Beginning , Previous Section, Section VI

Part 18 ~ Trials and Tribulations

Posted on Saturday, 31 December 2005

In which our heroes and heroines face plenty of both and of various kinds, but Author holds that the sight Colonel Fitzwilliam faces in Darcy's sickchamber is the severest trial of them all

A soft knock was to be heard on the door, and Georgiana followed it, on tiptoe.

“How—”

The question was made redundant by the sight of her brother sitting up in his bed, with pen in his hand.

“William, Dr Bridewell distinctly said—”

“I feel exceptionally well today. Tell me, was that not a familiar voice I heard downstairs?”

Georgiana admitted that Miss Bingley had called, but Darcy’s rather automatic inquiry into Miss Bingley’s health produced little response from her. She wrung her hands nervously and said, amidst half-hearted smiles, that Miss Bingley had brought some truly interesting news.

“Yes? What is it?”

Mr Darcy obediently assumed precisely the beneficial position that his physician had recommended.

“It seems … It seems … That is, Miss Bingley thinks, that is, she said she thought her brother was to be married.”

There. The truth was out, and Georgiana hoped she had played the role of the messenger adequately even though she failed to report Miss Bingley’s exact words on parting, said with the tone of doom,

“Tell Mr Darcy he must do something quickly!”

For what could possibly William have done? It was no concern of his, after all, if Mr Bingley wished to marry Miss Bennet. Georgiana had ventured to say that both she and her brother would do anything in their power to assist their friends at such a happy occasion. Somehow, it had not been the reaction Miss Bingley had wished for, that much she could tell, and also that she had relied on Mr Darcy to see the matter differently. But on this point, if any, Georgiana was firm. Her brother was convalescent, and that was it.

“She seemed convinced that you, I, all of us, opposed the marriage and thought me a great simpleton when I desired her to wish Mr Bingley happy.” Georgiana’s colour heightened when she continued,

“She seemed to have been labouring under a misapprehension that I had some immediate interest in the matter. I assure you, William, the thought of my future being in any way connected with Mr Bingley’s had never crossed my mind. If it did yours, I am sorry, but I am certain that you would always consider my wishes in the matter. I can see no other argument why you should oppose the marriage, so I thought it best to tell you this outright.”

“Lizzy, I have been looking for you. I wanted to share the good news with you first, and I’d have it much rather if you were the one to announce it to your mother.”

Mr Bennet’s head appeared in the doorway of the dry room. In the hand that followed the head thither, something flashed.

Unmistakably, it was a sheet of paper, into which the sunlight had caught.

“You seem very conscious, Elizabeth. We shall tackle you presently,” said Mr Bennet with a twinkle in his eye. “Worry not. This letter is from Mr Bingley. He begs the honour of soliciting my eldest daughter’s hand in marriage. Very pretty. Only, from what I gather from my eldest daughter’s missive—”

Mr Bennet fumbled in the pocket of his coat and produced the said missive, his face by now bearing a broad grin,

“He had already solicited it, and not only that, but had been accepted as well!”

“Oh!” Elizabeth stretched out her hand.

“A thorough report follows as soon as may be. By letter or in person I hardly know, for your sister has informed me that she would wish you to assist her in choosing her wedding clothes, a wish in which she is vehemently supported by your Aunt Gardiner, who has deemed it necessary to write to me as well. I wonder the post has time for anything else to do but to deliver to Longbourn! Well, well, child, what is it?”

Elizabeth’s hands flew to her flushed cheeks.

“Oh, Papa! He asked her! He asked her! That means he gave his consent!”

This rather puzzling remark caused Mr Bennet lift his eyebrows to a substantial height. To the best of his knowledge, the elder Mr Bingley had been dead for several years. But being in such good mood and unwillingly amused by the shower of letters, he let it pass and squeezed his daughter’s hand affectionately.

“Jane is a good girl and she deserves to be happy. I see London did the trick, as your mother predicted. As she will perceive it as her personal triumph, I would appreciate if you would take the role of the messenger on yourself. Oh, but what am I thinking? Your Mamma must have had a letter too!”

“Oh, before you go, Elizabeth…” Mr Bennet’s smile persisted as he said,

“This news will undoubtedly cast that other affair in the shade. I am thus all the happier for Jane and yourself. It will take people’s minds off that sad business, and yours, too, I dare say. That’s good, that’s excellent. Now run along and tell your mother, do. And please close all the doors behind you.”

“You want me to go to Hertfordshire? Now?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam, on whom the dust of the road would have stuck still if it were not for his excellent valet, who had brushed his master’s coat, mourning the fact that the Colonel’s cousin was, according to reports, greatly ill, so ill that the normal mode of life – that is, that one should bathe and change when having traveled for a whole day, not to mention rest – should be suspended, this same Colonel Fitzwilliam was admittedly a little surprised when he found out that nothing but do for him but to travel some more.

“Oh, not now!” Darcy waved his hand impatiently. “Well, yes, now.”

“May I merely inquire, cousin - the flushed cheek, the look of acute misery, the fine attempt at ambiguity ... Should I send for the good doctor or are these symptoms of quite another disease? A terminal one, perhaps?”

“Send for the chaise or I shall get up and then you shall see if your diagnosis holds water, Fitzwilliam!”

The Colonel retreated towards the door.

“Please, Darcy - any other threat would do! The mere thought of the sight of you in your nightshirt would compel me to do anything!”

Mr Darcy produced a sound very much akin to hissing and made a swift move towards his bedside.

“Anything, I said!” the Colonel ventured, opening the door and seeking refuge behind them. “Of course what I meant was that it would compel me to forget my good breeding and laugh in your face—”

At that moment, Colonel Fitzwilliam was indeed compelled to close the door by way of protection, for the water jug had apparently decided on a hasty retreat from the sickchamber likewise, aided greatly in its intent by a half-laughing, half-coughing Mr Darcy.

“A gentleman to see you, sir. A Colonel Fitzwilliam. Here is his card.”

Hill retreated backwards as if she expected a gunpowder explosion.

“I thought we were through with red coats in this house!”

Mr Bennet looked at the card. Surely enough, it read:

Mr Bennet turned the card backwards and forwards hastily, as if expecting the identity of its holder to become more familiar to him. He did not, however, fail to notice the title and the address, which, much to his annoyance, had partly achieved what he could only presume to have been the desired effect.

On turning the card, he at first managed to ignore the handwritten line on the back, but then his eye caught it and he read,

“‘On Mr Darcy’s request re. yr letter of a fortnight ago’”

“What letter? What is this fellow about? I have never sent Mr Darcy a letter in my life! What is this? This world has gone mad, clearly. Elizabeth, we shall have to find a lone island somewhere and emigrate. Never mind Donne, we shall be an island. The world must have been in better order back in Donne’s days! If it’s not wedding clothes, it’s letters one has never written! If this is one of your sisters’ jests, I swear I will bequeath them nothing but their old treehouse.”

Mr Bennet was struck at the amount of wholly unpredictable events in his life. What Colonel ? What letter ? What, in Lord’s name, was this?

He posed a few rhetorical questions to the bookshelves in his library – for lack of an interlocutor, he had to satisfy with those, for his second eldest daughter had excused herself and darted out of the library. Once again, the circumstances prevented Elizabeth’s father to notice and comment on her odd behaviour.

“Good afternoon, sir. I beg your pardon for intruding. Colonel Fitzwilliam, at your service. I am Mr Darcy’s cousin. My cousin is presently recovering from an illness at his house in London and is quite unable to travel. He was extremely desirous to speak to you himself, or answer your letter, but as he feels the matter is urgent, he has asked me to come to Hertfordshire. He did present me with this, however.”

The Colonel stretched out his hand. There was a sealed envelope in it, and it took Mr Bennet several moments to do what was expected of him.

“Excuse me,” said the Colonel, and moved towards the door.

“Please,” Mr Bennet recollected himself as he viewed the seal. “Do not leave. I conclude you are familiar with the contents of this letter?”

The Colonel nodded, “In essentials, yes.”

“This letter is the answer to the note I wrote to Mr Darcy three weeks ago?”

“I understand it to be so, sir, yes. Furthermore, I think that my cousin also enclosed the note itself to establish my credentials. After all,” the Colonel smiled, “you have never heard of me. I might be yet another adventurer in a red coat.”

Mr Bennet’s hand trembled a little on hearing this rational argument. It persisted with such behaviour as he broke the seal and opened the envelope. Folded inside was indeed a note. Addressed, as clearly as can be, to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq., to which was then added in firm, large hand, another direction, 28 Park Lane, London.

The second handwriting was wholly unfamiliar to Mr Bennet, but the first hand he would know anywhere. He had had little pieces of paper, covered in a line or two in this very hand pushed beneath the door into the library late at night, since as long as the hand in question had come to learn its way about with a pen. The first missive of that kind, disposed of safely in his desk, among many others, had been, “‘A little alarm now and then keeps life from stagnation.’ Remember that, Papa, when you say we are screeching.” Elizabeth wrote the note, years ago.

So the inevitable conclusion was, whomever he thought he was writing to, she was writing to Mr Darcy.

Dear Sir,

I apologize for my late answer to your letter. I have been ill, as my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam will have told you, and unable to attend to my correspondence, or I would have immediately sent you a reply. There would have been some delay, nevertheless, as Miss Elizabeth understandably supposed I would be staying at the Meryton inn. As it happened, I was staying at Colonel Forster’s house and it took some time before the letter was forwarded.

I cannot pretend I do not understand what you had the intention of communicating to me, sir. Your daughter has undoubtedly explained my share in the matter to you. I am indeed guilty of gross misjudgment and misbehaviour, and must beg your forgiveness and the forgiveness of everybody concerned. I can only say in my defense what I have already said to Miss Elizabeth Bennet: my actions were brought about by the fact I was unaware of Miss Bennet’s feelings. Last few weeks have made me realize the depth of Mr Bingley’s affection, and I had begun to regret my uncalled for interference, the feeling to which a great sense of shame was added after the interview with Miss Elizabeth on the afternoon of January 26th.

I am aware I have been the instrument of your eldest daughter’s suffering, sir, and if I could do anything to remedy this, I would. However, I am happy in my knowledge that even if my friend Mr Bingley’s affection for Miss Bennet had perhaps received a check in the shape of my intervention, it had nevertheless remained unabated. I extend my heartiest congratulations on the occasion to yourself and your family.

I am going to join Mr Bingley in Hertfordshire as soon as health permits me. Will you allow me to call on you at that time? I wish to discuss a certain matter with you privately, if you shall consent to see me.

I am, sir, your most obedient servant,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

So that was it. It was Mr Darcy! Mr Darcy, of all people!

Mr Bennet’s hands searched for the support of the arms of his chair. And if he had at the moment echoed Mrs Whistler’s Leitmotiv of ‘What next?’, nobody could have blamed him.

In the meantime, Mr Darcy was doing his best to be able to demonstrate to Mr Bennet just what was next on the agenda of that hard-tried gentleman. Establishing for certain that he would not be permitted to bestir himself not even downstairs, much less out of the house or – God forbid! – to such a remote place as Hertfordshire, before he could prove himself to be fully recovered, he was lying in his bed with great determination. He did, on occasion, complain to Forsythe that he was being held captive in his own house. As his valet betrayed no other sign of attending to his master’s words than a solemn bow, Mr Darcy felt that to elaborate on that particular topic would expose him to silent ridicule.

Yet, it occurred to Mr Darcy, even if one was the object of a conspiracy of giant proportions (for no less than three prominent members of his family, namely, his own sister, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Catherine – by letter, fortunately – were for once of the same mind on a subject), one need not lie in his bed as a sack of flour. One could do something. One could summon people to his bedside.

“But Darcy—”

“No, let me finish. It was inconsiderate and wrong of me.” Mr Darcy, whom Forsythe had attired in a dressing gown of sombre dark green for the occasion, went on,

“I apologize. Forgive me, Bingley.”

Mr Bingley shook his head, “No, no, you do not understand. I … I …”

Were it not for Mr Bingley’s grin, his friend would be very concerned by this apparent hardening of Mr Bingley’s heart. But Bingley seemed to be in excellent spirits. If Mr Darcy would be obliged to describe the state of mind of the gentleman doing a very creditable impression of a human windmill in front of his very eyes, so active were his hands and arms, he would almost be ready to bestow upon him the epithet of ‘glowing’.

In the meantime, Mr Bingley at last found the words he was looking for.

“It does not matter. I was miserable, but don’t you see? It is perfectly all right.”

“It is?”

“Yes! For she … She loves me, you see. She does. I asked her!”

Mr Darcy, even though used to his friend’s erratic speech, had trouble believing that a question of that sort could come from Mr Bingley’s lips.

“You asked her if she …?”

“If she would consent to be my wife, yes, and all that.”

Mr Darcy was not – contrary to recent evidence – a man who would resort to physical violence, but at such an occasion he could do little else but to grab his pillow and beat at it with his fists while intermittently laughing, coughing and gasping for air.

“Are you to carry my answer to Mr Darcy, please?” was all Mr Bennet could possibly say without betraying too much of his feelings.

Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed. “If that is agreeable to you, sir. I can wait for it until tomorrow afternoon. After that, I am afraid I must return to Town.”

“You shall have your answer.”

“Thank you. I shall be staying at the inn.” The Colonel had bowed when Mr Bennet became a master of himself to the degree sufficient to regret being unable to accommodate the Colonel himself.

“Not at all, sir. I shall be perfectly comfortable at the inn.”

“Will you—” Mr Bennet paused, fighting a battle with the customary notions of hospitality. If he cannot put up a man who has driven all the way from London to hand him this, this, this … Mr Bennet paused again. Who has driven all the way from London on somebody else’s errand – and that somebody would deserve a good whipping … The pause was further prolonged.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I beg your pardon, I thought you were going to say something.”

“I was. That, is you will. Pardon me – will you… join us for tea, Colonel, ehm, Fitzwilliam?”

The Colonel eyed the elderly gentleman. The invitation was not perhaps to be taken seriously; for obviously it was a mere form. But he liked Mr Bennet, and since he had found himself in the home of the celebrated Miss Elizabeth Bennet … Well, one related to Darcy should show all deference to his future wife’s family, after all. So he smiled and said,

“Thank you, sir. I shall be honoured.”

“For she hardly knows which are the best warehouses! A very shabby piece of work, indeed!”

Mrs Bennet’s misery was acute. At last, an opportunity to buy wedding clothes for one of her daughters, and Jane had always been her favourite, not at all like the others, completely ungrateful, making themselves the talk of the village, really, what has the world come to!

Only the thought of having her eldest daughter, her favourite child, the one she had known she could trust, for surely such beauty of face and figure had been put on this earth to some purpose, to have her established as the mistress of Netherfield, and later on, the mistress of … Who knew what the future held, after all?

Mrs Bennet was, as expected, soon happily preoccupied with visions of upcoming grandeur and triumph over those sneaky Lucases, for, as she said to everyone within earshot, “What is a mere country parson? I shall live out my days at Netherfield, while the Lucases are cramped in this good-for-nothing barn of a house!”

She continued in this vein until overheard by her husband, who congratulated her on this great feat but did not hesitate to bring to her attention one small matter – that it could be him who would outlive her, a thought which, for some reason, almost managed to penetrate Mrs Bennet’s armour. Almost, for she perceived her daughter’s upcoming marriage as her personal triumph.

“I have always said London would do the trick, my dears!” she kept saying and in this spirit, she was even once caught saying to Elizabeth, “Never mind Mr Collins, Lizzy, but why wouldn’t you have Wickham?”

However, she only brought the matter up when there were no visitors and when she was alone with Elizabeth, a situation very easy to avoid since after weeks of being visited by no-one at all, the door of Longbourn now seemed to be under a siege. Mrs Philips was in and out of house all day, the Lucases came, the Neightons, and one day brought even Mrs Whistler, who made it abundantly clear to her sister that she would only be seen nigh Longbourn if Miss Elizabeth Bennet was kept out of sight. No doubt Mrs Whistler would be extremely well satisfied if she had known that Elizabeth mostly kept to her room anyway, the lumber room and the coal-cellar* being, due to the time of year, full of their proper occupants and unable to accommodate a Sinner.

Elizabeth had little wish to get out of bed most mornings following the close meeting with Mr Wickham. How she managed to convey to her father the truth – well, a part of it – she did not know. She only remembered her cry to her father, ‘How could you – how did he manage to persuade you I intended to marry him?’. This sentence had been a shock to her who said it and to him who heard it. She had never been more acutely aware of a very simple fact, namely that she would give much to marry Mr Darcy – that she wished to marry him now, when all hope of her ever meeting him again was gone. She was left with a tarnished reputation, her name bandied about in connection with a good-for-nothing scoundrel!

She had cried bitterly and often, imagining various ways in which he would find out of her alleged trespass, and how it would hurt him. What an affront! Nothing she had said or done could not be as offensive as the fact her name would be coupled with Wickham’s, and in such a way! For she was convinced that his purpose had been to meet her, for what other motive would have led him to seek the company of the inhabitants of Longbourn?

Elizabeth smiled at her own vanity, but she felt herself to be in the right. He loved her, and she loved him all the better with every mile that separated them, with every ill-timed word she had recalled to her mind, with every day that found her in disgrace. She loved him and more: she had grown to respect him. How dignified his behaviour now seemed to her – in his position, she would have had no self-control. Well, she did not have it in any case, was the inevitable conclusion which brought tears into her eyes again. Her behaviour that evening was unforgivable! Coupled with what he must find out of her clandestine meeting with Wickham … How must he despise her! Or worse still, she has become utterly unimportant to him. He is ashamed of ever considering …

Having come to the inevitable conclusion, Elizabeth cried more bitterly than ever.

*A small tribute to Ms. Heyer and her Phoebe from Sylvester.

Part 19 ~ Journeys End…

Posted on Saturday, 15 September 2007

In which Mr Darcy, to be able to break free of his domestic sphere and avoid the censure of its medical satellites, does the unthinkable, and Mrs Bennet thinks the unbelievable, whilst Elizabeth is mostly left to her own detective skills, and we meet the two Mr Bingleys. And onwards, to the journey’s end!

“More sugar, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Mrs Bennet smiled approvingly at her second eldest child who did her best with tea things. Lizzy was not a complete dunce after all. She had admittedly let Wickham slip out of her fingers – she had actually taken a slightly more active part in the gentleman’s exit from the scene, but Mrs Bennet was reluctant to dwell on that particular detail – however, this tall and fair Colonel, the younger son – sigh – of the Earl of Matlock would not be a bad catch for Lizzy at all.

Thus reasoned Mrs Bennet, observing with pleasure the unmistakable signs of a gentleman appreciative of female beauty.

Elizabeth was silently thanking God for the existence of tea. Thus she could, as the eldest daughter present, fumble with the sugar, the teapot and the cups to her heart’s content, and lift her eyes only when absolutely necessary. Which was not often, since Colonel Fitzwilliam was spending most of his time nodding politely in response to her mother’s speeches. This showed that some members of the illustrious family had indeed mastered the art of being civil to perfect strangers, and it gave Elizabeth some opportunity to scrutinize this wholly unexpected visitor. She had just managed a quiet observation to herself that no two cousins could be more dissimilar, when Mrs Bennet hove a deep sigh.

Now, in Mrs Bennet, a sigh could mean a great number of things – an expression of self-satisfaction, a restrained attempt at bearing the injustices brought upon Mrs Bennet and her nerves with her customary fortitude, a signal to Mrs Bennet’s interlocutor that a brief wordless moment would at long last occur…
It could mean all that, but to Elizabeth, it merely presented an opportunity she could not and should not let pass. She had to prove that not all sense of decorum had not been lost to Longbourn and its residents.

Her hands closed on the saucer she held in front of her in vain attempts to steady them, as well as her voice. The strain of the past weeks had left marks in her countenance. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks had lost their customary healthy glow. Yet… She felt strangely empowered by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence. She would say it, she would ask.

“Excuse me, Colonel.”
Mrs Bennet’s sigh evolved into something dangerously akin to a hiss. The silly girl would do so much better to be quiet and smile, and let her mother do the talking!
Mrs Bennet felt it was her motherly duty to make that point clear. A well-placed wink would surely do the trick.
“I trust you left Mr Darcy in good health?”

“Merciful God in heavens!”

This took the Colonel slightly by surprise. Not to put a too fine point on it, his eyebrows did, admittedly, lift, as he felt he had apparently not in any way caused Mrs Bennet’s sudden appeal to the Almighty. Nor had any of his actions or words, he was certain, could have been instrumental in bringing about a positive fit of winking.

“What has he got to do with anything?”

“He is recovering very well, thank you.”

Since these two comments were spoken virtually simultaneously, the first remark had the very great fortune of being rendered almost inaudible.

“Recovering? Has he been ill?”

Elizabeth, trying to hide the tremor in her hands and voice, stood up to make some more tea. Whilst bending over the teapot, she felt her colour rise and dared not look up.

“We’re sorry to hear it, of course…”

“Yes. He fell badly ill on the day of his return from Hertfordshire.”

Nothing, not even her cheeks persisting in the deepest shade of crimson, would have stopped Elizabeth from looking up at this point.

“It was, I believe, largely due to the fact that he had ridden in wholly unsuitable weather all the way to London.” Colonel Fitzwilliam paused.
“Not very rational of him, you must agree, Miss Elizabeth.”

“I do not trust myself with putting pen to paper at present, for reasons your cousin is well aware of. I am, however, prepared to listen to whatever he feels incumbent upon him to communicate to me. You may say as much to him. And,” Mr Bennet waved his hand with a certain degree of embarrassment, “give him my best regards, of course.”

“Very well, sir.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed and thanked for the hospitality which had been shown him. His mission was, it appeared, concluded. He had been commissioned with best regards to Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley, Mr and Mrs Hurst, and, well, Mr Darcy, and wishes for his complete recovery were added to these as an afterthought by Mrs Bennet. Miss Elizabeth, however, had not said another word, beyond agreeing to his cousin’s behaviour had indeed been irrational. It was thanks to her mother that the Colonel would be able to herald Miss Elizabeth’s arrival to Town. Colonel hoped the news would bring on a swift recovery on his cousin’s part, at least.

“Lizzy!” “Eliza!” “Cousin Elizabeth!”

The variations of her name, uttered in voices ranging from a childish squeal to a deep baritone, yet all with unmistakable welcoming warmth, were a balm to Elizabeth’s heart. She spent the hours travelling from Hertfordshire much preoccupied by her thoughts. She was journeying on a most satisfactory errand – to meet a sister who was at long last happily, nay, blissfully in love, and to assist her in buying wedding clothes. Her heart was full and brimming over with joy she felt for Jane, all the more because she knew the happiness she was to witness might have been snatched away, had it not been for one, oh, so dear to her now!

Mr Darcy was very obediently tucked in a fur rug and with his feet perched on a hot brick in what his perceived to be quite octogenarian manner. It was a ridiculous position to find himself in, but the ends justified the manner, and seeing that nothing short of travelling as somebody’s great-grandfather will get the blessing of his sister and his doctorship, as he began to refer to Dr Bridewell, he had decided to bear it.

It had been slightly awkward when he was forced to, well, ask Bingley to take him to Hertfordshire with him. With the old Bingley, it would have sufficed earlier to give him but a slight prod in any direction, and he would immediately warm to somebody else’s – that is, Darcy’s, idea. In fact, he would take it up as his own and give it no other thought. But the new Bingley had grown insufferably immune to prodding of any kind. No, he needed no help in Hertfordshire. It was really an easy distance and he would not be bored. He would be back in the flash of flashes. (Darcy winced.) He could easily stay at Longbourn. (Darcy winced again.) And why was Darcy so concerned about his Hertfordshire trip anyhow?

“Dash it, you have grown to be worse than Caroline in the questions department!” complained Bingley.

At this point, a flushed Darcy’s trumpets sounded retreat to the back lines and to:
“Can I go with you, Bingley?”

This had been merely the first in an infinite line of gross embarrassments. He hated asking Bingley for anything, particularly as he was positive he had caught a fleeting expression of triumphant glee in Bingley’s face as he croaked that mortifying request. Bingley had even had the audacity to pass it off as a mere nothing, saying, whilst patting his shoulder, “Of course, Darcy, if you think it’s wise.”

This mild comment naturally induced the brisk retort.
“No trip to Hertfordshire could ever be wise!”
As this was topped by a childishly innocent remark, ‘Why do you wish to go then? A man in your condition, too!’, there was really no other course of action but to quietly consign one’s best friend to the devil and save one’s strength to overcome the aforementioned domestic and medical objections.

Not to mention the even greater obstacle to his peace of mind looming on the horizon in the shape and form of Mr Bennet. According to the message which that gentleman had delivered through the intolerably smirking medium of blasted Fitzwilliam, theirs was not to be the pleasantest of conversations. Mr Darcy braced himself.

There was, however, an unknown voice to be heard in the background after Sophy’s arms released their grip of welcome.

“Miss Elizabeth, I am so pleased to meet you.”

A smiling Mrs Gardiner proceeded to introduce the young lady who got up when Elizabeth entered the room.

“Miss Darcy, Mrs Annesley, my niece Elizabeth.”

A tall fair girl, drawn to the front of the room by Mrs Gardiner’s introduction, curtseyed and took a hesitant step towards Elizabeth. The latter’s heart went out to her. Obviously not yet out and unused to society, Miss Darcy was blushing fiercely. Whilst providing remarkable competition in the blushing area, Elizabeth decided there and then to draw her out as much as possible. This proved to be a much less demanding task as one would expect, since there was a great desire to please on both sides. Georgiana was anxious to be on good terms with Elizabeth, and Elizabeth… She dreaded seeing the brother, but being kind to him by proxy was more than acceptable.

Fortunately enough, it was to be a brief stay. Darcy thanked his lucky stars that Bingley had foregone his previous resolution to stay with the future in-laws at Longbourn. It might be the practical side of Bingley taking charge for how, I ask you, best to see to some major adjustments to Netherfield but by staying there? And he had, after all, not formally visited the Bennets after becoming engaged to their eldest daughter, thus inviting himself to stay would be slightly awkward. Did Darcy not think so?

His friend not only shared his opinion, he made such appreciative noises in face of the common sense on behalf of his friend, that if these were punctuated by a sigh of relief, it was barely to be heard.

Jane was of great help, as was Mrs Gardiner. They referred to a previous conversation, supplied the latest news of theatrical performances, not to mention the tea and biscuits. But one thing they would not do, and that was inquire about Mr Darcy. Could it be because he was to join them? Elizabeth’s eyes wandered restlessly over the china to locate the extra cup. There was none.

Why, oh why, could nobody ask the really important questions in her stead? Why did she always have to do it herself?

Ready to face the music, be it in form of a bitter peal rung over his head, or deadly silence resounding in his ears, Mr Darcy applied to Mr Bennet for an audience as soon as Bingley had devoted himself to animated discussion of improvements to be carried out at Netherfield. He was expected and greeted perfectly politely although with a great deal of reserve.

In midst of explaining away the extent of his presumption in separating his friend from Mr Bennet’s daughter, Mr Bennet interrupted him with,
“I see. I had thought as much and cannot claim myself to be surprised. Well, by doing what you considered right certainly you found no favour in any quarter. Still, it is all water under the bridge now, and I dare say you had something to do with this aspect of the matter as well.”

“I would not put it this way, sir. Mr Bingley clearly has all the credit. Or rather, Miss Bennet’s arrival to London, which was the sole reason behind my friend’s resolution.”

Mr Bennet eyed him from behind his spectacles.
“Be that as it may, sir, it is not my daughter Jane’s affairs that inspire me with a burning desire to whip your hindquarters, young man!”

“How is Mr Darcy? I hear he has been ill.”

Georgiana’s face predictably lit up at the mention of her brother.

“Thank you, he is much better. So much better, in fact, that his doctor had no serious objections to his journey.”

“Journey? Where has he gone?”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. It could not be!

“He accompanied Mr Bingley to Hertfordshire, Lizzy. We thought you knew.”

The quiet voice of Mr Bennet in the latter’s study struck him more forcibly than anything he had experienced in his lifetime. The thought of Elizabeth’s mortification that evening – all of his infliction! He had tortured himself again and again, reliving that meeting. A sweet torture it was, in the hours between consciousness and restless world of feverish fantasy, for at least she was there, by him, even if gazing at him reproachfully, her face flushed with anger and her eyes glistening with the tears she was too proud to shed.

Now all this was complemented by the palpable damage their chance encounter had done her. Mr Bennet chose his words carefully yet every syllable hit home twice as hard as intended, for Darcy fully realised the extent of suffering to which he had exposed Elizabeth. The pain was excruciating. Aware of no other component of his environs but Mr Bennet’s slow, deliberate recapitulation of the circumstances in which his second eldest daughter found herself, he stood up, took a disoriented step or two every once in a while, then sat down again and buried his face in his hands.

At long last, silence fell upon the study. Mr Bennet had said what he set out to say, or rather less, for the appearance of his visitor led him suppose half his task had already been done. Mr Darcy’s pale countenance and his withered frame bore evidence of his convalescence, but what struck Mr Bennet was the haunted look in his eyes at the first mention of Elizabeth’s name. Thus he shortened his speech, looking with increasing discomfort at the once proud gentleman and heir to a wealthy estate, now reduced to someone apparently unable to look Mr Bennet in the eye.

“I must ask you, sir, what, if anything, have you got to say for yourself.”

“I? How would I know anything about it?”

Elizabeth’s bewilderment was accompanied by acute embarrassment as Miss Darcy, seemingly as convinced of her omniscience as Jane and Mrs Gardiner said,
“Colonel Fitzwilliam told me my brother was most certainly expected to accompany Mr Bingley. It had been long settled, I think, and William insisted on going.”

It seemed as if fate was having a merry laugh at Elizabeth’s expense.

“He… They will not stay in Hertfordshire for more than a few days, I’m sure,” Georgiana ventured with a smile in Miss Bennet’s direction.

It did not appear to Elizabeth that the fate’s amusement was in any way diminished by this piece of news.

Part 20 ~ …In Lovers Meeting*

In which the inevitable inevitably occurs

Well, ask him he did, so he was compelled to listen to his reply, even though the household had all gone to bed by the time the question received a full and satisfactory one. Only to decades of Mr Bennet’s training of his family and the Longbourn household staff Mr Darcy could thank to be able to explain himself so fully and in detail. It did, at times, strike Mr Bennet that the young man behaved as if had mistaken him for his daughter, such was the depth of feeling reflected in his face and manner.

To Mr Darcy, it felt as if the burden of weeks and years had been lifted off his shoulders. He told Mr Bennet everything that had transpired between him and Elizabeth that fateful afternoon, of his encounter with Miss King and Mr Wickham and the purpose of his coming to Hertfordshire then. If Mr Bennet saw another purpose to Mr Darcy’s coming to the country at that moment, he held his peace on the subject, he merely accepted his apologies and suggested Elizabeth should hear them, too, and as soon as possible.

“I agree, sir, she should and she will. If she does not refuse to hear me, that is.”

“I should think there is little danger of that. I have never known my daughter to avoid confrontation of any kind.”

Mr Bennet had spared his daughter exactly one such confrontation prior to her departure for London, when he restrained himself and merely posed a rhetorical question, “Lizzy, what were you about? I thought you never liked this pompous model of male superiority!”. But he decided not to pry and hoped the information necessary to solve the riddle of that afternoon encounter would duly present itself. And it did.

He had little doubt as to the result of Mr Darcy’s apology, and more or less resigned himself to an inevitable furore in his home when this young man and his daughter established some kind of a truce. Thus he preserved a calm and dignified, if somewhat sleepy front throughout their meeting. He only added,

“She will have gotten over it by now. Her sister’s engagement to your friend made her the happiest she has been in weeks. And, oddly, saddest, but who can fathom the ways of womanfolk? I wish you success.”

Mr Darcy looked up sharply at the older gentleman, who rubbed his nose as if to stifle a yawn.

“With fathoming the ways of womanfolk, Mr Darcy. May it be a lifelong study as mine has been.”

Aided by some meaningful throat-clearing in the direction of the clock on the mantelpiece, the visitor was at long last made aware of his surroundings again. He rose and took his leave, but not before he thanked Mr Bennet for his kindness and apologised some more. This wholly uncharacteristic verbosity was received by some more throat-clearing and a clear,

“Do not thank me, I beg you. If there was a whip somewhere in sight, I would still be sorely tempted. Goodnight, and may I wish you a safe journey?”

Meanwhile, two examples of unfathomable womanfolk, closely related to Mr Bennet, were seated comfortably in their bedroom at the Gardiners’. Their conversation could be best described as, well, confrontation of sorts, with Elizabeth teasing Jane by quoting the letter she had written after she first met Mr Bingley in Town.

“‘I am certain there is no ill will on my side, and I shall find myself able…’”

“Lizzy!”

“‘To cross his path in society with perfect indifference and calm’.”

“You will make an ideal society wife, Jane. He will go his path and you yours. You shall not interfere with each other at all …”

“Lizzy, you are insufferable!”

“I must bring delight to Mr Bingley by informing him how uninterfering a wife he is to have!”

Miss Bennet found herself unequal to comment since she was suffocating with giggles, but she did manage to pinch her cruel younger sister in a strategic spot. They both collapsed on the bed, quite exhausted.

Jane soon fell asleep, the days of shopping and endless preparation taking their natural toll. Sleep eluded Elizabeth, though, as it had for many past weeks. She had made a difficult decision, but to be forced to wait to carry it through was at times more she could bear.

On the afternoon of the fifth day of her stay in London, when Elizabeth was standing by the window, taking a brief respite from answering one of her aunt’s questions with an absent air, and gazing seemingly at nothing in particular, there was an unmistakable sound downstairs. A few minutes later, when Elizabeth had taken, very properly, her place by her aunt and Jane, the door opened and suddenly, Mrs Gardiner’s parlour was filled to the bursting point when Lady Rebecca Fizwilliam, Miss Darcy and Mrs Annesley were announced.

Lady Rebecca, a handsome woman of some fifty years, with her son’s clear blue eyes good-naturedly observing the ladies from beneath quite a breathtaking hat, inclined her head at the introductions, officiated by a slightly pink Miss Darcy. She apologised for the intrusion and explained she wished to meet the Miss Bennets whom she had heard so much of, offering at the same time felicitations at Miss Bennet’s betrothal.

The visit was not a long one, but the ladies of Gracechurch Street were left with a favourable impression of her ladyship, especially as on leaving, Lady Rebecca bade them goodbye whilst looking forward to seeing them at the Darcys’.

This left Miss Darcy to inquire whether, if they were not otherwise engaged, they would be disposed to join her brother and herself for a small party on Monday.

Faithfully discharging her true errand, Miss Darcy could then take more than just shallow breaths of air. Mrs Gardiner replied, on consulting the merry look of her eldest, and the flushed countenance and a downcast look of the younger niece, that neither herself nor her husband or her nieces had any prior engagement and would be delighted.

Georgiana professed herself delighted in turn, and the visitors were off, leaving the three ladies in a state of slight shock.

“Well! I never imagined my company would be sought by Mr Darcy! Jane, this must be all your doing. We are to move in such elevated circles!”

Mrs Gardiner was as much gratified as amused by the latest addition to her circle of acquaintance. She was disposed to elaborate on the subject, but was interrupted by the entry of the servant again, this time with a piece of paper on the platter. Jane ventured that surely, it must be their voucher for Almack’s!

Her aunt, however, addressed Elizabeth.

“Lizzy? This is meant for you to read.”

The note was from Mr Gardiner. It informed his wife and niece Elizabeth that Mr Darcy had just requested a private interview with the latter, with the knowledge of Mr Bennet and Mr Gardiner.

‘I have a mind to invite Mr Darcy to come this evening still, subject to your and Elizabeth’s approval. However, I think Elizabeth in all fairness should grant the interview to the gentleman, no matter what feelings she may have on the subject,’ concluded Mr Gardiner.

“Well, Lizzy? What answer should I send?”

Mrs Gardiner, not even having the leisure of processing the apparent fact that she evidently had not one but two nieces on the brink of advantageous marriage, resorted, as was her wont, to the practicalities of the matter to carry her through.

Could there be any doubt as to Elizabeth’s answer? Surely not. A brief, whispered ‘Yes’ was all she could muster before she looked at both astonished ladies and implored them not to question her.

“I must, I shall tell you all, but not now, I beg you! Would you excuse me, Aunt?”

Hardly waiting for the response, she was out of the room and up the stairs.

Within what she – and Sophy, who complained about her sampler – for something surely must be wrong with it, as no stitch showed properly! – deemed an appropriate interval, Mrs Gardiner undertook the inevitable upon herself – she went and knocked on the door of the bedchamber.

“Come in,” she heard, and did just that, bearing a comforting pot of tea in her capable hands.

“I thought you might benefit from some warmth, Lizzy. Here you go. May I join you?”

Her niece hesitantly acceded to her right of drinking tea wherever she chose in her own house, no matter how confused and disobliging her company may be.

“Oh no, Lizzy, nobody could ever think you disobliging. But why confused? There can be no doubt as to Mr Darcy’s intentions – and he went very properly about the entire business, to be sure. He might not be perfect, and from what I gather he is not, in every other respect, but his behaviour has been beyond reproach in this matter, at least.”

“Oh Aunt!”

“I am afraid you will have to elaborate a little on the ‘oh’ part, dear. What puzzles you? I am sure you have your wits about you and will know how to refuse him in a manner which will not hurt his dignity.”

“Refuse him?”

Elizabeth’s eyes were wide open at the horror of such a suggestion.

“Why surely you--? Elizabeth!”

Mrs Gardiner would not have been so shocked had the King and Queen of England knocked on her door. But the notion of her niece entertaining the thought of marriage to a man who was wealthy, of good breeding, but whom she found revolting, was so appalling to her that she had to put her teacup down and compose herself. Was it on Jane’s account? Was Lizzy loath to be left alone at Longbourn, was she so impressed by Jane’s good fortune that she contemplated a marriage to one so repulsive to her? It could not be!

“Aunt, you do not know him. You do not know what an … honest, worthy, gentle man he is!” Elizabeth’s tears flowed freely yet again, as she clutched at her much tried handkerchief in vain attempt to arrest them.

“What? But Lizzy! How has this come about? What happened? I was, we all were, left to suppose he was the most proud, disagreeable man of your acquaintance!”

“I was wrong, Aunt, I was such a fool. I was duped by my own prejudice, by my seeing only what I wanted to see! Please do not ask me – I cannot think or speak until this matter has been resolved! Refuse him? I? I will not get the chance – do you think he would ask me, me to be his wife? One who accused him of horrible things, and managed to ruin my reputation in one swift move, coupling my name with another’s who is not fit to, to… live in the same world as Mr Darcy!”

Mrs Gardiner was dumbfounded. Thousand thoughts roamed her mind, but once again, with a niece on the verge of breaking down in something dangerously, unbelievably close to hysterics, Mrs Gardiner did the only possible thing: embraced the poor girl who was evidently fighting some strange and unknown demons within her hurt soul.

“Oh my dear Lizzy… There, there. So you were a fool – but you know it. Shhh… Have a good cry.”

She held Elizabeth until the latter calmed down – although the tears would not stop. Her Aunt then said, as calmly as she could,

“Whatever you think you may have done wrong – Lizzy, you can set it right. I don’t know what his purpose is then in coming – although it can mean only one thing, no matter that you seem to believe it can’t be. Very well. Suppose he is not coming to propose. Seize your chance.”

“What? Should I propose to him?” was the muffled question from the vicinity of Mrs Gardiner’s right earlobe.

That was more like it! Relieved, Mrs Gardiner made one hand free and tugged at her niece’s ear.

“Well, that would be an original approach, at least!”

Elizabeth lifted her head off her aunt’s shoulder and took a deep breath. There was an unmistakable sign of a smile on her tear-stained face.

“Well, whatever is that you did, try to undo it. You never were one to recoil from a frank conversation, and he is going to hear what you have to say.”

Elizabeth confessed that was her first thought, too.

“Ah, thank heavens. Then stop moping. Give him all your arguments, apologise, and then, well, wait. He surely will not try to drown you as you seemingly attempted with your Aunt!”

Now the smile was even more pronounced. Mrs Gardiner stood up.

“Elizabeth, you must agree that no argument of yours will have any weight whatsoever if supported by swollen eyes and a red nose!”

Thus Mrs Gardiner prescribed a hot bath, a glass of sherry and a nap, immediately and in quick succession, and oversaw the entire programme carried out personally.

Mr Darcy was not at leisure to build up a stage fright of such magnitude. Upon his return from Mr Gardiner’s place of business, he found several letters requiring urgent replies, and among them, Bingley’s letter, in which an extensive list of planned, carried out, thought- and rethought-of improvements to Netherfield Park was laid out in the manner which would almost lead Mr Darcy to the conclusion Bingley had written his instead of his fiancée’s direction, had it not been for complete lack of terms of endearment in the missive.

And if this was not enough, Colonel Fitzwilliam descended upon the house in the Park Lane, coming expressly to listen to Georgiana playing the music he had bought her, and to accept with, yes, absolute delight, the invitation to dinner on Monday. Of course, being there, he could hardly forgo the pleasure of ‘looking in on his ever busy cousin’, as he put it.

He came into his study just as Mr Darcy was deeply engrossed in the new shelves in the Netherfield pantry, for the old ones were, as Bingley expressed himself, ‘utterly kaputt’.

“It was one of the idiosyncrasies on the part of Bingley’s master, you know. He did not study French with him, but German.”

“Do you think Bingley knows it?”

“Good point. I think not. But his spelling is correct.”

“And in the present climate, it would hardly do to spicy up one’s correspondence, no matter how personal – I mean, a man’s pantry, Darcy! – with French, would it. Au contraire!”

“It’s this wedding business. Half the time I get the impression he is leading me up the path! Shelves in the pantry!”

“You shall soon walk that same path, Darcy, I can feel it in my bones.”

“What you can feel is the tapping of your sword, Fitzwilliam, against your leg. Or worse still, you have the rheumatism. Your age is starting to show from beneath the red enamel. Have you tried flannel?”

“Darcy, I see I must congratulate you. You did not resort to threats, as is your custom when pressed against the wall by the force of my wit. That can only mean one thing and one thing only. Pray, when is the happy day, and should I wear my dress uniform or would you prefer me not to? … Say no more. Your countenance is full of apprehension. But the wedding day is about the bride and I cannot possibly outshine her. Whether you blend in with the grey walls of the church or not, is of little consequence.”

Mr Darcy felt his dignity would not profit by the throwing of paperweights.

“Mr Darcy, may I introduce Mrs Gardiner?”

There was a rock, comparable to any to be found in his county, in his stomach, as he executed his bow.

“You know my niece, Jane.”

For once, Miss Bennet did not smile. She had heard her sister’s sobs too often in the past days to smile. Whether Mr Darcy was to blame or not, if it were only for Elizabeth’s reaction to Mr Gardiner’s note earlier, Miss Bennet would steel her heart against her future husband’s best friend. Meddling with her own life was fine, but meddling with her sister’s happiness was quite another.

Thus Mr Darcy, who finally managed to steal a couple of moments on his way to Gracechurch street, to develop the feelings of stage fright that would make Elizabeth blush with incompetence at her own amateur attempts in that direction, encountered two very serious faces and one moderately kind one, Mrs Gardiner’s. It was that lady who informed her that her niece would come directly, whilst they would remove themselves so as to give them privacy. She took pity on Mr Darcy, who by then knew not where to look, and brought to his attention the position of the bell cord. With that, the Gardiners and Jane withdrew.

A couple of extremely long moments, and Elizabeth came into the room. She courtseyed and said, her voice trembling, “Would you sit down?”

Mr Darcy bowed and sat down.

Sitting down - vastly overrated. Nothing like sitting down to make a man, who was otherwise perfectly calm, appear nervous. Well. Best get on with it.

“Mr Darcy…”

“Madam, I…”

Elizabeth could not help but smile at his pompous eagerness. Her Aunt had been right. The bath, the sherry and the nap, with the absence of red nose and swollen eyes, made all the difference. Now to start speaking.

“May I say something first, sir?”

Well… I remember that smile. If the smile is there, it cannot be that I will be fed to the lions. Besides, they are in Brighton.

Tearing away from zoological issues, Mr Darcy readily gave the word to the lady.

“There are several things I have to apologise for.”

“Please, there is no need…”

“No, I must say it, please. Firstly, I was incredibly rude to you that day in Longbourn. I was rude, prejudiced, but worst of all, I was a fool.”

Apparently, Elizabeth shared his view of sitting down, for she got up and stood by the window, looking straight into his eyes.

“I was rude and prejudiced because you have hurt my pride – I heard your opinion of me that night at the assembly. I knew you did not wish to dance with me at the Lucases’, that dancing was not your favourite pastime, and I decided to dislike you out of spite and, yes, out of envy because you could say just as you pleased.”

“Miss Elizabeth!”

“Please, I have not nearly finished. My pride was hurt, I reacted in a childish, rude, and foolish way then, and my behaviour towards you has never been what it should have been. I topped it all by laying false accusations at your door – I did not even take the time to verify the information I had, which would be not only intelligent but also a decent thing to do. Had I bothered to treat you impartially and without prejudice, I would not have to apologise now. But I feel I do. I am sorry and I hope you will be able to forgive me for my behaviour throughout our acquaintance and especially the last time we met.”

Her voice trembled and her hands shook. Embarrassed, she turned her back on him. That sight was too much for Darcy to bear.

“Elizabeth!”

His voice arrested her.

“I forgive you? You speak of being rude and prejudiced, and a fool. You? It sounds as a perfect description of myself and my actions…”

He took to pacing about the room, stopping occasionally for emphasis.

“Had I not been determined to dislike everything and everybody and Hertfordshire, had I not meddled in other people’s affairs, had I not put my pride first… But I am glad. For…”

Now he was standing right behind her and speaking rather softly across her shoulder.

“That last time we met, my first conscious thought when I recovered my senses was to do whatever I could to put the matters right between Mr Bingley and your sister. Bingley, fortunately, anticipated me there, and their engagement, once again, proved me to be utterly mistaken on the nature of your sister’s feelings. But my intention, my desire was to not only to put the matters right between him and your sister but by doing so, if it was possible… To gain some credit in your eyes.”

She turned to look at him in astonishment. So it had been true. She had known it must be, but to hear him say it…

“Your good opinion matters to me beyond everyone else’s. If I only knew that there was hope enough…”

Darcy ran fingers through his hair in agitation. There was so much he wished to tell her.

“That fateful afternoon I came to Meryton because I had had a letter from Colonel Forster, informing me that Wickham was on point of marriage… I formed my own conclusions, and expected… I expected it had to be you whom I would have to inform of his conduct. It was Miss ---. Her name escapes me. When she walked into the room … I knew you were safe. After that, I don’t think there was beyond one thought in my mind. When we met in the lane, I was on my way to Longbourn. My only thought was to see you, and if I could, talk to you. And that I did. Not on the subject I had in mind, but…”

She coloured and hid her face in her hands. The things she had said to him!

“For all the pain it gave me, I was grateful, I am grateful for that meeting in the lane. My only regret is that I kept you outside too long and exposed you to such unpleasantness. And in connection to that scoundrel, too! But before I found out about that, I was grateful, and humbled, to be able to ascertain which I should have known all along. That if I had been as fortunate as to —”

He shook his head. He was ahead of himself.

“And then – I received your father’s letter, by, I find, the most fortunate mistake. I… I thought – if only I could, by some word or deed, persuade you to consider me… We could still, well, after we were married and perhaps knew each other a little better… You could perhaps learn to overcome... It was a stupid, childish, inconsiderate thought.”

Elizabeth’s blood thumped erratically and something seemed to have gone wrong with her breath.

“Ironically, it was precisely that fateful conversation that seemed to encourage these foolish thoughts. I was convinced that only if we had time and opportunity to discuss things as we discussed them that afternoon, I could perhaps…”

“Win you,” he concluded quietly.

It seemed to Elizabeth, whenever she later thought of that moment, that the house had been absolutely still, as if it were a human, holding his breath in fear in anticipation and fear – yes, fear, for it was fear she felt. A wholly benumbing feeling of fear lest she should lose this wonderful man again. She had hoped and wished and longed for the exactly same thing – the opportunity to talk to him alone, without interruptions or intrusions. Now it came and she was momentarily struck numb.

The mere fact she did not move, that she stood there in perfect silence, gave him more encouragement than any civil word, any polite smile or gesture would. He felt ridiculously comfortable. A man of his reserve, a man so violently in love, one who had recently faced so many of his own flaws and shortcomings, he felt at complete ease as his darling stood and remained silent.

She felt his gaze on her face, and she felt blood rush into her cheeks. What could she say?

As nervous as he was now calm, she finally lifted her eyes. He was a very proper distance away, looking at her with a small smile. Elizabeth felt it was impossible to say anything. She took a small step forward and hesitated, then turned towards the window. But speak she must. Looking into his eyes and facing him was, however, simply impossible, and the window offered temporary refuge.

“I am so sorry for everything that has passed between us.”

“Are you? I am not, well, not for all of it. Had I not done all these things, I would not have known myself as I am – you showed me my faults as if you had held a mirror to my face. And for that I am eternally grateful. My friendship with my sister has been as precious to me as any bond but it suffered a great deal, and it would have suffered more, she would have suffered more, had you not opened my eyes. I would have ridden roughshod over Bingley for Lord knows how many more times, had you not clearly told me how insufferable my behaviour was.”

He paused a little.

“And the mere fact that you are still here, listening to me, gives me great comfort. Elizabeth.”

The entreaty in his voice was too much. She turned and lifted her eyes, by now filled with tears.

“Tell me, honestly, as always, could it, should it also give me some hope?”

Alas, the bath, the sherry and the nap were far away and unattainable.

But another safe haven was there, and the moment she blushingly thought of it, her blushes were already hidden against his warm chest. Her breathing became shallow and she closed her eyes. She concentrated on the beating of his heart and blissfully stopped wondering what would happen for she knew all would be well, since he was there.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes?”

“I would very much like hope but I would also prefer certainty. Will you become my wife and relieve us both of our suffering, as soon as may be?”

“Very well,” was the whispered reply, expressing all the willingness in the case of matrimony, and great reluctance to forsake his embrace. But this was not thought of in any case, and any passer-by without any sense of decorum would, with some effort, have a sight to see that evening in the parlour of the Gardiners’ home – for Mr Darcy, enlivened by hope, and rendered positively reckless by the certainty, proceeded to cherish his bride-to-be in the only sensible way available to the hard tried man very much in love.

*“Journeys end in lovers meeting”, titles of the last two chapters are, of course, pinched, from the Bard’s Twelfth Night. No doubt Mr Forsythe would wholeheartedly approve.