Page 42 of Moments of Truth
Elizabeth, half laughing, half blushing, took the seat opposite. “You must do neither, sir, but rather rejoice in the prospect of your daughters’ happiness.”
“Ah—but happiness is a slippery article,” returned Mr. Bennet, eyeing her keenly. “You know I have ever wished to see my girls well married. Yet the best of fortunes may be ruined if there is not sense enough on both sides. As for Bingley, he is amiable enough to make a lamb content; and Jane, being angelic by nature, will make a paradise of any parlour. I fear nothing there. But Darcy—Darcy is another matter. He is grave, reserved, and proud—yes, my dear, proud still. And you—you are lively, quick of wit, impatient of control. Tell me honestly, Lizzy: do you love him?”
Elizabeth coloured deeply and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Papa—I once thought him the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry. I disliked him, and said so freely. But I was unjust—too hasty in my judgments. Since then, I have learnt much that alters my opinion. He entrusted me with a letter, setting forth explanations I could not disregard. He is proud, but he is also just; and I find—oh, Iscarce know how to put it! —I find my heart engaged where once it was closed.”
Mr. Bennet regarded her with unusual seriousness. “Engaged? Then I must speak plainly. If you are not heartily attached, do not think of accepting him. I could not part with you to a man you did not truly esteem. But if you do love him, Lizzy, then he is worthy of you. I never thought to say it, but there it is.”
Elizabeth rose impulsively and came to his side, kissing his cheek with a tenderness that startled him from his usual irony. “Thank you, Papa. Your blessing is more to me than any fortune.”
He smiled, his eyes softening. “Well, child, I hope he knows what he takes on. A clever tongue, a lively spirit—you will never be dull, that is certain. And if you are happy, Lizzy, I shall be happy too. Now go and leave me to my books. I am in danger of becoming sentimental.”
Elizabeth withdrew with a heart overflowing. Between her father’s tenderness, Jane’s joy, and the new hope that had begun to take root within her, she felt that Longbourn had never been more truly her home.
That night, when at last she sought the quiet of her chamber, her spirits could not be still. The candles burned low as she sat by the window, gazing across the familiar fields silvered with moonlight. Every corner of Longbourn seemed changed, touched by the prospect of what might soon come to pass.
Her father’s words echoed within her:If you are not heartily attached, do not think of accepting him.Did she love Mr. Darcy? She could no longer deny it to herself. What had begun in anger and prejudice had grown, through trial and reflection, into something deeper. His constancy, his honesty, the humility ofhis letter—all had worked upon her heart until she could imagine no higher happiness than to share her life with him.
Yet mingled with hope was fear. Would he repent of his declaration? Would his family oppose him too strongly? Could she, Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, truly be mistress of Pemberley? The thought both daunted and thrilled her.
At last she blew out the light, whispering into the darkness, “If I am worthy of him—if Heaven allows it—I shall strive to be as just and true as he.” With that vow, her heart grew calm, and sleep, tender and expectant, stole over her.
EIGHT
The summer days that followed were of a kind Jane Bennet had scarcely dared to imagine in her most hopeful moments. For if once she had resigned herself to silence and disappointment, she now awoke each morning to the knowledge that Mr. Bingley would come—early, cheerfully, without hesitation—and that his every look and word was meant for her.
Mrs. Bennet, in the first transports of delight, could hardly keep her seat. She declared to anyone who would listen that she had always known Mr. Bingley’s attachment was deep and constant, that she had never doubted him for a moment, and that she was certain he would settle in Hertfordshire for life.
“La, Jane! four thousand a year and a house like Netherfield! You will be mistress there before the summer is out. I shall dance at both your weddings till I am quite giddy.”
Jane, blushing, sought to quiet her mother’s transports, but Mr. Bingley only smiled with unaffected joy, as though Mrs. Bennet’s extravagances were but music echoing his own heart. It soon reminded him to invite the Bennets as often as he could to dine at Netherfield.
Elizabeth observed the scene with mingled amusement and tenderness. She had longed for her sister’s happiness, and now that it was within reach, her spirits were as light as if they themselves had been freed from bondage. Yet even she marvelled at the openness with which Mr. Bingley’s devotion declared itself. He seemed incapable of restraint: if Jane entered the room, his eyes followed her with unconcealed delight; if shespoke, he leaned forward with an eagerness that turned every syllable into wisdom.
Mary alone, from her corner with a volume of sermons upon her knee, looked on with a gravity beyond her years. At last, when Mrs. Bennet exclaimed yet again upon the felicity of seeing her eldest married, Mary shut the book and spoke with an air of solemn reflection.
“Mama, the felicity of marriage must not rest wholly upon income or houses. A faithful heart and a firm character are of greater worth than four thousand a year.”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched at the unexpected reproof, but Mr. Bingley, far from being offended, turned to Mary with a warmth that surprised them all.
“Indeed, Miss Mary, I cannot agree more. I know I have been weak before—too easily swayed—but I hope my character will prove itself now by constancy. I intend never again to let go of what is most dear to me.”
Jane’s eyes glistened at this quiet avowal, and she bent her head lest her feelings be too plainly seen.
The courtship itself was carried on with a sweetness that seemed to belong to another world. Morning often brought a walk in the garden, where Bingley would offer his arm with a timidity that soon gave way to happy assurance. They spoke of small matters—weather, flowers, the brightness of summer days—but beneath each word lay a current of tenderness that no one could mistake.
“Every lilac reminds me of Hertfordshire,” Bingley said one morning, pausing to touch a branch with a kind of reverence. “Do you remember, Miss Bennet, how we walked after supper at Netherfield, and the scent was everywhere in the air?”
Jane smiled softly. “I remember. It was the night you praised my mother’s blancmange more highly than was, I think, its due.”
He laughed, the sound so full of delight that Elizabeth, trailing behind with Mrs. Gardiner, could not help but share it. “I believe you are right. But even blancmange has its merit when one eats it in such company.”
Their affection grew not in sudden bursts, but in a steady warmth that seemed to brighten all around them. Jane’s serenity lent Bingley confidence; his open-hearted joy awakened in her a courage to show more than gentle acquiescence. Elizabeth marvelled to see her sister not merely receiving devotion but returning it with her own.
At Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet hovered, fluttered, exclaimed, and contrived every excuse for the lovers to sit together. “Jane, my love, you must show Mr. Bingley the new embroidery—no, not there, nearer the window, for the light is better. Lizzy, fetch the cushion for Mr. Bingley’s chair. La! How well you look together.”
“Indeed, Mama,” Jane murmured, mortified but unable to withdraw, while Bingley only bowed and expressed himself perfectly content with the arrangement.
Once, when Mrs. Bennet’s ecstasies grew too extravagant, Elizabeth contrived to lead her mother into another room, leaving the couple a few minutes’ peace. “If they are to love each other properly, Mama,” she whispered with affectionate mischief, “you must not talk them into it. They will manage it very well without speeches.”
