Chapter XXV.

The first week of Darcy's absence was soon gone. The second began. It also held the dubious title of being the last week of the Regiment's stay, for Colonel Forster had received orders to take up camp in Brighton, a location which, once the news had reached the ears of Longbourn, Kitty, Lydia and Mrs Bennet had all expressed an almost violent enthusiasm to see. All its delights were aired, all its benefits as to health attested. Mrs Bennet even declared at one point that it would be just the thing to settle her nerves.

But Mr Bennet would not grant such an endeavour, causing his family to suffer along with the rest of the ladies who were similarly affected. The dejection was almost universal, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping apace. Mary Bennet and Countess alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such hard heartedness in any of the family.

"Good Heaven! What is to become of us! What are we to do!" would they often exclaim in the bitterness of woe. "How can you be smiling so, Lizzy?"

Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five and twenty years ago.

"I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when Colonel Millar's regiment went away. I thought I should have broke my heart."

"I am sure I shall break mine," said Lydia.

"If one could but go to Brighton!" observed Mrs Bennet.

"Oh yes! - if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable."

"A little sea bathing would set me up forever."

"And my aunt Philips is sure it would do me a great deal of good," added Kitty.

Such were the kind lamentations resounding perpetually through Longbourn House. But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared away; for she received an invitation from Mrs Forster, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their three months' acquaintance they had been intimate two.

The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs Forster, the delight of Mrs Bennet and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone's congratulations and laughing and talking with more violence than ever, whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour, repining at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.

"I cannot see why Mrs Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia," said she, "though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older."

In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable and resigned. For herself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia's general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home.

He heard her attentively, and though expressing the opinion that Lydia would never be easy till she had exposed herself in some public place or other, and that they could never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances, he agreed with her desire to forbid his youngest daughter that privilege. One battalion of soldiers had been quite enough in his opinion, and he had no wishes to force an entire camp-full to endure any member of his family.

Lydia then promptly threw a fit when her father calmly announced that she had neither his blessing nor his permission to accept the invitation.

"I would not trust you as far as Eastbourne," he said. "Not for fifty pounds."

Lydia ranted and raved, Mrs Bennet ranted and raved, but he stood firm.

After the first fortnight or three weeks of the regiment's absence, health, good humour and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn and everything wore a happier aspect. By the middle of June Kitty, was so much recovered to be able to enter Meryton without tears; an event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth hope that by the following Christmas, she might be so tolerably reasonable as not to mention an officer above once a day, unless by some cruel and malicious arrangement at the War office, another regiment should be quartered at Meryton.

For Lydia however, there was little respite. In her imagination a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw with the creative eye of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing place covered with officers. She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of them at present unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp; its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet; and to complete the view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.

To be denied such a privilege was a most grievous sorrow and her indignation could hardly find expression in her violent volubility. In her mother she might have found a similar melancholy conviction, but Mrs Bennet was no longer concerned with anything that might have to do with a scarlet coat. Bingley and Jane had sent news from Pearlcoombe of a forthcoming addition to their family, which had taken up all her interest.

As for Elizabeth, distraction came for her as well, for the time fixed for the beginning of her and the Gardiners' Northern tour was now fast approaching; and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter arrived from Mrs Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement and curtailed its extent.

Mr Gardiner would be prevented by business from setting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London again within a month; and as that left too short a period for them to go so far, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least to see it with the leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged to give up the Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour; and, according to the present plan, were to go no farther northward than Derbyshire.

In that county, there was enough to be seen, to occupy the chief of their three weeks; and to Mrs Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attraction. The town where she had formerly passed some years of her life, and where they were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of her curiosity, as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Peaks.

This new destination was aired to their niece, and Elizabeth could not look upon it with more joy. Derbyshire. To Derbyshire they were to go. Even more propitious, they were to reside for a time in the town of Lambton, where her Aunt had passed some years of her life. And Lambton was but five miles from Pemberley.

It was with delight that Elizabeth informed Georgiana and her brother of this news, and their replies were filled with equal amounts of that same emotion. Darcy went even further, including an invitation to Pemberley for herself and the Gardiners, and a request that they stay there the entire time they had chosen to spend in Lambton. Elizabeth wrote to her Aunt, and the invitation was eagerly accepted.

She also wrote of another piece of significant news in her final letter to Darcy from Stoke Edith. Not only did she feel confident enough now to declare her feelings of love for him, but she also wished to inform her family of their courtship. Darcy heartily consented to the news, and voiced his wishes for the wedding to be at Pemberley, which Elizabeth promised to consider.

She spoke to her father as soon as she had his reply, and Mr Bennet announced the match the night of the Gardiner's arrival at Longbourn. Mrs Bennet was all a flutter. One daughter expecting, and now her second was to marry again, and to a gentleman of wealth almost equal to her last suitor, with only the title lacking. Lydia's misery was now wholly ignored by her, as Mrs Bennet continued to talk over her excitement concerning both future events, and commenting how well 'Elizabeth Darcy, Countess of Saffron Walden' sounded.

The Gardiners stayed but one night at Longbourn and then the trio departed the next day for Derbyshire. All the beauties along the way did they take time to view; Warwick, Kenilworth, Matlock, Dovedale, the Peaks and Chatsworth. To the little town of Kympton, a few miles from Lambton and from Pemberley, was to where they bent their steps, for it was as far as they could reach in order to ensure arriving at Pemberley early the next day. The part of the journey that was spent in the carriage, was much taken up by Elizabeth explaining to her Aunt and Uncle all that they had missed concerning herself and Darcy, since their last acquaintance with him, that evening at the theatre in town, the night before she had left for Hunsford.

Elizabeth was happy to relate to them almost every detail, her sensibilities in need of a distraction from the nervous anticipation presently inside her mind, as her heart counted the hours until it would be reunited with its other half, which had left when a certain person had quitted Netherfield almost three months ago. She could still not quite believe it had been that long since she had last seen her betrothed.

Elizabeth wondered how he was faring, if he was experiencing the same suffering as herself, and the same anticipation for her arrival. She was very grateful that he had invited, without any prompting, the Gardiners to stay with herself at his estate.

This was again a contrast to the Earl, who had forbidden Elizabeth permission to have any of her relatives to stay while they were married. Elizabeth could still remember the time she had tried with all her will to persuade him to let her visit Gracechurch street. She had submitted to every ghastly whim of his, every injury to her body, yet still achieved nothing in return, save for further misery and disappointment.

But that was the past, Elizabeth reminded herself as she went to bed in Kympton that night. The present was very different. She had the most excellent man, who loved her like no other. And whom she loved just as powerfully in return.

She fell asleep dreaming of their last meeting, and how his kiss had felt upon her lips.