Page 38 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Darcy startled, and Elizabeth could see a thousand emotions in his eyes warring for ascendancy.
Delight. Bafflement. Satisfaction. Her own were far different—acceptance, uncertainty, frustration—but she could also allow herself a sense of comfort and contentment that she had such a choice of husbands and it was her choice to make.
Not every lady of twenty years facing genteel poverty, or worse, could boast of a man of such looks, wealth, and character making her a proposal of marriage.
But here it was, for her. Mr Darcy’s dark eyes had calmed, and the look he was giving her under his proud brow was one of bewildered joy.
His voice, when it came, sounded hoarse.
“My heart would be gladder if this did not appear only a business deal.”
As would mine, she thought, pausing to take in his muddled expression before giving him a small smile. “I feel far more of comfort than any business transaction could tender, but perhaps the practical matters of marriage, in settlement articles and the like, are unromantic. ”
He nodded thoughtfully. “True, a happy future is often based on such necessary business.”
“Neither of us sets aside any necessary business, and time is of the essence. Our engagement must be presented to my mother so that we may marry soon. While I might prefer to honour a half year of mourning before pledging my life to any husband, I have come to see the wisdom in your proposal. I trust you, Mr Darcy.”
She watched as his expression grew more tender, his eyes softening as his hands covered hers. “Thank you. I am grateful to have earned your trust, and I hope, your friendship. You have mine as well.”
She nodded with more feeling than she wanted to admit.
This would be easier if she felt nothing and could be numbed to the enormity of what she had agreed to, but in fact she had asked few questions of her future husband.
Much to her mother’s dismay and her father’s delight, she had always been an inquisitive sort of girl.
Why do tigers, zebras, and bees have stripes but cows and pigs do not?
Why is Mr Dunton’s nose always red? Why do only boys—even if they are stupid—have the opportunity for the Navy or university?
But at this moment, she had to set aside questions.
A proposal, encouraged and approved by her father, had been made to her, and she was not so foolish as to let her heart overrule her head.
Mr Darcy’s charms were not in surplus but they far, far outweighed those of Mr Collins.
He was more than handsome, and he had vast power and resources to provide protection to her mother and sisters.
She must believe in his goodness; her aunt attested to Mr Darcy’s character, and whatever his own wishes, he had set them aside to marry his cousin and remained loyal enough to her memory not to fully disclose why her honour required his protection.
And now he wished to assist her family, far more than her father ever had.
Men could be irrational, vexing creatures; she hoped she had chosen well. Her head ached with it all .
“Elizabeth? Are you well?”
A squeeze of her hand brought her back to attention. He had drawn close to her, his warmth and scent pervading her senses. She shook off her embarrassment and smiled. “Do not fear I have fainted with joy, sir, or been overtaken by a few sips of brandy.”
“The events and emotions of the past week would overwhelm the strongest of men,” he said, drawing back.
“As they have my mother.”
He smiled at her. “But you, I think, are more like your father.”
“Less content to spend hours alone, and happier to be out of doors collecting mud on my petticoat and sights of soaring birds and drifting clouds.” She leaned towards the man she had agreed to marry.
“My mother has long feared the poverty that would come with my father’s passing, and losing her status as the mistress of Longbourn. ”
“She will lose that title but your mother need not fear poverty. She shall have a house and live in comfort. It is my duty to support and protect her.”
Elizabeth felt all the gratitude of such a pledge and, with her aunt’s assurances, the truth of it, but determined to finish her thought.
“I feared for her, for her actions, and for my sisters, but I did not fear for myself. I am a rational creature, and I wish, as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.”
She felt the warmth of Mr Darcy’s hands on hers; his thumb softly stroked her palm, stirring an ache in her that she hardly recognised.
With nowhere to look that didn’t include some part of Mr Darcy, Elizabeth let her gaze drop to his boots.
They were a highly polished, expensive leather, better than any boots she had seen worn in Meryton.
His jacket and beaver likewise were of the finest materials and craftsmanship and, unlike the fashions worn by the Bingley sisters, showed restrained taste.
Her own attire, a favourite blue gown, had had many wearings before being dyed a dull black last week. She would be a dismally-clad bride.
“I shall do my best to bring you happiness,” he said, standing up and walking to the window, which revealed the rain had stopped. “Now, how shall we tell your mother the happy news?”
She began to laugh. “I believe we should do best to slip a note under her door and cover our ears.”
With the understanding that in the morning Mrs Bennet would be given the letter Mr Bennet had left for her in which he explained he had approved of an engagement between the couple, Elizabeth and Darcy said their farewells.
He left her at Longbourn’s doorway as she prepared to speak to her curious elder sister, claimed his horse, and rode off towards Netherfield.
A churning of excitement and joy thrummed through him, almost but not quite shielding him from the cold damp air.
It was little better when he arrived at Netherfield and shed his greatcoat. Darcy was immediately beset by Miss Bingley, who worried over the state of his clothing, his health, and from the tone of her questioning, his very state of mind.
“What business did the Bennets ask of you, to keep you out in this weather? It is cold, wet, and dark outside!”
“It is an English night, no more, no less,” he replied. “If a soldier is asked to sleep under such skies, surely my horse and I can withstand a three-mile ride.” He moved away from her fretting, her hands aflutter and eyebrows furrowed.
“Come, Darcy,” called a voice from the drawing room. “Robbins has just popped the cork on a fresh bottle.”
“I will join you shortly, Hurst,” he replied, “in dry boots and a clean jacket.”
Once in his rooms, after he was dried and changed, Darcy sat at the writing table and opened his lockbox.
He withdrew the marriage articles and legal papers, and letters from Mr Bennet.
He and Elizabeth must discuss the timing of the wedding; it would be here in Meryton, he thought.
He would not take her from her family and neighbours for that joyous event, and although it would not be the grand celebration her mother undoubtedly had dreamt of, it would bring joy and comfort to the lady and to all the Bennets before he took her away to Pemberley.
As to his own family, he knew better. He pulled out a piece of paper to begin his letters. Georgiana, Richard, his uncle, Mr Wynch, and his housekeepers. To each he wrote something different but to each he wrote the same message.
I am to be married.
“Married?”
Mrs Bennet dropped the letter Elizabeth had handed her moments earlier. “You and Mr Darcy will be married? Your father was aware and blessed your union? Oh heavens. A romance going on right under my nose!”
Elizabeth grasped her mother’s hands. “He did, and he in fact encouraged it.”
“Of course he did, my sly girl! Mr Bennet knew few men could keep up with your clever mind. He was so learned in the ways of the world, and to find out he was skilled in the arts of matchmaking.” She choked back a sob.
“Oh, Mr Bennet, to leave us such unexpected glad tidings. A daughter married to one of the richest men in England?—”
Elizabeth, no longer in doubt as to Mr Darcy’s bank holdings, only smiled at her mother’s retreat from the edge of grief.
“—saving us from the poorhouse, and from the wiles of Mr Collins!”
Mrs Bennet fluttered her handkerchief before wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. “And to say nothing of diverting me from mourning my dear Mr Bennet! A wedding! Oh Lizzy, my girl!”
She patted Elizabeth’s hand before her eyes alit on Jane, sitting across from her and smiling in serene bemusement. “Jane, are you well? I would think a man of wealth and refinement such as Mr Darcy would favour you but it was your beloved father who played Cupid here.”
Jane reddened for the insult to her sister and nodded. “I am well, Mama. I am happy for Lizzy and Mr Darcy.”
And she did appear to be so. The evening before, after expressing her incredulity at the news and at her failure to see the feelings she now assumed had grown between her most beloved sister and her most beloved gentleman, Jane had flung her arms around Lizzy and voiced her joy.
“I have been a most selfish being, thinking and talking only about my heart’s wish for Mr Bingley, and here you have been, pining for and being wooed by Mr Darcy.
How did I not see it?” She grew serious.
“You shall not have to wait a six-month to marry, will you? I know it is improper during mourning, but?—”
Elizabeth had explained to Jane as she now explained to her mother that with Mr Bennet’s foreknowledge, the marriage articles had been written, and Mr Darcy waited only to allow their grieving.
It would be, she emphasised to them, better for them all if Mrs Bennet could pretend she, too, was in on the secret.
Her mother was unhappy to think of the gowns she could not buy, the boasts she could not make, and the celebration Longbourn could not host, but Elizabeth assured her that her four remaining daughters would enjoy such weddings.
“Oh, to think of it! Two estates, a house in town, and ten thousand a year!”
Mrs Bennet’s happy eruption brought Lydia and Kitty to her door, who joined in sharing their surprise and happy felicitations. Mary stood silently, radiating disapproval.
“It has been mere days! We are laughing and celebrating less than a fortnight since Papa’s death?”
Before Lydia or Mrs Bennet could scold Mary for her sour reaction, Elizabeth pulled aside her middle sister and told her of their father’s role in the engagement.
Mary peered at her closely, doubt clouding her plain features.
“Your pairing with Mr Darcy comes as no surprise but your connexion is ill-timed. We are in mourning. There should be no wedding at Longbourn, no engagements for a full six-month. Mr Collins will be displeased, Lizzy.”
“My cousin’s felicity shall not rely upon me, nor upon any of my sisters. My choice of husband is mine and was blessed by Papa. It is only Mr Collins’s wrongful claim that his inheritance should include a wife from among us that occasioned Mr Darcy and I to reveal our betrothal.”
The consternation that often seemed permanently attached to Mary’s expression cleared. “All that time spent in Papa’s book room... You have never wished to become mistress of Longbourn?”
Somewhat abashed at the turn of conversation, and not a little curious about Mary’s true reaction to the events of the past two days, Elizabeth assured her that much as she loved Longbourn, she was pleased for the opportunity to make her home in Derbyshire, near the village where their aunt had been raised.
And, she realised, that as little thought as she had given her future in a county three days’ travel from Hertfordshire, she was indeed eager to begin a new chapter of life, away from the home that would soon no longer be hers.
“Papa never wished that for me,” she replied, “nor I for myself.”
Lydia’s voice broke through the sisterly tête-à-tête.
“Lizzy, you do love Mr Darcy, don’t you?”
She turned to see five expectant faces awaiting her answer. A smile and a nod were the best she could manage. It had mollified Jane the night before, and now it satisfied the rest of her family. Happy squeals and sighs filled the air around her.
What do I feel? A woman who felt less, might know.