Anne could only be happy for them, though when she was alone, it must be a subject for melancholy reflection, to contrast their happiness, and perfect suitability for each other, with her own situation. She grudged them nothing; she could only long for such felicity for herself, and fear that it was not to be.
Chapter 23
Anne enjoyed dancing now, so much that she was very sorry not to go to Lady Louisa's ball; but it could not be. Her head was still tender, and the very thought of an evening of noise, activity, and music made her feel ill. In any case, her mother was hardly likely to believe her still unwell, if she were there. She saw the others on their way, and spent a quiet afternoon and evening with Elizabeth and her father. The dancing party would not return until the next day.
She awaited their return with some confidence. Given their activities and her own letter, she thought her mother might be quite happy to renounce her company at Rosings, and see what London could do for her. What it could do, she was not quite certain; but at least, it would offer her more choices, more possibilities, than life at Rosings. In London, Lady Louisa said, there were groups of people who loved the world of letters; perhaps, among them, she would find a congenial marriage. At the very least, Lord Francis might very likely marry somebody else by the time the season was over.
But all these conjectures were wasted. When they returned the next day, Georgiana almost tumbled out of the carriage, in her haste to tell the news: “Lady Catherine was not at the ball! Neither was the Duchess, nor Lord Francis. No one can imagine what has happened. For the whole of the early part of the evening, they were expected, and with every carriage that was heard to draw up, the news flew round the room, and everyone said 'They have arrived!' But it was not so; they never came.”
What had happened? Had some sickness laid them all low? Speculation had run high amongst those attending, Georgiana said, but nobody knew anything, and at last everyone forgot about them, and fell to enjoying themselves. “My brother and the Colonel have ridden into Burley to make enquiries; so we shall soon know more.” But Darcy and the Colonel returned, and all that they had discovered was that all three had gone; they had left Burley the previous day. No messages had been left; no letter was received at Pemberley; they seemed to have vanished into thin air.
Well! at least, her mother was not about to descend, as Anne had occasionally feared, and require her to jump into the carriage, and be carried away to Rosings. Presumably her mother had gone back thither. “Surely she has!” said Elizabeth, “for there certainly must be matters to attend to, farms to visit, tenants to be scolded, after an interval of so many weeks. Think of the number of people who need new shelves in their closets!”
Undoubtedly they would hear from her in due course, but for now the whole matter was forgotten, as the time rapidly approached for the marriage of Mrs Annesley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. There was no making of bride-clothes, there were no lace veils or bevy of bridesmaids, no display of costly gifts. A special licence having, by Darcy's activity, been obtained, they all went down to the church in the early morning, and the marriage took place at the conclusion of the morning service. How quiet the ceremony was! And how significant! For the first time, Anne observed the fact that, in this most important of ceremonies, only Christian names are used; it matters not whether the groom be an Earl, or the bride, a princess: John marries Mary. Reflecting on it, she found herself thinking—she must think—why could I not marry him; what does rank matter? But in the everyday business of life, she knew, it did.
Mr Bennet left with the married couple, to share the first part of their journey, until their ways should divide.
Their society was now much restricted, and life at Pemberley became very quiet, but it was a busy, happy quiet. A new master was found, to give Anne her piano lessons; and her riding had improved so much that Georgiana, and the groom, were the only companions she needed. The English summer followed its usual pattern, and a spell of bad weather set in, with rain and cold. It sent Anne to the library, to work steadily on her book. She read it aloud, every evening, and it was almost concluded. None of the Darcys saw any reason why she should not publish it, and various absurd pseudonyms were, at one time or another, suggested.
Then there was an assembly at Lambton, at which Anne, wearing the bronze-green silk, danced almost every dance. Sir Matthew danced with her twice.
A few days later, his mother, together with her younger daughter, Miss Zara Brocklebank, visited Pemberley and, while the girls were strolling about the gardens, had a quiet discussion with Mr Darcy as to Anne's exact prospects. “She did it very well, and one cannot blame them,” Darcy said. “The family has no money, and he must marry well as to fortune. He is a pleasant fellow, and if you liked him, cousin, you could do much worse. Truly, we will not urge you. But I thought it right to drop you a hint, so that you may think it over, and know your own mind.”
Anne thought about it. The date set for the departure of Edmund must have passed; although she had heard nothing, she must assume that he was gone. Even as a beloved guest at Pemberley, she was heartily tired of her single state, which reduced her to the status of a girl, though she was a woman grown. Marriage with Sir Matthew would in many ways be entirely suitable. He was very good-natured; he would be a good steward of Rosings, making few demands for money, as long as he had his horses and his hunting, which the estate could well provide. His rank, his good looks, and his youth would make him acceptable to her mother; and he would not antagonize Lady Catherine with his opinions, for he had none. Alas, Anne could only recall the wedding service she had so recently attended, and “the mutual society, help, and comfort the one should have of the other” would not go out of her mind. It would be a marriage with a man with whom she hardly shared a thought; she could not contemplate it.
Little Lewis continued to thrive, and it was now almost certain that the entire Bennet family, as well as the Bingleys, would come north for the child's christening, in a few weeks, as soon as Mrs Bingley was considered well enough to travel. The question being urgently canvassed by the family was, what should be done about the Bennet sister known as “Lydia.” Should she be invited? Would it be possible to invite her, and not include her husband? Anne felt she would quite like to meet the obviously fascinating Mr Wickham. Surely his eloping with Lydia should be overlooked? They were, after all, married now. But there was something unsaid, some other reason why he was not an acceptable visitor at Pemberley, and it was clear in any case that Lydia herself was not much liked. Elizabeth described her as noisy, silly, and indiscreet, and said that Darcy disliked her almost as much as her husband.
One morning, while they were all having breakfast, Darcy was reading the newspaper. Suddenly he exclaimed “Good G——!” and carelessly setting down his cup, spilt coffee all over the table.
“Whatever is it, my love?” his wife asked.
“When gentlemen are reading the newspaper,” she said to Anne, “expletives are to be expected, but usually it is only some promotion at the Admiralty or some squabble at a Ministry, or some such thing. When it comes to spilling coffee, it is rather more serious. What is it, my love?” but Darcy seemed almost unable to speak.