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“Good morning, my dear. I am pleased you finally slept a little longer,” Mrs Gardiner said.
“I cannot remember the last time I slept so late,” Elizabeth replied. “How is Papa? Is he in the library?”
“Your father and uncle left at dawn. A gentleman arrived, sent by Mr Darcy, and—”
“Left? But why? Have they found Lydia? Is she well?”
“I know no more, my dear. We must wait.”
Elizabeth walked about the room, unable to be still. Had Darcy already found the fugitives? So early in the morning? Had he spent the night searching for them?
“Lizzy, pray sit down. Your constant pacing makes me uneasy. They will not return any sooner because you walk about.”
“I know, Aunt. Pray forgive me.” She approached the window, returned to the settee, and then went back to the window.
A carriage stopped before the house two hours later, and Mr Gardiner was the first to alight. Elizabeth hurried outside and arrived just in time to see Lydia descend from the carriage, her face full of happiness.
“Lizzy! How happy I am to see you! I am to be married, did you know? Very soon! What do you say to that? I, the youngest, shall be the first to marry. And to Mr Wickham! He was your favourite—I hope you are not jealous!”
Elizabeth regarded her sister as if she had come from another world.
Could she truly be so thoughtless as to disregard the distress she had caused their entire family?
Her first impulse was to scold her, but she restrained her anger, relieved to see Lydia out of danger. At least the fear of finding her abandoned in London was over.
“I see that you are in good spirits, Lydia. Let us go indoors, for there is no need for the entire neighbourhood to hear our conversation,” she said, firmly taking her sister’s arm and glancing at their father, who followed with evident weariness.
Once inside, Lydia continued to chatter with unrestrained delight, showing no remorse or concern.
“We were quite astonished to see Mr Darcy and Papa! We were not even awake at such an early hour, can you imagine? And Papa said he disapproved of my marrying George. I hope he was joking! I love him dearly and want nothing but to marry him! I can think of nothing else!”
“Then you shall have your wish, young lady,” Mr Bennet replied, sitting in an armchair and asking for a drink.
“Lydia, are you hungry?” Mrs Gardiner asked, trying to restrain her anger at such impertinence.
“Yes, I am famished! We have scarcely eaten! And I must sleep, for I have not slept much either,” she added with a laugh, provoking a reproachful glance from her aunt, which she failed to understand.
“Oh, do not look so grave, Aunt. I am engaged and shall soon be a bride! I am no longer a child.”
“So you insist upon marrying Wickham?” Mr Bennet asked.
“Indeed I do!”
“Very well. Have it as you wish. But if you regret your choice of husband, do not expect me to console you.
“Unfortunately, your thoughtless conduct is my responsibility. I do not deny it. My advice is not to marry that man. I am willing to take you home and bear the shame of your elopement, for I would rather do that than leave you to a lifetime of suffering.”
It was inconceivable! On one side was Lydia, rejoicing in her approaching wedding as if she had received a proper offer of marriage, and on the other, an entire family distressed by her conduct. Elizabeth could scarcely understand how Lydia was her sister. They had the same family and upbringing, yet at that moment she found little pleasure in the connection. The elopement, the days of anguish, Darcy’s and Mr Bingley’s efforts to find them—none of it appeared to trouble Lydia, who considered herself a heroine enjoying her greatest triumph.
“I shall never leave George!” she cried, confirming Elizabeth’s fear that her sister would listen to nothing. “I want to be married. Do you not understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” Elizabeth replied coldly. “But you refuse to listen to our father or the gentlemen who took the trouble to find you.”
Lydia rose from her chair, still smiling.
“Do you mean Mr Darcy? He hates George—we all know that! He does not want us to be happy!”
“But how will you live? Where will you live? I suppose Mr Wickham can no longer return to his regiment. What is to become of him? What is to become of you?” Mrs Gardiner asked with evident concern.
