The Road to Longbourn
The butler Murrey opened the door before they reached it. Mrs Bennet stood in the hall behind him. Her gaze moved from Elizabeth’s hand upon Fitzwilliam’s arm to his face, then returned to Elizabeth.
“Well?” she demanded.
Elizabeth looked at Fitzwilliam. He had faced Wickham with a pistol and Sir John Fenwick with a notebook. Neither had prepared him for Mrs Bennet.
“Mama,” Elizabeth said, “Mr Darcy has asked me to marry him.”
Mrs Bennet sat down upon the nearest chair. For three full seconds, Longbourn was silent.
Then she screamed.
“Mr Bennet!” Mrs Bennet was on her feet again, the three seconds of silence entirely spent.
“Mr Bennet, come out at once, you will never believe it. Oh, Lizzy! Mr Darcy! Ten thousand a year, I am sure, if it is a penny, and such a house, and carriages. Oh, I knew it. I always said, did I not always say…”
“You said,” Elizabeth observed, “that he was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and that you hoped never to see him at Longbourn again.”
“I said no such thing.” Mrs Bennet was already moving through the hall. “Kitty! Mary! Where has everyone gone? The Bingleys are coming to dine, and now this. Oh, it is too much. It is everything at once. Hill! Hill!”
Fitzwilliam remained in the doorway, looking more alarmed than he had when they entered the wood.
“I did tell you,” Elizabeth said.
“You did not tell me it would be audible in the next county.”
“I assumed you would deduce it.”
Mr Bennet appeared at the door of his library. He surveyed his wife, then turned to Elizabeth.
“Lizzy. Come here a moment.”
Elizabeth followed him into the library. Mr Bennet closed the door upon Mrs Bennet’s exclamations.
“Am I to congratulate you?”
“If you wish.”
“That was not my question.”
Elizabeth met his gaze. “I am very happy.”
“And certain?”
“Entirely.”
“Send Mr Darcy to me. I suppose he means to ask my consent after arranging everything else.”
“He has been delayed.”
“So I understand. Your mother has explained almost nothing at considerable length.”
Elizabeth turned towards the door.
“Lizzy.”
She looked back.
“I had hoped, if you ever married, it would be to a man you could respect.”
“I do.”
“And love?”
“Yes.”
Mr Bennet nodded. “Then send him in.”
Fitzwilliam was waiting where she had left him.
“My father wishes to speak with you.”
“And you?”
“I have already given him my answer.”
Fitzwilliam took her hand briefly, then went into the library and closed the door behind him.
Elizabeth had scarcely turned before Mrs Bennet seized both her hands.
“Why did you never tell me? How long has this been settled? When will you marry? Has he spoken of Pemberley? Ten thousand a year, Lizzy!”
“He arrived less than an hour ago, Mama.”
“That is no answer at all.”
Kitty appeared at the top of the stairs. “What has happened?”
“Your sister is to marry Mr Darcy!”
Kitty screamed almost as loudly as her mother. Behind them, the library door remained firmly closed.
The Bingleys’ carriage was almost at the door before Mrs Bennet remembered dinner. The recollection struck her in the middle of an observation concerning the probable number of Mr Darcy’s carriages. Her joy gave way to horror, and her horror to command.
“The Bingleys! Dinner! And Mr Darcy is to stay. He must stay. Hill! One more for dinner, Hill, and not just anyone. It is Mr Darcy. The fish will never do. We must have, oh, what must we have?”
“The fish will do perfectly, Mama.”
“The fish will not do. It is entirely adequate for the Bingleys and entirely inadequate for ten thousand a year.” Mrs Bennet was already propelling Kitty towards the stairs. “Go up, all of you. Lizzy, you cannot come to table in that. You have been walking about the countryside, and you look it.”
“That is comforting.”
“You will wear the good pink muslin, and you will do something with your hair, which has also been walking about the countryside.” Mrs Bennet paused at the foot of the stairs, seized by a fresh anxiety. “The library. Your father has had Mr Darcy this half-hour. What can they be saying?”
“I imagine my father is enjoying himself.”
“At a time like this!”
“It is precisely the time he would choose,” Elizabeth said, and went upstairs before her mother could organise her further.
When Elizabeth returned, the Bingleys had arrived and Fitzwilliam had emerged from the library. He stood beside her father, and the look he gave her told her everything before Mr Bennet spoke.
“I have given my consent,” he said. “Your mother may now resume spending Mr Darcy’s income.”
Mrs Bennet required no encouragement.
Jane crossed the room and took Elizabeth’s hands. Her eyes moved between them once, then filled with tears.
“Oh, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth embraced her.
Behind them, Charles struck Fitzwilliam upon the shoulder with such enthusiasm that Mrs Bennet stopped speaking.
“I knew you would manage it,” he said.
Fitzwilliam looked at him. “I was unaware that you had contributed.”
“I provided Hertfordshire.”
Dinner at Longbourn that evening was the happiest Elizabeth could remember.
She had sat at that table through a great many dinners: dinners with Mr Collins bowing over the soup, dinners with her mother lamenting the entail, dinners during the awful autumn after the Netherfield ball, when she had carried secrets she could share with no one and eaten almost nothing.
She had learned there how to remain in a room while her thoughts were elsewhere.
She was entirely present now.
The candles burned steadily. Jane sat beside her, Fitzwilliam across from her, and Charles spoke at length to anyone who would listen.
Mrs Bennet was happier than Elizabeth had ever seen her.
Her father watched them over the rim of his glass and said very little.
The fish, which had caused Mrs Bennet such anguish, was eaten without anyone remarking upon its inadequacy.
The conversation was ordinary and loud and full of interruptions. Nobody watched the door. Nobody weighed every word. Nobody was in danger.
It was, Elizabeth thought, the most extraordinary thing in the world to sit at a table and be in no danger at all.
Fitzwilliam caught her eye across the table. His face softened.
“Lizzy,” Jane said quietly beneath the noise of Charles describing something to Mr Bennet with great animation. “You look happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Truly?”
Elizabeth pressed her hand beneath the cloth. “Truly. It is over.”
Jane’s eyes filled.
“Then tonight is enough,” she said.
Mary turned to Fitzwilliam.
“Lizzy told us of Mr Wickham’s death. I was very sorry to hear of it. It must have been dreadful for your sister and her children, and a great shock to the whole family.”
“Thank you,” Fitzwilliam said. “It has been a difficult fortnight.”
Mary hesitated. “Then I suppose the engagement cannot yet be announced.”
Mrs Bennet stopped with her glass halfway to her lips.
“Cannot be announced? We shall need to speak to the rector tomorrow…”
“Mama,” Elizabeth said.
“And your aunt Philips must be told at once.”
“She cannot be told at once,” Fitzwilliam said.
Mrs Bennet stared at him. “Mr Darcy?”
“I have been in mourning for only a fortnight. Until the proper period has passed, I should prefer the engagement to remain within this house and Netherfield. The Gardiners, of course, may be told.”
“Within this house?” Mrs Bennet repeated.
“For the present.”
“Then I may tell my sister.”
“No, Mama,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs Bennet looked wounded. “Your own aunt?”
“Aunt Philips will forgive us when the engagement is announced.”
Mr Bennet lifted his glass. “She may even forgive us before she has finished telling Meryton that she knew it all along.”
“But Lady Lucas cannot be told?”
“Not yet.”
Mrs Bennet placed both hands upon the table. “I am expected to know that my daughter is engaged to Mr Darcy of Pemberley and say nothing?”
“For a few weeks,” Fitzwilliam said.
“A few weeks!”
“My dear,” Mr Bennet said, “at last you are presented with a genuine trial.”
“Then we may use the time to prepare,” Jane said. “Lizzy must decide what she wishes to wear, and there will be the breakfast, the flowers and everything required for the journey afterwards.”
Mrs Bennet turned towards her. “June. It must be June. We shall order the lace this week.”
“Privately,” Elizabeth reminded her.
“Of course privately. Your aunt Gardiner may assist us, and Hill must begin considering the breakfast, and Kitty, Lydia and Mary will require new gowns.”
“The banns cannot be called until the engagement is announced,” Mary said.
Mrs Bennet drew herself up. “I understand the distinction perfectly. We shall arrange everything and tell no one.”
Mr Bennet looked into his glass. “A sentence never before spoken at Longbourn.”
Jane intervened before her mother could answer. “We should begin with a list.”
That restored Mrs Bennet at once. Within moments she was debating lace, flowers and whether June roses could be trusted, while the engagement remained, at least officially, a secret.
Lydia, who had been listening with increasing impatience, put down her fork.
“But everyone will know when Mr Darcy comes to Longbourn.”
“They may suspect,” Mary said. “That is different from being told.”
“And I cannot tell Harriet Forster?”
“No,” Elizabeth said.
“Not even that Lizzy is to marry the richest man in Derbyshire?”
“Especially not that.”
Lydia sighed. “Then I shall require a new gown. If I am expected to keep such a secret, I cannot also be expected to wear the white muslin again.”
When the Bingleys’ carriage was brought round, Fitzwilliam prepared to leave with them. Elizabeth followed the party to the front steps.
Charles went ahead to inspect some imagined difficulty with the horses, while Jane remained inside beneath renewed instructions from Mrs Bennet. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam stood a little apart from the others.
“A few weeks,” she said.
“I have waited longer.”
“So have I.”
He took her hand. “I shall call tomorrow.”
“My mother will have prepared three wedding breakfasts by then.”
“Only three?”
Elizabeth smiled. Behind them, Longbourn remained loud with plans no one was permitted to disclose.
“This is a very poorly kept secret,” he said.
“And yet, for tonight, it is ours.”
Charles called to him from the carriage. Fitzwilliam released her hand and joined him. Elizabeth remained upon the steps until the carriage turned towards Netherfield.