These Three Remain

Darcy stared at her in stony silence.

“If you persist in this folly,” she railed at him, “Rosings will be closed to you, your name will never be mentioned in my hearing, and I will forswear you as any relation of mine!”

“So be it, Madam; as you wish.” Darcy bowed to her once more and then strode to the door. “Lady Catherine’s carriage,” he called down the hall and, turning, held the door open for her. “Your Ladyship.”

“Do not think that I shall be the only one to object to such a misalliance!” Lady Catherine continued as she swept past him and down the stairs. “I shall write your uncle, Lord Matlock, immediately! He will make you see sense. He will cause you to know…”

Only when the door was closed behind her could Darcy release the breath that he’d held in anger against his aunt’s innumerable insults. Stepping to the window, he observed her storm out into the street below. Her carriage swaying under her fury, her driver pulled swiftly away from the curb and set the horses to a hurried trot. Well might she hurry, he thought, as he took up the decanter and poured himself a drink. Good God! He had never been so close to…! He picked up the glass and tossed down a portion. Then setting it down, he strode to the door, then back again. That impossible woman! He took another drink. What had she done! Standing in the middle of the room, his breath coming in chuffs, he raked his hand through his hair. Elizabeth so accosted! He shook his head. What could his aunt have heard that would send her posthaste to Hertfordshire? A mere rumor? No, he decided. There must have been more. He held his breath, attempting to calm himself enough to think rationally. What had his aunt done? What had been the actual result of her outrageous presumption?

Sitting down on the settee, he returned to the material truths of the entire extraordinary interview. Elizabeth would not promise not to accept him. That was what had so infuriated his aunt. Did he dare believe the converse? Would she accept him? Her manner during his last visit would never have tempted him to believe that she would. Why had she not said as much and been spared such insults? Was it her heart or her anger that had turned back Lady Catherine’s every demand? How was he ever to know unless he returned to Hertfordshire?

“Witcher!” he bellowed down the stairs. “Witcher!”

“Sir?” The old butler appeared, a look of apprehension on his face at such goings-on in the usually sedate confines of Erewile House.

“Order my traveling coach and send Fletcher up to pack. I wish to be gone in the morning!”

“Yes, sir!” the butler replied and scuttled off belowstairs as quickly as his old legs could carry him to deliver the master’s extraordinary demands to an already scandalized household.

“Have faith and wait,” Dy had counseled. Now, as he looked out the coach’s window at the passing scenery of a Hertfordshire afternoon, he could easily imagine the scene that had taken place. How imperious and insufferable his Aunt Catherine could be under the most modest of irritations, he knew very well; but in this, her passion had been thoroughly roused. It must have been terrible for Elizabeth to have been its object, yet she had with-stood it and refused to bow to demands easily met had she decided against him. For the hundredth time since yesterday, he wondered what was her mind and whether by returning to Hertfordshire he was committing folly enough to match all he had ever committed in his life.

In less time by the watch than his anxious thoughts could credit, his coach was rolling up Netherfield’s drive, and the house came into view. He had sent no letter announcing his return, and Bingley’s expectations of it were vague, as Darcy had wanted them to be in case he decided against it. His friend might not be home. But as the coach drew up to the house, the door opened, and Bingley stood at the entrance with a look of pure delight upon his open countenance.

“Darcy! I say, Darcy!” he exclaimed as he came down the steps to meet him. “This is above everything!” He grabbed his friend’s hand as soon as Darcy descended from the coach.

“Charles,” he began, “I apologize for giving you no warning —”

“Nonsense,” Bingley replied. “I am that glad that you are here. I am about to run mad with no one with whom to share my good fortune. Here, you must come in. I have so much to tell you!” Refreshment was ordered as Bingley pulled him into the library and begged him to be seated.

“But, Charles, my dirt!” Darcy indicated the traveling dust that had settled on his arms and shoulders.

“Dirt be hanged, Darcy!” Bingley laughed. A servant knocked and entered with the tray, but almost before the door shut behind him Bingley burst forth. “I am engaged!…Engaged to the loveliest angel in the world! My beautiful Jane has consented, and her father agreed. We are to be married, Darcy, married!” He laughed again. “Can you believe it, for I cannot! It is too wonderful!”

“Not at all, Charles!” Darcy took him by the shoulders. “I can think of no other man who deserves such happiness, truly I cannot. Did you think she might refuse you? What nonsense! I wish you joy, my friend, you and your future wife.” At his words, tears stung at Bingley’s eyes. Darcy clapped his shoulders roughly and turned away.

“Thank you, Darcy.” Bingley cleared his throat. “Thank you. Now, how may I serve you?”

“I can hardly say, except that I hope you will allow me to stay. It may be only a day, it may be more; I do not yet know.”

Bingley regarded him curiously. “My home is at your disposal, you must know that. Can you tell me no more?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Darcy replied. “It is business of a personal nature. Perhaps it is all folly, I do not know. But,” he continued with a smile, “it is nothing that will diminish your own joy however it falls out. All I ask is that you allow me to come with you when next you visit the home of your fiancee.”

“Certainly,” Bingley answered him. “I am to visit tomorrow. Since Jane and I are engaged, there is no time I am not welcome. We can go as early or as late as you please.” Bingley continued to look at him curiously.

“What do you say to a game of billiards before dinner?” Darcy proposed a distraction that had always worked with his cousin.

“Certainly!” Bingley pursed his lips. “Shall we wager on the outcome?”

Early the following day, Darcy and Bingley set out for Longbourn with a fresh autumn breeze at their backs. The leaves were turning, the multihued trees framing the harvested fields and golden pastures. Although Bingley had caught Darcy up on all the events since his departure two weeks before, there still seemed to be minutiae yet to be imparted; and so the ride was filled with the overflow of Bingley’s enthusiasm for his soon-to-be in-laws. Far from being bored, Darcy listened carefully for any clue that might lend him insight into the tenor of the Bennet household in general and Elizabeth in particular. From Bingley’s descriptions, it seemed that all there were in a flurry of goodwill and excitement over the coming nuptials. Of Elizabeth, he heard only how good she was to her sister and how often she had turned her mother aside to some task in order to allow Bingley some precious moments alone with his bride to be.

Their arrival was greeted with all the happiness that Bingley had described, although several curious glances were thrown Darcy’s way. Not a little fearful of what this day would bring, he could hardly look at Elizabeth. When they had dismounted and made their bows, Bingley immediately advocated that, on this beautiful day, they should all walk out and enjoy it. His proposal was readily agreed to, and while Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty sought their bonnets and wraps, Mrs. Bennet took her prospective son-in-law by the arm and advised him with authority that the paths to and from Longbourn were the prettiest to be had in the area, although, she confided, she herself was not in the habit of walking.

While Bingley was thus engaged, Darcy stepped away and looked out over the garden. Most of it had been raked and overturned, but some hardy blooms still waved their colorful heads in the light breeze. He breathed in the musty scent, holding it for a moment in an attempt to soothe the racing of his heart. Again, time seemed to be plunging headlong into the future, his future, consuming and discarding the precious present in the most wanton manner. At one and the same moment, he longed for Elizabeth to appear and devoutly wished that she would delay, at least until he could achieve some semblance of control over his heart.

A noise from the doorway told him that the young ladies were ready, and he turned back to see Bingley holding out his hand to Jane. Elizabeth stepped lightly from the house, the sunlight dappling dark and light over her rusty brown spencer and green muslin dress. There was nothing elegant about her appearance. She was dressed for a walk. Yet her every expression and movement inspired his admiration.

Bingley secured his Jane’s hand, and as the pair set off, Elizabeth turned away from them with a smile and