens that I was the buyer of two of them.”
“You!” Elizabeth stared at him.
“Yes; I did not know who the previous owner was, of course, but Mr. Hatchard sent word to me when he acquired them, and I purchased two of them, sight unseen. They were promptly delivered, and they had places of honour in the Pemberley library. When I heard your father’s story, I wrote to my housekeeper and bade her look at the flyleaves of those two books. ”
“Papa writes his initials on the flyleaf,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Yes, I saw that when he first showed me his library. When my housekeeper reported back that she saw the initials T.B. on the flyleaves, I had her package them up and send them to me by messenger. I could not trust them to the post, of course.”
“And you gave them back to him! What an utterly marvelous thing to do, Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy with so much admiration that he briefly considered having the entirety of his library packaged up and carried to Longbourn!
Mr. Darcy ducked his head. “Well, it seemed to me that they were his by right.”
“Not at all; he sold them and you paid for them. They were yours by right, but you gave them up.”
“Well, then, they were his by right of love.” With that pronouncement, Mr. Darcy raised his head and looked into Miss Elizabeth’s dark, expressive eyes.
He did his best to convey at least some part of his feelings in that manner, and he must have been successful in part, at least, as Elizabeth blushed furiously and looked down.
He pressed his advantage. “And the right of love must surely trump all else, must it not, Miss Elizabeth?”
She looked up, for an instant, and murmured, “I suppose it must,” and then looked down again.
Feeling that he had said enough for now, Mr. Darcy smiled and leaned back.
***
Mr. Bennet saw the conversation between his second daughter and Mr. Darcy, and he wondered at it. Had something been going on between them, right under his nose, and he had missed it?
Once the visitors had departed, he asked Elizabeth to come into his room. She obeyed with alacrity, smiling at him. He motioned for her to sit, and she did so. “Yes, Papa?”
“Mr. Darcy…” he began, watching her face closely.
As he had suspected she would, she blushed.
“Ah,” he murmured.
“There is nothing, Papa,” she protested at once. “But I do think him an admirable gentleman.”
“I must agree, of course, since he not only saved my estate, but also returned my books to me,” Mr. Bennet said. “But, Lizzy, you know that he is very rich, do you not?”
“I had no reason to enquire as to the state of his finances,” she said, primly. Then her face fell. “Very rich, do you think?”
“Yes, I am afraid so. Which does not mean that he will not offer for you, only that your life with him would be a good deal different from anything to which you are accustomed.”
“Nothing has been said, Papa; there is no reason for you to caution me.”
“Nothing has been said,” he agreed, and then added. “Not yet, in any case. But just remember this. You would be in London a good deal, looked at and spoken of, and I do not know how you would like that.”
“On the other hand,” she said, laughing now. “It would give Mama a good deal to brag about!”
“Lizzy, be serious. Do you like him?”
She returned his steady gaze. “I do. I like him very much. I could like him even more, if I thought the sentiment was returned. If I am honest, I did not like him at first, because he reminded me of you. Now I like him, for the same reason.”
With that, she rose, walked around the desk to kiss her father on his cheek, and left the study.
She went upstairs to her own room to consider their conversation.
She had long suspected that Mr. Darcy was wealthy, truly wealthy, more so than his friend, Mr. Bingley.
There was something in the way Mr. Darcy held himself, in his perfectly cut garments, that had first created her suspicions.
His sister’s gowns were fashioned of the best materials and cut to flatter her young figure.
Even their carriage was finer than anything she had ever seen.
If she married him, she would be far away from everyone and everything she had ever known. Doubtless there would be visits, but that would hardly be the same as having her sisters with her every day. Georgiana would be with her, though, and that would be a comfort.
Doubtless his estate was massive, and being its mistress would be an enormous responsibility, far exceeding anything she had known at Longbourn.
Further, there would likely be a good deal of society obligations in London.
Elizabeth was not at all certain that she would enjoy being stared at and spoken about, and forced to smile at everyone, and remember the names of Lady This and Lady That.
But overriding everything was the idea that she would have – him.
Mr. Darcy. The quiet, private, highly intelligent gentleman for whom she had come to care.
She had disliked him at first, but little by little, her feelings had changed.
She had not wanted to admit it, but she finally had to acknowledge that she automatically sought him out whenever he was in the room.
How he dominated any room he was in, without even speaking a word!
Or, at least, that was how it felt to her, for she had discovered that she must carefully school herself in his presence so that she would not be seen staring at him.
Instead, she stole glances at him, and she knew that he did the same, for it was rude to stare and it would be commented on.
She wished, very much, to stare and stare and stare, until she had memorised everything about him!
At night, she thought about what it would be like to run her fingers through his thick, dark hair.
And she thought about what it would be like to be held in his arms, to be close to him, to have him touch her, kiss her…
and despite everything that Georgiana had been through, and the girl’s very evident horror at her experience, Elizabeth wondered very much what it would be like to feel Mr. Darcy’s skin against her own, unencumbered by layers of clothing.
She blushed, again and again, and castigated herself for wantonness, but she could not seem to control her wayward thoughts.
She confessed them to no one, not even Jane, for she had no words for what she was experiencing.
She reminded herself, again and again, that she did not truly know him very well.
The example of her own parents came to her mind, like a black cloud that would not move away.
Mama and Papa were getting along quite well just now, but there had been years and years of cold silences and sarcastic observations.
She could not bear it if her own marriage was like theirs!
What if she married him, all aflame with these thoughts and feelings, and then discovered later, too late, that they were not a good match? She needed to be careful, to not let her strong inclination for him lead her into a bad marriage.