Page 24 of Reckless, Headstrong Girl (Pride and Prejudice Variations #5)
THE HERTFORD ROAD TO LONDON
D espite Elizabeth’s teasing remarks about impropriety and her desire to avoid it, an impropriety did occur. Mr Bingley had decided he, too, must go to London with Mr Darcy.
They departed Longbourn with the eldest Bennet daughters demurely inside the coach and the gentlemen riding sedately alongside—as they should. But the necessity to stop and tend to a supposed stone in one of the horse’s shoes resulted in the young gentlemen climbing inside with the ladies.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth protested such scandalous doings, and along they went to London.
The four of them spoke for a long time in the most intimate manner as if they were already married, and had been for years, and were, between them, the greatest of friends.
A bulk of the conversation related to Lydia.
Mr Darcy admitted he did not want to give Jane or Elizabeth any preconceived notions of the state in which they would find their sister, but in his opinion, she was much changed.
“Oh, do not tell me she is worse?” cried Jane.
“My dear Jane, our Lydia could hardly be worse than she was. I believe Mr Darcy is trying to warn us that Lydia’s behaviour has been a little chastened?”
“I would say so,” he admitted. “But whether she remains so, I cannot say. We know little about what changes a person’s character after a catastrophe.”
For a moment, Mr Darcy looked pensive, and the coach fell silent, each occupant thinking of his or her own personal catastrophes—minor though they had been in comparison to Lydia’s—and the resulting effect.
Elizabeth had been humbled by learning her opinions were not etched in gold and that she could be—had been—so wrong about a number of things.
After decamping like a scrub, Mr Bingley was feeling a little more like his own person, having stood up to the neighbourhood of Meryton to protect the Bennets from their curiosity, and then, without consulting anyone, offering for Jane.
And Jane had been reflecting a great deal on Mr Wickham, the silliness of her idea that no one was really bad, and a conviction that she had better begin to be realistic or else stay a child the rest of her life.
And Mr Darcy, having suffered the catastrophe of Elizabeth’s rejection, had subsequently understood that, if he did nothing about his arrogance, he would soon be a close copy of his horrible aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Eventually, Elizabeth had her fill of such sombre musings. “Have you thought, Mr Bingley, where you and Jane may go for your wedding trip?” she asked.
Nothing had been decided. The couple could not formulate a plan for anything while there was the possibility that the family must go into mourning.
This was the perfect opening for Elizabeth to make a few specious suggestions.
She mused that Gravesend might be worth looking at, or perhaps Hull in the North Riding of Yorkshire.
“My uncle says he never saw a more pitiful place, but then Scunthorpe might be interesting, on account of its name alone.”
Mr Darcy found this topic worthwhile, adding humbly that Miss Bennet might like to see the never-ending docks and warehouses at Dover, or perhaps take in the sights of Blackpool in Lancashire.
When Mr Bingley decided to turn the tables, he asked whether Miss Elizabeth would perhaps enjoy the blighted scenery of Manchester or a gloomy village in Wales with its hauntings and suspicious locals for her wedding trip.
“No, Bingley,” Mr Darcy said mildly. “I believe I shall take Elizabeth to Rosings Park for an extended stay with Lady Catherine.”
This delighted Elizabeth. “Oh yes, pray do take me to Kent, Mr Darcy. We shall visit Mr Collins every day I think when we are not being lectured, scolded, and scorned by your aunt at Rosings. And then you can be toadied relentlessly, and I can be condemned for a Jezebel by my cousin. And you may look upon your cousin Anne with something like regret because you will be saddled with me, and I shall begin to be tiresome within a month.”
“You are tiresome already, Lizzy, if you cannot be serious. Really, where would you like to go?” asked Jane. “I have already told Mr Bingley that I should like to go to the seaside or perhaps to Bath.”
“Well, there can be no mystery at all as to where I should like to go,” Elizabeth said. “I wish to see the Peaks.”
Since this scenic wonder was located in Derbyshire, Mr Darcy smiled tenderly at her and said, “Even you might tire of walking there. I doubt we shall enjoy much society, however, and I know you like to dance.”
“Society? But what are men to rocks and mountains? You shall find in me someone who wishes to tramp from one place to another, turning brown and coarse, while my dear Jane samples the wash water they serve in the Pump Room and considers herself high indeed when Mr Bingley takes her to visit the Pavilion for a soiree.”
“Well, wherever we go, we should reconvene at Pemberley for the festive season,” Mr Darcy said. And then in afterthought, he asked, “And your sisters, Charles? Where will Miss Bingley stay when you are married?”
“I have set her up to live with the Hursts,” he replied with a wry twinkle. “Jane and I have settled that it is possible to live too close to one’s family. We have even talked of giving up the lease on Netherfield and looking a little farther afield than Hertfordshire.”
This amused Elizabeth, whose spirits were too buoyant not to tease.
“Well, Mr Darcy and I have not had a moment to think of these things, but I shall very soon tell him that I would like to spend most of the year in town going from one ball to the next. I mean to throw open the doors to his ballroom at least three times in a Season and play hostess to the worst crush conceivable. And if the bon ton wrinkle up their noses at me for being a bumptious upstart, then I shall have questionable opera singers, canal speculators, republican radicals, and the like pay court to me all day long.”
“How comfortable,” Mr Darcy remarked. “You will not forget to include a handful of French émigrés, will you?”
They laughed and laughed, arriving fairly worn out in London.
Mr Darcy looked at his companions and realised perhaps they should not drive straight to Mr Gardiner’s door with the four of them, rosy with pleasure, having been sequestered in a closed coach.
He suggested that he and Mr Bingley would step out at his townhouse and allow the sisters some privacy for their reunion.
Once they were alone, a kind of gloom fell over Jane and Elizabeth. What had they been doing, laughing like hyenas for three hours together? They were soon to see Lydia, who had endured a truly shattering few weeks, and they were ashamed of themselves for their levity.
“I believe we must be very tired,” Elizabeth said meekly. “I have been unforgivably giddy just now.”
They put on their long faces and prepared to meet poor Lydia, thinking to find her in the care of their worried aunt, being given a posset in bed.