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Chapter Eighteen

November 16, 1811 Netherfield Park Bingley

“I shall call upon you and see how your recovery progresses,” Bingley assured Jane as he handed her into the carriage.

“Your call will be most welcome,” she replied, her lovely features brightening with pleasure.

Sunday services had concluded, and with the return of the carriage, the Bennet ladies had declared their intention to return to Longbourn. “Jane is well enough to travel, and we would not wish to trespass on your hospitality longer than necessary,” Miss Elizabeth had said.

Though her reasoning was sound, Bingley inwardly rebelled at the thought of letting Jane out of his sight. He had no doubt that the moment the carriage departed, Louisa would pounce. Her snide remarks had not gone unnoticed; even Jane had winced at a few, though she was far too well-mannered to return insult for insult.

With his hands clasped behind his back, he watched the carriage roll away. Darcy stood beside him, equally silent. In unison, they turned and mounted the steps to Netherfield’s door.

They had scarcelyentered the parlor before Louisa swept toward him with a purpose. “Charles, you cannot be serious,” she whined. “You could do so much better than the daughter of an insignificant country squire!”

“Whom I choose to marry is no concern of yours. You have wed the gentleman of your choosing and have no cause for complaint.”

“Dear brother, every decision you make reflects upon our family. Caroline has secured an excellent match. Her betrothed is not only a knight, but the second son of a prominent landowner. And you would settle for Miss Jane Bennet?”

“Tell me, Louisa,” he said dryly, “have you ferreted out the amount of her dowry yet?”

“I have, if you must know.” Louisa sniffed disdainfully. “Miss Bennet and all her sisters have ten thousand pounds apiece. A pittance compared to my portion—or to yours.”

“That is a respectable amount. He has five daughters, you know—and a son, too!” Bingley threw up his hands in exasperation. “You may present whatever argument you wish, sister, but it will not sway me. If Miss Bennet accepts my proposal, she will become your sister by marriage. And when that happens, you will treat her with the respect due to my wife—or cease importuning us with your presence.”

Louisa gasped in affront and stormed from the room, leaving Bingley alone with Darcy.

“Well, that is over,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I knew it was coming.”

“You handled it well,” Darcy said, nodding approvingly. “I am very impressed with your fortitude. And, oddly enough, your sister strongly reminded me of my Aunt Catherine just now.”

Bingley chortled. “The Gorgon of Kent? Is that not what the colonel calls her?”

They laughed, and when their mirth subsided, Bingley sobered and turned to his friend. “In truth, Darcy, I should like your opinion. Am I making an error? I have known Miss Bennet for less than four weeks. Am I daft to consider marriage after so brief an acquaintance?”

“Marriages are founded on less every day,” his friend replied evenly.

“Arranged marriages, yes, but marriages of affection?” Bingley shook his head incredulously. “Am I a fool? A lovesick one? I cannot imagine life without her, and it pained me to see her ride away in my carriage today. I wanted nothing more than to take her back to her chamber and lock her in.”

“A veritable maiden in a tower, hmm?” Darcy chuckled. “Tell me, friend—will you feel the same way in two weeks as you do now?”

“No. I believe I shall feel even more. My admiration for Miss Bennet has grown steadily since our first dance. Each conversation reveals more of her character, and I fall further under her spell with every moment we spend together.”

“Then I suppose the only thing left is to decide when you will propose.” Darcy leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “‘A happy marriage is possible for any two people who are united,’ or so my grandmother once said.”

Bingley sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, contemplating his friend’s words. Slowly, a broad grin spread across his face. “You have the right of it, Darcy! I meant to host a ball. Let us do it! It shall be in Miss Bennet’s honor, and I shall propose that night.”

“Congratulations! You will be very happy.” Darcy smiled, though something seemed to trouble him; the expression did not quite reach his eyes.

“Are you well?” Bingley asked impulsively. “You are happy for me, are you not?”

“Entirely! I merely wrestle with my own conflicted thoughts. But know that I wish you the very best with Miss Bennet. I believe you are perfectly suited.”

Darcy’s good opinion meant the world to him, and he thanked him profusely. “I must find Louisa. She will be… delighted to host a ball, do you not think?” Chuckling, he rose and left the room.

Louisa was not delighted to assist in planning a ball and told her brother so at once.

“Do you doubt your capabilities?” he asked, all innocence. “I had assumed you would have ample experience hosting events of this magnitude by now. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“I have hosted balls in London,” she snapped. “An insignificant country gathering will be simple.”

“Then why hesitate? Do you not wish to show the denizens of the area what it means to be a truly fashionable hostess?” He knew he had struck the right chord when Louisa’s expression shifted from indignation to anticipation—tinged with a familiar, mean-spirited delight.

“I shall show them how a proper London hostess conducts such affairs,” she declared. “Very well, brother, you will have your ball. Now go away—I must begin my lists.”

Bingley left the room, chortling. Louisa was not difficult to understand. She liked to be praised, valued, andseen as superior to others. He had merely played to her vanity and received precisely what he wanted.

Darcy

Darcy remained in his chair long after Bingley left the room. He replayed their conversation, posing to himself the very questions and arguments that he had presented to his friend.

He, too, had only known Miss Elizabeth for only several weeks, yet he found himself irresistibly drawn to her. Her vibrancy lit every room she entered, and each encounter further enthralled him.

Bingley had already begun to contemplate marriage to the lady’s sister after the same brief acquaintance. It had been easy to reason on his friend’s behalf, but he struggled to apply the same logic to himself.

“Why must life be so blasted complicated?” he complained to the empty room. Rising, he began to pace. With his hands clasped behind his back and his brow furrowed in thought, he returned to the same questions he had earlier asked of Bingley.

Will I feel the same for Elizabeth in two weeks as I do now? What of a month? The answer came readily—identical to Bingley’s. Already his feelings deepened with every meeting. That would not change.

He posed another question. Will leaving her side diminish my affection? He had once considered departing for town after Bingley’s ball, hoping distance might clear his mind. But the longer he delayed, the more certain he became that it would serve no purpose. Elizabeth had already taken root in his heart, and the seed of admiration was swiftly growing into love.

He thought of his grandmother’s words: A happy marriage is possible for any two people who are united. What he had not told Bingley was that those were the very words his grandmother had used to persuade his mother to wed his father. The former Lady Matlock had insisted upon the match, much to her daughter’s displeasure. But her words had proven prophetic, and his parents had shared a contented marriage.

There was truth in the words. Even if his love were to fade, which he greatly doubted, as long as they worked toward common goals, he would be content with Elizabeth.

He had been determined to leave Netherfield Park after the ball, especially following their unexpected encounter in the library. But then came that moment in the garden—when they had nearly kissed. He could not forget it. She had turned her face up to his, clearly inviting the press ofhis lips against hers. And he had fully intended to do so until some unfortunate interruption forced them apart.

His resolve had fled in that instant. He knew, with absolute clarity, that he could not leave her. He loved her, and he longed to know whether she might return his affection. Running off to London would change nothing. “Semper in absentes felicior aestus amantes,” he muttered softly. “Always toward absent lovers love’s tide stronger flows.” The Roman poet Sextus Propertius knew of what he spoke. Fleeing would likely only deepen his attachment.

I never imagined that I would find love in Hertfordshire, he mused. He crossed to the window and looked out. In the distance stood the tree beside the bench where he and Elizabeth had nearly kissed. He wished she were there now, that he might take her on another walk and declare his affections openly.

Since that tender moment, Elizabeth had gone out of her way to avoid him. He wondered whether she felt embarrassed. Perhaps she thought him dishonorable, merely toying with her heart. I must reassure her that I have only honorable intentions, he resolved.

Never one to make hasty decisions, he resolved to wait until the ball to discern her feelings. In the meantime, he would continue to court her quietly and would request the supper set the night of Bingley’s ball. If possible, he would ease her doubts before then.

Bingley intended to propose to Miss Bennet at the ball. Would he begrudge Darcy the same privilege? Surely not. If nothing else, Darcy could ask permission to court her, or request a private audience with her the following day.

Resolved, he left the room and ascended to his chambers. He had plans to make.

Elizabeth

Jane hummed a merry tune as the carriage trundled toward Longbourn. She had regained the color in her cheeks, and she looked the picture of health. This pleased Elizabeth, for she had worried about her sister’s welfare.

“Will he wait more than a day to come?” she teased.

Jane turned toward her, rolled her eyes, and looked back out the window. “If he does, I shall be surprised,” she replied.

Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted to the other unmarried gentleman at Netherfield. She felt ridiculously foolish for having come so close to bestowing favors on Mr. Darcy. You great ninny, she scolded herself once more. What would you have done after he kissed you?

Mr. Darcy was an honorable man. He would never kiss a lady unless he cared for her—loved her. She knew enough of his character to be certain of that.

And then he would go to Papa—her adopted father—and request permission to court her. Papa would say yes. He would advise to say nothing of her past…and then what? They would begin a marriage based on a lie, and guilt would twist their tender feelings and twist them into something unrecognizable. She would confess—and then Mr. Darcy would hate her.

But what if he did not? Her traitorous heart whispered dreams of a rosy future, married to the man she was perilously close to loving. What if he does not hold your past against you and marries you, anyway? He would keep your secret.

He would. At least, she hoped he would.

She could not know whether he intended to ask for her hand, but Elizabeth understood she must be prepared to act should he do so.

They were welcomed home with enthusiasm. Mrs. Bennet examined Jane closely, seeking reassurance that her eldest child had returned to full health. She greeted Elizabeth as well, praising her efforts and apologizing for not having called.

“I knew you had it well managed,” she said.

Exhausted from all her tumultuous thoughts, Elizabeth excused herself, intending to rest in her chambers for the remainder of the day.

The next morning, Mr. Bennet came to the table looking rather chagrined. “I hope, my dear,” he began, “that you have ordered something pleasant for dinner this evening. I expect we shall have a guest.”

“Who is it?” Mrs. Bennet asked curiously. “Is it Mr. Bingley?”

“No, it is not Mr. Bingley. Indeed, it is no one that I have ever met in the course of my life. I owe you something of an apology, my dear, for his letter was misplaced amidst the chaos of my desk and I only rediscovered it this morning.”

He held up a sheet of paper. “It is from my cousin, Mr. William Collins. He is the heir should anything befall Thomas, or if Thomas fails to produce a son of his own. Somehow, he has learned that the living at Longbourn will come available next summer and wishes to speak to me on the matter.”

“If you did not reply to his letter, why do you expect him?” Thomas asked with interest.

“Because he invited himself. Here, read it.” Mr. Bennet offered the letter to his son. “Aloud, if you please.”

Dear Sir,

The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honored father has ever caused me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune of losing him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time my own doubts kept me back, fearing it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.

I recently took orders and have the great honor of holding a living bestowed by none other than the illustrious Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She resides at Rosings Park in Kent, a handsome estate. The Hunsford Parish living falls within her gift, and upon its vacancy last summer, she had the goodness to confer it upon me. I am deeply grateful for her beneficence. Her advice, offered freely and frequently, has impressed upon me the importance of cultivating congenial family relations.

And so, having overcome my hesitations and at the urging of my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I send this letter in the hope that the breach between our branches of the family might at long at be healed.

Please expect me no later than four o’clock on the eighteenth of November. It would also afford me great pleasure if, during the course of our reunion, we might discuss the living at Longbourn. As you are my nearest living relation, and the advowson of Longbourn lies with you, I hope we may speak of your bestowing it upon me.

Yours, etc,

William Collins

“He sounds ridiculous,” Thomas said, handing the letter back to his father.

“His letter intrigues me. I never wrote to deny his coming, and so I expect he will arrive as stated. Mr. Bennet gave a resigned sigh. “I am sorry, Fanny. I know that such short notice is not proper.”

“We shall make do, Thomas. I shall go speak with Hill at once.”