“I do not see why she should take Sophie Lucas,” said Lydia.
“Ah, my dear,” said Mrs Bennet with a sigh, “neither do I, but Sophie has persuaded her to it, I have no doubt. The Lucases have always been artful. I remember when Charlotte Lucas stole Mr Collins away from beneath my nose, when everyone knew he was promised to Lizzy.”
Lydia took no notice of this comment but replied, “Lizzy ought to have taken me,” for she was feeling very much as Kitty had felt when Lydia had gone to Brighton and she had been left behind.
“I daresay she ought, but Lizzy has always been headstrong. She is going with Darcy’s cousin, Edward Fitzwilliam—”
“Edward?” Lydia’s face broke into a smile. “Oh, how I long to see him again. We met him at a ball given in the assembly rooms in Bath. He was forever flirting with me.”
“I am not surprised,” said Mrs Bennet. “You have always looked well, Lydia. And now he has given Lizzy and Darcy the idea of going to Egypt. If only I could go to Egypt! But your father will not hear of it. I have told him it will do wonders for my nerves, but no one ever thinks of me. If only your father was more like Mr Darcy’s father and Edward’s father.”
“Pray, what do their fathers have to do with this?” asked Lydia impatiently.
“They travelled to Egypt in their youth,” said Mrs Bennet. “Lizzy told me all about it in her letter. Stay, I have it here.” She read out the relevant section, adding, “I would like to travel to Egypt while I still have mine.”
“Do they say where they intend to go in Egypt, Mrs Bennet?” Wickham asked with careless charm.
“Down the Nile somewhere, I believe,” she said. “There is some talk of them joining an archaeological expedition with Sir Matthew Rosen, a most distinguished gentleman and scholar at the British Museum. Lizzy says he is very keen to take them and that Edward has already proved to be of invaluable help on account of the maps and other documents he has left over from his father’s expedition.”
The gong rang, signalling that it was time to dress for dinner. Lydia left the drawing room, followed by her husband, and as they climbed the stairs to their room—the very room in which Lydia had slept as a child—she stared at him with unabashed astonishment.
“La! My dear Wickham, I never realised you had so much patience in you,” she said, opening her rather old-fashioned fan. “You seemed to encourage Mama to chatter, when of late you have not been able to contain your impatience in anything.”
“I am always interested in what your mother has to say, my love,” Wickham replied smoothly. “Visiting your parents has been a most profitable excursion this day, my dear.” As they went into their room he took her hand, kissing it absently. “Most profitable indeed.”
Chapter 4
Since they were not to travel until later in the year, so that they would arrive in Egypt when the fierce summer heat was over, the Darcys returned to Pemberley. They told the children of their plans and once the initial excitement had died down, life resumed its normal pace. William and John returned to school, and the other children were occupied by their tutors and governesses while Darcy and Elizabeth continued to host balls and parties. Their neighbours were, by turns, envious, astonished, and critical of their plans. But Elizabeth and Darcy, used to pursuing their dreams in the face of fierce opposition, took no notice of the talk they occasioned and continued to make arrangements for their trip.
Darcy wrote to all the British Consuls in the countries they would be visiting on the way and requested their help for the practical arrangements. In particular, he corresponded with the British Consul in Cairo, where they planned to stay for some time, and when all this was well in hand, he made further arrangements for the ship which was to carry them to Egypt. He was helped in this by his man of business, who dealt with many of the minor arrangements.
Then, too, he had to make arrangements for the life he would leave behind. Pemberley could not run itself, and although his steward was to remain in England, Darcy had to deal with many pressing matters as well as foresee any possible problems while he was gone.
One morning in the early summer, having ridden round the estate with his steward and noted any work to be undertaken in his absence, he returned to the house to find his wife and children sitting in the garden. They were bathed in sunshine as they worked and played, and his heart stood still as he halted for a moment, thinking he was the luckiest man in the world.
He had never imagined that his marriage to Elizabeth would bring him such a deep and abiding joy. He had almost resented the fact that he had fallen in love with her to begin with and had despised himself for rejoicing in her company and admiring her humour. When he had overcome his resentment and finally proposed, he had been angry that she had not fallen into his hands like a ripe plum, but had instead rejected him as the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry.
It was only then, when he had insulted her and her family, that he had come to know how passionate, loyal, and constant Elizabeth could be when she knew herself to be right. But it was not until the succeeding months that he had learned she was also capable of change when she found herself to be wrong.
And, right or wrong, she was at all times strong and brave and true to herself, no matter what allurements (such as ten thousand a year and Pemberley), nor what threats (such as offending Lady Catherine and polluting the shades of Pemberley) were used to try and persuade her out of her own mind. And with this strength he had fallen more deeply in love. But he had never known that his love would continue to grow with every passing year, until he no longer knew how he had lived without it.
Parenthood, too, held many surprises. Both he and Elizabeth had been amazed at the strength of their love for their children, and they had found the whole venture more challenging, if more stimulating, than they had expected. Elizabeth, who had grown up in a family of girls, had been amazed at the propensity of small boys to wrestle at any available opportunity. Darcy had had no illusions about boys, having been to a school overflowing with them, but he had been surprised in other ways. Indeed, he had been astonished to find that his children, brought up in a happy, informal atmosphere—in contrast to his own, formal upbringing—had none of the awe of him that he had had for his own parents. Instead, they had unrestrained love, which he found extraordinarily fulfilling, and which he preferred enormously—even if it was sometimes a little exasperating.
With a formal upbringing, there would have been no noisy play in front of him, only “Yes, Papa,” and “No, Papa.” And although there were occasionally moments when he thought how wonderful that must be—usually when Laurence had led Jane into mischief—he was nevertheless wholeheartedly thankful that he had married Elizabeth and that he had experienced their fun-filled, exhausting, exasperating, yet joyful family life.
As he joined them on the lawn, William looked up from his book.
William is a true Darcy, he thought, for William was already conscious of his heritage and his future as the master of Pemberley. William had an air of gravity that the other children lacked. A fine boy, thought Darcy proudly, going over to his eldest son and asking him about his book, engaging him in an interesting conversation.
John was busy using books for a less exalted purpose. They lay about the grass, standing in for naval ships sailing on an emerald sea, as John reenacted the Battle of the Nile.
Laurence, for once, was still. The explanation for this remarkable phenomenon was to be found in the book he held on his lap, which contained a picture of an enormous crocodile menacing a suitably horrified man on a sandbank.