Chapter Twenty-Three Back to Previous Chapter With Darcy gone to town, Henry suspected that Bingley would haunt Longbourn, but he did not turn up until a few days after the dinner party. Mrs. Bennet naturally pressed him to stay for dinner, but he was obliged to decline on account of a previous engagement. His disappointment was so obvious that Mrs. Bennet immediately invited him to dine the next evening, and he accepted with alacrity. He presented himself the next evening in such good time that they were none of them dressed. Mrs. Bennet hysterically rushed everyone downstairs to join them, and then spent the rest of the evening trying to get them all away from Bingley--except for Jane, of course. Henry and Elizabeth refused to succumb to her nods and winks, and both of the Catherines were genuinely mystified. Mrs. Bennet's scheming went for naught that evening, though Henry earned the appellation "dear boy" from his stepmother when she learned that he had invited Bingley to Longbourn the next morning to shoot with Mr. Bennet. Bingley was punctual to his appointment, and the three gentlemen set out with the necessary attendants and a few dogs. It was a fine morning--a little cold, but not unusually so for early October. At first, Henry and Mr. Bennet did most of the talking, but Bingley's good nature did not permit him to stay quiet for long. Within the hour, he was walking next to Mr. Bennet, deep in discussion about the proper stabling of carriage horses. Henry hung back, willing to allow them time to become acquainted. Mr. Bennet could be an engaging companion when he chose, and as there was nothing of presumption or folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule or disgust him into silence, he was more communicative and less eccentric than Bingley had ever seen him. All in all, it was a pleasant morning. They all returned to the house for breakfast, and Mrs. Bennet immediately asked Bingley to stay to dinner. Henry cringed inwardly at his stepmother's determination to keep Bingley near Longbourn and Jane, but Bingley seemed genuinely pleased to be asked. Unfortunately, dinner proved less pleasant than the shooting party. Mrs. Bennet's ill-judged officiousness continued unabated throughout dinner, though Bingley remained indefatigably good-natured. Henry admired his friend's forbearance and command of countenance; however, once their eyes met, and Henry was able to detect a hint of laughter deep within. He raised his wine glass silently to his friend, and Bingley returned the salute with all the good nature in the world. Jane was glowing and beautiful in the candlelight, and in the very few moments when Mrs. Bennet fell silent, it was clear to all that Bingley admired her a great deal. For her part, Jane was too diffident to meet his gaze with confidence, much less to flirt, but Bingley seemed perfectly satisfied to gaze upon her, and she to allow it. As they passed into the drawing room for tea, Henry asked Bingley if he would care for a game of billiards. With his father's encouragement, Henry had a little-used room in the back of the house converted for the purpose and a table installed. "I would like that, Tilney, very much, I assure you--" Bingley stood in the passage, clearly torn. "But I think I would rather--" he glanced toward the drawing room-- "Perhaps another time--" "Very well, Bingley! If you prefer the company of my lovely sisters and still lovelier wife--and loveliest of all, my stepmother--to a game of billiards with an old friend, I cannot hope to claim you. Perhaps, if you are very fortunate, Mrs. Bennet might get up a game of vingt-un." "Next time, Tilney, I assure you--" "Nay, sir! Next time me no next times! I cannot hope to compete. Perhaps when you are an old married man like me you will remember this and take pity on your friend Tilney." Bingley knew Henry much too well to take any of his nonsense seriously, and went into the drawing room with a perfectly clear conscience. Once the party was assembled in the drawing-room, Mrs. Bennet's genius was again at work to get everyone out save Bingley and Jane. Mr. Bennet obliged her by retiring to his library after tea, as was his custom; Mary furthered her hopes by going upstairs to her instrument; Elizabeth went into the breakfast-room to write a letter; but the others stubbornly stayed. Mrs. Bennet appeared resigned to their presence, and sat down to cards with Bingley, Jane, and Kitty. Catherine drew forth her netting-box as Henry opened a book. After a few moments, Catherine asked Henry if he had seen her skein of netting cotton. "Not since last night," he replied. "I believe you returned it to your box." Catherine rummaged in the box, her brow creased in consternation. "I know I put it here last night! I cannot think where else it can be." "I dare say that you took it upstairs, Mrs. Tilney," said Mrs. Bennet from the card table. "Why do you not go up and look in your chamber?" Catherine looked at Henry in surprise, but obediently went up. A moment later, Mrs. Bennet said, "Henry, I did forget to tell you, your father wished you to attend him in the library tonight." The air of assumed resignation was gone. Mrs. Bennet fairly sparkled with ill-concealed cunning. It was clear to all that she had another scheme afoot; indeed, Jane's face was flushed with distress at such premeditation. Henry turned a page of his book and said, "Then I am surprised that he did not tell me himself, or send a servant to fetch me." "Send a servant! Nonsense! He asked me to tell you, while you were speaking with Mr. Bingley earlier." Henry closed the book. If his father did not really want him, it would be a moment's work to find out, and even such an anxious mamma as Mrs. Bennet could not break up the card party so quickly. He accordingly went to the library, tapped softly on the door, and was bidden to enter. "You wanted to see me, sir?" "Did I? I do not recall a particular wish, though of course you are always welcome." "Mrs. Bennet seemed sure of it." Mr. Bennet's eyes twinkled from behind his spectacles. "Well, then, Henry, take a seat and bide a while. It would be a shame for all her scheming to come to naught." Henry laughed and dropped into one of the comfortable wing chairs with which the library was provided. "Mrs. Bennet puts one in mind of the director of a Greek play--sending out the chorus while arranging the spear-carriers offstage." "An analogy that casts young Bingley as the deus ex machina, I suppose. I like your friend, Henry. He will do well for Jane, I think, if he ever manages a moment alone with her to speak." He removed his spectacles and rubbed his nose. "Yes, a good match for Jane. Better than I have a right to expect. I'll be glad to see her so well settled. She is a good girl, and deserves every advantage, even if I cannot provide them." "Father--" Henry protested, embarrassed. "Do not 'Father' me, son. Lord knows I've made mistakes in raising the girls. I am fortunate that Jane and Lizzy turned out so well." "That they have turned out so well must speak to your influence, sir." "Make no excuses for me," said Mr. Bennet bluntly. "The past cannot be changed, but it should not be ignored. Learn from my mistakes, Henry. Take your children in hand, give them what they need--not just money, and clothes and fripperies, but the education and spiritual strength they will need when the time comes for them to leave you." He brooded for a moment, and then shook his head and laughed. "Here I am, prattling on. I must be getting old and philosophical. That must be avoided at all costs. I would hate to be one of those ridiculous old men who go about annoying everyone with good advice. Do me a favour, son: should I get that way, lock me in the attics where others shall be safe from me." They talked together for a time, discussing the estate in a roundabout way; Henry knew that his father was concerned about a settlement for Jane, and he did his best to alleviate the older man's concern. He suspected that Bingley's demands would not be onerous. There was a knock at the library door, and Henry rose to open it. Bingley stood there, looking a trifle apprehensive. Henry exchanged a glance with his father and went out, closing the door behind him. "Wish me joy, brother," said Bingley quietly, grasping Henry's hand. "Jane has made me the happiest man in the world." "I do wish you joy," said Henry, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "All the joy and blessings I have to bestow, on both of you." "Thank you, indeed; you are a generous friend, Tilney." Bingley glanced at the door apprehensively. "Your father--you do not think--" "No, I do not," Henry laughed. "Mr. Bennet is not as irascible as he likes to pretend." "He has a sharp tongue, does your father, but you know," said Bingley in a confiding manner, "he really was very kind to me this morning! It made it that much easier to make my declarations to Jane. I had only to wait for an opportune moment." "Fortunately, that happy event was not long in coming, with Mrs. Bennet at the helm." Henry opened the door to the library and said, "Father, Bingley would like a moment of your time if it is convenient." "By all means. Come in, Bingley. Will you take brandy?" Henry shut the door and left them. As he walked to the drawing-room, he met an indignant Catherine descending the stairs. She held out a skein of netting cotton. "Mrs. Bennet took this from my box! She hid it in her dressing room to lure me upstairs, and has kept me there these fifteen minutes!" "It was in a good cause, Cat. Jane and Bingley are engaged." Catherine's pique was instantly forgotten. "Is it so, indeed? How delightful!" The door to the drawing-room burst open, and Jane flew out, bubbling over with happiness. Henry held out his hands to her. "I give you joy, Jane. Bingley told me." "Oh, Henry!" She accepted his embrace and kiss, and another from Catherine. "Such happiness! I do not deserve it!" Her hands were trembling. "On the contrary, my love. No one deserves happiness more than you." "It is not just for myself," she said breathlessly, on the verge of joyous tears. "My mother--all my kind friends--it will give them such pleasure as well! Oh, I must find her--" "She is in her dressing room," said Catherine. "Thank you, dearest--I will go to her at once--" She flew up the stairs in a whirl of white muslin. "Well, Cat?" said Henry when she was out of sight. "One affair of the heart has been satisfactorily settled. Dare we hope for another?" "I have hope, certainly; but Mr. Darcy must return from town." "Indeed he must, and I trust that he will when he receives word of Bingley's newfound joy." Longbourn buzzed with anticipation of the impending nuptials. Mrs. Bennet's joy even led her to tolerate the presence of her usurper with equanimity, going so far as to call her "dear Mrs. Tilney" some once or twice. For her part, Catherine was happy for Jane and Bingley, but her indisposition continued, and she often complained of fatigue or the headache. Henry was concerned, and did his best to get her away from the worst of Mrs. Bennet's raptures. Catherine usually found a walk in the shrubbery refreshing, especially when combined with a short nap in a darkened room afterward. One morning, about a week after Jane and Bingley's engagement had been formed, the Tilneys were taking their daily walk when they were joined by the happy couple. "We ran away," Bingley reported with a grin. "There was a chaise and four coming up the drive, so I convinced Jane to walk out with me." "A chaise and four?" cried Catherine. "Who could it be?" "I did not recognize the livery," said Jane. "Oh," said Catherine, disappointed in her first romantic flight of fancy, that Mr. Darcy had come to sweep Elizabeth away to Scotland for an immediate marriage over the anvil. "I dare say it is one of Mrs. Bennet's friends, come to pay a morning call," said Henry. "Quite possibly to inspect the prospective son-in-law. Very bad form to run away, Bingley." "I hope you do not consider it bad form if we run away from you," said Bingley, his grin flashing once again. Henry reflected that his friend smiled even more than usual these days. "Off with you, then," he said, waving a hand grandly. "Catherine and I were about to return to the house, though perhaps we shall wait till the caller has departed." "I would if I were you," Bingley replied. "It is much too fine a day to be trapped inside by morning callers!" He gave Jane his arm, and they walked quickly down the path of finely-crushed gravel that wound into the shrubbery. "Do you want to go inside?" Henry asked Catherine. "I am not feeling up to callers, Henry. Can we walk some more?" "Of course. You are not feeling ill?" "Not a bit." She stretched her arms and smiled up at the sun. "On such a glorious day, who could feel ill?" "I believe we should be thinking about going back to Woodston, Cat," said Henry. "I had a letter from Robinson today, and the improvements that I ordered are complete. The house is ready for us." "He did not tear down my cottage?" Catherine asked anxiously. "No, my sweet. You will still be able to see it from the drawing room windows. The apple trees bore well, he writes." "Did they? I am glad of it." They walked on for a time, talking of their home and making plans. Henry directed their steps toward a prettyish kind of little wilderness on one side of the lawn. As they approached the hedgerow that separated the gravel walk of the shrubbery from the copse, they heard voices, and hesitated, neither wishing an interruption of their tête-à-tête. "That could not be Jane and Mr. Bingley," Catherine whispered. "They went the other way." Elizabeth's voice floated through the branches, along with another female voice, high-pitched and strident, and possessing an aristocratic accent. "Miss Bennet," said the strange voice, "I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require." Henry and Catherine exchanged looks of surprise at such an address. However, Elizabeth's response was spirited. "And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise make their marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject." Henry's quick understanding comprehended the situation: Darcy's aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, must have heard that her nephew's eye had strayed in the direction of Longbourn, and she had come to prevent the undesirable connection. Catherine tugged on his arm to pull him away. "It is very rude to eavesdrop, Henry," she whispered severely. "Any other time I would agree with you; but if you are a friend to romance, let us stay for a moment." Catherine looked at him with great curiosity, but did not resist. "Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the objections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous elopement. I know it all; that the young man's marrying her was a patched-up business, at the expense of your father and brother and uncles. And is such a girl to be my nephew's sister? Is her husband, is the son of his late father's steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth! -- of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?" Catherine began to comprehend; her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened, as if to speak, but she said nothing. "You can now have nothing farther to say," said Elizabeth resentfully. "You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to return to the house." The voices receded, and Henry took Catherine's hand. "Quickly, now, my sweet. I think we must do the duty of the house toward our caller." With the advantage of the covering provided by the shrubbery, they were able to reach the front of the house before the ladies, and stood by Lady Catherine's chaise as she approached. Lady Catherine stared at them for a moment, and then said to Elizabeth, "This is your brother, I suppose?" "Yes, ma'am; may I present Mr. and Mrs. Tilney." Catherine made her usual curtsey, and Henry swept off his hat and made a most elegant leg. "I beg to be considered your ladyship's most obedient servant." "Hmph," said Lady Catherine. "You are the one who was kidnapped, and found, and made heir to Mr. Bennet's estate." Her eyes ranged over the house assessingly. "I have the pleasure of confirming that your ladyship's conjectures are indeed correct." Catherine looked at Henry in mild astonishment at his using the florid sort of language that he normally deplored, but noticed the gleam of humour deep within his eyes, belaying the gravity of his countenance, and pressed her lips together to keep from laughing aloud. "It is most irregular. The de Bourghs and the Fitzwilliams never held with such goings-on." "Indeed, I am devastated to acknowledge that it is most irregular; but as I was an infant at the time and unable to prevent it, I pray that I shall escape the worst censure of society. I depend upon your ladyship's kindness to set the example." Lady Catherine glanced at him sharply, but there was nothing in his expression to confirm her sudden suspicion that she was the object of vulgar raillery. "And you, Mrs. Tilney," she said to Catherine. "I believe you are a clergyman's daughter?" "Yes, your ladyship." "And you are a clergyman?" she asked Henry. "Once again, your ladyship's knowledge is perfection itself." Henry bowed again. "It is good to see," said Lady Catherine with a significant glance at Elizabeth, "that some young ladies do not attempt to quit their own sphere. A clergyman's daughter, married to a clergyman; that is the kind of marriage I like to see." "A most excellent notion, your ladyship," Henry replied. "However, it is my experience that the number of clergymen is never equal to the supply of clergymen's daughters. There must always be some ladies left out." Elizabeth coughed suddenly, and became very interested in the handle of her parasol. "But do not you agree, Mr. Tilney," her ladyship persisted, "that it is unseemly for a young lady to seek to make an alliance that is higher than her circumstances warrant?" "Perhaps it is unseemly; but after all, it is the man who has the advantage of choice, and woman only the power of refusal. When one considers the matter at length, it is a young lady's responsibility to accede to a gentleman's wishes, especially when, as you say, he is her social superior. To refuse such an obliging offer would tear at the very fabric of society! I think it would be a sad day if the nobility could not expect such a simple accommodation from their inferiors! Do not you agree, Lady Catherine?" She stared at him for a long moment, then said, "You make roundabout arguments, sir; but you shall not draw me in. Good day." She placed one foot on the steps of the carriage and said in quelling tones, "I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased." The servant shut the door behind her, and the chaise rumbled down the drive. Henry looked at his sister, who wore a slight smile. "That was a very fine imitation of Mr. Collins, Henry." "From what our cousin tells us, that is Lady Catherine's ideal of a clergyman, and I would not distress so dignified a lady by forcing my usual poor self upon her." "Daring to tease Lady Catherine to her face in such a way! I have not your courage." "Somehow, I doubt that," said Henry, returning the smile. "I wish I could laugh at the things she said to me today." "You should. It is not like you to do otherwise, Lizzy. The opinions expressed by such a woman should have no bearing upon yours." Elizabeth shook her head and went into the house. Darcy had written to Henry when first he arrived in town, but there had been no word since. Henry knew that Bingley had written to Darcy about the engagement, and wondered if Darcy would make some excuse for not returning to Hertfordshire; but a few days after Lady Catherine's visit, Bingley arrived at Longbourn for breakfast with Darcy in tow. Mrs. Bennet greeted him with a cool politeness; Elizabeth's greeting was little warmer, but in her case it could be attributed to consciousness rather than incivility. "It is a glorious day," Bingley declared as he cracked an eggshell. He had been spending his days at Longbourn since the engagement, from breakfast through supper, and was quite at home. "Clear and cool, just what autumn should be. When we have all had our breakfast, I propose that we walk out together. What say you all?" Mrs. Bennet was not in the habit of walking; Mary could never spare time; but the rest agreed to Bingley's plan, much to his delight, as his real motive was to be alone with Jane. Indeed, when they set out, Bingley and Jane lagged so far behind the rest that they were nearly out of sight. They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon Maria. After she left them, the others walked on together with no fixed objective. Henry attempted to start a conversation, but neither Darcy nor Elizabeth seemed inclined to talk. After a few moments of silence, Darcy glanced back at Henry consciously, then at Elizabeth, and back at Henry, his expression almost beseeching. Henry took the hint at once. He said to Catherine, "Over there is the kind of tree I wanted for our garden at Woodston, my sweet. Come, let me show it to you." Catherine was astonished, and a little indignant, but allowed Henry to lead her a little ways from the path while Darcy and Elizabeth walked on. The tree still had some golden leaves hanging from its branches, and Henry plucked one and handed it to Catherine, whispering, "Let us leave them alone for a moment." Catherine's eyes widened. "Henry, do you think--" "I do." She clasped her hands together, thoughtlessly crushing the leaf within, and smiled up at him. "Oh, I do hope that she accepts him!" "As you have wisely said all along, Cat, it is Lizzy's decision." "But I can still hope." "Indeed." A few moments passed, and Henry wished he had placed himself in such a way as to see what was going on. "What are they doing?" he whispered. Catherine peeked over his shoulder. "Mr. Darcy is talking to Lizzy--oh, Henry!" She clutched at his sleeve. "He has stopped--he has taken her hand! Henry, he is kissing her hand!" Henry dared to look around at this, and saw the very scene she had described. Darcy had lifted Elizabeth's gloved hand to his lips; as they watched, he placed her hand against his cheek. The tilt of Elizabeth's bonnet showed that her eyes were firmly fastened to the ground. Darcy released Elizabeth's hand; at this, she raised her eyes to his, and moved her hand upon his face in a caressing motion. Darcy seized her hand again and fervently kissed her palm. It was a moment that should not be observed, and Henry quickly led Catherine into a small copse of the same golden-leaved trees, out of sight of the happy couple. "They are engaged," Catherine said happily. "They must be engaged. Mr. Darcy would not behave so if they were not." "I believe you are right, my sweet." "Shall we go and congratulate them?" Henry laughed. "Did you want your brothers and sisters to come tumbling from the trees when I proposed? I understood that you were perfectly happy for us to be alone at that particular moment." Catherine's eyes were as blue as the clear autumn sky as she looked up at Henry. "I was." "And I notice," he said, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her close, "that you have lately taken to wearing bonnets with much narrower brims." She gave him a smile full of female wisdom, and he bent to kiss her. "Hey now!" said a voice behind them. "This is a public place, man! Conduct yourself with some dignity! If you care not for your own reputation, or your family's, consider poor Cathy's!" They turned to see Jane and Bingley standing by the edge of the copse, laughing at them. "We saw you turn in here," Bingley added as Henry and Catherine joined them. "We could not determine why you would want to skulk about in such a dark little place, but now I understand." "Where are Lizzy and Mr. Darcy?" asked Catherine, looking around. "They were not here when we arrived," said Jane. "I dare say they walked ahead." They all accordingly turned their steps in the direction that the others were thought to have taken, but when they all arrived back at Longbourn, Elizabeth and Darcy had not yet arrived, and did not return until a half-hour afterward. When questioned as to their whereabouts, Elizabeth's face coloured as she murmured something about having walked beyond her recollection. Henry and Catherine exchanged smiles, but allowed the happy couple to choose their own time for announcing the engagement. The evening passed quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, and the unacknowledged were silent. Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth; and Elizabeth sat quietly working on her embroidery, occasionally smiling to herself, and some once or twice allowing her eye to meet Darcy's. Darcy made no move to speak with Mr. Bennet, and it was clear that the betrothed couple intended to keep the news to themselves for the present. The Netherfield gentlemen left after supper, and the rest of the family retired. Henry and Catherine were in their room for only a moment when a light knock sounded upon the door. Catherine opened the door to admit Elizabeth. "I have a piece of news for you," she said. "Good news, I hope," said Henry with a knowing smile. "Yes, it is good news--at least, I hope you will consider it so." She paused a moment, then said in a rush, "Mr. Darcy has given me the kindest assurances of his affection, and made an honourable offer of marriage, which I have accepted." "Oh, Lizzy!" cried Catherine, rushing to embrace her. "It is just what I have wished for! I hope you will both be very happy!" Elizabeth seemed a little taken aback by her sister's vehemence, but returned the embrace warmly. "Thank you, dearest Catherine! Your kind wishes mean a great deal to me." She turned to Henry rather tentatively. "And you, Henry? Will you give me your blessing?" He had risen from his chair, and stood looking at her. "Gladly; but only if you are sure that this marriage is what you want, and that you did not agree to it out of a sense of obligation." "It is what I want. Oh, Henry, it is. I have wanted nothing else for months. I know that I was wretchedly unfair to Mr. Darcy when he first arrived in Hertfordshire. I allowed my first impressions to prejudice me against him, and further allowed Wickham's flattery to harden those prejudices." She smiled as if at a fond memory. "We had a difficult beginning, Mr. Darcy and I, but we have talked it all out." "You love him, then?" "With all my heart." "Then I wish you joy, Lizzy. I wish you joy." Henry embraced Elizabeth tightly, and kissed the top of her head. "I am pleased to see you so happy, and I know this makes Darcy very happy as well." "He has spoken to you of me?" Elizabeth asked, her words light but full of meaning. "He has, many times. Do not doubt Darcy's affection." "I do not. He was--" she coloured-- "rather eloquent on the subject." "You perceive one of the benefits of an Oxford education. It makes a man well-spoken when the occasion requires it." Elizabeth laughed and said, "I must go and tell Jane now. I dare say she will be no more surprised at the news than you! Good night!" When she had gone, Catherine sat at her dressing table, smiling dreamily into the mirror. "Isn't it terribly romantic, Henry? First Jane and Mr. Bingley, now Lizzy and Mr. Darcy. All the time and the separation and the trouble, and now they are going to be married! It is like something in a book!" "We were married after some time and separation and trouble," Henry pointed out as he untied his cravat. "Do not you think our marriage is like a romantic book?" "No," said Catherine calmly as she removed pins from her hair. "Our marriage is much better than any book could be." Henry removed the pins from her hand, fearing she might inadvertently stick him, and kissed her soundly. The following evening, when Mr. Bennet retired to his library after tea, Darcy rose and quietly followed him. No one remarked upon it except Henry, who noticed Elizabeth's anxious expression as her eyes followed Darcy out of the room. He returned in good time, and after a few moments went to stand by the table where Elizabeth was sitting with Kitty. He whispered something to her as he admired her work, and when he sat down again, Elizabeth rose and left the room. Henry could guess what was happening; Darcy had applied for Mr. Bennet's consent to the marriage, and he asked to see his daughter. Henry waited a few moments, not sure if he should follow her, but finally he rose and went to the library. He knocked and was told to enter; inside, he found his father holding Elizabeth's hands as tears ran down her face. "Father, Lizzy has told me her happy news. I hope you have given your consent." "I have; I had my doubts about it, but Lizzy has alleviated my fears." Mr. Bennet raised a sardonic eyebrow in his son's direction. "I suppose I have you to thank for this in part; I suppose you did all you could to forward the match." "Indeed I have not, sir. I would not have any of my sisters unhappily married, solely to oblige me. Catherine and I have watched the progress of this courtship, in Derbyshire and in Hertfordshire, and we are delighted to see it reach its happiest and most logical conclusion; but we purposely removed ourselves from the process." "That is what Lizzy has been telling me; that her affection for Mr. Darcy has stood the test of many months, and that he has worked actively to achieve her regard. Therefore, I have no objection to make." "Papa, you know not the half of it," said Elizabeth eagerly. "You do not know what he has done for our family." She told him what Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. "This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, when Wickham refused to fulfill the bargain he made with Henry, Darcy gave the money, paid the fellow's debts, and got him his commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid him; but these violent young lovers carry everything their own way. I shall offer to pay him tomorrow; he will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter." Henry smiled to himself, quite unable to imagine Darcy ranting and storming about anything. He was pleased that his father would be relieved of that particular burden, but still planned to pay Darcy himself. Mr. Bennet need know nothing of it. He left his father and sister together and went back into the passage. As he walked toward the drawing room, Darcy came out. Henry held out his hand. "I have not had an opportunity to congratulate you on your engagement, Darcy. Lizzy told me last night." Darcy smiled. "I thank you, Tilney. I hoped you would look upon the marriage with approbation." "Indeed I do." He shook his friend's hand as Elizabeth emerged from the library and joined them. "Will you return to the drawing room?" Darcy asked her, anxiously, and yet with a certain kind of softness in his voice. Elizabeth smiled wanly. "I will, but first I require some time alone, to compose myself. I hope you do not mind." "Of course not." Darcy took her hand and pressed it. They exchanged a glance that spoke volumes, and any doubts remaining in Henry's mind about the marriage vanished with it. Elizabeth smiled at her intended, and ran lightly up the stairs. "Mrs. Bennet cannot know," said Henry. "She has been prodigiously uncivil to you all day." "Elizabeth was to tell her tonight, after Bingley and I are gone. I confess I wonder how the news will be received." "Fear not, Darcy," said Henry, leading the way into the drawing room. "Mrs. Bennet is not in general backward to credit what is to the advantage of her family, or that comes in the shape of a lover to any of her daughters. I think she will find you a great deal more tolerable as a son-in-law than she did as a mere friend of the family." Continued in Next Chapter ~ Table of Contents By A Lady Comment on this story Home ~ Site Map ~ Contact Original Images and Content Copyright © 2002 by Margaret C. Sullivan. All Rights Reserved.