CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Terms of Happiness
Darcy's solicitor arrived with a settlement draft thick enough to stun a pheasant.
Sir Thomas read every page. Elizabeth read most of them. Lady Bennet read the figure assigned for pin money and declared the document excellent.
"Five hundred a year for gloves," Lydia whispered to Kitty.
"It is not only gloves."
"What else does a married woman buy?"
Miss Harwood began another lesson before the question reached Lady Bennet.
Darcy settled ten thousand pounds upon Elizabeth for her sole use, secured a jointure of two thousand a year, and provided for any daughters as generously as sons not inheriting Pemberley. Elizabeth's own ten-thousand-pound portion would remain under trustees she selected.
"I do not require your fortune," Darcy told Sir Thomas in the library.
"Elizabeth requires independence whether you require her fortune or not."
"Agreed."
Sir Thomas looked almost disappointed by the absence of battle.
Elizabeth chose Mr Gardiner and Colonel Fitzwilliam as trustees.
She reserved part of the income to assist Mary's music publication, Kitty's drawing instruction, and Lydia's eventual season—not because her sisters lacked provision, but because she wanted the freedom to give without requesting household money.
Darcy read the clause. "You expect them to ask you rather than your father?"
"I expect Lydia to spend her first quarter's allowance in six weeks and approach everyone in order of weakness."
"Where do I rank?"
"Below Bingley and above Papa."
"Sir Thomas is less susceptible?"
"Papa will make her present an account. You may be distracted by a story."
"Then you must protect me."
Elizabeth smiled. "I shall let you learn."
They discussed Pemberley more seriously during walks. Darcy described the tenants, the school, the dower house, household staff, winter responsibilities, and London season. He did not present established arrangements as immutable.
"Mrs Reynolds has managed the household since before my mother died," he said. "She will not resent a new mistress, but she deserves respect."
"I would be a fool not to seek her advice."
"You are not required to preserve every custom."
"Which do you dislike?"
Darcy considered. "My father received every tenant formally in the estate room. It preserved order, but some spoke more freely to the steward afterward. I have continued it because it was his method."
"Could there be both? Formal accounts and an open afternoon each month?"
"There could."
"Then we shall try and discover whether everyone avoids us in two settings instead of one."
He laughed.
Elizabeth also asked what he expected of a wife in London.
"To attend every dinner with my relations?"
"No."
"To entertain people I dislike?"
"Occasionally. I shall do the same."
"To produce an heir immediately?"
Darcy stopped walking. "I expect nothing of that nature as a debt. I hope for children. I do not marry you to obtain them."
The directness made her cheeks warm. "I hope for them too."
His hand closed over hers. "Then we may hope together and bear whatever comes together."
No one had spoken to Elizabeth of marriage with such honesty. Lady Bennet spoke of husbands, houses, and security. Married women whispered of confinement and duty. Darcy offered neither false ease nor demand.
"And Georgiana?" Elizabeth asked.
"She will remain with us until she chooses otherwise. I hope you will advise her, but I will not make you responsible for every happiness she lacks."
"I already love her."
"I know. That is different from obligation."
They had both learned distinctions.
One afternoon Darcy accompanied Sir Thomas across Netherfield's tenant farms. Elizabeth rode with them. At the Miller cottage, a woman brought out a baby with a rash. Sir Thomas listened, sent for Mr Jones, and asked after the older children by name.
On the road afterward, Darcy said, "The King gave you an estate in poor order."
"The Crown's agents collected income. They did not know the people."
"You do."
"Eventually. My first improvement was a new stable roof. Three tenant cottages leaked worse. Morris made me see it."
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. "A trusted correction."
"An embarrassing one," Sir Thomas said. "Those are usually trusted afterward."
They stopped on a rise where Longbourn appeared beyond the trees.
"You will be far from them," Darcy said quietly to Elizabeth as Sir Thomas rode ahead.
"Three days is not exile."
"No. But your mother feels it."
"So do I."
Darcy drew his horse closer. "We may spend part of each year at Netherfield if your parents wish it. There is also no reason they cannot remain at Pemberley for long visits."
"Mama may rearrange your drawing room."
"Our drawing room."
Elizabeth smiled at the correction.
"Then we shall protect the furniture together."
* * *
The Hursts and Caroline came down from London the previous afternoon and took rooms at Longbourn. Their carriage, luggage, and Mr Hurst's insistence upon a particular port made their arrival impossible to overlook.
Jane married Charles Bingley on a bright October morning beneath a sky so blue Lady Bennet claimed to have ordered it.
Longbourn woke before dawn. Though the ceremony would be at the Meryton church, Jane insisted upon dressing in her childhood bedroom. She wanted to descend the familiar staircase one last time as Miss Bennet.
Elizabeth fastened the row of small pearls at Jane's throat. Mary arranged the veil. Kitty held pins between her lips until Miss Harwood objected. Lydia moved from window to door and back again, reporting every carriage.
"Mr Bingley has arrived. He nearly fell on the church steps."
"He did not," Kitty said.
"He stumbled inwardly."
Jane sat before the mirror, serene only at first glance. Her fingers gripped the edge of the dressing table.
Elizabeth knelt beside her. "Are you frightened?"
"Yes. Not of Charles. Of the size of forever."
"You need not live it this morning. Only the first day."
Jane looked at her reflection. "When did you become wise?"
"I am repeating Papa."
Mary adjusted one fold of the veil. "And tomorrow you live the second day."
"There," Lydia said. "Forever is already nearly finished."
Their laughter eased the room.
Lady Bennet entered in lavender satin and stopped. For all her speeches about rich husbands, fine houses, and daughters well married, she had not prepared for the sight of Jane in white.
"Oh," she said.
Jane rose. "Mama?"
Lady Bennet crossed the room and cupped her eldest daughter's face. "You were such a beautiful baby. Everyone said so, even Mrs Long, whose own niece was born the same week. I thought if I could secure you every happiness, nothing could touch you."
Jane's eyes filled. "You gave me happiness before I knew to ask."
Lady Bennet embraced her carefully to preserve the veil and unsuccessfully to preserve her composure.
Sir Thomas waited at the foot of the stairs.
Jane descended on his arm. At the final step, he looked at her and seemed to see every age at once.
"I was not ready when you were born," he said quietly. "You deserved a father from the beginning."
"I had you when I needed you."
"That is generous."
"It is true."
Outside, Darcy stood beside Bingley at the church. Bingley had indeed nearly stumbled, though not where Lydia observed. His hands shook when Darcy straightened his cravat for the third time.
"What if she changes her mind?"
"She will not."
"How can you know?"
Darcy looked down the aisle where guests settled. "Because Miss Bennet does not confuse calmness with uncertainty. You should have learned that."
Bingley exhaled. "You are a comforting friend."
"I am improving."
When Jane entered, Bingley's fear vanished. He looked at her with open wonder, and she smiled in answer—no reserve, no ambiguity, nothing left for another person to interpret.
They spoke their vows clearly.
Caroline sat beside Mrs Hurst. She was pale but composed. When Bingley placed the ring on Jane's finger, Caroline lowered her eyes. At the church door she kissed her new sister's cheek and called her Jane without effort.
The wedding breakfast filled Longbourn. Lady Bennet's sixty guests became eighty-three. The western roof held. Lydia was prevented from making a speech only because Sir Thomas promised she might offer a toast at home that evening.
Mary played a composition written for the couple. It began softly, developed into a bright interwoven melody, and ended with two themes returning together. No one spoke for several seconds after the final note.
Then Bingley applauded with such enthusiasm everyone followed.
Mary rose, blushing. Georgiana embraced her. A London publisher who attended as Lady Matlock's guest asked whether the piece had been printed.
"No," Mary said.
"It should be."
Elizabeth saw confidence enter her sister not as sudden transformation but a door opening.
Kitty presented Jane with a drawing of Longbourn beneath spring trees. Lydia gave Bingley a list entitled Rules for Marrying a Bennet, including: never conceal letters, always invite sisters, and do not permit doves indoors.
"The final rule is for you," Bingley said.
"Experience makes law."
Late in the afternoon, Jane changed into a traveling dress. She and Bingley would spend a fortnight at the seaside before returning to Longbourn.
At the carriage, Lady Bennet cried openly. Sir Thomas held her. The sisters embraced Jane in a cluster of ribbons, gloves, and contradictory advice.
Darcy stood slightly apart until Bingley approached him.
"Next time it is you."
"I am aware."
"Terrified?"
Darcy looked toward Elizabeth. She stood beneath the portico with sunlight on her hair, laughing through tears as Jane waved from the carriage.
"Not of marrying her."
"Of what, then?"
"Of deserving the trust after it is given."
Bingley followed his gaze. "Perhaps none of us deserves it in advance."
Darcy smiled. "You have become wise."
"Jane explained it."
The carriage rolled away. Elizabeth came to Darcy and slipped her hand through his arm.
"She is gone."
"She will return."
"I know."
He covered her hand. Together they followed the family back into Longbourn, where one daughter's new life had begun and another's waited close behind.
Caroline and the Hursts remained at Longbourn for the night after the wedding. They returned to London the following afternoon, so the house would be quiet for Jane and Bingley after the newlyweds' seaside journey.