Page 63 of To Win Her Affections

IT WAS MOST CURIOUS. Longbourn was a house Darcy had never visited—to the extent he had considered it, the notion of braving such a determined matchmaker as Mrs. Bennet in her domain had been distasteful. That, and perhaps his mistaken assumption that there was nothing for him at the estate—a colossal error, as it turned out.

Yet Darcy felt no discomfort as he sat with Mr. Gardiner, waiting for Mrs. Bennet to descend. Miss Elizabeth had disappeared with her elder sister, no doubt to share something of the situation that brought them here together. The younger girls sat together and said little, baffled and perhaps intimidated by his presence. So Darcy exchanged a few words with Mr. Gardiner and waited with growing impatience.

Darcy had been about to suggest they continue on their journey—they would already arrive in London near dusk, and there were matters he needed to attend to that evening. Mrs. Gardiner could inform Mrs. Bennet of his engagement to Miss Elizabeth if necessary—Darcy had every confidence in her ability to handle her sister. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Gardiner escorted Mrs. Bennet into the room with the housekeeper in close attendance, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth following behind.

“Mr. Darcy!” cried the Bennet matron upon seeing him. “Whatever can you be doing here?”

As it happened, Darcy could not blame the woman for her indelicate query, though protocol should have prompted her to greet and welcome him before demanding an explanation for his presence. Instead, Darcy inspected her as he rose and bowed, noting the distress, the ill-concealed concern etched on her face. Though she was still a loud and tiresome woman, Darcy could confess to more than a little pity for her.

“Mrs. Bennet,” said he while these thoughts ran through his mind. “I apologize for my sudden appearance.”

“Oh!” said she, almost reaching coherence.

“Edward!” wailed Mrs. Bennet, taking notice of her brother. “You have finally come! You must go to London at once and help Mr. Bennet find Lydia, or we shall all be ruined!”

“That is what we mean to do,” said Mr. Gardiner.

Though he attempted to continue, Mrs. Bennet exclaimed: “How I shall manage, I do not know, for my nerves are quite undone. Lydia has gone to London, and Mr. Wickham is a scoundrel, a very black-hearted villain sent to torment us! My poor Lydia! She is not the sort of girl to do such things if she had adequate support—I blame those Forsters for this, for there must have been some great neglect on their part.”

The cynical part of him told Darcy that Miss Lydia was exactly the sort of girl to do something like this, but the truth was that the fault was not hers alone. Miss Lydia, he suspected, had never received guidance; her father had never checked her exuberance. Darcy would never say as much to anyone in this room, but he was certain most understood it—even Mrs. Bennet might if she allowed her sense to overcome her fright.

The woman continued to complain about her nerves, bemoan her daughter’s fate, and rail against the libertine who had stolen away with her for the next several moments. Darcy could agree without reserve about Wickham, but time was pressing. When she drew breath, he spoke, hoping to move things along.

“I cannot agree more, Mrs. Bennet—Wickham is a man without morals. Never have I met a man so depraved as he.”

Mrs. Bennet gaped at him for a moment, then her words tumbled out again. “What can you have to say on the matter, sir? Did you not deny him his future? Has that not pushed him to this end?”

“That is enough, Mama,” said Miss Elizabeth, glaring at her mother. “Mr. Wickham’s actions have proven we cannot trust his account.”

Mrs. Bennet fell silent again, not having considered the implications. It allowed Darcy to speak again.

“Your daughter is correct, Mrs. Bennet. There is not enough time to explain everything, but Wickham is an expert in telling just enough truth to promote belief. As I have knowledge of Wickham that you do not possess, I have come south with your relations to aid in the search for him.”

“We must depart at once,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Madeleine will remain here to offer her assistance for a few days.”

Mrs. Bennet stared at Darcy with a desperate hope. “Then you mean to find Mr. Wickham, to fight him and make him marry Lydia?”

“I do not intend to fight anyone,” replied Darcy, amused by the direction her thoughts had gone. “Furthermore, Wickham would be a most unsuitable husband for your daughter.”

“Leave it to us, Maggie,” said Mr. Gardiner, throwing Darcy a warning glance. “We shall put everything to rights.”

Mrs. Bennet, though she appeared miserable, nodded. “Then I shall trust you to do what you must.”

“If you will indulge me,” said Darcy, “there is one other matter about which we must speak.”

As she had lost interest, once again sunk in her misery, Darcy did not wait for her to answer.

“As I had the good fortune to meet your daughter in Derbyshire, I took the opportunity to make my sentiments known to her. It is my great pleasure to announce that I have asked for Miss Elizabeth’s hand in marriage, and she has accepted me. We are engaged.”

If Darcy thought Mrs. Bennet was astonished before, that was nothing compared to the dumbfounded expression that overtook her face now. The younger girls were in the same straits, such that not a sound issued from their mouths, though Darcy noted that Miss Bennet displayed no such reaction. Miss Elizabeth had already told her sister, not that Darcy had expected her to keep it from such a close confidante.

“Engaged!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet. “You are engaged to my Lizzy?”

To own the truth, Darcy was disappointed. Had he wagered on the outcome of this interview, he might have expected her to bring the house down around them in her throes of ecstasy. The thought amused him, but he pushed it away at once. This was the mother of the woman he loved—she not only deserved his respect, but he would not indulge his amusement at her expense and risk angering Miss Elizabeth.

“Yes, Mrs. Bennet. Miss Elizabeth accepted my proposal two days ago.”

“Remember, Mama,” said Miss Elizabeth before her mother could erupt into cries of pleasure, “until Papa gives his approval, there is no engagement.”