Page 14 of The Gossip War
“Naturally, I will be in your debt, young man. We shall discuss later how it will be paid. At the very least, I owe you abetter position or an apprenticeship, but you shall name your price after the dust settles.”
Simon nodded, while Elizabeth beamed with pleasure at the interaction. For myself, I was so-so happy for Lizzy and proud that neither man nor boy felt the need to say the story was private. I assumed William trusted my judgement, much to his credit.
Simon ran back in to saddle my horse to take in case he needed to return quickly, and we headed for the house.
Lizzy took William’s arm in a very proprietary fashion, and he wrapped her hand with his other as we went to the house to prepare for our first battle.
“I am so happy, William!”
Longbourn Library, 3:25 AM, Mr Bennet
I ordinarily love my library, but not at three in the morning.
I must confess here and now that, I am mostly opposed to being dragged from my bed at three by my eldest daughter, to attend some important matter or other in said location, but that is how things played out that morning.
My second-most sensible and first-most kind daughter Jane, shook me awake, and bid me to quietly get myself hither to attend an urgent, though not life-threatening matter. For an ordinary man, that would be like a matador waving a red cape at a bull, but for me the lack of urgency in the latter half of the statement made me more inclined to return to slumber, which I did.
When my wife pulled on my ear (harder than strictly necessary) and encouraged me to be up and about with more alacrity, I finally knew something was afoot. It was difficult to conceive of an emergency sufficient to drag her from her bed. I was on the staircase before I really thought about the fact that my eldest could not be ill at Netherfield and in my bedchamber at the same time. I might point out that I am not in top form before the cock crows.
When I entered, I was once more all astonishment, because there before my eyes, in the flesh, was the ever-odious Mr Darcy, sitting in front of a roaring fire that I later learnt he lit with his own hands.
Even more astonishing, my second daughter, Elizabeth, was sitting with the odious gentleman from Derbyshire. Ordinarily, I would have thought the first order of business was to search her for weapons, but since she was sitting close to him—and by that, I meanvery-close—I eventually came to believe there was something more afoot than it seemed. Of course, anything happening at three takes on a feeling of urgency.
My wife shoed me to my seat before taking her own, apparently contemplating whether my ear needed another tug. Usually preferring comfort to pain, I did as she suggested without complaint. “I assume there is an explanation forthcoming?”
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy looked back and forth between each other a few times, and I sat back in resignation. I had seen that look before and had to ruefully admit that my own wife and I shared similar at some point in our distant past. It was the kind of smouldering look they probably used to light the fire.
Elizabeth finally looked at me. “Papa, Mama, this will all come as a shock, so allow me to get it all out there before either of you react.”
“Well of course!” my wife stated emphatically, as if there was no possibility of excessive reaction on her part, while I just nodded, wanting to get the distressing news out there.
Elizabeth took a good-sized breath and looked over to Jane (for comfort, I presume).
“Mr Darcy and I are engaged, and you will give your consent and blessing without delay and without teasing!”
To be honest, at first, I was annoyed about the last assertion, but whether it was because she did not take me seriously enough to believe I would never tease about such a serious subject at three in the morning, or at having my entertainment curtailed, I shall leave to others to decide.
“All right, Lizzy, I will at least defer all teasing for now. Am I to know if there is some sort of compromise involved, of if there is some… ah…”
While I was struggling for the right words to ask the proper question suitable for a maiden’s ears, my usually more sensible daughter interrupted.
“Papa, there was a compromise attempt—which Lizzy forestalled by claiming an existing engagement. She did it torescue poor Mr Darcy from the clutches of the Bingleys, who showed themselves to be little more than heathen savages.”
Before I could get my wits about me, and assimilate the idea ofJaneusing such inflammatory language, my wife asked, “Did Mr Bingley hurt you, Jane?”
“Only by paying too much attention to a woman he is unworthy of,” Jane said, with a look of sadness over lost emotions but an obvious feeling of relief at having avoided the feckless weasel.
Elizabeth was struggling with what to say next, so her beau stepped in.
“As you both know, Elizabeth’s opinion of me was far from ideal at the time. I was, and continue to be, astonished that such a good woman would step in to rescue me, little worthy as I am. The Bingleys have been cultivating me for years, hoping for a connexion in the usual way. Tonight, they decided the easy was not working, so they should employ the hard one. They tried a compromise, and Miss Elizabeth rescued me.”
I finally got my bearings. “Shall I presume Elizabeth suggested you were engaged, whilst planning to have me deny consent?”
I was amused to see both members of the couple look at me in startlement. I had never actually discussed such a possibility, but it was the sort of thing she would think of, and it seemed such a straightforward way to avoid compromises. I was surprised men did not keep false engagements around for such inconvenient situations. If I were a young and eligible man, I would have an impoverished lady or actress on retainer at all times until I tied the knot.
Elizabeth said, “Yes, that was it, but we—”
She had the look that I vaguely remembered of a woman who has been most thoroughly kissed but not otherwise interferedwith. I assumed Mr Darcy had made his case without stooping to behaviour I would be obliged to do something about.
