‘I like to laugh,’ she admitted.
‘And you are loyal to your friends. You berated me over my treatment of Wickham –’
‘Do not speak of him!’ she begged me. ‘I can hardly bear to think about it.’
‘But I can. He is a loathsome individual, but you did not know that at the time, and you defended him. There are not many women who would defend a poor friend against a rich and eligible bachelor.’
‘However undeserving the “friend” might be,’ she said ruefully.
‘And you were not afraid to change your mind when you learnt the truth. You did not cling to your prejudices, regarding either Wickham or myself. You admitted the justice of what I said.’
‘Yes, I acknowledged that a man who does not give a living to a wastrel is not a brute. That is a sign of great goodness, indeed!’
‘You did everything in your power to help Lydia, even though you knew her to be thoughtless and wild,’ I pointed out.
‘She is my sister. I could hardly abandon her to a rogue,’ she replied.
‘But I am allowed to exaggerate your good points,’ I reminded her. ‘You said so yourself.’
She laughed.
‘Poor Lydia. I thought she had ruined my chance of happiness with you for ever. I could not imagine you would want to be connected to a family in which one of the girls had eloped, especially not as she had eloped with your greatest enemy.’
‘I never thought of that. You had taught me by then that such things do not matter.’
‘I had taught you more than I realized, then. When you came to Longbourn, after Lydia’s marriage –’
‘Yes?’
‘You said so little. I thought you did not care about me.’
‘Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.’
‘I was embarrassed,’ she said.
‘And so was I.’
‘Tell me, why did you come to Netherfield? Was it merely so that you could ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed? Or had you intended any more serious consequence?’
‘My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me.
My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.’
‘Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to befall her?’
‘I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.’
Whilst I composed my letter to Lady Catherine, Elizabeth composed a letter to her aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street. Hers was easier to write than mine, because it would give pleasure, whereas mine would give distress. But it had to be done.
Lady Catherine,
I am sure you will want to wish me happy. I have asked Miss Elizabeth Bennet to marry me, and she has done me the great honour of saying yes.
Your nephew,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
‘And now I will write a far pleasanter letter,’ I said.
I took another sheet of paper and wrote to Georgiana.
My dear sister,
I know you will be delighted to hear that Elizabeth and I are to marry. I will tell you everything when I see you next.
Your loving brother,
Fitzwilliam
It was short, but I had time for no more. I read it through, sanded it and addressed the envelope.
‘Shall you mind having another sister?’ I asked Elizabeth.
‘Not at all. I am looking forward to it. She will live with us at Pemberley?’
‘If you have no objection?’
‘None at all.’
‘She can learn a great deal from you.’
‘And I from her. She will be able to tell me all about the Pemberley traditions.’
‘You must alter anything you do not like.’
‘No, I will not alter anything. My aunt and I are already agreed, Pemberley is perfect just as it is.’
Elizabeth is delighted with Georgiana’s letter, which arrived this morning. It was well written, and in four pages expressed Georgiana’s delight at the prospect of having a sister.
Less welcome was Lady Catherine’s letter.
Fitzwilliam,
I do not call you nephew, for you are no longer a nephew of mine. I am shocked and astonished that you could stoop to offer your hand to a person of such low breeding. It is a stain on the honour and credit of the name of Darcy. She will bring you nothing but degradation and embarrassment, and she will reduce your house to a place of impertinence and vulgarity. Your children will be wild and undisciplined. Your daughters will run off with stable hands and your sons will become attorneys. You will never be received by any of your acquaintance. You will be disgraced in the eyes of the world, and will become a figure of contempt. You will bitterly regret this day. You will remember that I warned you of the consequences of such a disastrous act, but by then it will be too late. I will not end this letter by wishing you happiness, for no happiness can follow such a blighted union.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
I dined with Elizabeth this evening, and I was surprised to find a large party there, consisting of Mrs Philips, Sir William Lucas and Mr and Mrs Collins. The unexpected appearance of the Collinses was soon explained. Lady Catherine has been rendered so exceedingly angry by our engagement that they thought it wiser to leave Kent for a time and retreat to Lucas Lodge.
Elizabeth and Charlotte had much to discuss, and whilst the two of them talked before dinner, I was left to the tender mercies of Mr Collins.
‘I was delighted to learn that you had offered your hand to my fair cousin, and that she, in her gracious and womanly wisdom, had accepted you,’ he said, beaming. ‘I now understand why she could not accept the proposal I so injudiciously made to her last autumn, when I knew nothing of the present felicitous happenings. I thought at the time that it was strange that such an amiable young woman would refuse the wholly unexceptionable hand of an estimable young man, particularly one who possessed so fine a living, and who, if I may say so, had the advantages of his calling to offer her as well as the advantages of his person. The refusal seemed inexplicable to me at the time, but I fully comprehend it now. My fair cousin had lost her heart to one who, if I may say so, is, by virtue of his standing, more worthy even than a clergyman, for he has the clergyman’s fate in his hands.’
I saw Elizabeth looking satirically at me, but I bore his conversation with composure. I might even, in time, grow to be amused by it.
‘Admirably expressed,’ said Sir William Lucas, as he joined us. He bowed to me, and then to Mr Collins, and then to me again. ‘Only such worth could resign us to the fact that you will be carrying away the brightest jewel of our county when you carry Elizabeth to Derbyshire,’ he continued with another bow. ‘I hope we will all of us meet very frequently, either at Longbourn or at St James’s.’
Fortunately we then went in to dinner, but though I was relieved from the company of Mr Collins and Sir William, I found myself seated next to Mrs Philips. She seemed too much in awe of me to say very much, but when she did speak, it was all of it very vulgar.
‘So, Mr Darcy, it is true you have ten thousand a year?’ she asked.