Page 19 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MARRY, MARRY—QUITE CONTRARY
“ F or the love of all that is holy, Lizzy…either marry him or do not marry him, but cease this waffling! You have left it rather late, but never fear. I shall send Andrew to the church door to make your excuses.”
It had been three weeks since Elizabeth had agreed to wed a man so opposite her prior inclinations.
Perhaps it was unsurprising that on the very day that vows were to be exchanged, a surfeit of panic filled her breast until she could do naught but pace her parlour.
Lydia watched and advised, with exaggerated patience, from her seat upon the settee.
“It is not so as easy as that,” Elizabeth replied. “I have knowledge— not from Mr Wickham—of Mr Darcy’s past behaviour that would cause anyone concern. Deep concern.”
“How far in the past?”
“During his first visit to Netherfield.”
“What, six, seven years ago?” Lydia shrugged.
“We were all different people then. A steady man with enough wealth to solve all your financial woes and all your worries for the twins—the same one who might recently have prevented total catastrophe and their deaths —and who, by the way, happens to be devilishly handsome, has asked you to meet him this morning at the church. It does not seem overly difficult to me.”
“It would not, to you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You eloped with the first handsome man to ask you.”
“And that turned out so poorly.”
Elizabeth stopped pacing and faced her sister. “Luckily, it did not. Can you tell me that you carefully examined Andrew Philips for his steadiness of character, his ability to provide for you, and his noteworthy intellect before you ran off with him?”
Lydia gave her a sulky look. “I did learn some things from my untimely, thwarted romance with the notorious Mr Wickham! I knew Andrew was better than he.”
“Better than a pox-ridden inebriate who behaved salaciously with young girls? Your standards had indeed improved.”
Elizabeth knew she was at her sarcastic worst, and expected Lydia to respond in kind; her younger sister, however, only studied her thoughtfully.
“Do you know what I think?” she asked, after several moments of apparent contemplation.
“I am sure you will tell me.”
“I think that if an Andrew Philips suddenly appeared in your life—a man who was everything you never knew you always wanted—but he was outside of the ordinary, hidebound rules of society, you would never look at him twice. You haven’t the courage.
The problem with you, Lizzy, is that you have always expected society’s rules to protect you—the ones that tell you who a gentleman is and who he is not, who is appropriate, and who isn’t. ”
Elizabeth thought of Charlotte, pregnant and alone, and a chill went down her spine. “The rules do protect—it is foolish to hurl yourself against them and expect never to be broken.”
Lydia sighed. “Yes, you are right about that. But even though Bingley passed most every test that the rules provided, he was a wicked toad. Rules are important, but so are judgment and instinct. Can you imagine Bingley spending three days looking for his own children, never giving up, not even when every other searcher had already found his bed? I cannot. Mr Darcy is clearly no Charles Bingley.”
Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. “I know, I know. I would not have agreed to marry him if I could not see the good in him. It is not just me who will be hurt, though, if I am wrong. Papa still blames him for bringing Bingley into our lives, and says I am a fool.”
“Fortunately, you are of age and can make up your own mind without waiting for our papa to change his. Yes, I was utterly foolish to be deceived by Mr Wickham’s charm and address—shallow, stupid, senseless.
But when he left me without a word, at least I learnt something from the experience.
Andrew was vastly different from him, in every possible way.
Papa would never have given his permission for us to wed, and so I took the decision out of his hands.
And do you know what? I was right, and he was wrong. Admit it.”
Elizabeth had to smile. “Yes, yes, you have a point.”
“Thank you. I will make a couple more of them. Firstly, Andrew’s friend has conducted his investigation, and you have read his report.
Everything in it points to Mr Darcy’s exemplary character.
His tenants and servants adore him. He appears to take a rather ungentlemanly interest in trade, but that only makes him more attractive, to my mind. ”
“That is all true. It was a great comfort to read it, I can admit.”
“Secondly, Mr Darcy cut Bingley out of his life; it was nothing to do with his marriage to Jane or any connexion to the Bennets, he said, and you claim to have believed him. Can we not assume that he might have recognised Bingley to be a wicked toad?”
It was a new thought; he and Bingley had evidently shared a licentious period, when they were both bachelors.
It did not follow that he approved of Bingley’s continuation of such a life, if he knew of it, after his marriage vows were spoken.
Mr Darcy had promised her he would be faithful, even if she did not permit him…
the favour of her company. It was the oddest, most astonishing part of his proposal.
Perhaps, even, the tremendous price he had paid to redeem Charlotte’s future had convinced him to adopt a more… gentlemanly conduct and attitude?
She gave Lydia a somewhat rueful smile. “I think you are right. I am a dreadful coward.”
“I am always right,” Lydia said smugly. “And every bride is permitted a touch of cowardice on her wedding day. Now, do you understand what will happen upon your wedding night?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. There was not a chance that she would tell her worldly-wise sister that she had agreed to a marriage of convenience. “I know enough,” she lied.
Lydia looked at her with narrowed gaze. “Good. Then you will not mind if I tell you one or two little details that will make it all go easier for you.”
She almost told her younger sister she was not interested, but when Lydia began talking she clamped her mouth shut instead.
It was as well to learn something of the business.
Before long she felt her cheeks turn scarlet with embarrassment.
Lydia ignored this sign of an elder sister’s ignorance, and kept instructing.
“That sounds…awkward and impossible and slightly ridiculous,” Elizabeth admitted at last.
“It only sounds that way when speaking of it, not when taking part. Believe me, it is not only possible, but also exciting and pleasurable and…amusing.”
“Amusing?”
“Very. But remember, do not simply lie there like a starfish—participate! Oh, and look whose coach is coming up the road.”
Elizabeth glanced out the window, expecting to see Andrew Philips’s vehicle. Instead, it was the distinctive green of her father’s carriage.
“Papa?” she asked faintly. He had been angry at her for accepting the proposal of Bingley’s former cohort without even speaking to him, accusing her of consenting to the marriage in order to spite him for offering Cassandra to Mrs Plumpton.
She had believed—because he had most vehemently refused to participate—that he would not come.
“I told him not to be a silly fool and alienate his favourite child and her new husband. I think he wanted to be persuaded to go and regretted his outburst, but you know Papa—he never wants to admit when he has been wrongheaded. You, my dear, are equally stubborn and never would have tried to convince him otherwise.”
Elizabeth reached over and took Lydia’s hand. “Thank you, sister-mine.”
Lydia laughed. “You will not thank me when you learn that Mama has invited ‘just a few’ of our dearest neighbours to a breakfast after the ceremony. You will have a proper Longbourn send-off, yes you will.”
“Oh, must I? I am glad Mama has arisen from her sickbed, but?—”
“Yes, you apparently must. I told you eloping was a sensible option. Also, if Mama tries to take you aside today to explain anything at all of bedroom matters, refuse to listen and make yourself scarce. She will only horrify you. Now, pinch your cheeks so you do not look so pale, and let us go. I am certain that Tommy and Cassandra are driving our aunt and uncle Philips to distraction with their questions, and those two venerable elders are even now looking every moment towards the church doors, wondering where you are.”
Elizabeth glanced around the parlour. Already, it looked bare, even though most of the furniture was still in place—all the pieces she had been able to take from Netherfield, along with what had already been here, in all its faded shabbiness.
She would take none of it into her new life.
The sergeant and Mrs Sergeant had said their farewells earlier, plainly happy to be left once again to themselves.
The miniatures, the little homely touches she had added to the place, and the usual evidence of the presence of children, all had disappeared, along with their trunks, packed and already on their way to town.
She had not seen Mr Darcy since the day she had agreed to marry him, but he had written, and sent helpful, efficient servants to help with all the mundane details of the move; he had also written to Mr Palmer, arranging for the ceremony and the calling of the banns—she did not doubt that the entire village would be lurking around the church this morning, if not actually on the benches.
Presumably, he, too, was at the chapel even now, looking towards the doors for her arrival.
It seemed fantastic, almost like a dream. Obediently, she pinched her cheeks—not simply because of Lydia’s orders, but just in case it was not real, and she must simply…awaken.