The next day, at Longbourn, Elizabeth and Darcy sat by the window at the far end of the parlour, and she asked him to account for his having ever fallen in love with her.
“How could you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”
Darcy was already discovering that he had difficulty in maintaining a proper decorum when she addressed him in this playful fashion, but it was perhaps a question deserving a serious answer.
“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
But it seemed that she was determined to make him smile.
“My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners, my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”
He had to succumb at this, and laughed with her as he said, “For the liveliness of your mind, I did.”
“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.”
Elizabeth then took a more serious tone, as she continued.
“The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of defence, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you.”
He refused to be provoked into agreeing with her.
“There, I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me, but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.”
“Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was ill here at Netherfield?”
“Dearest Jane! Who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be.”
She smiled bewitchingly, and then was suddenly more serious as she said, “I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined at Longbourn? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”
“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”
“But I was embarrassed.”
“And so was I.”
“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”
“A man who had felt less, might.”
“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the subject? This will never do.”
“You need not distress yourself,” said Darcy. “The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine’s unjustifiable endeavours to separate us, were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of yours. My aunt’s intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.”
“Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed? Or had you intended any more serious consequence?”
“My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister was still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.”
“Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to befall her?”
“I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.”
“And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.”
For above a quarter of an hour, there was a companionable silence in the room as they pursued their correspondence. Darcy finished his letter long before Elizabeth completed hers, and sat quietly, secure in the pleasure of watching her. Slowly, she became aware of his attention, and turned to smile a little.
“Before I seal the letter,” Elizabeth said, “may I add an invitation for my aunt and uncle to stay with us at Pemberley— I know that my aunt especially would welcome that.”
“By all means,” he said. “We are, you know, to be wed soon after the end of November. Would you like to ask them to join us, with their children, for the Christmas festival?”
He needed no more answer than the wonderful smile which came over her face.
“But,” Darcy added in a tone that attempted to sound sombre, “there is one condition!”
Elizabeth looked at him a little warily. “And, pray, Sir, what is that?”
“I recall that there is a young lady with whom I first disdained to dance who, on other occasions, twice refused my invitation to do so, including once to dance a reel of which her elder sister has since told me she is very fond. Then when at last she did dance with me at Netherfield, I recall that she insisted on advocating the claims and qualities of a certain Mr. Wickham, and trying to establish my own character.”
She looked somewhat embarrassed at this, and even rather apprehensive.
Seeing her expression, Darcy could maintain his assumed severity no longer.
“All I mean to ask you is whether you will join with me to hold a ball for our neighbours at Pemberley on New Year’s Eve. It was a happy custom of my parents to entertain their friends from the county on that day—a custom which ceased on my mother’s death.”
He was silent for a few moments as he said that, and then recollected himself, and gave her a teasing smile.
“Then,” he continued, “you could not escape the opening of the first dance with me, and the occasion would give me the opportunity to introduce you to some of our Derbyshire neighbours. As Bingley and Jane are to spend Christmas in Hertfordshire, visiting your family at Longbourn, they could travel up in time to join us. And perhaps my cousin Fitzwilliam also?”
And so it was settled, and the arrangements put in hand.
38
Georgiana wasted no time in replying to her brother’s letter. The joy which she expressed on receiving the news of their forthcoming wedding was so great that four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight.
On the same day as her letter was received, the family at Longbourn heard that unexpected visitors were suddenly come from Hunsford to Lucas Lodge—Mr. and Mrs. Collins.
The news from Mrs. Collins that his aunt had been rendered exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew’s letter did not trouble Darcy. Elizabeth soon heard from Charlotte that, although herself very happy about the match, she had decided that it would be very wise for them both to get away from Kent for a time. The reason for the Collinses’ arrival was soon confirmed by a letter for Darcy, which arrived from Lady Catherine by the next post. It was angry and abusive of Elizabeth to the highest degree, and he resolved to send no reply.
Darcy could see that the arrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though having Mr. Collins
