This would be the point of the story where I regale you with how I dashed on the wings of speed to some blossom-bedecked bower on the Longbourn grounds, threw myself at the feet of the woman I adore, madly confessed my boundless and irrepressible love with enough eloquence to make all the cherubs in St. Paul's weep with envy, and was met in turn by astounded disbelief, then passionate acceptance and return of affections, and finally gratuitous snogging.
I'm afraid I must disappoint you.
That is not to say that all these interesting, agreeable and well-deserved actions did not occur. But it is not the way of F. W. Darcy to, in the vulgar turn of phrase, 'kiss-and-tell.' On an unrelated note, I do not actually remember any of it. The next thing I clearly recall after leaping astride my black stallion and nearly giving the poor fellow a heart attack was meandering back inside Netherfield as if treading upon clouds, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. Not, I would like to add, as if I'd been 'pole-axed by a blacksmith and doused in the strongest brandy in Hertfordshire,' like certain cads by the initials of C. B. would claim when congratulating me afterwards. (I let the slander slide, partially from irrepressible good humour, but more so from gratitude that the happy news had driven all recollection of his insistence on a connection between his sister and myself clean out of his head).
Regardless, somehow or other, at the end of the day I found myself curled up in my nightshirt and tucked in beneath silken covers, cap on my head and eyelids fluttering dreamily, before I was again capable of mortal speech.
"I would like to take the liberty of congratulating you, sir," said Jeeves, handing over the after-supper sustenance of old-fashioned T. and buttered toast.
"Thank you, Jeeves," I answered dreamily.
"Are there any particular preparations you wish for me to attend to first, sir?" the entirely too practical individual inquired.
"I can't concern myself with such mundane matters," I waved him off. "I'm in love. It's a serious malady. An invalid needs his rest. You're more capable at those sorts of things, anyhow."
My heartfelt pleas fell on deaf ears. "In that case, did Miss Bennet have any specific instructions?"
"Instructions…?" I squinched my eyes shut, concentrating hard. Now that he'd mentioned it, it did seem like my sweet darling perfect gorgeous Elizabeth had said something of the sort. Through blissful hazy memories, I swam doggedly until I seized upon the one I wanted. "She said I had to ask her father's blessing first."
Jeeves raised the usual eyebrow. "First, sir?"
"Yes, first. Before we get married," I patiently elaborated.
The other eyebrow ascended to its mate's altitude. "You haven't already asked Mr Bennet's blessing?"
"No, of course not." I rose upon my elbows to send him a leveling glare. "When I would I have had the time to do that?"
"I believe it is customary, sir, to do so immediately after securing the lady's acceptance," Jeeves said in a disapproving tone.
"There's no need for that disapproving tone, Jeeves," I shot back. "I was in no condition to speak with him. I was… indisposed. With, you know. Feelings."
"I imagine, sir, that speaking with Mr Bennet would have sobered you more thoroughly than my patented restorative."
"Exactly so, Jeeves," I nodded in wholehearted agreement. "That's why I avoided it."
"Nevertheless, sir." Jeeves bulled forward, undeterred. "You will need to meet with Mr Bennet at his earliest convenience. I cannot imagine Miss Bennet will look kindly on you unnecessarily postponing your formal engagement."
I could only groan and sink further beneath the covers under the relentless onslaught of his blasted logic. "Good night, Jeeves." I listened petulantly to his prim "Good night, sir," and his dignified retreat towards the exit.
Rather than vanishing poste-haste as per his regular, Jeeves lingered on in the doorway, rather like that sop Hamlet's pater 'round Elsinore castle, or like the smell from the smoked salmon Bingley's sister serves every blasted Friday. "There is one more thing which you might consider, sir," he intoned.
"I certainly hope it's just one. My brain is fit to burst from the pressure here," I complained loudly, finally reaching for my tea.
"As the Good Book says: it is a foolish man who builds his house on sand. It would be regrettable indeed to enter the state of matrimony on a foundation of lies."
"If I am understanding you correctly, Jeeves," I queried querrously, "You are, in fact, advising me, to, as the vernacular goes, 'come clean'."
He twitched the immaculate dishcover to lie at a more precise forty-five degree angle. "Just so, sir."
"Jeeves," I swallowed, as the powers of speech nearly failed me. "You do realize, the entirety of your years in my service has been spent in aiding and abetting me in doing - not to mince words - the exact and utter opposite."
"I realize this, sir." Jeeves pinned me under his keen gaze - I've never been able to regard those winged specimens stuck within aspiring lepidopterologist's ghastly cases the same way again. Poor blighters. "You must understand that once you quit the bachelor state, some changes are inevitable."
With great difficulty, I restricted the tea ejected from my mouth to land within the saucer. "You're not saying you're considering leaving, Jeeves!?" I spluttered, gasping. "What will become of me? Of Pemberley? Of Derbyshire?!"
"I shudder to think of it, sir," Jeeves intoned in full solemnity. "I am relieved to inform you that I have no intentions of quitting your service."
"Goodness, man. My heart palpitations were about to give my esteemed future mother-in-law's a run for her money," I muttered, replacing my teacup with a shaking hand.
"My meaning, sir," Jeeves continued, "has to do not with my responsibilities, but your own." He regarded me with an owlish countenance. "Certain, shall we say, flights of whimsy which have long been accepted by your family and household, may no longer be so agreeable once you undergo the institution of matrimony. And besides that, there is the woman herself to consider."
"Every time I think I grasp your meaning, you throw in a wild pitch to obfuscate," I griped at him. "If you're referring to the introduction of the fairer sex, I'm not sure I follow. You've never made any bones about my schemes before because of Georgie. Or Aunt Catherine, for that matter."
"But Miss Elizabeth is neither Miss Georgiana, nor her Ladyship," Jeeves stated. I should jolly well hope not, I thought privately. "Though her name may change, please remember, sir: you are not marrying a Darcy, but a Bennet."
A Bennet, eh? I munched thoughtfully on my impeccably buttered toast as Jeeves - finally - took his leave. From his ominous advice, I assumed that he meant that the Bennet powers of observation to be somewhat of an higher level than the Darcy-issue. I narrowed it down to this, as it was either that, or the Darcy lack of fun, or how they'd likely phrase it, a lassitude in proper decorum. I quickly eliminated that latter option, for while Jeeves in his endless knack for phrasing had termed it "acceptance," what my family (and housekeeper, and the rest of the staff) actually maintained regarding my escapades was more of a "tolerant detente".
But back to the matter at hand. What Jeeves was hinting at was that there was someone among the Bennet ranks that could sniff out a secret, and, therefore, before whom it would behoove me to take the initiative and lay bare the facts of the case, before they discovered me themselves and hung me by my toes from the lintels. Accordingly, I reviewed the entire list: a dry taciturn father, a fractious mother, an inhumanly angelic eldest daughter, my lovely exquisite kind and clever Elizabeth, and, Q., "three very silly sisters" un-Q.
The answer was obvious.