“Three weeks? That is not very long. Have you forgotten that until very recently we were adversaries?”
Darcy could not deny that. During their time together at Netherfield Park during Jane’s illness, at the home of Sir William Lucas, and at the Netherfield ball, they had sparred on each occasion, and their adversarial postures had traveled with them to Kent, culminating in the scene at the parsonage. Only when they had met at Pemberley did their discourse take on a friendly tone, and their one private conversation in the gazebo had lasted no more than fifteen minutes.
“Agreed. You will have a courtship. What shall I bring when I come calling? Flowers? Jewels? Or should I order a fine carriage?”
“Flowers fade and jewels are locked up in boxes, and the last thing a Darcy needs is another carriage. What I want is for you to write me love letters or poetry.”
“I have no gift for writing,” he said, dismissing her request.
“I remember a conversation we had at Rosings regarding the importance of practice if one is ever to acquire a skill, whether it be playing the pianoforte or engaging strangers in conversation. Determination, effort, and practice are rewarded with success.”
“Have my determination and effort to win your hand met with success?”
“Indeed they have.”
“In that case, shall I get down on one knee?” Darcy asked.
“Only if you want dirty trousers, as it rained last night.”
Darcy pulled her gently to him, and he asked, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you accept my offer of marriage and agree to become my wife?” and with her head upon his chest and feeling the beating of his heart, she whispered, “Yes.”
On the night of Georgiana’s debut, Darcy had an inkling of what he would feel on such an occasion if Elizabeth and he had a daughter. He was flooded with memories of his little sister climbing on her first pony, walking through the maze with their mother, sitting next to her father on the phaeton holding the reins together, or running around a maypole with the village children. In the last five years, their lives had been so entwined that he could hardly believe he might have to part with her in a very short while. But it would happen, as the young men at the ball flew to her as moths to a flame.
He had hoped that it would have been possible for Elizabeth to return with him to London and to stay with the Gardiners, so that they might be together on this special evening. But her family’s reaction to the announcement that they were to be married had been coolly received. He understood it was his own doing as his behavior at the assembly was still discussed in the neighborhood, and, subsequently, his role in Bingley’s departure from Netherfield had been revealed. But because he had asked Elizabeth not to share with her parents his role in Lydia’s fiasco, neither knew how indebted they were to him.
Mrs. Bennet’s reaction to the news was one of shock. Now that Lydia and Jane were shortly to be married and Mary would eventually marry after Mr. Nesbitt had been called to the bar, she was feeling quite secure and mentioned to Lizzy that, unlike Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy was a disagreeable man and one who thought that he was above his company. Nevertheless, she should consent to become his wife.
“Think of the pin money and the dresses, the jewels, and the carriages. Nothing will be denied you, and then you can find a husband for Kitty by throwing her into the path of other rich gentlemen.”
Mr. Bennet’s reservations regarding the marriage were such that Darcy was concerned that he would withhold his blessing, which would have deeply hurt Elizabeth. It was obvious that she was her father’s favorite child, and it was only after her father had talked to his daughter behind closed doors and had been reassured that her intended had no improper pride, that he was perfectly amiable, and that she loved him dearly, that he had given his consent. But he did so reluctantly.
Darcy left his future bride with her family for the purpose of rehabilitating his reputation, but he again cautioned her about revealing his role in Lydia and Wickham’s upcoming marriage. After returning to London, he had called on the Gardiners in hopes of hearing that Lydia had reconsidered, but he was informed that she would not yield. Tired of listening to her aunt and uncle’s pleas, she had finally put an end to their efforts when she had made a confession: She had lied to them when she told them that she was still a maiden. Mrs. Gardiner did not believe her, but the desired result was achieved.
But thoughts such as these should be reflected upon only in the darkest hours of the night and not at his sister’s coming-out party. As he danced with Georgiana’s friends and watched as they huddled in the corners between dances, giggling as girls always do, he delighted in the thought that his lovely sister had formed a deep attachment for Elizabeth. It was as he had always hoped.
At a time when Darcy had the pleasure of escorting his sister to a series of breakfasts and balls, there was an unpleasant piece of unfinished business to deal with. On this day, Lydia Bennet was to marry George Wickham.
Darcy was standing on the church steps when Lydia came bounding out of the hackney with her aunt and uncle. She had taken forever to mount the steps of St. Clement’s as she wanted all of the people out and about to admire her wedding dress and bonnet. Passersby called out their good wishes, which was a good thing, because they were the only ones who did. When she entered the church, she looked around for her family. Why were they not here to share in the joy of her marriage? But the beaming bride shrugged off their absence as soon as she saw Wickham, who had arrived at the church in the uniform of his new regiment. If Darcy had cared one whit about him, he might have asked what accounted for the bruises on his face and the bandage on his hand, but he was confident he knew the answer. Wickham had had a rough reception in Brighton.
Darcy was surprised, but he should not have been, when he saw George and Hannah Bingley in the church. George always dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s, but once Lydia was married, his role would come to an end. The only humor in the situation was Lydia’s face when she saw George Bingley. She had nearly walked into a pew in her effort to give him a wide berth. After the ceremony, George approached Darcy to reassure him that Lydia would be looked after.
“I have written to Wickham’s colonel asking that he alert Mr. Stone if he thinks Lydia is being mistreated in any way. Even with that, she will face challenges once she reaches Newcastle. I grew up in the North, and its people are shaped by its harsh climate. We are coarser than our southern brethren, but more honest to my mind, and we have no tolerance for artifice and lies.
“In that same letter, I again warned Colonel Davenport of Wickham’s proclivity for walking away from unpleasant situations. The colonel assured me that no such thing would happen, as his soldiers were going to be put through a rigorous regimen as he was anticipating that the regiment would shortly be receiving orders to go to the Peninsula to fight Napoleon’s forces in Spain.”
“The Peninsula? I had not thought. Were you aware of this when you helped secure Wickham’s commission?”
“Wickham signed the requisite papers for a commission as an officer in an infantry regiment. His days of parading about the village in his well-tailored uniform so that the ladies might admire him are over. His shoulder will be put to the wheel. As for Wickham’s possible deployment to Spain, he is an officer in His Majesty’s Army, and as such, he will go where he is sent.” After watching the young Lydia enter the carriage with Wickham, he added, “I am a man of faith, Mr. Darcy. As such, I believe good deeds are rewarded, and bad deeds are punished,” and he said no more.