‘Ask me for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage?’ he repeated at last.

‘Yes.’

‘But there must be some mistake.’

‘There is no mistake.’

‘But I thought…that is, Mr Collins is such a fool! He is forever regaling me with some new and preposterous story, and I was sure he must have made a mistake. You, who have never looked at Elizabeth in your life! And yet now you tell me you want to marry her.’

‘I do. I love her, and as for not singling her out for attention, I have done little else. You have not been there, however, so I cannot blame you for being surprised. When she was a guest at Netherfield, I had the pleasure of her company for almost a week, and I spent much of my time with her. I saw her again in Kent, when she was visiting Mrs Collins, and we came to know each other well. I met her more recently in Derbyshire, and each time I have met her, I have loved her more. My feelings are not of a short duration. They are longstanding, and will not change.’

‘But she has always hated you!’ he said. ‘For any man to persist against such obvious aversion is madness.’

At this I smiled.

‘I can assure you I am quite sane. Her aversion has been overcome long ago. I have already asked her to marry me, and she has said yes.’

‘Said yes!’ exclaimed Mr Bennet in faint tones.

‘And as the two of us are in agreement, we need only your permission to set a date.’

‘And if I do not give it?’

‘Then I am afraid I will have to marry her without it.’

He looked at me as though deciding if I was serious.

Then, collecting his wits, he said: ‘If it is as you say, and Elizabeth really wishes to marry you, then you may have my consent and my blessing. But I want to hear it from her own lips. Send her to me.’

I left him and went to Elizabeth. She saw from my face that he had given his consent.

‘He wants to speak to you.’

She nodded, and left the room.

Mrs Bennet, who had been talking to Jane and Bingley, looked up at this.

‘Where has Lizzy gone?’ she asked Jane.

‘I do not know,’ Jane replied, though from her face I could tell she had guessed.

‘She has made an excuse to leave the room, being tired of talking to that disagreeable gentleman, I suppose,’ said Mrs Bennet, not taking the trouble to lower her voice. ‘I do not blame her. Now, Jane, you must have a new dress for your wedding. What colour do you think it should be? I was married in blue,’ she said,‘in quite the most beautiful dress, not like the fashions nowadays. It had a wide skirt, and a pointed bodice. We must make sure you have something equally fine. Satin, I think, or Bruges lace.’

Jane cast me an apologetic look at the start of this speech, and then attended to her mother, but I scarcely heard Mrs Bennet’s effusions. I was wondering what was happening in the library. Elizabeth seemed to be gone for a very long time. What was her father saying to her? Was it really taking her so long to convince him of her feelings for me?

‘I have often observed, that the finery of the weddinggown has no bearing on the happiness of the marriage,’ said Mary, looking up from her book. ‘Such things are all vanity, set to entrap the incautious female and lead her down the path of temptation.’

‘Oh, hush Mary, be quiet, no one asked you,’ said Mrs Bennet, annoyed. ‘When you find a husband, you may prose on the nature of wedding gowns as much as you like.’

Mary was silenced.

‘When I marry, I will have a satin underskirt and a gauze overskirt,’ said Kitty,‘and I will not run off with my husband and live with him in London first.’

‘Kitty, be quiet,’ said Mrs Bennet. She turned to Bingley with a smile. ‘What will you wear, Mr Bingley? A blue coat or a black one? Wickham was married in his blue coat. My dear Wickham!’ she said with a sigh. ‘Such a handsome man. But not nearly as handsome as you.’

I caught Bingley’s eye. It was probable that, if Wickham had had five thousand a year, he would have been allowed to be as handsome as Bingley.

‘I will wear whatever Jane wishes,’ he said.

Where was Elizabeth? I felt my impatience growing.

At last she returned to the room and smiled. All was well.

The evening passed quietly. I received a cold nod from Mrs Bennet when I left, and I wondered what her reception of me would be on the morrow. I saw lines of strain around Elizabeth’s mouth, and I knew she was not looking forward to her interview with her mother.

‘By this time tomorrow it will be done,’ I said.

She nodded, then Bingley and I departed.

‘Her father gave his consent?’ asked Bingley, as we returned to Netherfield.

‘He did.’

‘Jane and I have already set a date for our wedding. We were wondering what you and Elizabeth would think of a double wedding?’

I was much struck by the idea.

‘I like it. If Elizabeth is agreeable, then that is what we will do.’


Wednesday 8th October

Bingley and I were at Longbourn early this morning.

‘Mr Bingley,’ said Mrs Bennet, fidgeting as she welcomed him. She turned to me, and I felt Elizabeth grow tense. But her mother merely looked at me in awe and said: ‘Mr Darcy.’

There was no coldness in her tone. Indeed she seemed stunned. I made her a bow and went to sit beside Elizabeth.

The morning passed off well. Mrs Bennet took the younger girls upstairs with her on some pretext, and Elizabeth and I were free to talk. When luncheon was served, Mrs Bennet sat on one side of me, and Elizabeth on the other.

‘Some hollandaise sauce, Mr Darcy?’ said Mrs Bennet.

‘I believe you like sauces.’

I cast my eyes over the table, and saw no less than six sauce-boats. I was about to refuse the hollandaise sauce when I caught sight of Elizabeth’s mortified expression and I determined to repay Mrs Bennet’s new civility with a civility of my own.

‘Thank you.’

I took some hollandaise sauce.

‘And béarnaise? I had it made specially.’

I hesitated, but then put a spot of béarnaise sauce next to the hollandaise sauce.

‘And some port-wine sauce?’ she said. ‘I hope you will take a little. Cook made it specially.’

I took some port-wine sauce and looked at my plate in dismay. I caught Elizabeth’s eye and saw her laughing.

I took some béchamel sauce, mustard sauce and a cream sauce as well, and then set about eating my strange meal.

‘You are enjoying your luncheon?’ asked Mrs Bennet solicitously.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘It is not what you are used to, I suppose.’

I could honestly say that it was not.

‘You have two or three French cooks, I suppose?’

‘No, I have only the one cook, and she is English.’

‘She is your cook at Pemberley?’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘Pemberley,’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘How grand it sounds. I am glad Lizzy refused Mr Collins, for a parsonage is nothing to Pemberley. I expect the chimney piece will be even bigger than the one at Rosings. How much did it cost, Mr Darcy?’

‘I am not sure.’

‘Very likely a thousand pounds or more.’

‘It must be difficult to maintain,’ said Mr Bennet. ‘Even at Longbourn, it is difficult to keep up with all the repairs.’

We fell into a discussion about our estates, and I found Mr Bennet to be a sensible man. He might be negligent where his family are concerned, but his duties in other areas are carried out responsibly.

I have to forgive him the former negligence as it produced Elizabeth. Her liveliness and vitality would have been crushed under an ordinary upbringing.

I have decided that Georgiana must have a spell without a governess or a companion, so that she might develop her own spirit. I am sure that Elizabeth will agree.


Friday 10th October

Elizabeth began to ask me how I had fallen in love with her.

‘How could you begin?’ she asked. ‘I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?’

I thought. What was it that had started me falling in love with her? Was it when she had looked at me satirically at the assembly? Or when she had walked through the mud to see Jane? Or when she had neglected to flatter me, not telling me how well I wrote? Or when she had refused to try and attract my attention?

‘I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago.

I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.’

She teased me, saying I had resisted her beauty, and therefore I must have fallen in love with her impertinence.

‘To be sure, you know no actual good of me – but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.’

‘Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was ill at Netherfield?’

‘Dearest Jane! Who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible.’

‘You do not easily take offence. It cannot have been easy for you to be at Netherfield – you were not made very welcome – and yet you were amused rather than otherwise by our rudeness.’

‘I like to laugh,’ she admitted.

‘And you are loyal to your friends. You berated me over my treatment of Wickham –’

‘Do not speak of him!’ she begged me. ‘I can hardly bear to think about it.’

‘But I can. He is a loathsome individual, but you did not know that at the time, and you defended him. There are not many women who would defend a poor friend against a rich and eligible bachelor.’