Page 91 of Regrets

No conquering hero had ever been met with as much joy, love and appreciation as was Mr. Bennet that day. He was hugged and kissed and made much of, until finally, red-faced and grinning, he asked for tea.

Everyone sat in the parlour and begged Mr. Bennet to tell the story, from beginning to end, of the court appearance.

“And it was that fast!” Elizabeth marveled, when he was done.

“It was; I admit that I expected it to take a good deal longer,” Mr. Bennet said.

“Mr. Collins did not understand?” Mary asked.

“No, he did not seem to. Lady Catherine said she would explain it to him.”

Lydia snorted. “I wish her luck with that!”

“In any event, this seemed worthy of some celebration, so I did a little shopping in London,” Mr. Bennet said.

Mrs. Bennet’s mouth fell open. “You went shopping?” Her tone was disbelieving.

“With Madeleine’s assistance, yes. I do not see what all the fuss is about for you ladies, for it was a good deal of bother. Crowds everywhere! Horse dung on the streets! Dreadful experience!”

“What did you buy, Mr. Bennet?” his wife asked, hoping to recall him to the point.

“Oh! Well, I shall show you!” With that, he rose and left the room; he could be heard calling to his coachman, and very soon a footman arrived, carrying a pile of packages. At Mr. Bennet’s direction, he placed them on the largest table in the room and departed.

The Bennet ladies stared at Mr. Bennet and then stared at the packages, but no one made a move. Finally, Mr. Bennet said, “Well, what are you waiting for? These are gifts for all of you!”

No further encouragement was required. Lydia and Kitty immediately ran to the table and began ripping open packages. Jane took charge of deciding who got what, but Elizabeth had to assist, or Jane would have had nothing for herself. Everyone had a new bonnet, a new shawl, lengths of material, ribbons and candies. There was even a shawl that had a small piece of paper bearing the words “For Mrs. Hill” pinned to it, much to that worthy’s delight! The tea was for the household, of course.

Once the fuss had died down, Mr. Bennet reached into his coat pocket and produced a small package, wrapped in very fine white silk and tied with a white ribbon. “Mrs. Bennet,” he began. “You have had a good deal to put up with from your ungrateful husband.”

“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands to her reddening cheeks.

“No, hush, I have not finished my little speech! Let me see; where was I?”

“Ungrateful husband,” Lydia supplied.

“Right; from your ungrateful husband. But that husband is now very sorry for his behaviour and promises never to be so unappreciative again. Fanny,” he said, now speaking very sincerely. “I saw this and thought of you at once, for this is the exact colour of your eyes.” He held out the package.

Tears gathered in those eyes as she took the little box, reverently, untied the ribbon, and unwrapped the silk. A black velvet box was revealed! She opened it, scarcely breathing, and saw a lovely brooch; a sapphire in a gold setting. Mrs. Bennet gasped.

“Allow me, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said. He offered a hand to help her rise, and then took the brooch and pinned it to her new shawl, which was also blue. “There! You are as lovely now as the day I met you.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into them. He whispered to her, “I have heard you say that like must marry like, dear Fanny, but it is not true. Sometimes one may admire and love the differences, as well as the similarities. That I have hurt you so deeply for so many years is truly the greatest regret of my life.”

The girls could not hear him, but they could see him embracing his wife. They were silent, staring at their father, wondering at the great change that had come over him.

But the day’s surprises were not yet done.

When the Darcys and Mr. Bingley arrived, congratulations were offered, thanks were given, and there was a good deal of rejoicing. Mr. Darcy left the room for a moment; when he returned, he was carrying a package wrapped in brown paper. He pulled Mr. Bennet to one side and said, softly, “This is for you.”

Mr. Bennet’s brows rose, questioningly, but he set the package down on a table and began to unwrap it. When he saw what was inside the paper, he looked at Mr. Darcy, questioningly. “I do not understand,” he said.

“I purchased these books from Mr. Hatchard. He always alerts me when something special comes in. Pemberley’s library already had a copy of the Wicked Bible, but I was glad to get a first edition of Johnson’s Dictionary of the English Language and the first volume of Shakespeare’s Fourth Folio.”

Mr. Bennet opened the two books and saw his modest “T.B.” in the upper left-hand corner of the front flyleaf on each. “These are actually my books,” he whispered, looking up at Mr. Darcy in shock.

“They are, yes. I am sorry you had to part with them for these past years, but am glad to be able to return them to you now. I was unable to discover who purchased your Wicked Bible, but if I am ever able to find it, I will recover it for you.”

“I am rarely at a loss for words, Mr. Darcy, but this is one of the occasions,” Mr. Bennet said, wryly, shaking his head.