before your marriage took place. But somehow I delayed, and waited, for what, I did not know. Twice I told myself that I could not leave; I turned back because there was some question at work, something only I could deal with. Then I was advised not to go, for the ship would run directly into the hurricane season. This week, I was really going. Tomorrow was the date set for me to leave; and the end of the week for the ship to depart.”
“But how did you come here? Did you know about all this? Or did you come to say farewell?” were Anne's next questions. The answer astonished her. It was her cousin Darcy who, on leaving Pemberley that morning, had ridden directly to his friend's home, and told him of Lady Catherine's marriage and Anne's changed circumstances. Darcy knew that Edmund's journey had been twice delayed, but understood that now he was really on the point of leaving; that his passage was taken; that by the following day, or the day after, he would be gone.
Her cousin had made it clear that, for his part, he considered Anne released from every obligation to a parent who had rejected, abandoned, and insulted her. For him, the offer of the Reverend Mr Whiley was the final straw, an insult to a woman of Anne's rank, abilities, and talents. He knew that his friend was a far better match for her. He felt that there was now no bar to their marriage, if Edmund still wished it. He was to feel under no obligation, however; Anne would always have a home at Pemberley; he and his wife regarded her as a beloved sister. Hearing that his departure was not imminent, he had urged him to take the rest of the day, and consider.
“Then he left. I had hardly taken it in, except that they had offered you some ancient clergyman to marry, and you were to copy out his manuscripts, and that you had said no. I should think so indeed! But as soon as he had gone, I found that I did not need a day to think it over, or even an hour. You were no longer the wealthy heiress of Rosings; you were the woman I love, you had been hurt, you were in trouble. There was nothing to think about.” (At this point the relation of the story was somewhat interrupted, as Anne responded to this wonderful declaration.) He resumed: He had called for his horse, and arrived barely half an hour behind Darcy. “Then,” he said, “when I arrived at the house, I found your cousin and Mrs Darcy in a terrible state, for, they told me, Anne would talk of nothing but living on her own in a cottage, and writing books. And I told them that that was nonsense, for you are going to live with me, and write books.”
Some people might have been surprised at the length of time it took for the two of them to return from what had been, really, quite a short walk; but Elizabeth and Darcy were not of their number. They had too recently been in a similar situation themselves. “You are going to be as happy as we are,” Elizabeth said. “I did not think it possible, but I believe you will manage it.”
But, as she later told her husband, even she had not such reasons for delight as Anne had, in the contrast between her earlier life, and the life that lay ahead of her. “If my mother was sometimes peevish, and my father occasionally morose, I had all the cheerful society of my sisters, especially dear Jane,” she said.
“And the reassurance of your mirror, to tell you how beautiful you were,” said her husband, fondly. “Poor Anne spent so many years as a sickly, plain, lonely girl, that she deserves every day, every hour of the happiness that will be hers.”
“And how good it is to think,” Elizabeth said, “that we shall not lose her, for she will be only five miles away.”
The rest of the day was not enough for the expression of everybody's satisfaction, and happy as Anne was in the delight of her relatives, it required several walks in the gardens, alone with Edmund, to establish her composure of mind, and assure her that she really was, not only going to be married to the man she loved, but totally and completely loved by him.
“And are you really happy that I should write, and write novels?” Anne asked.
“Yes, indeed,” he said, firmly. “to my mind, it is a wicked thing for any person who has talent or ability not to be allowed to develop it. I shall insist on your continuing, I shall read all your drafts, and I shall insist that household cares never prevent you from having all the time you need.”
That evening, she thought, was the happiest of her life, and she would always remember it. In retrospect she could not, in fact, remember anything very clearly. Seated beside Edmund, Minette by her side, surrounded as she was by the dear cousins who rejoiced with her, it seemed to pass in a daze, a glow of joy. The only dissatisfaction Anne felt, as she went to dress for dinner, was that she had really spent so very little time alone with Edmund!
The next day brought another source of pleasure, in the arrival of the Caldwells, who were invited to spend several days with them, and whose joy could barely be expressed. Mrs Caldwell, in the course of a long conversation with Anne, admitted that she had known about the matter for some time. Her son had not intended to burden either of his parents with the knowledge of his situation, but knowing him as she did, it was impossible for her not to be aware of his unhappiness, and to guess at its cause, and on her applying to him to tell her the truth, he had done so. She had mourned, thinking there was nothing to be done. “And now, my dear, I could not be happier, and neither could my husband, for you are exactly the daughter we would have wished for.” Her only cause for concern was that, as she said, they must wait a few months to be married. “For, dearest Anne, you cannot imagine what kind of a state the house is in, for gentlemen, as I am sure you know, have no idea when anything is dirty, or shabby. But we will see all put to rights.”
“And I think,” said Elizabeth, privately, to her husband, “that very few young women have gained a husband, by
“You are right,” her husband said. “But I only fear that she may have done it very thoroughly.”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“I scarcely know; but I am not certain how secure her inheritance is.”
Chapter 27
The well-informed reader, aware that “The course of true love never did run smooth,” will not be surprised to perceive, from the thickness of the pages remaining, that Anne and Edmund did experience some further difficulties.
However, the initial few days of their engagement gave no hint of troubles to come. Then, one morning, several carriages drew up to the front of Pemberley.
“Oh,” cried Anne. “It is my dear Mr Bennet!”
Indeed it was, and with him, a handsome, rather over-dressed lady, with a slightly peevish expression, whom he introduced as his wife. Two young women, one pretty, one quiet and rather plain, were: “My daughters, Mary and Kitty.” From the second chaise there emerged a very sweet-faced young woman, bearing a strong resemblance to Elizabeth, and a good-looking young man, whom Darcy shook enthusiastically by the hand: “My friend Bingley.” But there was another lady, and Anne thought that Mrs Darcy's face fell slightly when she saw her, for this lady, though younger by far than Mrs Bennet, appeared equally peevish, if not more so. Could this be another sister? the extraneous vehicles contained such a supply of nursemaids, valises, and trunks, as may well be imagined, and Mrs Bingley, hastening urgently to one of them, demanded and received a small baby into her arms. It transpired that the unknown lady was not Mrs Darcy's, but Mr Bingley's sister, who had been quite unable to travel in the same carriage as the infant, owing to her extreme dislike of hearing a child crying.
The new house was ready, Mr Bingley explained, and they were on their way to it. “But you must have received my letter? I wrote to you, I did indeed, a week ago, that we had heard from the builders—the roof and chimneys are repaired, the house is habitable, and as for the new greenhouse, and the pinery, all that, you know, can be seen to far better when we are in residence. I wrote to you, at least a week ago,” but no letter had been received at Pemberley.
Not knowing that her family were coming, Mrs Darcy had invited the Rackhams, mother and children, and Sir Matthew and his mother to dinner. “And to keep the numbers even,” she said, “I asked Mr Kirkman, too, for now that I am not matchmaking any more, I find that I quite like him.”
