Chapter 10

Ten

Darcy wakened the next morning with a good deal of hopefulness. Elizabeth's relations were the exact sort of people he most respected—polished and mannerly. Gardiner, while not being at all brash, had assured him that he would not allow Elizabeth's reputation to suffer any damage. He seemed to appreciate Darcy's intention to see everything put right, and while not agreeing to any talk about settlements, he would likely be an ally in promoting marriage, should the scandal bloom and Elizabeth continue to resist.

Elizabeth was not resisting out of any dearth of feeling, Darcy judged—but because he had not done anything before this point to court her. She must think his feelings for her were new and motivated only by his rescue and a few kisses. If a scandal resulted, she would continue to believe he offered only because of it.

The best course of action—at least, according to Gardiner—was to leave her at Gracechurch Street and resist encouraging that possible scandal. If one did not arise, she could hardly suppose Darcy to be forced by it, could she? Unfortunately, this meant he must stay away from them all until such time as the situation could be presumed to be resolved.

Nonetheless, he had made clear to Gardiner his intentions—that he wished for Elizabeth to become his wife. He hoped the man believed him to be sincere, and that his motivations had nothing to do with dishonour or possible rumours. He was not quite sure that her uncle was convinced, but time would prove his friend in this matter.

Two weeks, he had agreed to keep his distance—unless Gardiner discovered that rumours had begun. Two long, endless weeks. He would not be idle, however. There was a settlement to prepare—he meant to see that his future wife was kept and cared for as well as if she had been the heiress he had expected. He would bring Georgiana to town from Matlock, where she currently resided with her governess, Mrs Annesley, and prepare her for the possibility of a new sister. Come to think of it, the mistress' suite of rooms in both town and at Pemberley were much in need of refurbishing. Elizabeth would probably prefer to do them herself, but at least in his Mayfair home, he could see the faded wallpapers removed and have the walls painted. Something lighter, he thought. Making and carrying out these plans would pass the next weeks, albeit slowly; he dared not think too much about how he would possibly fill the rest of his life, should she continue to refuse him.

First thing the next morning, Elizabeth wrote a lengthy letter to her father—at her uncle's request—describing what had occurred in every particular.

"I do not know whether he will read it," Elizabeth said. "He mostly sleeps."

"Your description of this tonic he has been ingesting convinces me that he must cease taking it," Mr Gardiner replied. "I will deliver the letter to Longbourn myself. I have a few choice words for my sister—and Mr Collins, if he is still there. I will remain at Longbourn until I am certain your father is in his right mind, and tell him exactly how I feel about the management of his household. It is high time he set it to rights."

"You might never return, if you intend to wait for that happy day," Elizabeth replied, with a little bitterness.

Mr Gardiner smiled. "I shall return within a few days, I think. If this whole mess does not bring Bennet to his senses, nothing will. He will see the disaster this could have been, had your mother been successful in her plotting. It does not bear considering."

As the days passed, Elizabeth could not help wondering if Mr Darcy would call, or send a note to her uncle, or make some…gesture. She told herself she was being foolish to expect it. He had not wanted a bride before accidentally abducting one. If he could release her without incident, he would surely do so. And yet, with every caller, her heart leapt before she could prevent it, and disappointment welled before she could beat it back.

Late in the afternoon of the fifth day of his absence, Mr Gardiner returned. He looked…tired.

"Uncle? Are you well?"

He kissed his wife's cheek and withdrew a letter from his inner coat pocket, handing it to Elizabeth. "I am absolutely well, and even better now that I have returned to my favourite place in the world. I must look in on my warehouses, but I shall pop up to the nursery before I do so and greet the children."

"And give them the treats your pockets are doubtless full of? Edward, you will spoil their dinners." But there was no heat in her words as Mrs Gardiner smiled fondly at her husband. He winked at her and made his way upstairs. Patting Elizabeth on the shoulder, Mrs Gardiner tactfully left her alone with her letter and followed him.

Such a great sympathy existed between her aunt and uncle! It was just what she had always wanted for herself—but was such a dream even possible?

She looked down at the letter she held; her father's writing was even, not at all shaky nor betraying any weakness, and containing two sheets of letter paper, written quite through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise full. Carefully, she unsealed it, and began to read.

My Dearest Daughter,

Your recent letter has succeeded in astonishing me exceedingly. Of course, your uncle did not give it to me until yesterday, after directing, upon his arrival, that I should take no more of the heart tonic prescribed by Mr Jones. I have only the vaguest memories of the last two weeks; therefore, I must accept as fact what your mother says—that I gave my signed permission to Mr Collins to procure a licence for a marriage between you and him. I pray you know I was not in my right mind, or it never would have been granted.

Your uncle assures me that you have married neither Mr Collins nor Mr Darcy; nor are you upon the brink of matrimony to any other. Thankfully, he arrived before your mother or her sister Philips could announce a marriage of any sort to the neighbourhood. Mr Collins did not return with her from wherever it was that you met her on the road to London. I shall write to him as soon as I finish this letter to you, and command him to say nothing of any of it. He is unquestionably the weakest link in this chain—now that Mr Wickham has, rumour reports, deserted his regiment—but I cannot think that a vicar in Kent can have so many connexions that he would be able to ruin your good name with such an absurd tale as he possesses. Who, that knows either, would believe that you would elope with Mr Darcy, or that Mr Darcy would elope with you? Had it been any other man, it might have meant great danger; but Mr Darcy's perfect indifference to you—and your pointed dislike of him—shall protect you both. It is to be hoped that Collins's own participation in the affair shall remain likewise unacknowledged.

You may of course write to all your friends here, and announce that your uncle visited and took you back to town with him upon his return. I sent your trunk with him so that you can stay until the new year. Within that period, I expect all potential or possible drama to be cast aside in favour of my other news: Mr Bingley has returned to Netherfield.

I, naturally, had no idea that he had ever departed Netherfield. Your eldest sister received a letter from Miss Bingley the afternoon following your own exodus from Longbourn—announcing that all Bingleys, Darcys, and attendant parties, would be leaving for town and would not be returning—an event which, apparently, cast everyone into a state of despair. But this proved to be untrue, at least insofar as her brother is concerned. Bingley has called twice already, and seems well on his way to an understanding with your sister. Or so I am informed by Mrs Bennet; Jane only smiles and blushes, and has hardly had a useful word to utter since he reappeared upon my doorstep.

Lizzy, your uncle has made sure I understand how mortified you have been made to feel, and how easily either your good name or your future might have been ruined. Even now, to imagine you held hostage as the wife of Mr Darcy, who never looks at any woman except to see a blemish, and who probably never regarded you in his life—until he was forced by some gentlemanly code to come to your rescue—causes me such trembling and fluttering as even your mother has never experienced. Your uncle Gardiner blames me for all of it.

He accuses that I have left the futures of all my daughters solely in your mother's hands, a task which is quite beyond her abilities. Try as I might—and believe me, I have tried—I cannot fault his reasoning. My own health has been mediocre, it is true. Still, whilst I have living breath, I cannot ignore my obligations any longer.

However, neither can I cope with having five daughters out at once; it is too much, and I will not live to see my next birthday should I attempt it. Therefore, only Jane and you are to be given the privilege of appearing in society. This shall remain the rule until the eighteenth birthdays of my younger daughters, when they might be allowed more freedom—and then, only if they demonstrate any small scrap whatsoever of maturity. At present levels of good and common sense, it seems they shall all remain at home for the next decade.

As you can expect, there has been much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, especially from the two youngest. However, I have threatened to die—and leave them all to present their complaints instead to Mr Collins—if they wail and gnash too loudly. Your mother worries that I might, since quitting Jones's tonic, and thus far has done her best to restrain them. I will not tell her that I am feeling, despite the lack of medicinal dosage, in exceptionally good and cheerful spirits. Your mother, whatever her other failings, has proved an excellent nurse. I trust your discretion with this information, and that you will not undo all her good work by taking part in kidnap, poison, or any other indiscretion for the foreseeable future.

With a quieter social life and fewer dressmakers' bills, who knows but that I shall even manage to save something to add to your settlements? I have promised to try—that is, unless Jane's wedding clothes bankrupt me.

Your loving father,

T Bennet

Elizabeth put the letter down feeling equal parts amazement and irritation. Her father was finally putting some effort into restraining her younger sisters, which was wonderful and an answer to her prayers. But to read his contemptuous words about Mr Darcy ! It was the idea of a marriage to Mr Collins which should have caused his deepest distress! Elizabeth could not even imagine what it would have been like to waken from the tonic's stupor to find herself irrevocably tied to that imbecile; it was her guardian angel, in the form of Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had prevented it.

Papa's letter should be singing his praises!

Further reflection, however, gave her pause. Am I not somewhat to blame? If I have not done as much to wound Mr Darcy's reputation as Mr Wickham, neither did I help it in any manner—blind to any of his goodness and sensitive to his every flaw, all in favour of my pride . Beyond ensuring her family knew of his callous remarks at the assembly, she had repeated Mr Wickham's stories as if they were fact, and searched for fault in his every look or action.

It was good to read of Jane's new happiness, and while she was sorry she had not been available to comfort her sister, it was just as well she had not been at home in the dark hours following Mr Bingley's departure and the letter from his sister. Knowing my former antagonism, I probably would have blamed Mr Darcy for that, too .

If only he would visit! Once again, she smothered the wish before it could take firmer hold. He was well rid of them all, and she must settle for the life she had once been content with, being forever grateful it was not a worse fate.