Page 70 of Such Low Connections

“You dare to defy me, Miss Elizabeth Bennet? You, a young woman of neither name nor fortune, with a sister whose shamefully patched-up marriage only just prevented her ruin, with a vulgar mother of neither sense nor taste —”

“Get out,” Elizabeth snapped, going to the drawing room door and flinging it open. “I have nothing else to say to you, Lady Catherine.”

Perhaps it could not be denied that her mother was vulgar, but Mrs Bennet was not vicious. In her domineering ways and ill-bred interference, Lady Catherine had shown herself to be both.

Almost gnashing her teeth with rage, Lady Catherine de Bourgh stormed past the various curious Bennets in the hallway and back out into the night.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth absolutely refused to speak about Lady Catherine’s late-night visit, despite much teasing from her father. Much to her relief, the Bennet family managed to pass almost an entire week without further surprises. Only Lydia’s permanent absence marked any real difference in the household’s usual activities.

Elizabeth began to almost imagine that none of the year’s tumultuous events had happened at all, and existed only in her imagination. Jane had never fallen in love with Mr Bingley, she herself had never received two such outlandish proposals of marriage, and the militia had never come to Meryton…

This illusion was dispelled entirely one sunny morning in July when Elizabeth became conscious of the sound of hoofbeats in the lane over the noise of Mary’s precise but unmelodious singing at the pianoforte.

“Maria Lucas said her brothers might ride over this way,” Kitty commented idly, also hearing the sound and looking up from where she was lounging on a couch with a copy ofThe Gallery of Fashionfrom Mrs Philips.

Kitty evidently saw no reason to rise and greet these unexceptional young men if they called, while Mary only grimaced at Kitty’s remark and continued singing. Seeing their disinterest, Elizabeth stood and left the room, not knowing where her mother and Jane presently were, and thinking that someone in the family ought to greet their neighbours, if they did indeed stop at Longbourn.

However, the horses tied to the posts in front of Longbourn did not belong to the Lucas boys.

“May I have the honour of speaking to Miss Bennet?” asked a familiar amiable voice before Elizabeth turned the corner of the passageway and saw the speaker.

“Mr Bingley!” exclaimed Mrs Bennet, already at the front door and eager to receive him. “You are welcome here indeed, and you, Mr Darcy. I shall call Jane directly.”

The few short words to Mr Darcy were added grudgingly and with far less pleasure, giving Elizabeth a pang of shame to temper the joy she felt on seeing the tall, dark figure behind Charles Bingley.

“Lizzy,” said her mother, seizing on her appearance with alacrity and beckoning her over. “Do take Mr Darcy into the parlour, won’t you? Mr Bingley is here to see Jane.”

Mrs Bennet all but winked meaningfully at Elizabeth as she spoke Mr Bingley’s name, making her daughter blush for the poor manners on display to their guests. Neither man seemed to notice anything amiss, however. Mr Bingley’s sky-blue eyes were searching eagerly for someone not yet in the hallway, and Mr Darcy’s darker gaze settled on Elizabeth herself with an intent that was impossible to read.

“Shall we take a walk in the gardens, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth suggested to the approval of her mother, who clearly wanted them both out of the way. “Let us not disturb Mary’s practice at the pianoforte.”

“It is a fine day to be outside,” he agreed and offered his arm, a gesture that made the blood run faster in her veins.

Laying a hand lightly on his forearm, Elizabeth steered Mr Darcy towards the rear garden with its longer paths and shady trees. While more discreet in her methods than Mrs Bennet, she shared her mother’s aim of giving Mr Bingley and Jane as much time alone together as she could.

“How unexpected to see you here again,” Elizabeth commented, opening the conversation as they walked. “I wasn’t sure that either of you would ever return to Hertfordshire.”

“Charles Bingley was always coming back,” Mr Darcy replied solemnly. “You were right at Rosings when you blamed me for keeping him away, at least to begin with. It was not done intentionally, but it was my doing nonetheless, since my loyal friend would not abandon me in my distress.”

“What did you tell me then? That Mr Bingley was his own man, I recall. I shall not blame you, Mr Darcy, since Mr Bingley might really have returned at any time he pleased. He might also have called on my sister in London and did not. You cannot be blamed for that.”

“Nor can Bingley,” Mr Darcy excused his friend. “He tried to call once at Gracechurch Street, but was discouraged on finding the family not at home. As you have seen, my friend is loyal to a fault, and believes insufficiently in his own powers of thought and feeling. He is too easily influenced by those close to him.”

Elizabeth looked up at him curiously. “I am afraid I do not quite understand your meaning.”

“Miss Caroline Bingley has never favoured a match between her brother and your sister,” Mr Darcy explained with an embarrassed cough. “When he expressed his intention to call on Miss Bennet, Miss Bingley tried hard to dissuade him and then even to persuade her brother that Miss Bennet had no genuine interest in him. She suggested strongly that if he did call, Jane would pretend not to be at home.”

“So, when Mr Bingley was told that the Gardiners and Jane had gone out, he thought his sister was right and gave up hope,” Elizabeth completed the explanation for herself. “How devious! Still, he ought to have known better, especially after speaking to me at Rosings.”

“We are all fools in love,” Mr Darcy replied, with the tiniest of smiles at the edge of his lips but a reflective sadness in his deep blue eyes. “I hope my friend has the courage to declare himself today and bring this story to a happy conclusion. It is not an easy thing for a man to do, to confess his feelings.”

“Nor for a woman,” Elizabeth observed.

For a moment, they caught one another’s eyes, and some secret intelligence seemed about to pass between them. Then, the spell was broken by a call from the house, and Elizabeth turned her head to see Jane at the back door, half laughing and half crying as she beckoned to her sister.

“Elizabeth! Oh, you must come to me. I cannot believe it… Mr Bingley and I are to be married! I am the happiest woman alive.”