Page 48

TO TEACH THE ADMIRING MULTITUDES

V ery few people were privy to the news of the Master of Pemberley’s engagement.

After such a torrid time, he and Elizabeth preferred to keep the news to themselves for as long as possible, and staying in Kent seemed the easiest way of achieving it.

Elizabeth eschewed informing even her own relatives at first. She was obliged to tell Mrs Collins in order to explain her almost constant absence from the parsonage, and for the sake of harmony whilst he was under her roof, Darcy informed Lady Catherine.

Anne guessed; Mr Collins did not; and for two weeks, the rest of the world was excluded from their blissful bubble.

Darcy had never known happiness like it.

Come rain or shine, they passed every day together, walking in the park, sometimes riding in Anne’s curricle, or occasionally sheltering in one of Rosings’ follies.

They picnicked, they read, they laughed, they learnt, and they fell more in love by the hour.

Never before had he talked so much, nor ever wished to, but learning to truly know Elizabeth brought him a compelling kind of contentment of which he would never tire.

They shared confessions of admiration, admissions of folly, memories of the past, dreams of the future; she made him laugh more than he thought he had ever laughed in his life; she laughed at him more than he liked and at herself more than she deserved, encouraging him to join in—though he was more inclined to kiss her than laugh at her whenever she did anything even vaguely delightful.

Free from the rules and restraints of polite society, and without any of the restrictions placed on more traditionally engaged couples, there were times when Darcy nevertheless thought a chaperon might have been a good idea.

Elizabeth, to his eternal delight, was no less receptive to his attentions than she had been in the dreams that had plagued him for the duration of their acquaintance.

It aided him delectably in his object of learning to know her, but it also gave him something of a dilemma: little though he wished to curtail their halcyon interlude, he was in danger of losing his mind if they were not soon wed.

In the end, it was his aunt who pressed the matter, one evening shortly after Easter, when the Collinses and Elizabeth were dining at Rosings.

“Darcy, the Duchess of Gracemont’s ball is in just over a week, and you have made no arrangements to return to town.”

“That is because we shall not be attending the duchess’s ball,” Darcy replied.

Lady Catherine bristled. “Of course you must go. Your reputation—and by extension, this family’s—has been sorely tested of late. Imagine the damage it would do to refuse such an invitation.”

“Judging by recent events, I daresay people will make of it whatever they choose whether or not we attend.”

“Do not be a fool, Nephew. You are about to embark on an exceedingly imprudent marriage. The duchess’s approbation would guarantee that your alliance would be recognised by everyone.”

“That is precisely why we shall not be going. We neither of us have anything to prove.”

“Do you not think it might be rather fun?”

Darcy looked at Elizabeth incredulously. “Fun?”

She laughed lightly and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You are perfectly right, of course, we have nothing to prove. But we have endured an inordinate amount of speculation. It might be amusing to turn the tables.”

“What do you mean?” he asked dubiously.

“Well, they want us to admit to being a couple. Let us go, as a couple. A married one.”

Mr Collins promptly spat wine everywhere, then descended into a pantomime of apologies and admonishments.

“Your ladyship, I apologise profusely! But Cousin Elizabeth, you forget yourself! Forgive me—unpardonable disarray. Mr Darcy, pray, forgive my cousin. She must be ill—she cannot know what she is saying. Yes, there, look, it is dripping off the side. A thousand apologies?—”

Darcy turned to Elizabeth and said quietly, “Are you in earnest?”

She smiled shyly. “It is only an idea. But…I am not averse to it.”

“I would have to go to London tomorrow to procure a licence.”

“We shall have to go at some point. We cannot stay here forever.”

“We would have to wait a week from its issue before we could marry. We would be cutting it fine to wed before the ball.” He regretted trying to be practical when she looked away, obviously disheartened.

“It was only a suggestion,” she whispered. “And probably a daft one.”

“On the contrary, I think it is the most sensible thing you have ever said. And if you think I am going to let you back out of it now, you are sorely mistaken.”

Darcy could not later remember how the matter of Mr Collins’s contretemps was resolved. His mind had, from that moment on, been wholly engaged in committing to memory Elizabeth’s beatific smile and keeping his own anticipation for his now imminent wedding under some semblance of regulation.

They still told no one who did not absolutely need to know.

It had become something of a habit to conceal their personal affairs from the world, and neither was in any haste to break the pattern—though it was very much a tacit agreement.

Elizabeth did not ask him to conceal it from anyone, and he certainly would never demand it of her.

Nevertheless, the pleasure he derived from knowing she trusted him alone with all her greatest secrets would never diminish.

Of less pleasure to him was that, by the time everything was organised, the earliest they were able to wed was the day of the ball itself.

Elizabeth suggested postponing the service by a few days, but he would not hear of it.

As it was, their return to London had brought a decidedly unpleasant hiatus to their courting.

They went from spending almost every daylight hour together to the span of one morning call per day in each other’s company as Elizabeth was drawn into hectic preparations for the wedding, the ball, and her new life.

There was no uninhibited laughter, no leisurely walks, and absolutely no kissing.

It was the longest week of Darcy’s life.

At long last, the day arrived that Darcy made Elizabeth Bennet his wife.

With Georgiana, Fitzwilliam, Jane, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner as their witnesses, he pledged his world to her.

It was one of the rare occasions that he consciously missed his parents.

He wished they could have known her—known how wrong they were to teach him those principles which almost lost her to him; known how perfect she was for him, for Georgiana, for Pemberley; known how transcendently happy she had made him.

Elizabeth’s uncle gave her away. She had informed none of her Hertfordshire relations of her nuptials, her mother and father included, and after recent events, neither she nor Darcy considered it an injustice.

They would learn of it soon enough, but their knowing would not have changed anything, for there was no danger that the marriage would be contested, and Mr Gardiner saw to all the necessary legalities.

Besides, the attendance of any one of them at the wedding would have been prohibitive to the small, discreet service Elizabeth and he desired.

Which was why he had not informed Cunningham either.

The wily devil still found out. When their party arrived back at Berkeley Square for a celebratory breakfast, he was waiting in the entrance hall. He came hastily to his feet when they entered.

“Pray, tell me, Darcy, why my poxy brother was invited to your wedding but not me? It was I who convinced you marry her, after all!”

“I do apologise for my brother,” Fitzwilliam said to the others. “He is always cantankerous at this time of day.”

“I am afraid you cannot have the credit for that, Cunningham,” Darcy said as he calmly helped Elizabeth from her travelling cloak and handed it to Bellamy.

“That honour has already been claimed by our aunt—and about half the ton . And I did not tell you because I did not want the whole world to find out.”

“Why not? Miss Elizabeth is?—”

“Mrs Darcy now,” Elizabeth interrupted, smiling prettily.

Cunningham started as though only then realising anyone else was there.

“Yes—yes I do apologise.” He kissed her hand and bowed over it.

“You look very well, my dear. Welcome to the family.” He cut a quick bow to the others, then returned to haranguing Darcy.

“And given that she is such a welcome addition, I ask you again why you wish to keep her a secret?”

“It is no secret, Cunningham. It is simply nobody else’s business.”

“Come, Darcy! I have money on this!”

Elizabeth placed a mollifying hand on Cunningham’s forearm. “It might serve you well to keep it quiet, my lord, for your money would be better placed on a marriage that only you know about than an engagement that everybody suspects. Would you not agree?”

His eyes widened. “Wise words, oh cousin of mine.”

“Just hold your tongue, Cunningham,” Darcy said in a low voice. “This has been ghastly for both of us. We shall tell people when we are good and ready, and not before.”

“Have it your way. I shall not tell anyone. Else.”

Darcy gritted his teeth. “Who have you told?”

“Oh, only my father. He, uh…he is waiting on you in your saloon.”

Darcy was entirely unsurprised that Elizabeth had Lord Matlock wrapped around her little finger within about ten minutes of meeting him.

His uncle was something of a recluse these days, his wardrobe and opinions both stuck somewhere in the last century.

That he had ventured out of his house to meet her was a condescension for which Darcy was exceedingly grateful—and for which Lord Matlock himself was thoroughly rewarded by Elizabeth’s indefatigable charm.