A Most Civil Proposal (46 page)

Mr. Gardiner had overheard much of what Elizabeth said and he was still in the hall as she ran past, white-faced with anger and with tears running down her cheeks.

He opened the library door to see the older man look up in sudden hope and then sink back in despair as he saw that it was his brother who had entered and not his daughter.

“Brother,” he said softly, “I must tell you that you have been as wrong in this matter of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy as a man could possibly be. Your opinion of him is completely a delusion of your anger, and your opinion of Elizabeth scarcely less. After the manner in which you have affronted them in every way, I do not know whether a reconciliation is even possible. You, sir, have counted on the fierce loyalty that Elizabeth has for her family. What you have
not
calculated is that Mr. Darcy is now her family, and the loyalty that you relied on is now being exerted on
his
behalf.

“And there is another thing to consider, Brother,” said Mr. Gardiner softly. “I would not spend an excessive amount of time contemplating what you might do, because Madeline has told me that she believes Elizabeth is with child. If you desire to see your grandchild before he is full grown, I would suggest consulting what the gospel says on the matter of humility and the asking of forgiveness. Your daughter and her husband have nothing for which to ask forgiveness while you have almost everything. Now, we are all excessively tired, so I will wish you a good day.”

The sound of the library door closing rang in Mr. Bennet’s ears like the final blow of a gigantic hammer that had earlier struck such fire and sparks.

Chapter 33

Sunday, August 2, 1812

Mr. Bennet, already discomfited by the morning’s developments, was even further disturbed when an express arrived in the afternoon, in which Colonel Forster confirmed in great detail the story he had earlier heard. Confronted with this further evidence of his mistaken judgment of Wickham, Mr. Bennet summoned Lydia to the library.

When Lydia was seated before his desk along with her mother, Mr. Bennet turned a cold eye on her. “It is past time that we had a talk, child. I have allowed you to be out in society and to go and do as you willed because of your mother’s pleas that your liveliness not be stifled, but look what has come of it!”

“What do you mean, Papa?” said Lydia sulkily. “I have done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong? What do you call agreeing to an elopement with Mr. Wickham? Somehow, you seem to have formed the idea that a sixteen-year-old girl can marry without her father’s permission! Even Lizzy would not do that, though I disapproved of her choice of husband.”

Lydia was shrill as she pounced on this last statement by her father.

“Well, at least my Wickham is not a rogue like Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed. “You have said that yourself, Papa, many times!”

“And I am now beginning to believe that I may have been completely mistaken about both men,” said Mr. Bennet slowly and contritely. “For example, I have just received this rather long express from Colonel Forster. He informs me that he has been investigating Wickham since his arrest.
He
will not talk, but his drinking companions are singing like canaries. Captain Denny, for example, says that Wickham stated several times that he had not the slightest intention of marrying you — ever. But Wickham was not as forthright with Denny as he was with Lieutenant Jerremy from another regiment. He did not tell Denny that he was planning to desert and never return, for example. This Jerremy says that Wickham confided in him just the previous day that he must disappear, for some of the Brighton merchants were becoming quite pushy about the money they were owed. He also said that the guest of the colonel’s wife would do quite well to warm his bed during the cold nights. When Jerremy asked Wickham how he could justify deceiving this ‘bed-warmer,’ Wickham only laughed and said that he had never committed himself to anything, and in any event, since it was all her own choice, that she should be able to make do quite well in London after he moved on.”

If Lydia’s eyes had been getting wider in disbelief as her father read this account, it was nothing compared to her mother’s reaction.

“My brother had the right of it!” Mrs. Bennet shrieked in sudden anger, grabbing her daughter by the arm and shaking her fiercely. “You would have been left to be just another ‘bit of fluff’ on the London streets! Foolish, thoughtless child! You would have ruined yourself, as well as Kitty and Mary, for who would ever marry them after the scandal you would have brought about?”

Her father’s words and her mother’s scolding finally broke Lydia down. She might not be able to fully recognize the truth just yet — her faith in her Wickham was not yet completely destroyed — but she was at last able to recognize how her actions would be interpreted by everyone else. And, for the first time in her life, she was frightened.

After Mrs. Bennet calmed herself, Mr. Bennet was able to get the rest of the story out of Lydia. It took considerable time and much repeated questioning before his daughter finally admitted that Wickham had never explicitly proposed marriage. Even after admitting that, it took still further inquiry before she reluctantly acknowledged that her belief that he would marry her had been a product of her own imagination. It was not that Lydia was still trying to protect Wickham or even herself; it was that she had not previously been able to see the events in which she had been a participant as anything more than a huge and diverting game. It was not until her father’s probing questions forced her to give answers she did not want to give, that she was unwillingly compelled to at least
consider
how foolish her actions had been.

While Mr. Bennet regarded Lydia as quite as silly as her mother, he did not believe that her silliness deserved so harsh a fate as what she had barely evaded. Now, finally, he had been able to make her partially aware of the narrowness of her escape. Then, while she was struggling with the heretofore never experienced emotion of mortification, he then sent her into another paroxysm of tears when he pronounced her punishment.

“I have at last learned to be cautious, daughter!” he thundered. “Your brief period of being out in society is ended! I would not trust you even to take a walk to Meryton without your mother! Further, and this is final, no officer is ever to enter my house again! In fact, they are not even to pass through the village! Balls will be absolutely prohibited unless you stand up with Kitty or Mary! And you are never to stir out of doors till you can prove that you have spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner!”

Lydia moaned and wept at the imposition, but her mother stifled her incipient protests when she considered what her daughter had almost cost all of them. No, it would be better — much better — for everyone, including Lydia herself, if she stayed at home and learned to keep her mother company. As Lydia continued to cry, terrified of her father and deserted by her mother, Mr. Bennet added, not at all helpfully,

“Well, well, well, do not make yourself too unhappy, child. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them.”

After this, Lydia, now wailing inconsolably, was finally allowed to seek the sanctuary of her room. But even though he thought that he had made his point as well as he could, Mr. Bennet did not delude himself that Lydia was truly any wiser as she left the library than when she entered. But he at least felt confident that she would not make
that
particular mistake again.

The rest of the evening was spent in even more unpleasant thought, and in the morning, Mr. Bennet reluctantly ordered his horse to be saddled for a ride to Netherfield. He did not at all look forward to what he had to do, and as a result, when he was left waiting in the entry while a servant went in search of Mr. Darcy, he was tempted to bolt for his horse and return to his library. But even as he rejected this tempting thought, he saw Darcy enter the hall, arm in arm with Elizabeth, and obviously enjoying an entertaining conversation.

When they saw him waiting in the entry, they paused momentarily, and both their faces instantly lost all expression. Mr. Bennet felt an icy dagger in his heart; his brother was completely right, and he was completely wrong. Elizabeth and her husband were obviously united, connected by the strongest of bonds, and they were of one mind in their opinion of him. He had not only offended his dearest daughter in his thoughtless desire to bend her to his will, he had furthermore insulted her husband in the most offensive manner.

The men exchanged cold and wary greetings, and Mr. Bennet then asked whether he might have a few minutes of Darcy’s time.

“Of course, sir,” Darcy responded coolly, “but I will ask my wife to join us.” He did not ask Mr. Bennet’s agreement or permission, he simply stated how it was going to be, an unalterable condition to which the older man could only silently accede. So saying, Darcy led the way to Bingley’s library with Elizabeth on his arm and closed the door behind them.

Mr. Bennet was understandably reluctant to begin, as he did not believe that he had ever faced as humiliating an interview as what he faced now. He had no assurance whether or not he would even be successful at making his apologies, but he had never been quite as wrong before as he had been in this matter. In the dead of night, he had finally resolved what he must do, hard though it was to begin when actually face-to-face with his daughter and her husband. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to start, even though he could not meet their eyes.

“Mr. Darcy,” he began, “I have come to properly tender my thanks for your efforts to succour my youngest daughter.” Darcy gravely inclined his head, making no comment. “In addition, I have come to apologize and beg your forgiveness for the manner in which I have deluded myself as to your character and thus insulted you in the most unforgivable manner. Both my daughter and my brother have taken me to task quite severely, and I received an express from Colonel Forster yesterday that confirms your account in every detail. I have also confronted Lydia and at length forced the true story from her. All these things have convinced me that I have been wrong in every regard, and I would like to attempt a reconciliation between our houses, at least to the extent that is possible given my many errors.”

The silence that followed this admission was complete, and Mr. Bennet imagined that the beating of his heart must be audible to everyone in the room, so loud did it sound in his ears. At last, Darcy stirred himself.

“On my behalf, sir, your apology is accepted and your request for forgiveness can only be granted as is commanded of all Christians. But if this matter is truly to be put to rest, something more is required. You must make your peace with your daughter. And I believe that purpose will be best served if I leave you two together in private. Good day, sir,” he said simply then left the room.

For several moments, neither Mr. Bennet nor Elizabeth said a word. Mr. Bennet was loath to begin, and Elizabeth was not willing to make it easier for him.

“Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet finally said, “I am —”

“How could you?” Elizabeth interrupted abruptly. “How could you say what you did about William? And about me?” Mr. Bennet seemed to shrink from the fire of Elizabeth’s anger and could not at first answer. At length, he sighed, and his shoulders slumped.

“I will be completely honest, daughter, though it pains me greatly. But I have thought long on this during the night, and I believe that it was my pride that blinded me to the truth.”

“Well, that, at least, I can certainly understand,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “I almost let my own pride blind me to the merits of the man who made his proposal to me in the most civil manner I ever could have imagined. But I explained all that in my letters, as did William when he visited and my Uncle Gardiner when he wrote. Why did you not listen to us? To
any
of us?”

Mr. Bennet drew a deep breath. “Because of
my
pride, Lizzy. I was so certain I was right that I was blinded to any other testimony. And I was certain, as only a lifetime with a child can make a foolish father certain, that you would accede to my will and beg my forgiveness for going against my wishes.”

“That I might have done — if only for peace between our families — if you had not maligned my husband as you did. You do not
know
him, Father, just as I did not know him when he first proposed. But I, at least, did not deny him the chance to change my opinion.”

“And I did deny him that when I refused to give my blessing to your marriage,” her father admitted morosely. “I cannot understand how I could have been so blind, but I was. I have asked your husband’s forgiveness, Elizabeth, and now I ask yours. I beseech you, do not allow my foolishness to be the point that divides us forever!”

“If I did, then I would be allowing my own pride to seek vengeance for the hurt I suffered, and that I refuse to do. For that would be an offence against my husband and my family.” She looked at her father. “And I do not want to set an example to my child of the price that pride can cause one to pay.”

Mr. Bennet could only nod miserably.

“I did not have a chance to make an announcement to anyone except William before this crisis broke over us, but it is true. You will have a grandchild no later than March. And yes, Father, you do have my forgiveness.”