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“She will. But she wishes to arrive with all her daughters and all her bandboxes. Papa may appeal to either concern.”
The arrangements had occupied much of December. Mr. Bennet’s answer to the engagement letters, written on November 27, had reached them on the thirtieth. Darcy remembered Elizabeth carrying it into his study before she had even removed the outer sheet. Her father’s approval had been affectionate enough to make her cry and entertaining enough to allow her to deny the tears a moment afterwards.
She had read the most important part twice, then surrendered it to him.
Longbourn, November 27, 1813
My dear Lizzy,
Your news reached us yesterday, and I have survived a day in which your mother has been too happy to sit down. I expect her to recover the ability before we begin another journey.
I am very glad. You will know that I mean it, though I have never been clever at making a long account of my feelings. I have seen you together. If you continue to say what you think, and he continues to listen before deciding that he knows better, I expect you to be happy enough to astonish your relations.
January 18 will suit us. We accept the invitation for Christmas, and shall remain for the wedding, since even your mother can see little advantage in travelling home merely to travel north again. Let us settle the journey in our next letters. I will not promise to arrive upon a road which has ceased to be passable.
Your chair is safe. Mary prefers a straighter one and Lydia has not yet mistaken a place beside my books for an opportunity of amusement. You may return whenever you please. I shall be glad to discover whether your new husband can be persuaded to leave his own library for mine.
Your affectionate father,
T. Bennet
Darcy had written to say that he could. The later letters settled a three-day journey beginning on the twentieth, with an extra night if the roads required it. Elizabeth had warned of the cold so often that her father threatened to remain home merely to stop her writing it.
After tea, Jane took the baby upstairs with Charles. Elizabeth went with them to fetch something she had promised to show the Colonel: one of her father’s letters containing a very unjust description of the eligible gentlemen at Pemberley.
Fitzwilliam watched the door close.
“She is exactly as much trouble as I hoped.”
“You have known her half an hour.”
“I required less.”
Darcy smiled.
“And Anna?” his cousin asked. “May I see her while she is awake?”
“Yes. I was about to ask.”
They went upstairs together. Darcy sent word into the nursery before entering; Ruth came to the door and said that Anna had finished eating and would be glad of company, provided the gentlemen did not mind finding her upon the floor.
She sat upon a folded blanket with wooden rings beside her. At the sight of Darcy she lifted both hands, and he went down upon one knee to take her.
Fitzwilliam remained a little way back while the child settled against Darcy’s shoulder.
“Well,” he said softly. “There you are.”
Anna studied him. She had been smiling at Darcy, but the new face required a more cautious examination.
“This is your cousin,” Darcy told her.
“Our relationship will be easier to explain when she is older,” Fitzwilliam said. “For the present I shall settle for somebody who has brought nothing worth eating.”
“You may have her ring, sir,” Ruth suggested.
The Colonel accepted the object from the blanket and offered it to Anna. She looked at the ring, then at him, then reached far enough to take it without leaving Darcy’s arms.
“A judicious arrangement,” he said. “I approve.”
