Page 47 of Moments of Truth

The May twilight lay soft upon the windows of Longbourn, turning the familiar parlour into a haze of dusky rose and lavender.

After chattering themselves hoarse over London finery and the latest gossip of the regiment, Lydia and Kitty had at last flitted upstairs; Mary had withdrawn to her books with an air of solemn satisfaction; Mrs. Bennet still moved about the drawing-room, alternately exclaiming over the good fortune of having both her eldest daughters restored to her and imagining aloud the triumphs that must soon follow.

Mr. Bennet, who had observed this domestic chorus with one of his half-amused, half-wearied smiles, presently rapped the poker against the grate.

“Jane, Lizzy—when your mother has done composing raptures upon the pianoforte of her imagination, I should be glad of a few minutes with my two eldest. Will you come into the library, please?”

Mrs. Bennet, too transported to object, fluttered her handkerchief at them. “Yes, yes, go, girls. Your father always has his whims of conversation. Only do not stay too long, for I have ten things more to ask you.”

The sisters followed their father into the small book-lined sanctuary that was his pride. He closed the door with deliberate care and motioned them to the chairs opposite his own. His eyes—keen under brows that masked more kindness than he liked to confess—regarded them steadily.

“My dear girls,” he began, in a tone at once lighter and more serious than they expected, “you have returned to me from London looking remarkably well; but I perceive there are matters of weight that lie beyond your mother’s notice.

I cannot be accused of curiosity, for I generally prefer ignorance; yet there are times when even a father must inquire.

Jane, Lizzy—let us speak plainly. I would gladly here the news from you. ”

Elizabeth’s heart beat quicker. She glanced at Jane, whose gentle countenance betrayed both anticipation and anxiety.

Mr. Bennet folded his hands. “First—Jane. Word has reached me from Gracechurch Street that a certain young man has remembered where his heart lies. Am I to understand that Mr. Bingley has renewed his attentions?”

Jane coloured, but spoke with composed candour. “Yes, Papa. He visited us at Gracechurch Street. His manner was all that was respectful and affectionate. I believe he means to continue his suit—with your approval.”

“Approval?” Mr. Bennet’s lips twitched. “I should think so. A man who knows his own mind at last is a treasure to be cherished. Well, child, I am glad. It eases me to see your serenity restored.”

“Now, Lizzy. Here the case is rather different. While you were in Kent, a certain gentleman—Mr. Darcy—called at Longbourn and requested my permission to pay his addresses to you.”

Elizabeth met her father’s eye steadily, though her colour deepened.

“As I wrote you in town,” continued Mr. Bennet, with a half-smile at her composure, “I gave him no encouragement beyond a father’s conditional reply—that if my daughter’s inclination should lean his way, I would not oppose it.

But I am bound to ask you, Lizzy: how does the matter stand with you?

For not long since you professed a dislike most decided. ”

Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly. “I did dislike him, and said so freely. But I was unjust—too hasty in my judgments. Since then I have learnt much that alters my opinion. He—he entrusted me with a letter, setting forth explanations I could not disregard. I will not say I love him, Papa; but neither can I be indifferent. What I wish—what I ask—is the liberty to know him better, and to judge him more fairly than I did before.”

Her father regarded her with an expression that mingled curiosity and affection.

“Lizzy, Lizzy—so you are at last caught? I never expected to see the day. But I like your honesty. We shall proceed with caution. No daughter of mine shall be hustled into matrimony by urgency, wealth, or even noble connexions. If he is the man you believe him, he will endure a little probation.”

Elizabeth’s eyes shone with gratitude. “Thank you, Papa.”

Mr. Bennet leaned back. “Very well. Here are my terms, which I shall lay before both gentlemen.

Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy may call—at decent morning hours, not skulking about at twilight like poachers.

There shall be proper chaperonage; no secret understandings; and, above all, no engagements pressed before the summer has fully passed. Courtship must be proved by constancy.

Jane inclined her head with a blush of relief. Elizabeth, though her heart trembled, felt steadied by her father’s justice.

At that moment Hill entered with a small salver. “A card, sir, and a note delivered not a minute ago. The messenger awaits.”

Mr. Bennet adjusted his spectacles. “Ha! Mr. Bingley requests the honour of calling tomorrow morning—and here, Mr. Darcy joins him in the same design. Very good. The stage is set, my dears.” He laid the papers aside with deliberate calm.

“We shall receive them together, by daylight and with our wits about us. That, I think, is the safest policy.”

Jane’s eyes met Elizabeth’s in silent amazement. Elizabeth pressed her sister’s hand. Tomorrow, then—tomorrow the new chapter would begin.

Mr. Bennet, observing them both, allowed himself a smile half whimsical, half tender. “Well, girls, we are embarked upon interesting times. Heaven grant they end in happiness—and not too much noise for your poor father’s nerves.”

Then he rose with a youthful suppleness, beckoned Hill to wait, and stepped into the hall. There he spoke in a voice unnecessarily loud—less from deafness than from a desire to be overheard by the young ladies in the library.

“Here is a coin for your service, my lad. You may tell the gentlemen that I gave you no written reply. Instead, you are to carry them my answer in one word — ‘yes.’ And now—God speed you on your way.”

***

The morning sun lay fresh upon Longbourn’s lawns, gilding the dew into silver and throwing a cheerful brilliance across the gravel sweep. When the sound of wheels drew near, Jane’s hand faltered upon her ribbon-work, her face suffused with a colour at once delicate and betraying.

Elizabeth, who sat beside her, longed to shield her from such exposure, but there was no time for comfort; the door opened, and the visitors were announced.

Mr. Bingley entered first, bright and smiling, so entirely himself that the room seemed to warm at once.

At his side came Mr. Darcy, whose bearing was graver, but whose courtesy was exact, his bow to Mrs. Bennet proper, his greeting to Jane respectful, and his glance at Elizabeth—brief, restrained, yet suffused with an intensity that stirred her very nerves.

Mrs. Bennet fluttered in high delight. “Mr. Bingley! Mr. Darcy! What an honour to see you both—what a charming morning for so welcome a call!” She insisted upon their seats with effusions that required Hill’s brisk assistance to bring more chairs.

The gentlemen complied with civility. Mr. Darcy accepted his place beside Elizabeth with measured composure, while Mr. Bingley, though perfectly polite to all, soon fixed his whole attention upon Jane.

His enquiries after her health, his recollections of Hertfordshire’s happy days, his admiration for the beauty of the summer—all carried in them a warmth that no one in the room could mistake.

Jane, gentle and modest, replied with her accustomed sweetness, her voice low, her countenance touched with a glow more eloquent than any words.

For some minutes the talk flowed easily—of gardens, of the fine weather, of books Mrs. Gardiner had lately sent from town. Darcy spoke little, but when appealed to, his remarks were judicious and well-timed, giving Elizabeth the impression of a man resolved to present himself with steady propriety.

Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, was all smiles and attentions, divided between the triumph of seeing Mr. Bingley at her hearth once more and the awe that Mr. Darcy’s grave presence inspired.

At length, however, Mr. Bingley’s cheer took on a new earnestness. He rose slightly from his chair and addressed Mr. Bennet, who sat observing all with his customary air of half-amused vigilance.

“Mr. Bennet,” said he, colouring but determined, “might I entreat the favour of a private word with you? —and with Miss Bennet, if she will allow it.”

The request, though deferentially spoken, was so plain in its object that Mrs. Bennet could scarce restrain an exclamation of triumph. Elizabeth pressed her lips together to conceal a smile, while Jane, blushing rosily, looked to her father with mingled fear and hope.

Mr. Bennet, whose brow arched in ironic comprehension, rose with deliberate leisure. “Very well, Mr. Bingley,” he said. “If my daughter has no objection, we will repair to the library. Hill, see that no one disturbs us.”

Darcy, at this, inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging both the justice of Bingley’s precedence and the necessity of patience.

Elizabeth felt the tremor of anticipation run through her, yet she schooled her countenance to composure as Jane, trembling, accepted her father’s arm and followed Bingley from the room.

The little library at Longbourn, though crowded with papers and volumes, had long served Mr. Bennet as his place of retreat; yet never had it been the stage of so momentous an interview. Mr. Bennet seated himself in his accustomed chair, gesturing for Jane and Bingley to take the sofa opposite.

“Well, young man,” he began with a dry smile, “you have sought a private audience. Let us dispense, then, with all but the plain truth. You have return to Nethefield and your decision argues something more than neighbourly civility. Am I to suppose that your attachment to my eldest daughter has revived?”

Jane’s eyes dropped at once to her clasped hands; her blush spoke all her delicacy could not utter.