Chapter Four

Mr. Gardiner had learned that Colonel Fitzwilliam planned to purchase a license rather than having the banns read out. They both agreed it best that, for reasons of lessening the potential for gossip, or at least delaying it—being that the colonel was the son of an earl—they marry from the Gardiners' home parish of St. Peter's upon Cornhill, where Jane had resided for four weeks, rather than the colonel's parish in London, which would be a far more public affair.

The Bennets, if asked, would know nothing about any gossip, and would be able to insist that Mr. Brown must be mistaken about the identity of the young woman, as Jane was in London; they would also shortly be able to reveal the engagement of their eldest daughter to the second son of the Earl of Matlock. That, as well as sending the news via the regular post as opposed to a tell-tale express, would dispel any rumours about Jane's attempted elopement—as that was the most likely magnitude the rumours could reach—with a man who had subsequently been arrested for heavy debts (which the town would no doubt recognize as Mr. Wickham).

Discussion then turned to the settlements. Shortly after Jane had first gone to London with the Gardiners, after a conversation with Mrs. Bennet and a subsequent bottle of port, Mr. Bennet had written a note to his brother to the effect that "should Jane find herself a young man in London who would take her for but £50 a year, he was disposed to allow him the power to settle the whole affair on his behalf."

It was all very orderly and clear, but, knowing his brother not to have intended the privilege entirely seriously—however it may appear to a reader not knowing Mr. Bennet—the note Mr. Gardiner included with Jane's was to the effect that, while the wedding would go forward regardless, if Mr. Bennet wished to settle everything himself, all he needed to do was reply by express; otherwise, Mr. Gardiner would proceed with having Haggerston, his attorney, prepare the settlements, allowing Jane her equal share of Mrs. Bennet's portion and any little money the colonel could settle on her.

For his part, Colonel Fitzwilliam was not easy with allowing Mr. Gardiner to bear the expense of having the papers drawn up, but Mr. Gardiner insisted, feeling partially responsible for allowing Jane to take the mail coach in the first place. He preferred that the money the colonel would have used on the solicitor be used toward his niece, and the colonel could not argue with him there.

Mr. Gardiner had some concerns about Jane's reception by the colonel's family, as did the colonel himself, he admitted.

"I am close enough with my younger sister—she will adore Jane, I am certain—but not my elder brother. He, I am told, was unpleasant even as a baby, and takes very much after my father. My mother," he sighed, "my mother, I believe, will welcome Jane with open arms behind closed doors, but she suffers very much under my father's thumb, and he is only concerned with wealth and connections. He can cut off my allowance, perhaps, which may make things difficult for a time if it occurs, but he cannot take away the money I will receive from my mother on her passing—which, I hope, will be a long time off. And if I should be killed in action—God forbid—Jane will be taken care of from the income from my few investments and the income from some farmland I own in Derbyshire. It will not be an extravagant life for us, but we shall be comfortable and happy enough."

"And where shall you live?" said Mr. Gardiner.

The colonel blinked and acknowledged he had not yet thought that far ahead—at present, his regiment was on leave, and he was staying in his parents' townhouse, though they were not presently in London. He promised, however, to arrange for their own lodgings in town as early as possible. If Jane preferred to live in the country, there was a large cottage in his small cache of land which was currently sitting empty and only wanted for a few repairs.

Jane's uncle pursed his lips. "Are you certain you can give up a life of luxury for my niece?"

The colonel conceded there would be a transition, but reminded him that there was little luxury on the battlefield. "Jane will not give me any cause to repine. It is inconceivable!"

Mr. Gardiner had to be satisfied with such a forceful answer. By the end of their conversation, he was disposed to like the colonel: he admired his honesty and forthrightness about matters, and he began to believe that he was just the kind of man who would suit Jane. He was very well-mannered and good-humoured, and his teasing temperament was much like Lizzy's and their father's, though tempered with a respect for Jane quite unlike her father's disrespect for her mother. Like Jane, he was firm when he believed himself to be right, but was not unreasonable when others sought to have their say.

The colonel, however, was thankfully much wiser to the ways of the world. Despite Jane's having her eyes rudely opened by Mr. Wickham, her uncle was sure that her gentle, trusting nature would heal eventually, and he was certain the colonel would not allow her to be taken advantage of again if it was in his power to prevent it.

While his niece's outer and inner beauty had certainly attracted the colonel immediately, her strength of feeling and composure would serve them both well—to comfort and reassure him (and herself) when he was away and when they were reunited at home. And though Mr. Gardiner doubted the son of an earl's ability to completely, or at least easily, retrench for his beautiful bride, he knew that Jane would be able to keep him in line, for, unlike her mother, imprudence in money matters she could not abide in herself.

Shrewdly, he began to think the marriage not such a very bad idea after all.

Chapter Five

When she had not received a response from her father after three days, Jane began to worry that the mail system had become unreliable—after all, Lizzy had not sent a letter in response to the letter she had posted not long before she tried to leave London; and had not all this happened because of a broken-down mail coach? But after three more days of anxiety, this letter arrived from Elizabeth:

My dearest Jane will, I am sure, forgive me for the tardiness of my reply, as it could not be helped. I know you wished to hear from me very soon, but Mama has caught a cold and fears she will not live to see any of us married. Her illness, of course, is hardly so grave; still, she has been above stairs these four days, and I have been downstairs ensuring that the house will not fall down around our heads, and upstairs trying to assure Mama that I am capable of the task. Even now, I cannot be long, for I am being called for as I write. She wishes you were here, but would not have you anywhere but London.

Papa wishes me to write that it is best you have been crossed in love, for he says that, next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love now and then, and often is at least once before she is married. He approves most wholeheartedly that you have been tempted to think of duplicity, and welcomes you to the rest of your life. I will say no such thing; I know it makes you unhappy to think of anyone unkindly, so I had better not repeat to you my opinion of Miss Bingley, or of any other of her party, particularly now that you have banished every painful thought of the matter. I need not wish joy for you, for I have confidence you will find it; you are not made for unhappiness.

As to other matters, I am loath to give you distress, but in light of your newfound insight into the true nature of humanity, perhaps this will not come as such a surprise. The news of Mr. Wickham's arrest at the Wicked Fox not twelve miles out of town has reached us in Meryton. I do not believe I have ever heard anything so shocking! Debts—unpaid accounts with nearly all the tradesmen in Meryton, and debts of honour among his friends and fellow soldiers! I have spent the past two days trying to comfort poor Lydia and Kitty, for they are inconsolable. I myself can scarce believe it—there was such goodness in all his looks. You will, no doubt, urge me to review my opinion of a certain disagreeable gentleman, which has been affected by Mr. Wickham's account of their dealings, and will only say that I promise to consider the matter at my earliest convenience.

At your insistence, I will still go to visit our friends at Hunsford, but look forward to seeing you, dearest sister, along the way. I regret that I might not be with you longer, but I am at the disposal of Sir William and Maria.

Yours, &c.

Jane was not entirely surprised her father had left to Elizabeth the task of writing, though she was a little wounded, and more than a little puzzled by the lack of overt references to her marriage. But she thought it not impossible that her mother had been insisting on seeing all the post to London, and was upset by the news that she was marrying Colonel Fitzwilliam and not Mr. Bingley, leaving Lizzy to disguise her and her father's well-wishes as best she could. Therefore, she would have to be satisfied with what she had.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was then announced, and she put the letter aside with a welcoming smile.

In the three weeks since the licence was posted in St. Peter's upon Cornhill, the colonel visited every day at Gracechurch Street. Some days, he brought a gift—such as a small flower, or book of poetry to read—other days, only his ease of conversation and happy manners. How he could make her laugh with the turn of a phrase, and the little twinkle in his dark eyes! The Gardiner children had taken shine to him immediately, and as he played with them, she blushed with visions of a happy future with their own children someday.

It occurred to Jane that she had only once thought of Mr. Bingley, and that was only to think that she never thought of him anymore.

Thus, when three days before they were to be married, Colonel Fitzwilliam looked into her eyes, told her he loved her, and gently pressed his lips against hers, Jane responded with all her heart.

Colonel Fitzwilliam went to visit his younger sister, who was all of eighteen years, who was presently staying at their aunt's house in Grosvenor Square.

"Oh, Dickie! Is it not the most romantic thing ever?" Rosalind exclaimed when her brother had told her of his forthcoming nuptials to a girl he had daringly rescued from a dashing villain.

"I have not been 'Dickie' for years, Rosie," he scowled. "And you must not tell a soul. Promise me. I have written to Mama and Father, but…"

"They will not approve?" she clapped her hands together.

Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. "Very likely not—what novels have you been reading now, that you delight in this?—she has very little dowry, and some connections in trade—though they are exceptionally well-mannered and fashionable—and if I find it does not signify for me, I do not see why it ought to for anyone else."

"Is she beautiful? She must be beautiful."

"She is very beautiful," he sighed, "and sweet and gentle and kind. She is everything I only realized when I met her that I had been needing all my life."

"Oh, Dickie!"

He glared at her. "Stuff 'Dickie!'"

Mr. Bennet had long fallen out of favour with the rector of Longbourn parish, though Mr. Mortimer never showed any sign of disrespect to his benefactor. While not guilty of any specific vice, Mr. Bennet did often make sport of his wife and younger daughters—whose behaviour he could not be bothered to check—and this set up the back of his upright parson.

Thus, when Mr. Mortimer received a letter from a Mr. Kenworthy, rector of St. Peter's upon Cornhill in London, to confirm the age of one Miss Jane Bennet and of her marriageability to the Honourable Richard Fitzwilliam, he neglected to consult his benefactor and promptly took leave to visit his aunt in Bedfordshire after posting his response—namely, that there were no impediments.

On the letter to her father, Jane had written the direction very ill, and when the letter finally arrived in Mr. Bennet's hands, before he could even wonder at it, Mrs. Bennet had burst into his study with news of the latest scandal—that Mr. Wickham had been arrested for serious debts, and that Lydia and Kitty were heartbroken. While this was the most interesting gossip he had heard in weeks, it still did not fail to put him to sleep after five minutes. Forgotten, the letter fluttered from his hand as he snored, and lodged under his chair, where it lay for more than two full weeks until he suddenly remembered its existence and bade a maid to search for it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, anticipating opposition from his family, was careful to have Mr. Kenworthy of St. Peter's write his friend Mr. Sexsmith of Matlock parish. He anticipated no problems when he also wrote Mr. Sexsmith to ask him to keep all knowledge of his marriage to himself and would explain all later once he was wed.

As to his parents—for his brother he did not deign to inform directly—he had taken care to delay posting his letter for as long as possible without overtly appearing to be discourteous. They would still have had plenty of time to travel to London upon receipt of his letter, had it gone in the usual fashion—namely, directly to the recipient. However, the colonel had strangely forgotten that his father's gout had worsened and that his parents had taken up residence in Bath, and when the letter was finally forwarded from Matlock to their lodgings in Pulteney Street, several curious blots in his usually impeccable handwriting had made nearly illegible the name of the bride and had obscured the date and location of the wedding.

And so, the Honourable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of Matlock, Derbyshire, and Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, lately of Gracechurch Street, London, did marry quietly at nine o'clock in the morning on the 28th of February, the year of our Lord 1812, at St. Peter's upon Cornhill, as witnessed by Edward and Marianne Gardiner.