Page 45 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Oh!” Elizabeth threw herself on the bed, exhausted from an evening of her mother’s raptures over the surfeit of ‘wealthy, eligible young gentlemen’ who had graced her sitting room.

When Elizabeth had pressed for a change of topic, Mrs Bennet had begun speaking of wedding preparations, Mary had protested that all their plans were sinful and prayers were needed for Mr Bennet, and Kitty had burst into tears. There was no relief.

“You will be Mrs Darcy in ten days, Lizzy.” Jane entered the room, reached for the hairbrush on the bureau, and sat down on the bed.

“And you will be...?”

Blushing deeply, Jane reached up and began to let down her hair. “Lizzy, do not tease! It was so wonderful to see Mr Bingley drive up today! Mama was so pleased.”

Elizabeth sat up, sighing, and used the hairbrush to untangle a stubborn curl for Jane. “I hope you were even more pleased. He was eager to persuade you that his absence was not intended.”

“Yes. And his silence. He had not received word from his sisters. ”

In spite of the many opinions Elizabeth could express on why Mr Bingley had not been informed by his sisters about Mr Bennet’s death, she chose to keep them to herself.

She could think of no good reason to sully Jane’s happiness; her sister had been left worried and wondering about an as-yet-undeclared suitor, and his return had given Jane hope.

Of course, any connexion renewed between them would suffer postponement; the Bennet family could have only one ‘secret engagement’ at a time, but perhaps Jane would come to London, or even to Pemberley?—

“It is nice to see Mama happy, but I fear Mary is correct,” Jane interrupted Elizabeth’s meandering thoughts with her own more realistic ones. “Are we mourning Papa properly?”

Elizabeth thought her mother grieved her husband less than she grieved her circumstances, but perhaps she could be forgiven.

The emergence of a rich husband for one daughter, and the security she felt both from his wealth and the strength of his name, had led to a happiness that she likely had never known.

She shared her sister’s guilt, but could defend their mother.

“Mama was so afraid of what would happen when Papa died. She must be forgiven her effusions now. I miss Papa dreadfully, but he would have wished us happy.” Elizabeth paused her ministrations with the brush and added meaningfully, “He planned for this result, for what he hoped would enhance our happiness and security.”

“Are you happy? Do you love Mr Darcy?”

This was the question she avoided in her own mind.

She owned that she liked him more than she liked nearly anyone and was more than content in his company.

She respected his mind and his gentle manner, and appreciated that he respected her as well.

He had been fully honest with her about the reasons he had helped her father and why he was drawn to her beyond mere duty and friendship.

He challenged her mind and her equanimity; she could match wits with him but simply being in his presence was, at times, a test of her composure.

When his lips had touched hers, his arms around her waist, even in dusty, abandoned Copperdale, she had wanted more.

Later, when he kissed the skin of her bare wrist, she thought she might swoon.

She, Elizabeth Bennet, swoon? Who had she become in these past days?

She scarcely could understand it herself, let alone explain it to her sister.

If she more fully understood Darcy, perhaps some of the awkwardness surrounding their impending marriage would lift.

Elizabeth wished she had someone to talk to about her feelings; she was unsure Jane could help her grasp all the complexities, and Charlotte was not the romantic sage she had been years ago when Peter Lucas, age six, had asked Kitty Bennet, age ten, to marry him.

When Charlotte had called with her mother a day earlier, she had practically pulled Elizabeth out of doors to speak incredulous congratulations and demand to know how the betrothal had truly come about.

Unlike Jane, Charlotte had not enquired whether love was involved; comity, yes, but love was of little consequence in such a fortuitous match.

Charlotte’s advice, that it was unwise to know too much of one’s marriage partner, was nonsense unless one was looking at their marriage only as a business arrangement.

An unfeeling transaction. Was Charlotte so rational?

Was she ? No, I am not, Elizabeth told herself.

She yearned to know more about Mr Darcy, and enjoyed observing him; she felt his eyes on her as often as hers settled on him.

I may not be romantic, but these are hardly the feelings of rationality.

Was this love? This desire to be in his company, to protect him from her mother’s outpourings, to show him kindness and affection?

Or was he her means of escape, someone to whom she could talk and who shared her thoughts on Longbourn?

If interest and need, joy and longing were love, then she would own to it. But only to herself, for now .

“I am happy,” she said, resting her chin on Jane’s shoulder. “I shall be happier when you too are married and we can add Miss Bingley to our bevy of silly sisters.” Elizabeth felt her sister tense before she began to shake with quiet laughter.

“Miss Bingley might be more pleased with a sister you have not yet met.” Jane turned and gathered her hair into a thick plait. “Miss Darcy shall have a surfeit of sisters.”

Elizabeth’s reply was interrupted by the sound of stomping feet and slamming doors. Lydia had been angered earlier when Elizabeth overruled her mother’s choice and asked Kitty to accompany her to London.

“Lydia remains angry. Her reaction only reinforces the sense of my decision.”

“I shall call on her as a chaperon for any visits from Mr Bingley and ask her to dress my old yellow bonnet,” Jane said. “She will have no time to miss Kitty.”

Elizabeth thanked her sister for her generosity. She had lent her much since Darcy had asked her to accompany him to London to meet his sister.

Before returning to Netherfield with his cousin and Mr Bingley, he had pulled her into the book room and spoken with some urgency.

“Although I have written to my uncle and my sister about our marriage, my cousin’s unexpected arrival here makes clear to me that Lord Matlock will need an explanation for what he would perceive as my quick reversal of opinion.

And Georgiana, I wish you to know her before we marry, and allow her to know you. ”

With an earnest expression she rarely saw, he pressed her. “Will you accompany me? Jane may wish to stay at Longbourn now that Bingley has returned, but bring another sister. Your aunt and uncle would be pleased to see you, and I could show you Darcy House.”

A bit startled by the request, Elizabeth nonetheless welcomed the proposal. “My mother is eager for me to add to my trousseau, but would be less pleased by my departure so close to the wedding.”

“You would like to escape the talk of laces.”

She matched his wry grin, pleased that he knew not only things she enjoyed but also those which irritated her.

“Indeed. My mother is happy for the diversion of a wedding, guilty for enjoying the diversion, and blames whomever is in the room for the upset to her nerves. It is everything about her that taxed my father’s patience.

” Her shoulders fell. “I better understand now his need to hide in the book room.”

“You deserve some peace. Could you write to your aunt? We will tell your mother you must go to Mr Gardiner’s warehouses for fabrics and lace, and tour Darcy House. We shall leave Wednesday and return here Saturday. Will that do?”

Her brief nod led to his lips placing a lingering kiss on her wrist, and he was gone.

Hours later, as she lay in bed thinking on the day she had just spent, Elizabeth was surprised by her own surge of guilt.

If I am happy, am I like my mother? Despite losing her father, her home, and the life she had known, all of her worries about her family’s future—uncertainties she had carried even when her father lived—had been eased by the constancy shown by Mr Darcy.

Could her mother have been a different woman had she ever been given what Mr Darcy’s character showed with such steadiness?

Comfort, strength, and devotion. If these are not love, what is?

Darcy was pleased to see that when separated from her youngest sister, Miss Catherine was a polite and inquisitive—if perhaps overly talkative—young lady.

The journey to London passed pleasantly enough, and after a few minutes’ greeting to the Gardiners, Darcy left Elizabeth and her sister at Gracechurch Street and directed his driver towards Grosvenor Square.

He lowered the window shades the Bennet sisters had wished open so they could watch passersby and point out landmarks on the way to their uncle’s home in Cheapside; their chatter had amused him, but now he required a bit of peace to think over the conversations awaiting him at Matlock House.

If Richard had been indignant and doubtful, Lord Matlock would be angry and scornful.

It was sunny and warmer than usual for November, so perhaps with luck, Lady Matlock would be out on a social call or at the shops.

Darcy preferred a private conference with his uncle and the opportunity to request that he restrain his wife from any show of spite to prevent a severing of relations.

Elizabeth was not easily intimidated, but he would protect her as best as he could from his family.

Darcy leapt from the carriage when it drew up in front of the tall, grey manor house. “Go on to Darcy House,” he told the driver, already anticipating the need for a brisk, cooling walk. “I shall make my own way home.”