First impressions

The Unraveling

Darcy’s return to Netherfield was met with a palpable tension. He did not seek out the whole party immediately. Instead, he asked a footman to request a private audience with his sister in her sitting-room.

Georgiana looked up from her embroidery, her expression one of mild surprise. “Fitzwilliam? Is something wrong?”

He knelt before her chair, taking her small, delicate hands in his. “No, dearest. Something is wonderfully, perfectly right.” He took a deep breath. “I have asked Miss Elizabeth Bennet to be my wife, and she has done me the extraordinary honor of accepting.”

Georgiana’s eyes widened. For a moment, she said nothing, and Darcy feared the news would distress her, recalling the shadow of Wickham. But then, a slow, radiant smile, so like his own, spread across her face. “Oh, Fitzwilliam!” she breathed, her eyes shining with tears of joy. “I had so hoped! She is so kind, and so clever, and she makes you… you smile. Truly smile.”

Relief, warm and profound, washed over him. He squeezed her hands. “You are not displeased?”

“Displeased? I am delighted! She will be the sister I have always wished for.” Her smile faltered slightly. “But… Aunt Catherine…”

“Leave our aunt to me,” Darcy said, his voice firm. “Your happiness, and Elizabeth’s, are all that matter.”

His next task was more formidable. He found Charles Bingley in the billiards room, aimlessly chalking a cue.

“Darcy! Back so soon? How did you find Longbourn?” Bingley asked, his tone light.

“I found it to be the source of my future happiness, Charles,” Darcy said, closing the door behind him. “I have just come from receiving Mr. Bennet’s consent to marry his daughter, Elizabeth.”

Bingley’s jaw dropped. The cue stick clattered to the floor. He stared at Darcy as if he had just announced he was taking holy orders. “You… and Miss Elizabeth?” he stammered. “But… you argued! You disliked her!”

“I was a blind fool,” Darcy stated simply. “I love her, Charles. More than I believed it was possible to love anyone.”

A slow, dawning joy spread across Bingley’s face. He strode forward and clasped Darcy’s shoulders. “My dear friend! This is wonderful news! To think, we shall be brothers! Jane and Elizabeth, sisters married to the best of friends!” His enthusiasm was so genuine, so infectious, that Darcy felt a lump form in his own throat. “This calls for a drink! No, this calls for a celebration!”

While Bingley rang for champagne, Darcy knew the final, most unpleasant confrontation awaited. He found Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst in the conservatory, examining the rain-battered orchids.

“Ladies,” he said, his voice cool and formal. “I have an announcement to make. I am engaged to be married to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

The words fell like a guillotine. Mrs. Hurst gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Miss Bingley did not move. She stood perfectly still, her back to him, her shoulders rigid. When she finally turned, her face was a bloodless mask of pure, undiluted hatred.

“You cannot be serious,” she said, her voice a low, venomous hiss.

“I have never been more serious in my life.”

“Elizabeth Bennet?” she spat the name as if it were a curse. “That coarse, provincial nobody? After all I have done… after all the years I have… and you choose her? A woman with a family in trade, with a mother who is a laughingstock, with a sister who elopes with… with…” She was trembling with rage, her carefully constructed composure in tatters.

“You will not speak of my future wife or her family in those terms,” Darcy’s voice was like ice, cutting her off. “Not now, not ever. You will treat Miss Bennet with the respect due to the future mistress of Pemberley, or you will find yourself no longer welcome in any home of mine.”

It was the ultimate dismissal. He was choosing Elizabeth, not just as a wife, but over the entire world he had known, over the expectations of his class, over the ambitions of the Bingleys.

Miss Bingley let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob. “You are making a catastrophic error, Darcy! You will be the ridicule of society! She will drag you down to her level!”

“She has lifted me up to a level of happiness I never knew existed,” he countered, his gaze unwavering. “The matter is closed. The engagement is public. You will adjust to it.”

He turned and walked away, leaving the two sisters in the shattered silence of the conservatory. The unraveling of the old order was complete.

When he returned to the drawing-room, he went directly to Elizabeth, who was sitting with Jane and a beaming Bingley. He did not care who saw. He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“It is done,” he said softly, for her alone. “My world knows.”

The rest of the day was a surreal contrast. Bingley’s joy was effusive and genuine. Georgiana, when she joined them, was shy but openly affectionate towards Elizabeth. But a pall had been cast by the absence of the Bingley sisters, who had retired to their rooms claiming severe megrims.

It was as evening fell that a different kind of storm arrived. A carriage, emblazoned with a crest that Darcy recognized with a sinking heart, thundered up the drive. The doorbell was pulled with an imperious, demanding ring.

The butler entered the drawing-room, his face unusually pale. “Pardon the interruption, sir. But Lady Catherine de Bourgh has arrived and… insists upon being seen.”

The door was thrust open before Darcy could even respond. And there she stood, a vision of formidable grandeur and icy fury. Lady Catherine de Bourgh had come, and the final, greatest battle for Elizabeth’s hand was about to begin. The unraveling of one world had heralded the arrival of its most powerful and vengeful ghost.