Chapter XXXIII
Having obtained the special licence, Darcy travelled to Longbourn on the fourth day.
Although the bruising had begun to fade, it remained sufficiently visible that he viewed himself in the carriage mirror with little satisfaction. His ribs, too, continued to remind him of Wickham whenever the carriage encountered an uneven stretch of road.
Elizabeth had been right. He ought to have rested longer.
Unfortunately, resting had become quite impossible. He was, indeed, a man of action.
After ensuring Mrs. Bennet that Lydia was fine, he was shown into Mr. Bennet’s library almost immediately.
Mr. Bennet rose from his chair with evident curiosity.
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Mr. Bennet.”
They exchanged bows.
“Is everything in order?”
“Yes, please do not be uneasy. Everything is fine in London. I have come on a different errand.”
“I confess,” said Mr. Bennet as they sat, “your note gave me no little cause for speculation. It is not every day that a gentleman requests a private audience with such urgency.”
“I apologise for that, sir.”
“No apology is necessary. I merely hope the matter is a happy one.”
Darcy hesitated.
“It is.”
Mr. Bennet smiled. “Then you have already relieved half my anxiety.”
Darcy drew a careful breath.
“I have come to ask for your daughter’s hand.”
It was a good thing Mr. Bennet was not drinking at the moment, for surely, he would have choked on it.
“You-you want to marry Lydia?”
Darcy stared at him in complete astonishment.
“Lydia?” he repeated, blinking. “Good heavens, no!”
The words escaped with such genuine alarm that Mr. Bennet almost smiled.
“No, sir,” Darcy continued, recovering himself. “No, sir, most decidedly not. If anything, we have a sister-brother relationship.”
“I am relieved to hear it, Mr. Darcy. That would have been a foolish sacrifice from your end.” He stood. “I think I need a drink before you say anything more.”
He poured a claret for both of them. As he sat down again, he asked. “Then… Jane?”
“No.”
“Mary?”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. “No, sir.”
“Kitty?”
Darcy allowed himself the smallest sigh. “No.”
Mr. Bennet studied him for several moments.
“Then I can only conclude you mean Lizzy.” He finished his drink and poured himself another one. “Mr. Darcy, you have managed something my wife has never accomplished – you have left me entirely speechless.”
He looked at Darcy over the rim of his glass. “How…?”
Darcy smiled faintly.
“I believe that is a very fair question.”
“Indeed, it is. The last I heard, my daughter thought very little of you. Now you arrive at my house with a black eye, ask for her hand, and appear entirely confident that she has accepted you.” He shook his head slowly. “I find I have somehow missed the middle of the story.”
Darcy could not help smiling. “It has been a rather eventful few days.”
“I should imagine so.”
Mr. Bennet settled back in his chair and gestured towards him with his glass.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy. Begin wherever you think best. But I warn you, if you omit anything of consequence, I shall almost certainly interrupt.”
Darcy inclined his head.
“The truth of the matter is that I love Miss Elizabeth. I have loved her for a long time.”
What followed occupied the better part of an hour. Darcy concealed nothing. He spoke of Hertfordshire, of his growing regard for Elizabeth, of his own faults…
Mr. Bennet listened with increasing astonishment. More than once he interrupted, asking for some point to be repeated, as though he scarcely trusted his own hearing. He was particularly taken aback to learn that Darcy had already sought Elizabeth’s hand in the spring – and that she had refused him.
“So then she did not like you? And now she does?”
Darcy nodded.
“Extraordinary.”
Darcy answered every question with complete honesty.
Then he spoke of Lambton, of Wickham, and of the events that had finally brought him and Elizabeth to an understanding.
By the time he had finished, Mr. Bennet remained silent for several moments.
At length he rose. “Well, Mr. Darcy,” he said quietly, “I believe I owe you more gratitude than I can ever properly express. To fight for us…”
Mrs. Bennet, having been informed only that Mr. Darcy wished to speak privately with her husband, had spent the morning imagining every possible catastrophe. When at last Mr. Bennet called her into the drawing room, she entered with considerable apprehension.
“My dear, you may set your mind at ease,” said Mr. Bennet with unusual solemnity. “Mr. Darcy has not come about Lydia.”
“Why then?” she cried, pressing a hand to her chest.
“He has come about Elizabeth.”
She stared first at her husband, then at Darcy. “Elizabeth?”
“Mr. Darcy has done us the honour of asking for her hand.”
Mrs. Bennet gave a little gasp, swayed alarmingly, and before Darcy could quite comprehend what was happening, she had seized both his hands.
“My dear Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, trembling with excitement. “You cannot know – oh! – you cannot know how happy you have made me! Dear Lizzy.”
Darcy, who had faced Wickham without flinching, found himself quite unable to defend against an emotional Mrs. Bennet.
“Madam… the honour is entirely mine.”
Mrs. Bennet would hear no talk of departures. “Mr. Darcy, you have travelled all the way from London in your condition. You shall do no such thing as leave before you have taken some refreshment.”
“Madam, I assure you…”
“No, no. You have assured us of quite enough for one day.” She turned immediately towards Hill. “A proper luncheon. Cold ham, the raised pie, cheese, fresh bread, and seed cake. And wine. Mr. Darcy certainly requires wine.”
Darcy glanced helplessly towards Mr. Bennet.
Mr. Bennet looked perfectly content.
“I have found it best to surrender gracefully.”
By the time luncheon was announced, Jane, Mary and Kitty had joined them, curiosity plainly written upon both their faces.
Mrs. Bennet was positively radiant.
“Girls, sit down. We have the happiest news imaginable.”
Jane looked immediately towards Darcy, then at her father.
“Has something happened?”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Bennet. “Mr. Darcy has asked for Elizabeth’s hand, and, for reasons best known to herself, she has accepted him.”
Jane gasped.
“She truly has accepted you?”
“Yes, Miss Bennet, she has. She most emphatically did.”
“Of course she did! Who in her right mind would refuse a gentleman with ten thousand a year?” Mrs. Bennet
“Mama!”
Darcy and Jane shared a look.
“Then I am very happy for both of you.” Jane smiled. “Mama, I am sure Lizzy accepted Mr. Darcy for other than his riches. Is that not so, Mother?”
“Yes, yes. You are right, of course. Mr. Darcy is most handsome – and tall.”
Darcy’s composure survived the declaration, though the faint colour rising at his temples betrayed its cost. He bowed gravely to Mrs. Bennet.
“You are very kind, madam.”
Kitty clasped her hands together. “Truly?”
“Quite truly,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “We shall have a wedding!”
Kitty beamed across the table at Darcy.
“Then… does this mean everything will truly be all right?”
“Miss Catherine, your family is going to Ramsgate for a new beginning. You all have a chance to start anew. But you all must understand one thing.”
Even Mrs. Bennet put down her fork and knife.
“What has happened is a private family sorrow, not a public spectacle. Miss Lydia made a youthful mistake; she is neither ruined in my eyes nor, I hope, in yours.”
He looked around the table.
“Society requires very little encouragement to gossip. I ask one thing of all of you. Let no one hear this story from your lips. If anyone asks, your family has gone to Ramsgate for the sea air. Nothing more.”
“No, no. You are completely right.”
“Are you planning to take any of the staff with you? For your information, there is a skeleton staff there already.”
“Oh, Hill must come with us. Mr. Hill is my husband’s valet as well.”
“You are asking if they can be trusted,” Mr. Bennet said.
Darcy nodded.
“We will leave the others here.”
Mr. Bennet, helping himself to another slice of ham, looked thoughtfully at Darcy. “My dear, I do not believe I have yet mentioned how our future son acquired those bruises.”
Darcy groaned.
Mrs. Bennet immediately looked alarmed. “Bruises?”
“He fought Wickham.”
Jane’s eyes widened.
Kitty nearly dropped her fork. “You fought Mr. Wickham?” she exclaimed.
Darcy coloured slightly. “The circumstances left me with very little choice.”
“No, no. That is not entirely accurate. He fought him for Lydia’s honour.” Mr. Bennet’s voice became unexpectedly serious. “And he won,” Mr. Bennet added with unmistakable satisfaction.
Kitty looked at Darcy with open admiration.
“With pistols?”
“Mr. Wickham did not deserve the honour of pistols. We settled the matter with our fists.”
“You actually knocked him down?”
Darcy coughed discreetly. “He found it… difficult to rise afterwards.”
Mr. Bennet took a leisurely sip of his claret.
“That is the modest version.”
Mrs. Bennet, for once, said nothing.
She looked at her husband, then back at Darcy. Only now did she truly notice the fading bruise beneath his eye.
Without a word, she rose from her chair.
Everyone watched her in astonishment.
She stepped before Darcy, cupped his face between her hands with surprising gentleness, and pressed a motherly kiss upon the discoloured skin beneath his eye.
Darcy was so completely taken aback that he forgot to move.
Then, quite unexpectedly, he smiled. In that instant, he understood exactly from whom Elizabeth had learnt that simple gesture of comfort.
She patted Darcy’s arm. “I have a son.”
Darcy stared at her for a moment.
Then, quite unexpectedly, his expression softened.
“I am honoured, Mrs. Bennet.”
She nodded as though the matter were settled.
Jane smiled gently. “I think Elizabeth would have been most anxious about your bruises.”
Darcy’s eyes met hers for a brief moment. “She was.”
***
After luncheon, before he departed, Darcy approached Jane.
“Miss Bennet… might I have a word?”
She looked at him with her usual gentle composure. “Certainly.”
Darcy did not waste time. “I owe you an apology.”
Jane looked surprised but listened without interruption as he explained the part he had played in persuading Bingley to leave Netherfield. He admitted his error without attempting to excuse it. He spoke, too, of Caroline and Mrs. Hurst’s concealment of her visit to London.
At that, Jane looked at him in genuine bewilderment.
“He didn’t know?”
Darcy shook his head.
Only then did Darcy realise that Elizabeth had never shared that part of his letter with her sister. A curious mixture of gratitude and embarrassment passed through him.
He finished the account briefly. When he had done, Jane remained thoughtful for several moments.
“So Mr. Bingley never knew I was in London.”
“No.”
“And he truly believed I did not care for him.”
“He did.”
Jane lowered her eyes. “What a terrible misunderstanding.”
“It was,” Darcy said quietly. “One for which I bear considerable responsibility.”
Jane looked up. “You were not malicious. You believed you were protecting your friend.”
“There is that, yet I had no right to judge your feelings. What did I truly know? I thought your sister was expecting my addresses at Hunsford.”
Jane suppressed a smile. “Yes, Elizabeth might have said you were somewhat in advance of yourself.” She shrugged. “You have already done more for my family than anyone could reasonably ask. I believe you have repaid it many times over.” She smiled sadly.
Darcy hesitated before continuing. “I have told Bingley everything. Not long ago. I thought…”
Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the handkerchief she held. “I see.”
“He was justifiably very angry with me. But he has a sister to think of…”
Jane looked at him quietly.
“You have a sister, too.”
He smiled faintly. “After Elizabeth and I marry, you will be my sister as well.” He hesitated. “I should not presume to decide your future. If Bingley comes… it shall only be because you wish it.”
Jane understood perfectly.
She met his eyes with quiet sincerity. “I never ceased wishing for his happiness.”
Darcy inclined his head. “It is enough.”