Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning when they all gathered for breakfast, Elizabeth noted an odd sensation in herself as she watched Jane sitting in her usual place at the table.
She was still blind, still with some pockmarking around the face, but Elizabeth, for perhaps the first time, really saw what others proclaimed to see: her sister was yet again beautiful.
In contrast to her mother, she had always said that Jane was still beautiful and had no need for shame. She had said that from the very first and had always insisted upon it.
Yet, Elizabeth could only now feel a little shame towards herself, though she was not sure whether it was for the dishonesty in insisting upon Jane’s continued loveliness, when deep down she agreed with her mother, or for failing to see the truth, which was that Jane was lovely despite the pox scars and blind eyes.
That how she saw her own sister was strongly affected by knowing that Jane had captured the affections of a wealthy and handsome gentleman was not a thing about herself that Elizabeth was wholly comfortable with.
She liked to think of herself as such a keen judge of character, and she had not seen the flaws in herself.
Doctor, heal thyself, or some equally trite notion.
For her own part, Elizabeth found herself little able to eat at breakfast for a second day in a row.
It was very early, she knew, for such thoughts, but a little part of Elizabeth could not help but hope that she was at last increasing.
As much as her husband insisted that the time had been much too short since they had married for there to be any concern upon the subject of having children, a great part of Elizabeth really did see one of her foremost purposes in life was to produce a son for Darcy, especially since she loved him so much and wanted to make him happy.
Lord! She really had more of her mother’s nature in her own character than she liked to imagine.
That thought made Elizabeth laugh, which garnered enquiries from the others at the table.
Elizabeth replied, “I only just realised how much like my mother I can be at times.”
Darcy’s face was aghast at the thought. “You are not much like her.”
Jane though nodded. “Would it not be unnatural if the connection of blood, and many years of being raised by her, left no influence?”
Georgiana interjected, “At least I think I am nothing like my mama was.”
“You are at times,” Darcy said to her, laughing. “You certainly can be—you sometimes, when particularly determined or angry, have that same expression and way of speaking that both Mama and Lady Catherine would display.”
“No!”
“Oh yes. Of a certainty.” Darcy grinned at his sister. “I am the most fortunate one in this room, for I have always liked to notice the features of my father in myself.”
“You also can be like Mama,” Georgiana instantly replied.
Darcy shrugged. “It would, as Jane said, be unnatural if there were no points of similarity. But Elizabeth, what specifics did you base this likeness upon?”
She flushed. It was not the time for any such announcements. “I shall tell you this evening.”
“But I want to know,” Georgiana whined.
Jane smiled serenely.
She smiled a great deal during the morning.
There was a sort of air to Jane, one of expectant waiting.
Elizabeth did sit near her sister, and as she always had since Jane had become blind, kept herself in readiness to hand little objects to her, to fetch her water, to help lead her to the water closet, or to stir her tea for her.
It was a sort of melancholy sensation to be aware that she may soon give up this position—but really, she already had.
She had been at Pemberley for several months, and in all the conversations with Jane since, her sister had never expressed any sense of having been neglected without her there to ensure she was cared for.
“I missed you, Jane!” Elizabeth exclaimed suddenly as they were sitting alone in the drawing room later that morning. “So very much.”
Her sister looked towards her and flashed a sweet and warm smile. “Lizzy, I missed you as well. And even though I miss Longbourn, I am so happy to be here with you. You are happy?”
“Well, yes.”
“I only fretted—a great deal at first when you did not write so often as I expected in the first month that you were at Pemberley.”
“You did?” Elizabeth replied. “But I cannot be surprised—I had some difficulty at the time determining how I would live at Pemberley. I was committed to meeting every obligation. But as soon as Darcy understood my difficulties, he helped. I do so like having such an excellent husband.”
“You see, I had feared that you would never speak of him in such a way. But you are filled with happiness, and Mr. Darcy is clearly happy with you as well. It is in the tones of both your voices.”
Elizabeth blushed, and she was a little glad that Jane could not see her embarrassment at hearing this said. “Well, I told you all along that there was nothing to be concerned about.”
“Lizzy, there certainly was a great deal to be concerned about at the time of your marriage.”
It was impossible to resist laughing at Jane’s almost stiff matter-of-fact tone.
“There certainly was,” Elizabeth confessed.
“I can say with pleasure that matters have turned out wonderfully, that I am very glad to be married to Mr. Darcy, and that those concerns I had at the time I said my vows have proved to be wholly without foundation. I believe we are the happiest couple in the world.”
Darcy had entered the room with Mr. Bingley as they spoke, and the latter said in a cheerful voice, announcing himself to them all but especially Jane, “Mrs. Darcy, Miss Bennet—were you speaking about being the happiest couple, Mrs. Darcy?”
Jane sat up straighter and smiled widely at hearing Mr. Bingley’s voice.
“I was saying that I consider myself extremely happy in my marriage, yes,” Elizabeth replied, smiling at Darcy, who smiled broadly back at her.
“Well do not tell him”—Mr. Bingley gestured at Darcy—“that you consider yourself to be the happiest woman in the world. He once insisted to me that he did not want to be the happiest man in England. He thought only a lunatic could be the absolute happiest. He said some nonsense about hoping at best to be lastingly and rationally happy.”
Elizabeth laughed. That did sound very much like her husband.
“It is my place as his wife to defy him on occasion in such small matters, so I shall nevertheless consider myself to be the happiest woman in England, even if I must satisfy myself with my husband being merely lastingly and rationally happy.”
With his own smile, Darcy said, “there is nothing ‘mere’ about being lastingly and rationally happy. It means a very great deal. And it can be done with the complete possession of one’s faculties.
And what is more, one can fairly claim to be lastingly and rationally happy without surveying everyone in England to be certain that no one is happier. ”
“Ah,” Elizabeth replied, laughing. “If it is chiefly the matter of not wishing to claim any distinction that you are not wholly confident you deserve, then I shall pester you no more on the subject. I shall even reduce my own claim to being one of the happiest women in England, rather than the happiest.”
“An excellent compromise,” Darcy agreed. “And on similar grounds, I am willing to also confess myself to be one of the happiest men in England.”
“They talk an awful lot of nonsense,” Mr. Bingley said amiably to Jane. “Do they not?”
“They certainly do,” Jane agreed happily.
“What?” Elizabeth exclaimed to her sister.
“You would not wish me to dissimulate,” Jane replied with a laugh in her tone.
At this point, Emily ran into the drawing room, covered head to toe in a white dust of flour, still waving about a nearly empty bag from which a small white cloud appeared with every shake. Rose followed her exclaiming, “Not so much! Not so much!”
Emily then ran up to Darcy and wrapped her arms around him, leaving his breeches and the bottom of his coat covered in flour.
“Good Lord, Emily!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You even have it in your hair. You will need a bath immediately.”
Emily giggled and shouted, “No I won’t!” and took off again out of the door.
With only a slight nod of apology to Mr. Bingley and Jane, Elizabeth and Darcy hurried out after her, with Elizabeth idly wondering how long it would take the servants to clean the flour dust out of the drawing room rugs.
As soon as they had rounded the corner of the hall, Emily turned back to them and ran up to Darcy shouting, “Papa! Papa! I did it like you said!”
“And even more thoroughly,” Darcy replied, looking with a little distaste at the white which now covered his fine green coat, “than I had imagined.”
Elizabeth giggled. “You really did scheme with Emily on the matter?”
“Yes, so Aunt Jane can be alone with Uncle Bingley for a little while!” Emily enthused. “They like each other, don’t they?”
“I believe they do,” Elizabeth agreed. “And I believe that you do need a bath.”
“No,” Emily whined. “I don’t want a bath.”
“Have you seen yourself in a mirror?” Darcy suggested. “There is one in the room with the tub.”
Emily was of course too suspicious to be taken in by that, but they quickly found a mirror in the hall, and Emily giggled and exclaimed, “I do have flour in my hair! My hair is white! That’s so droll.”
“Exceedingly droll,” Darcy agreed.
“Excessively so,” Elizabeth added.
Emily giggled. “And Papa, your coat is white too. I got the flour on it. That’s so droll.”
“Droll is precisely the word for it,” Darcy agreed.
Elizabeth could not help it; she broke down into laughter at hearing Darcy speak in such a tone.
After a little further negotiation, Emily agreed that she would have a bath, so long as they would not make her bathe again that night, and they went upstairs together, Darcy going to his own room to remove the flour that Emily had wiped all over his clothes and hair.
Elizabeth half forgot Jane and Mr. Bingley in the hurry of helping Rose wash Emily’s hair, and then with the pleasant task of brushing it.
More than half an hour had passed when Elizabeth recalled to herself that she really should not leave her sister alone with Mr. Bingley for too long, and she left Emily to finish being dressed by Rose and hurried to the drawing room.
Opening the door without properly knocking, she startled Mr. Bingley and Jane, who were seated next to each other on the sofa kissing.
The two jumped apart.
Elizabeth was rather too embarrassed to say anything, but then Mr. Bingley stood and said, “Mrs. Darcy, I must ask you to be the first to congratulate us.”
“Oh, Lizzy! Is it you?” Jane exclaimed, also standing up and hurrying towards her. “I am so happy!”
Elizabeth caught her by the shoulders. “Are you two to marry?” she asked. “I am overjoyed for you both!”
“Yes, and I will ask you to praise us for being the happiest couple in England.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I can only be confident that the two of you will be amongst the happiest.” She embraced Jane tightly. “I am so, so, so delighted for you.”
Jane squeezed her back tightly. “I am delighted too.”
“And Mr. Bingley, you must call me Elizabeth or Lizzy. No more of this Mrs. Darcy—you are to be my brother. I always wanted a brother. I imagine you will tease me and pull my hair.”
“At four-and-twenty, I am perhaps a little old for such antics, but I confess to having pulled both Louisa’s and Caroline’s hair rather more frequently than I ought, and to a rather older age than I should.”
Elizabeth giggled. “Well, even if you do not pull my hair, I shall be happy to call you brother.”
Darcy entered too, his hair still damp. He wore a fresh coat that fitted elegantly around him. He stuck out his hand to Bingley, “I see that your application was a success.”
“Yes, but your advice was useless—words are hardly the correct way to begin such a matter. It only became easy when I took Jane’s hand.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And Mr. Darcy had been so sure that the advice he had vouchsafed could not prove harmful.”
Jane also laughed.
And then Bingley said, “And Darcy, I have just thought—we are to be brothers too! I shall begin to tease you as a result, even if you are still so much taller than me.”
Darcy grinned and looked at Elizabeth. “So long as you admit that we are a happier couple than you, you may say anything you wish.”
“No! I shall not,” Bingley said. “I am the happiest man in England—Janey, I really am. And you are happier than Lizzy.”
Before Jane stopped laughing, Emily ran into the room giggling, and seeing them all together she then jumped up and down. “Did Mr. Bingley ask Aunt Jane to marry him?”
“I did,” Bingley said.
“Hurrah! I tossed the flour around to make Papa and Mama Lizzy leave the room!”
“Emily!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Do not tell them that.”
“Why not?”
Jane was bright red now, while Bingley grinned at Emily and said to her, “Miss Darcy, I am greatly in your debt for your aid in this matter.”
Emily turned to Darcy. “Papa, can I tear another sack of flour apart and toss it everywhere?”
“No.”
“Oh, but pleeease.”