Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge

fast approaching when Mr. and Mrs. Bennet escorted their two eldest daughters home from Matlock Manor – there had not been much discussion in the carriage. That would come later, especially for Jane. The four rang for their servants to help them undress, tumbled into bed, and slept fitfully for about five hours. The day of reckoning dawned for Jane before breakfast when she was summoned to her mother’s private sitting room.

“Jane, come have a seat here.” The woman patted the settee beside her. “I wish to speak with you regarding your unbecoming conduct last night.”

The young woman sighed, bowed her head, and contritely said, “Yes, Mama. Again, I am truly sorry for causing so much turmoil.”

When Jane sat next to her, Mrs. Bennet reached for her hand and held it for the duration of their conversation. “It is all water under the bridge now, my dear. Still, I want to discuss how you feel about the consequences of your reckless actions. You know your father and I always wished for you to enter into marriage only for the right reason. So tell me, have you actually formed an attachment with Colonel Fitzwilliam so quickly?”

Jane raised her head and smiled brightly. “Oh, yes, Mama! I have admired his character and appearance for some time now. But last night, Richard and I felt an immediate attachment.”

Her mother frowned, but her tone was mildly teasing. “Yes, I heard about your attachment … at the lips and several other points of contact, I believe.”

Jane coloured and said, “I apologize for such abandoned behaviour. As was earlier explained to Lord Matlock, Papa, and you … Richard and I simply … collided. Once I was in his arms, oh Mama, I never wanted to leave. I cannot explain the way he makes me feel.”

“Believe me, Jane, I understand completely. Your father and I were young once, you know; and it appears the apple does not fall far from the tree.”

“Mother!”

“Just be careful, my dear. Your handsome Colonel has spent time on the Continent, you know.”

Jane knitted her brows. “What in the world are you implying?”

“Well, Richard Cosmo Fitzwilliam is … cosmopolitan.” She leaned in and whispered, “He is a man of the world and may have Roman hands and Russian fingers. You may be tempted to anticipate your vows.”

“Oh, Mama, really!”

“Very well, I will say no more at present. We will have a further talk before the wedding. In the meantime, I just need to know if you have agreed to enter into this marriage willingly.”

“I truly do love Richard; and, despite his career, we will be very happy together. Please do not worry about me. I have every reason to believe he and I will have a loving relationship like you and Papa share, which is everything I have ever wanted.”

Mrs. Bennet kissed her daughter’s cheek and smiled. “Then I am very happy for you, indeed. Your father and I were very fortunate to have found one another.” She patted Jane’s hand, still held in her own. “I shall not worry. Worry causes falling hair; and when the going gets tough, the tufts get going. Now, are you ready to get going and face your father and siblings at the breakfast table?”

When the two women joined the others, Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper, looked over the top of his spectacles, raised his eyebrows, and said, “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Fitzwilliam-to-be. You, my dear, are marrying into quite a family. Come have a seat and prepare to be diverted by some gossip in an article on the society page. Listen to this: ‘Marriage Mania, Midnight Madness & Immoral Missteps at Mayhem Manor ~ The town is in an absolute uproar the day after a ball given by a member of the Peerage; and the Marriage Mart has suddenly been deprived of three of the country’s most eligible bachelors as well as three very beautiful, young, and nubile women..’”

“Papa?”

“Yes, Lydia?”

“What does new-bile mean?”

“Nubile means … ah … ask your mother.”

“Mama?”

Mrs. Bennet scowled at her husband and replied, “It means marriageable … among other things. That definition will suffice for now. Continue, my dear Mr. Bennet. You read uncommonly well. Still and all, perhaps you could censor further descriptive words deemed inappropriate for young ears.”

“Thank you, Fanny. I suppose I deserve such praise as well as such censure. Where was I? Ah, yes. ‘Parents of le bon ton are bemoaning the significant loss of six desirable matches for their sons and daughters after the announcement of a trio of upcoming weddings. One very disgruntled matron complained the few families involved were being rather selfish by snatching up so many desirable young partners.’”

“Papa?”

“Yes, Lydia?”

“If a pig loses its voice, is it disgruntled?”

“Perhaps you should ask the aforementioned miffed matron. Were she a male I am sure she would be a boorish, boring boar. Now, here is where it becomes interesting. We learn the identities of the eligible bachelors and beautiful maidens. ‘The ball’s two hosting families have, indeed, secured enviable brides and a bridegroom to add to their already illustrious bloodlines. A wealthy young landowner from northern Derbyshire has used his time wisely and won the hand of the eldest daughter of an eminent family from that same county; that young lady’s handsome elder brother, heir to their vast estates, has become betrothed to a Hertfordshire beauty; and that woman’s lovely sister is engaged to a dashing Colonel, the second son of an Earl.

As was hinted by one of the hosts during the ball, perhaps there was something potent in last night’s wine; and that must also be the reason the evening concluded in such a shocking manner. No mere outmoded minuet was danced last night at Immorality Manor; instead many couples, both married and, more alarmingly, single, dared to defy propriety by embracing in public for the wicked waltz. The patronesses of Almack’s are scandalized as are many of the haut ton who had not been invited to the controversial ball. Imagine! A dance in which members of the opposite sex face one another and the man places his hand on the lady’s waist. Shocking! Had not the majority of Polite Society been in attendance, one might wonder at such debauchery.’”

The family started to speak all at once until silenced by an announcement that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had come to call on their fiancées. Both gentlemen were welcomed warmly, much to the Colonel’s relief; and they were invited to join the Bennets while they finished breakfast. The visitors gratefully tucked into a fresh batch of currant scones and washed them down with fragrant coffee while Mr. Bennet continued to read articles from the newspaper.

“Well, it is a coincidence we are enjoying these scrumptious scones. Here is a story about a landlady, Mrs. Lottie Lyes, who had a couple of struggling poets for tenants. The poor fellows got behind in their rent; and when the landlady was unable to have them evicted, she decided to do away with the purse-pinched versifiers. The awful woman baked a large scone laced with arsenic, invited the rhymesters down to her parlour, and served each chap a cup of tea and half a scone. The poison worked as advertised; but, of course, crime does not pay. Mrs. Lyes was soon afterward arrested, and at the trial she pled innocent to the charge of killing two bards with one scone.”

Mrs. Bennet gently chided her husband. “My dear, I never quite know whether or not to believe half the things you read aloud. Colonel, I assure you the scones you are now eyeing rather suspiciously are quite safe. Mr. Darcy, I hope you will not change your mind about marrying Lizzy; yet I feel it is my duty to warn you she does take after her father. And Robert, darling, why are you now diligently picking the currants out of your scone?”

“I think these are arse-nits, Mama.”

“Oh, Robert! Eew!” Disgusted and disgruntled, Catherine Bennet threw her half-eaten scone back onto her plate.

Mrs. Bennet smiled apologetically at her guests and said, “Poppet, you can stop nit-picking. These scones do not have any arsenic. Perhaps you should eat your Jam Roly-Poly now instead, dear. Mr. Bennet, please kindly refrain from reading such thought-provoking news whilst we are eating a meal.”

Catherine asked to be excused, as she had suddenly lost her appetite. Her father, who had just taken a mouthful of his own Jam Roly-Poly, agreed with her and said, “That is one way of pudding it, Kitty.” Of course, he who talks with his mouth full is speaking in-gest.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who wanted to be alone with nubile Jane, prodded his cousin, who was seated across the table, by kicking him on the shin. When that did not have the desired effect, he caught Darcy’s eye and winked