Chapter Eight
There was a commotion in the house at Longbourn when a fine carriage drew up into the yard and a gentleman stepped down. Kitty and Lydia had been watching from the window with great curiosity, and Mrs. Bennet demanded to know who it was.
"La!'' replied Kitty, "it looks just like Mr. Darcy. That tall, proud man."
"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy! Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here, to be sure; but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him," she sniffed from her chair. "Unless he has brought Mr. Bingley back to us!"
Elizabeth had always been certain that Mr. Darcy had a hand in separating Mr. Bingley from Jane, and had tried to attribute Mr. Wickham's debts to an attempt by Mr. Darcy to slander Mr. Wickham's name, but she could find no one who could say anything but that Wickham had created them himself. Finally her good sense had to allow that such a dishonourable man as Mr. Wickham might not have been truthful about how Mr. Darcy had treated him.
This reassessment of Mr. Darcy's character made her wish to be at the very least civil to him, if not to know him more in order to understand him a better; and as she was greatly surprised by this visit, and could not but wonder at the reason, she found herself very anxious for him to come inside.
That was, until Mr. Darcy extended a hand to someone inside the carriage, and assisted a pretty and vibrant young woman out. Elizabeth could not understand the strange sinking of her heart as the girl stepped down, nor the twist of her stomach as she smiled up at him. She was not sickly and cross—the kind of wife she had previously imagined for him—she appeared well-bred, well-connected and rich, and he seemed comfortable with her.
"A young lady?" Mrs. Bennet cried in response to her youngest daughters' narrative. "Is Mr. Bingley not with them?"
Her mother's exclamation brought Elizabeth's attention back to the carriage. Another gentleman, about thirty, was now stepping down.
"Who is that?" cried Lydia.
Her mother looked sharply toward the window, but restrained herself from rising. "Mr. Bingley? Is it Mr. Bingley?" Her hand caught at her chest.
"No, Mama, it is a gentleman I have never seen before." Another form appeared at the entrance to the carriage, causing Kitty to squeal. "Jane! It is Jane! What is she doing with Mr. Darcy and that other fellow?"
Elizabeth's attention turned now to her sister, who was smiling very happily at her husband. Never once had she seen Jane look at Mr. Bingley so adoringly, nor appear so radiant when she spoke of him. He was not as handsome as his friend, but he had pleasant features and a good nose, and dark brown eyes which lit afire when he grinned at Jane. Elizabeth, though she had been disposed to think ill of him, found herself reversing her opinion. Perhaps that was what love looked like when it was knowingly requited and nourished. If Jane was happy, how could she not be?
Her eyes drifted back to Mr. Darcy, and she started when she found he was staring straight at her. Flushing quickly, she yanked Kitty's sleeve and pulled her away from the window, hissing at Lydia to do the same. Her sisters protested, but acquiesced when their mother echoed the order and they took their seats to await their guests.
The door opened, and they all nearly jumped; but it was only Mr. Bennet, come to meet his daughter's husband (though only he and Lizzy were aware of his existence). He smirked and took a seat by the door, to Mrs. Bennet's annoyance, for then he would be first to greet them.
Finally, the knock they were waiting for came, and Hill announced with a queer expression on her face, "Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Lady Rosalind Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy."
A silence came over the room. Mrs. Bennet, about to greet her dearest daughter and guests, looked around. Once she had numbered the names announced and counted the people presented and realized what had occurred to the rest of the room moments before, she, too, was shocked into silence. Jane—married! And not to Mr. Bingley—but a redcoat, and a colonel at that!
Mr. Bennet could almost see the workings of his wife's mind, trying to divine her new son's income. While Mr. Gardiner's note had mentioned that it was acceptable, it was surely not at the levels of Mr. Bingley, so she would be disappointed in that. Then again, Colonel Fitzwilliam was the son of a peer—which, he surmised, his wife had still not discerned—and his wife always had held a certain fondness for a redcoat.
Mrs. Bennet's eyes widened when she recalled Lady Rosalind Fitzwilliam—she must be the colonel's sister—which would make him the son of at least an earl!
When her husband saw the gleam in her eye, he took pity on the rest of the room and stepped forward. Mr. Darcy, he greeted cursorily, and then he clasped his eldest daughter's hands.
"Mrs. Fitzwilliam…I have been looking forward to making your and your husband's acquaintance for almost a full day now!"
A puzzled furrow appeared on Jane's brow, but her father turned swiftly to the gentleman beside her. "Jane, will you not introduce me to my new son?"
She blushed. "Papa, this is Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of Matlock, Derbyshire, and his sister, Lady Rosalind Fitzwilliam. Richard, Rosalind, my father, Mr. Thomas Bennet."
Everyone clamoured to be introduced then, and Colonel Fitzwilliam forbore his first meeting with his new family with ease and excellent manners. Lady Rosalind was wreathed in smiles to see her brother so warmly welcomed, but Mr. Darcy was a little more staid. He stood in the corner and watched the proceedings in thoughtful silence.
Mr. Bennet was eager to get his eldest daughter and her husband alone in order to hear the circumstances of their marriage, and when he saw his wife preparing to ring for tea, he announced, "Jane, Fitzwilliam, why do we not retire to my study? I believe we must discuss what arrangements have been made."
Mrs. Bennet appeared far more interested in this than in serving tea, but when her husband indicated that she would take good care of their guests while he was out of the room, she was defeated.
As soon as they had shut the door on the drawing room, Mr. Bennet said, "Now, Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, there is a story I am owed, and I wish to collect it." He turned on his heel and went toward his study, leaving Jane and her husband to follow.
Chapter Nine
Mr. Bennet pulled a piece of paper out from his desk drawer and displayed it to them. "I have only just read your letter yesterday, Jane, and thus have had little time to wonder what gossip could possibly surround your marriage, and from what source you expected it to come?"
"Only yesterday! Papa!" she exclaimed, and exchanged a glance with Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But did not Lizzy reply to my letter?"
"She did not, for she did not have the chance. I only introduced the letter to her shortly after I had seen it." He coughed. "I must beg your pardon, for it was misplaced these three weeks."
Jane sighed. "Oh, Papa! And here I thought your silence was approval, or at the least acknowledgement." She bit her lip nervously. "You do approve of my husband, do you not?"
Mr. Bennet's eyes slid over to that gentleman. "I suppose that depends on the circumstances of your marriage," he said, speaking to Jane, but locking eyes with the colonel. "Of all my daughters' marriages, Jane, yours was the last I expected to have potential scandal attached to it—save for Mary's, of course."
"Has a Mr. Brown not come to Meryton?" Jane pressed. "He was to visit the Gouldings."
Her father nodded impatiently. "Yes, there is a Mr. Brown presently at Haye-Park. But what does he have to do with it?"
"Then he has said nothing? You were not aware that we were at the Wicked Fox nearly a month ago?"
"The Wicked Fox!" Mr. Bennet cried. His lips pressed together in a thin line as Jane and the colonel related how she had come to be at the coaching inn, and what had occurred there and after.
He removed his spectacles and rubbed his forehead. "I am grieved, indeed. Grieved—shocked—that such a thing could happen to you, Jane. If it were not for Fitzwilliam…" He did not finish his sentence, but reached for her free hand—for her husband was holding one—and held it across the desk. "How could my brother have allowed you to go alone?"
"You must not blame Uncle Gardiner," Jane pleaded. "I should have gone nearly straight to Meryton—it was only that the coach broke down that we were forced to stay at the inn for any length of time, and I so badly wanted to come home. I had the maid and manservant with me; it was only circumstances that separated us."
Mr. Bennet frowned, but there was a knock at the door, and, upon being summoned to enter, Mr. Darcy appeared in the doorway, with Elizabeth nearly beside him.
"Forgive me for interrupting," said Mr. Darcy, turning his hat over in his hand, "but you must allow me to own to my share of culpability in all of this."
"Your share!" Elizabeth cried, but he did not look at her and took a step forward.
"When I consider," he added, in a yet more agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it!—I, who knew what Mr. Wickham was. Had I but explained some part of it only! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now."
"But what has Mr. Wickham to do with the marriage?" said Elizabeth from near the door, for she had come inside and closed it behind them.
"Everything," Jane said. "For without him, Richard's and my hands would not have been forced, and neither would we have met."
She was obliged then to tell the story once more. Elizabeth was properly distressed at all the appropriate parts, as her father had been, and Jane tried to play down the terror she had felt for her sister's benefit, but Elizabeth was too clever by half, and Jane knew that she had imagined all that Jane had felt. When her tale was completed, her sister said,
"I do not understand! But Mr. Brown said not a word—we did not know you had even met!"
Mr. Bennet threw up his hands. "You need not have married!" he offered brightly.
Upon seeing Jane's now downcast eyes, Richard touched her hand, and she looked to him after a moment. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I have no regrets. None." Searching her eyes, he said, "—Do you?"
Now smiling radiantly, she shook her head; he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Mr. Bennet coughed, breaking them out of each other's gaze. "Well, if our business here has concluded, and I trust it has—unless you have more secrets to tell me—then I suppose we ought to rejoin the others, lest they decide they must join the party in here. I shall never have any peace if they discover the fun to be had in my study."
As the gentleman rose and led the way, Elizabeth pulled Jane back so they could whisper together.
"I was very wrong about Mr. Wickham," she said, "very wrong, and I must admit it." She glanced at Mr. Darcy's back and cast her eyes away quickly. "Is that the only reason why Mr. Darcy accompanied you to Hertfordshire—to offer his apologies for not notifying us as to Mr. Wickham's character?"
"Richard said he insisted upon coming with us. I can only assume that was why."
That name induced in Elizabeth a remembrance of Jane's new status, and after a moment, she said, "I cannot believe you are married, and I was not there for you. And soon you shall go away, and what will I do without my dearest Jane to comfort me?"
Tears appeared in Jane's eyes. "Oh, how I wished you could be with me then! I needed you."
"You have your husband now," Elizabeth reminded her as he glanced back at them. "He seems to care for you a great deal."
"I believe he does." She smiled at him fondly, and, after a moment, grasped her sister's hand and said, "We are staying in Meryton for several days, and then we shall return to London while we work out some further arrangements. You are still to Hunsford in a few days?"
"Yes," Elizabeth sighed. "Mr. Collins writes often to apprise us of the latest news from Kent, and Papa insists upon reading every one of those letters aloud—of course not one of his letters goes astray. But I must say, if his sermons are anything like his epistles, I shall greatly enjoy my time there." She rolled her eyes and grinned.
"I shall miss you, Lizzy. But we shall be faithful correspondents."
"Indeed we shall."
There was no need for correspondence yet, however, as the Fitzwilliams and Mr. Darcy were, as expected, invited to dinner and offered rooms for the duration of their stay in Hertfordshire. Mr. Bennet had quietly asked Hill to prepare for some very special guests—a surprise for the mistress—the day before, so there was only a small scramble by the upstairs maids to make ready chambers for Mr. Darcy and Lady Rosalind. The rest of the house prepared for the onslaught of visitors that were sure to come on the morrow.