The Art of Apology (Happiness in Marriage)

Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

D arcy’s discussion with his relations went as well as expected. He called on the earl and countess and his cousins Viscount Bramwell and Colonel Fitzwilliam the following day, and once they had shared recent news, he told them that he had met a lady he intended to marry.

“Are you engaged?” Bramwell said. “Before me? I am three years your elder.”

“Which is a sure sign that you had better stop amusing yourself and get serious about settling down,” Lady Romsley said in a reprimanding tone. “We all know you have found your lady. I shall refrain from asking when you will propose—for now.”

Before the conversation became about his cousin’s romantic life or anyone mistook his position, Darcy explained, “No, I have not yet proposed to her, but I am confident that I shall. For her sake, I thought it would be better if we knew each other a little longer. There are…reasons.”

“Oh?” Lord Romsley said, fixing a stern eye on him. “I take this news to mean you have given up any notion of marrying Anne. It would be an excellent match for both of you, uniting the Darcy and de Bourgh fortunes. Who is this lady who has captivated you? Tell us about her. Everything we need to know, if you please. I do not want to discover some important fact later.” He, like the countess, was a caring person, but both he and his wife took their responsibilities to the family’s reputation and future seriously.

“Sir, you know I was never especially interested in marrying my cousin, no matter how prudent a financial decision it would be.” The earl made a gesture that signified reluctant acceptance, and Darcy proceeded to tell them about Elizabeth, being sure not to hide what they might find difficult to approve of, chiefly her lack of connexions and fortune and the situation of Mrs Bennet’s relations. He also emphasised everything admirable about her—her character, Mr Bennet’s intelligence and friendship with Frederick Darcy, and their family’s long history as landowners.

“You are happy when you are with her?” Lady Romsley said.

Darcy blushed, which embarrassed him and made him feel like a child, only serving to make his cheeks grow hotter. “I am.”

His cousin Fitzwilliam laughed. “It has finally happened! You, the most stoic, fastidious man I have ever known, have fallen in love.”

Everyone responded in one fashion or another. Bramwell called the comment harsh, but nevertheless laughed, while the earl and countess reprimanded Fitzwilliam for being cruel.

Darcy said, “I am not fastidious.” He had been, but he was finding life was far more agreeable if he judged people by how they acted and not who their parents were or the size of their fortune. Having rightly earned Elizabeth’s disdain and that of many others, he understood how unpleasant it was to be dismissed as unworthy of their attention. At the same time that he was beginning to view people more generously, he learnt to want them to see him as more than a wealthy, well-connected gentleman with a large estate and titled relations.

Lord Romsley demanded they be serious. “I admit I am concerned, Nephew. You hardly know this girl. I am relieved you have not yet committed yourself, but the whole business seems unlike you. Too impetuous.”

“I understand why you feel that way, but I assure you, I know with everything that I am, she is the lady I am meant to marry. She will be an excellent wife to me and sister to Georgiana.”

“And you are happy when you are with her,” Lady Romsley stated, giving her husband a rather pointed look. “Once, long ago, your uncle claimed to know within a day of meeting me that I was the lady for him.”

“Perhaps old age is robbing him of his memory,” Bramwell said, trying but failing to appear sombre. Sitting beside him, Fitzwilliam sniggered.

“That is enough from the pair of you,” the earl said. Regarding Darcy, he sighed. “It is true that emotions can lead you where sober reflection might suggest you should not go.” Darcy opened his mouth to interject, but Lord Romsley held up a finger to stop him. “I do not say that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be an unwise choice. I only meant that she does not seem like the sort of young woman any of us expected you to marry.”

“Unlike Anne?” Fitzwilliam asked.

Bramwell added, “He would never have been happy with her, and I do not believe she wants to marry him any more than he does her.”

“And before anyone proposes it, I shall not marry her either,” Fitzwilliam said. “Lady Catherine would not approve, and Anne and I would suit even less than she and Darcy.”

Lord Romsley scowled at his sons, but before he spoke, the countess did, addressing Darcy.

“I share your uncle’s trepidation, but I am looking forward to meeting her and forming my own opinion. Will she come to town soon?”

“I am hoping you will agree to invite her to the Twelfth Night ball. She has relations in London with whom she is accustomed to staying, and she is certain they would welcome her after Christmas. Her elder sister would accompany her.”

He explained Bingley’s interest in Miss Bennet and that he would appreciate the Gardiners also being included. As expected, his description of Mr Gardiner’s place in the world was greeted with dismay, especially by the earl and countess, though they did a good job of masking it because of their love for and trust in him. Lady Romsley looked at Lord Romsley, giving the impression that she wanted to know what he thought before deciding; after a brief pause, he gave a slight nod.

“Very well,” she said. “I shall ask all four of them to attend. Mr Bingley and his family are already on my guest list, as you know. Before you leave today, please give me the necessary directions.”

Darcy went to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.” Upon returning to his seat, he raised the question of Lady Catherine. “I can at last tell her that I have found a lady I want to marry. She has told me often enough that she will not cease to promote her daughter as an appropriate bride until I do. I have been wondering whether I should go to Kent to inform her before returning to Hertfordshire. What is your opinion, sir?”

The question was directed at Lord Romsley, though both of his cousins said he must be mad to consider it, as any visit to the de Bourghs was only likely to vex him and thus result in him returning to Elizabeth ill-tempered and irritable.

“She would send you packing at once,” Fitzwilliam said.

Little did his cousin know that she was well aware of how horribly he could act and had seen past it. If he was in a bad mood because his visit to Kent had gone poorly, Elizabeth would do everything in her power to cheer him; just being with her would do the trick. With Lady Catherine in his thoughts, he realised that having Elizabeth with him would make visiting Rosings much easier to bear, which would be a good thing for his connexion to his aunt. Not that she would see it that way; if anything, she would be horrible to Elizabeth, in which case, Darcy would avoid seeing his aunt and cousin again.

“Miss Bennet is made of sterner stuff than that,” he said.

“I am glad to hear it,” Bramwell said. “She will need to be to tolerate you.”

“And you two,” Lady Romsley said to her sons.

Lord Romsley’s advice was that Darcy should not go to Kent. “Wait until you and Miss Elizabeth have settled things. Even then, I suggest writing to my sister about her. Once you are married—supposing that is what the future holds for you—you can present her to Catherine as Mrs Darcy. She is more likely to treat her respectfully, then.”

“Mind that he said ‘more likely’,” Fitzwilliam said. “We all know Lady Catherine will despise any girl who marries you who is not Anne.”

“I propose we worry about that only when we must. Perhaps Catherine will surprise us all,” Lady Romsley said. “Now, tell us more about Miss Elizabeth.”

Mr Darcy returned exactly when he said he would, and Elizabeth was almost overwhelmed by all she felt upon seeing him again. It was as though his brief absence had made her believe that she liked him less than she did—and she knew it was a great deal—but then, as soon as she saw him, she was so happy that tears filled her eyes. There was only one word for what she experienced: love. True, ever-deepening love.

“Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice softer and holding more meaning than she had intended, given they were surrounded by her family and several others—Mr Bingley, a girl who must be Miss Darcy, and a genteel, middle-aged lady whom she took as the companion. Yet, she found she did not care who realised she had learnt to admire him.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his tone similar to hers, and she felt like rejoicing. As much as she had not expected their separation to change his sentiments, here was confirmation that it had not—not just in the full, warm manner of his speech but in the expression in his eyes and apparent unwillingness to look away. “It is very good to see you again.”

“For me too.” She had no time to say more before their attention was required by their companions.

The Darcys had arrived with a variety of treats, “for my friends in honour of the Festive Season,” he explained. There were confections, wine, several books sure to appeal to more than one Bennet, and a thick letter from Mr Frederick Darcy for her father.

Reading it, Mr Bennet announced, “He has invited us all to visit his estate in Shropshire next summer. Listen to this, my dear. He writes, ‘It is time for us to reestablish the close bonds of friendship that once existed between us’. Handsomely expressed, do you not agree?”

Elizabeth was glad for her father; he was genuinely pleased at the thought of meeting his old companion again, and it was wonderful to see him so happy. With the new peace in their family that arose from his growing supervision, to say nothing of the prospect of her and Jane soon being married, which delighted her mother, it was a fine interlude for the Bennets.

Miss Darcy was a charming girl, and, although shy, she gave every indication of desiring to know and love Elizabeth and her sisters and be loved by them in turn. Elizabeth was confident that they would soon be intimate friends, should she and Mr Darcy marry—and she would be heartbroken if he changed his mind and did not propose. Given his open preference for her, it seemed exceedingly unlikely, and, while she agreed that becoming engaged in November would have been too soon, she hoped he did not intend to wait much longer before making her the happiest woman in the world by asking her to be his wife. If he is not quick enough about it, I shall have to resort to hints and tricks. More likely, Mama will do it for me. She is anxious to have the business settled, as she has said.

To no great surprise, the Hursts and Miss Bingley did not return to Hertfordshire for Christmas. Mr Bingley informed them that they would spend it with Mr Hurst’s relations in London.

“It was what they preferred, and I was hardly going to beg them to be here if they did not like it. We shall see them at Lady Romsley’s ball.” He nodded to Jane and Elizabeth. “Mr Hurst’s father is some distant relation of the countess’s—a cousin thrice removed, perhaps. Darcy would know better than I.”

“I do not,” Mr Darcy said. “It means she feels she must invite the Hursts, and as a courtesy, she includes Miss Bingley. It would be unfair not to, given her brothers and sister will attend. ”

That was the most any of them said of Mr Bingley’s relations. Elizabeth was not looking forward to seeing them again, and neither was Jane, from what she had said.

“But I am determined to treat them with kindness and openness,” Jane had told her one evening when they were alone. “If they are to become my sisters, I would like us to be on good terms.”

Elizabeth was glad such difficult relations would be Jane’s lot and not hers; her elder sister was far more capable of being patient with disagreeable people.

On December 23, the Gardiners arrived and added to their merriment, and the following days were busy indeed. Throughout it all, Elizabeth spent as much time with Mr Darcy and his sister as possible, and when they were necessarily kept apart, she spoke to Jane about romance and love and Mrs Gardiner about Derbyshire, which her aunt assured her she would find delightful. On the final day of the year, the Darcys, Mr Bingley, the Gardiners, Jane, and Elizabeth boarded their carriages and left for London.

“I expect you to write to me the moment either of them proposes!” Mrs Bennet told her daughters in the minutes before their departure.

“Their young men might have other plans in mind for the moment after securing two of the worthiest young ladies in the country,” Mr Bennet said. “Tell them I shall expect to see them both in my book-room, hats in hand, no more than two days later.”

Jane blushed and seemed incapable of speaking. Elizabeth laughed and kissed both of her parents, saying, “I shall be sure to pass on your messages, though I cannot promise not to keep every speck of Mr Darcy’s attention to myself for a week or more. That is if he decides to propose. I do not take it as a given.”

Her father guffawed. “If I thought you harboured serious doubts about him, I would ask the apothecary to examine you for possible illness. Some disorder that was addling your brain.”

“Oh, Mr Bennet, do not make one of your jokes now!” her mother cried. “You do not think that he might?—?”

“Not to worry, my dear.” He patted her arm soothingly, then turned to Jane and Elizabeth, adding, “Off you go. We shall be here, awaiting your excellent news.”

In the carriage a short while later, Mrs Gardiner asked Jane whether she was well. “You look anxious. Is something worrying you?”

Jane shook her head, and it was left to Elizabeth to explain what she suspected was the source of her sister’s unease: the earlier conversation. “But, Jane, you do not truly doubt Mr Bingley?”

“I do not wish to,” she said meekly. “But I know that any number of things might happen to prevent him from proposing. Until a gentleman asks, nothing is secure.”

There was truth in her words, but Elizabeth preferred to think only of what made her happy. She would never understand why Jane could not. “Do not borrow trouble,” she advised her sister. “It will rob you of your ability to enjoy this period.”

Her aunt and uncle agreed, and Mr Gardiner said, “I do not doubt your Mr Bingley, Jane, or your Mr Darcy, Lizzy, and I refuse to believe that anything will prevent them from proposing. Speaking as a man myself, I promise you that no man would allow himself to appear like a ridiculous moon-calf around a lady unless he was madly in love. For the past week, I have watched both of those young gentlemen tripping over their feet trying to please you two or staring at who-knows-what, clearly dreaming of how glad they will be to become your husbands. You have no need to concern yourself, Jane. Mr Bingley will propose. I would wager within the next week.”

“I would not be at all surprised if Mr Darcy ran out of patience and proposed to Lizzy even sooner,” Mrs Gardiner said more to her husband than her nieces.

Jane chuckled and thanked them, promising she felt better and would endeavour to banish her nerves.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. Privately, she agreed with the Gardiners. Nothing, it seemed, would stop her and her Mr Darcy from becoming betrothed, and by the spring, she would be Mrs Darcy. Life could not possibly be any better. She spent the greater part of the journey imagining how he might propose. Would it be in the Gardiners’ parlour? If it were not winter, she would favour a proposal in the open air where they could be surrounded by the beauty of nature. It would remind her of the walks they had taken during which she had learnt to love him. Wherever and whenever he spoke, it would be the most wonderful, romantic moment of her life.

It will be such a contrast to the tale of the assembly, and, told together, the two are sure to delight our children and whomever else we share our history with in the years ahead. Elizabeth anticipated being the one who took the most delight in recounting it, but she liked to think that Mr Darcy would use it as a lesson to any sons they might be fortunate enough to have, just as she would use it to teach her daughters. You never know where you might find love, and it is best not to risk losing the promise of a joyful future by letting your bad mood or unwillingness to look past a poor first impression get in the way.