Page 52 of The Widower of Pemberley

She was not required to approve of her mother to love her.

Love was not a matter of looking at that which was flawless and approving of it; love saw the flaws and embraced the flawed beloved. Mr. Darcy had spoken true: her mother’s flaws rose chiefly from the insufficiently considered application of good feelings.

While the mile walk to Meryton was delightful, and Elizabeth was dearly glad to stretch her legs, as soon as she entered Mrs. Phillips’s house and ascended to the dining room, she found herself again full of anxiety for her father.

What if he had died while they were on the road? Perhapsright nowthe footman was running from Longbourn to inform them that they must return immediately.

At least one member of their party—Mr. Collins—would be delighted. Though Elizabeth thought he had borne up better under the disappointment of her father not immediately dying than he had under the shock of her engagement to Mr. Darcy.

Perhaps he was merely more certain than Elizabeth, the doctor, or Mr. Bennet himself that her father would make the introductory shake of hands with his maker within a week or two.

But perhaps he was motivated by more generous feelings than that.

Since Elizabeth no longer had any need to make an effort to imagine that she almost liked Mr. Collins, she found that she did not dislike the parson quite so very much as she had when she meant to make herself marry him.

Elizabeth was immediately embraced by Charlotte, who had arrived before them. “Congratulations to you! Congratulations!”

Charlotte squeezed her tightly. “It will be for the best. You will see. ButIshall be most unhappy to have you so far away. I shall miss you dearly, you know.”

“You must visit,” Elizabeth said. “I do not know when, or how quickly I shall accustom myself to the estate. But in the spring or summer. I am sure that I shall have some money I can give you to help with the expense of the travel if you are willing to make a journey of such distance.”

“With delight,” Charlotte said. “I told you he looked to find a wife.”

“Youare not offended by me marrying a man who spoke slightingly of you?”

“And of yourself and of poor Miss King—we must think of Miss King. Nobody thinks of Miss King. I seldom do. My dear Eliza, Mr. Darcy has many virtues, but polite concealment of his true sentiments is not one of them. I hope that you will be happy. No. I declare that you will be happy.”

“I hope so as well. I still feel a little guilt on your behalf.”

Charlotte laughed and became misty eyed. “That is kind of you. I am glad to hear that you have not forgotten me in this time of happiness—but I wish you joy. I can wish you nothing else but joy.”

After this brief conversation with Charlotte, Elizabeth was surrounded by well-wishers. The conversation was a mixture of enquiries about Mr. Bennet’s health—was it true that he would not die?—and requests to know how the match with Mr. Darcy had been established.

Despite Mr. Darcy’s poor manners and stiff bearing, the dislike the neighbourhood had nurtured towards him dissolved without delay due to his unimpeachable choice to marry a local girl.

The belief that he had murdered his wife, a view generally held as true currencybefore,was now known to be scurrilous gossip with no possible truth. Elizabeth was well liked, and thus they wished for her to be happy and well, and that was unlikely if her husband was a wife murderer.

Not long after, Mr. Phillips led many officers and other gentlemen into his drawing room. It was easy to discern at first glance the man whose appearance had delighted Kitty and Lydia.

Mr. Wickham moved with a grace and deportment that was as much superior to that of the other officers as their appearance was superior to that of Mr. Phillips. The officer’s features were exceptionally soft and smooth.

The indifference that Elizabeth felt towards all men who were not Mr. Darcy was not so great that she remained wholly without pleasure when Mr. Wickham approached her as soon as the card tables had been set out.

She was well used to being the centre of male attention—ever since Jane had been withdrawn from society, she had been acknowledged as the prettiest woman in nearly every room she entered—but it was gratifying to once more be approached by the gentleman to whom every female eye turned.

Elizabeth’s mind was, however, so filled with wonder about Darcy and fear for her father that she was incapable of finding much pleasure in Mr. Wickham’s trite conversation.

Mr. Wickham was nothing. A trivial charmer.

She barely attended to himuntilhe turned the conversation to a topic that commanded all of her interest: Mr. Darcy.

“I hear that I must congratulate you on an engagement of marriage to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley? Is this true?”

Elizabeth acknowledged that it was.

“A very fine man with an excellent estate. Might I enquire, do you mean for the wedding to be much delayed?”

“No,” Elizabeth replied, feeling again anxiety because everything would changeso, sosoon. “He is presently in London to acquire a special licence. I believe we shall be married within the next week, and we mean to travel to Pemberley before Christmas.”