Another minute elapsed.
Then another.
The murmur of male voices could be faintly heard through the door, though no words could be distinguished. Once there was a brief pause—then Mr. Bennet’s unmistakable laugh.
Jane drew a sharp breath.
Mrs. Bennet clutched at the back of a chair.
At last, the door opened.
Mr. Bingley emerged first.
The expression upon his face dispelled all doubt. It was not merely happiness—it was relief, gratitude, and a species of wonder.
Behind him, Mr. Bennet appeared composed—though there was something gentler about his gaze than Elizabeth was accustomed to seeing.
Mr. Bingley crossed the room at once.
“Miss Bennet,” he began, and though his voice trembled slightly, it did not fail him, “your father has done me the honor of consenting to a courtship between us. If you will allow me the greater happiness of securing your—”
Jane did not permit him to finish. Her answer was soft but unhesitating.
“Yes!”
Mrs. Bennet gave a small cry and collapsed back into her chair, declaring herself overcome. Mary began to offer solemn congratulations, though she looked a bit peevish at Mr. Collins, who had yet to declare himself in any way. Kitty and Lydia erupted into cheers and loud chatter over the gowns they would order for the wedding.
For her part, Elizabeth could not prevent the warmth that rose in her chest at the sight of her sister’s joy. As she embraced Jane, she reflected that while Jane’s happiness manifested inserene smiles, her own had seized her spirits with far less decorum—betraying itself in laughter, restless thoughts, and a most unmanageable quickening of the heart whenever Darcy appeared before her.
His visits to Longbourn to see her were less animated than his friend’s, but no less steady. Darcy did not parade his regard, but he also did not attempt to disguise it. Elizabeth found that his presence altered the shape and character of her days in ways she could neither dismiss nor entirely explain.
It was not so muchwhatshe did, but ratherwhoshe did it with. Their conversations were quite ordinary, ranging from books to boundaries, from the obligations of landowners to the peculiarities of Meryton society. She discovered that beneath his reserve lay not severity but deliberation; beneath his gravity, a capacity for warmth that revealed itself in quiet moments rather than grand declarations.
Elizabeth had felt nervous the first time he called on her after Mary’s verbal assault, anxious over the idea that Mary might drive him away. To her profound relief, however her next younger sister maintained a dignified silence.
Having been firmly instructed by her father to refrain from theological debate within his walls, Mary complied outwardly, though her glances toward Darcy were seldom free of reproof. She spoke often of conscience and duty, and once declared, in tones of solemn resolve, that while she remained subject to parental authority she would be guided by obedience—but that conviction, when given liberty, must not be restrained.
At Mary’s side in each instance was her constant companion, Mr. Collins. In fact, his attentions to Mary were so overt that Elizabeth was quite surprised that Bingley had spoken to Mr. Bennet about one of his daughters before Mr. Collins had.
That discrepancy did not last long, however. Bingley’s example proved to be as catching as one of Lydia’s yawnsduring Mr. Collins’s daily readings of Fordyce. On the very afternoon that Jane and Mr. Bingley’s understanding was secured, Mr. Collins applied to Mr. Bennet with a proposal of his own.
As the family assembled for dinner, Mr. Bennet unfolded his napkin and cleared his throat with an air of restrained amusement.
“I believe,” he began with false solemnity, “that we are in danger of losing all of our daughters in rapid succession.”
“Lose our daughters? What on earth do you mean, Mr. Bennet?” his wife demanded.
“This afternoon, Mr. Collins came to me with an offer for Mary’s hand, and I deemed it prudent to approve his request, seeing as he might turn you all out otherwise upon my death.”
Mrs. Bennet gave a shriek that might have startled the poultry in the yard. “Approve his request! Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet, what felicity! Two daughters being courted, and now the third is engaged! What a triumph!”
“Yes, I believe we now enjoy the distinction of outpacing our neighbors in matrimonial enterprise,” Mr. Bennet said dryly. “Though I perceive I have erred in announcing it before the conclusion of dinner, for I foresee very little peace at this table henceforth.”
He then turned to Elizabeth and gave her a small wink, and she gave a small laugh. Mary, who hadnotshrieked at her father’s announcement, folded her hands with grave composure. The expression on her features was unmistakably one of triumph. There was in it a satisfaction that bordered upon superiority—as though she had secured not merely a husband, but a moral victory.
“I trust,” she said with solemn dignity, “that I shall discharge the duties of my future station with seriousness and propriety.”
Elizabeth observed that her sister’s posture had gained at least two inches in height.
