"Yes, it is a very ungallant thing, is it not, Miss Darcy? particularly when he has been told what an attraction we had for him. I thought he would have come, as he is so often up and down this road, between Southampton and London, but I suppose he has got some other irons in the fire."
Georgiana was glad to be able to leave the room, passing off the subject with a smile and a vague expression of regret, but the tumult of her mind was so painfully great that it was some days before she could find anything like the quiet enjoyment in her surroundings which she had promised herself. All those feelings which she had striven to repress were rising up again with renewed force. She struggled with herself alone, for she could not bear to tell Mrs. Wentworth the whole story; it was different for Miss Crawford with Elizabeth, but in this case the best-intentioned friend could not disentangle the skein.
Not long after her arrival she had the delight of hearing from Elizabeth that the engagement of Fitzwilliam and Mary was an accomplished fact. He was at home again, none the worse for the journey, and gaining strength rapidly under so many efficient nurses, "which of course meansone!" wrote Elizabeth. Her pleasure was enhanced, a few days later, by receiving a letter from her cousin himself, the first he had been allowed to write, in which he spoke with gratitude of the happiness he had so nearly missed, and thanked Georgiana affectionately for her share in bringing it about. "Indeed," he said, "we owe to the kindness and patience of our friends a debt we can never repay. How cantankerous and troublesome you must have thought me when we were in London! and yet you bore with me, then and always, with unfailing sweetness. I can wish you nothing better, my dearest cousin, than to be as happy as I am, though I do not know who is fit, by fortune and merit, to deserve you."
Mary wrote in much the same strain, and Georgiana could read their letters without a pang of selfish envy, with no feeling but that of rejoicing on her friends' behalf. This was heartily shared in by Mrs. Wentworth, who proved the most sympathetic of listeners, having seen the early stages of the affair at Bath, and knowing, from her own observation and by what she had collected from Mrs. Darcy's letter, more than Georgiana of the obstacles which had hindered its progress up to now; but both preferred to talk only of its happy conclusion, and of the strange and unexpected means by which it had been brought about.
About five weeks after he had posted his letter to Mrs. Wentworth, William Price was walking along Wigmore Street, on his way to the Yates's house in Cavendish Square. It was a cold, foggy evening in March, and the murky gloom of the wet streets, which the oil lamps at intervals rather emphasized than relieved, seemed to William to be a fit surrounding for anyone in his dreary frame of mind. He could not wish the letter unwritten; it was better not to see Georgiana as long as there was the barrier between them raised by what she had told him in November, that she had never thought of caring for him, believing that he returned Kitty's affection. And yet it was too hard a task not to wish to see her again, since he was leaving England the following day on a voyage which would last for many months. He had no longer any fear of his cousin's rivalry, for during his last visit to Mansfield Tom Bertram had replied, with great coolness, when anxiously interrogated, that on the occasion of his going to Pemberley with the news of Colonel Fitzwilliam's accident, he had come to the conclusion that he and Miss Darcy would not suit. But even if by some dispensation of Providence she had not married anyone else in the course of a year, how could the situation be sufficiently elucidated to set William free ever to address her again?
During the three months that had elapsed since the Pemberley ball his simple and straightforward nature had wrestled with the most difficult problem he had ever been called upon to face. The great events of his life—the various steps in his career, his sister's marriage, his father's death, and the providing for the family, had all come in the natural order of things, and for him the right line of conduct, as of feeling, had been at the same time the obvious one. And so he had supposed it would be when it came to affairs of the heart. If a man fell in love, he would try to win the affection of the woman he had chosen, and ask her to marry him; and if she did not care for him enough, he must either give it up, or wait awhile before making another effort. But to be refused, because another woman happened to have fallen in love with him! William had accepted his dismissal at the time in sheer bewilderment; but the more he thought it over, the more inadequate the reason seemed for separating him and Georgiana. She had not absolutely said that it was impossible to care for him; she had only refused to listen to him or talk of it, which was only natural if she thought him in honour bound to Kitty; but William's conscience was perfectly clear towards Kitty, and he tormented himself incessantly with the thought of all that he might have done towards gaining Georgiana's affection, during the weeks that they were together, had it not been for this wretched misunderstanding. She had taken it all as intended for Kitty; why had they not seen the truth? Kitty might have seen, everyone might have seen, everyone was deserving of blame, except Georgiana. One moment William was marvelling that anyone could have misunderstood what to him was the simplest, most natural thing in the world, and the next had dropped back with despair into the thought: "She might have cared, if she had only known. And now she will not even have forgiven me for making Miss Kitty unhappy, and I have no chance of setting that right."
"It is just like a ship that has run aground on a sandbank in the fog," mused William. "You can't do anything until it has cleared—at least, I can't. If she had refused me out and out, I would have gone down to Winchester and had another good try—a fellow who has only three months on shore to every nine at sea deserves that, I think—but I can't face her again as long as I can imagine her saying to herself, 'What about my poor Kitty?' Oh, what a blind fool I was, and how I wasted those ten days!"
He was so deep in thought that in crossing a side street he almost ran into a gentleman who was going towards Portman Square. Recognition followed on the mutual apologies, and Mr. Knightley exclaimed: "Why, William! I am glad to see you again—if it can be called seeing in this atmosphere; I thought you were gone."
"No, sir, but I sail to-morrow from Portsmouth: theMedusa,you know. They altered our destination at the last minute."
"And what is it to be?"
"Nova Scotia first, sir; we are taking out a draft to increase the garrison there."
"Lucky fellow that you are; you will have seen the whole world in a year or two. I'm afraid it sounds like a long absence this time, but you never mind that, do you?"
"Well, sir—" William hesitated, then looked up with a frank smile—"it won't be any good, but for once in a way I wish I could get to a home station for a bit."
Mr. Knightley waited, but perceiving that he was not to hear any more, said kindly: "Unless you are in a great hurry, come in and say good-bye to Mrs. Knightley; she would be sorry to miss you, especially as you are so near."
William readily turned back, for apart from the kindness of the Knightleys, their house had a special attraction for him; and when a few minutes later they entered the drawing-room, his thoughts flew back to the moment when he had first seen Georgiana: she had been standing by that very chair, that velvet screen had been the background to the lovely figure in the white ball-dress. It was necessary to put such thoughts as these resolutely away, and give his attention to Mrs. Knightley, whom they found alone, reading some letters which had just arrived by the country post. She greeted William cordially, without any surprise at seeing him still in England; it was always a little difficult for Emma to realize that people had important affairs of their own; and that they should have had any existence apart from that which she had chosen to imagine for them constituted the surprise. Therefore she looked earnestly and inquiringly at William as he sat down, and made so long a pause that he began to wonder what he was expected to say, until Mr. Knightley came in from the hall, where he had been ordering the servant to bring in lamps, and explained the circumstances of William's call. It was then Emma's turn to be astonished: "Going to sea again, Captain Price? That is indeed a sad thing; I thought you were going to settle in England for a time; your friends have seen nothing of you."
"There's no such thing as settling in England for a sailor, Mrs. Knightley," returned William, trying to speak cheerily; "at least, not at twenty-four. And I have been home for a long time now; the North Sea cruise this winter counts for nothing, you know."
"The North Sea!" repeated Emma, still more overwhelmed. "I thought you were with your mother, or in Derbyshire."
"Oh, no," replied William, in as indifferent a tone as he could. "I have not been to Derbyshire since the middle of November. We were at Copenhagen for three weeks, the rest of the time moving about, and I have just come from spending a week at Mansfield."
Emma was then almost speechless with disappointment. Mr. Knightley, regretful, but amused, drew his chair up to the fire and began asking about William's plans, which were to leave London on the following morning by the twelve o'clock coach, thus allowing ample time to reach Portsmouth and bestow himself and his baggage on board before the ship sailed at seven in the evening. Mr. Knightley inquired what would happen if he arrived too late, but William could hardly picture the consequences of such a breach of discipline. He had never known it to happen; he supposed the culprit would be court-martialled, and probably degraded three years; he imagined that no circumstances could possibly be allowed to extenuate so grievous a crime. Mr. Knightley suggested that a breakdown of the coach or other conveyance might cause inevitable delay, and William's answer to this was that one took the risk of these things in putting off one's return to the very last day of one's leave; some accident, of course, might occur, but in general, those officers who were not obliged to be on board earlier spent every moment of their leave of absence on shore.
"I probably should have gone back yesterday, however," he added, "but the mother of a friend of mine, Cooper, who is on board theQueen Charlotteat Southampton, is very ill in London, and he cannot come to see her, so he asked me to call at the house and bring him the latest reports. I was returning from there when I met you this evening. I intended going earlier in the day, but I am glad now that I was prevented from doing so."
"Emma, my dear," said Mr. Knightley, "you are not appreciating our friend's pretty speeches." Emma started, smiled, then tried to rouse herself and say something to William in the nature of cordial good wishes for his voyage, and in moving her chair, the letters she had been reading fell from her knee to the floor. William, as he picked them up, reflected that probably something in their contents was occupying Mrs. Knightley's mind; and he was beginning to think about making his adieux, when Mr. Knightley continued, speaking to his wife: "Have you any interesting news there, as a parting gift for a traveler?"
"No, I think not," replied Emma. "This is from Mrs. Weston, but there is nothing but Highbury gossip in it, which Captain Price would not—and this other one I have not read; I thought it was Harriet's writing. No!" holding it up to a candle, "it is not, after all. It is—well—I can hardly—it looks like—in fact, I believe it is from Kitty Bennet."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Knightley, and added, after a momentary pause: "We have not heard anything of her for a great while."
Emma could not help glancing towards William Price, but her glance told her nothing, for he sat perfectly passive, looking at no one, with perhaps a trifle deeper tinge of colour in his cheeks. The pause threatened to grow embarrassing, so she began to open the letter, hurriedly saying: "Miss Bennet seems still to be in Derbyshire. I should have thought she would have returned home before this."
"You stayed at Pemberley, did you not, William, as well as at Mr. Bingley's?" inquired Mr. Knightley.
"Yes," said William. "Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were so kind as to invite me there with the rest, for their ball. What a beautiful place it is! Even at that time of year one was struck with it."
"And you have not seen any of them since, I conclude, as you have been abroad," proceeded Mr. Knightley.
William was replying in the negative, when stopped by an exclamation from Mrs. Knightley, who was reading the letter with every sign of astonishment. "George!" she cried, "what do you think has happened? You will never guess! It is perfectly amazing! I can hardly believe it myself. Well—!" as she turned over a page, "if she had not told me herself, I could never—was there ever anything so unexpected?"
"We shall know better when you have told us what this astounding news is, my dear," said her husband. "Has Miss Bennett become engaged to be married, by any chance?"
"How could you have guessed it?" exclaimed Mrs. Knightley, dropping the letter to gaze at him. "It is the very last thing I should have thought of. Oh, Captain Price!" remembering her visitor in some confusion. "But I am sure you might know it, as she does not say it is private."
"The reason I guessed it," said Mr. Knightley, smiling, "is because no other intelligence causes quite the same amount of excitement, as you must admit, Emma. May we hear some more particulars, now that we have got over the first shock?" Mr. Knightley was talking partly in order to spare his young friend, thinking it just possible that the news of Kitty's engagement might not be very welcome to the young man.
William, however, was leaning forward with an expression of eager interest, and Mrs. Knightley, looking at her letter, went on: "She is engaged to a Mr. James Morland, the rector of the parish in which Mr. and Mrs. Bingley live. He is quite young—only appointed last year—she met him first when she went down there in June—perfectly charming—the most agreeable man she has ever met—does not disapprove of dancing—Mr. Bingley and her sister so delighted—a lovely old house—so near to dear Jane—exquisitely happy—she is going home directly, and hopes to come to town and see me."
William could contain himself no longer. He sprang up, looked at the clock, took a few quick steps through the room, then, coming back, he abruptly asked: "Is this really true, Mrs. Knightley?"
"Quite true, Captain Price, I am afraid—at least, I mean there can be no doubt of it; in fact, they are going to be married in June, she says. I assure you, I had not the slightest suspicion. I have only heard the gentleman's name once or twice, no more. It is so odd, so inexplicable—"
Mr. Knightley could not forbear smiling at his wife's perplexity, for he perceived that for some reason or other William was in no need of commiseration, and, indeed, could hardly wait for Mrs. Knightley to finish. Holding out his hand, he said: "Pray give Miss Bennet my congratulations, and a thousand good wishes for her happiness. I fear I must not stay longer now, so will say good-bye, Mrs. Knightley, with many thanks for all your kindness—I am indeed grateful for all you have done for me."
"But Captain Price, you are not going already?" exclaimed Emma, now completely bewildered. "Do not, I beg, let me drive you away, we will not talk about anything disagreeable. We were just going to have dinner; it is late to-night on account of Mr. Knightley's having had to go out, and I hoped you would have stayed to dine with us."
Mr. Knightley seconded the invitation, but William unhesitatingly declined. "You are very good, but I must not delay so long. It is only six, and I think I can catch the eight o'clock coach, if I hurry, as my things are nearly packed."
"The eight o'clock coach?" repeated Mr. Knightley, helping his guest into his coat when it became evident that he was determined to go. "I thought you said you were not returning until to-morrow morning."
"Yes, I did, but I find now that I shall have to go to Winchester; I shall just have time; it is the most fortunate thing that could have happened."
"It is not very fortunate for us," said Emma. "But you surely will not attempt to get to Winchester to-night?"
"No, but I shall get as far as Guilford, in all probability. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Knightley, I am shockingly ill-mannered; what must you be thinking of me? Do overlook it just this once; nothing but the most urgent affairs would carry me away from here so much sooner than I had intended."
His smile and winning manner were irresistible, and Emma was obliged to let him go, saying she would expect to hear all about the urgent affairs some day. William seemed to get to the front door in two strides, and was fumbling with the lock before his host could reach him, with offers of refreshment, which he would not stay to accept. Mr. Knightley shook hands with him, saying kindly: "Well, William, I am sorry you had to run away, especially as we shall not see you for so long. Besides, it is really too cruel, after having whetted our curiosity by this mysterious change of plan."
"Oh, sir, I know it is too bad—if I only had a little more time—but it is the sailing to-morrow that is the very mischief—if you knew, you would understand that my only chance is to go now, as quickly as I can. I will write and tell you how I get on. Please make my apologies to Mrs. Knightley."
"The only thing Mrs. Knightley will not forgive is your having no dinner to-night. Yes, indeed, we shall look forward to hearing. Good-bye, and good luck be with you."
The good luck had begun already, William thought, as he plunged into the streets, which no longer appeared dark and foggy, since the aspect of the whole world had changed to him in the last few minutes. Was it not the most extraordinary stroke of good fortune which had led him to meet Mr. Knightley that evening? He had not intended to call, for he had believed them to be at their house in the country, and he would have heard nothing, and would have passed through Winchester the next day, within a mile of Georgiana, without knowing that he was free! A day later—the horror of it was almost too great to contemplate—would have been too late, too late to speak or write, even if anyone had troubled to send him the information. Mrs. Knightley herself had not suspected that Miss Bennet's engagement was a matter of such stupendous importance to him. William did not trouble to think of what she had suspected, his only idea being to make his way to Georgiana with all speed. He must see her before he sailed—that was the pressing necessity; everything else would right itself. What if he did not find her? If she were ill, or out of the house, or gone home again? Every kind of apprehension sprang up in his mind, to be reasoned away or fought down by vigorous action. His impatience was so great that he hardly knew how he got through the journey, beginning with the hasty drive to the coach office, the finding there was a seat still vacant, booking it, and tramping about till the time of starting; the innumerable frets and delays along the road; the arrival at Guilford, the bespeaking of a post-chaise, and descending before daylight the next morning to claim it; the hurried breakfast at Farnham, and the last interminable twenty miles, until the moment when he drove down the long hill into Winchester and heard the Cathedral clock striking eleven.
Leaving his portmanteaux at the "George," he walked straight to the Wentworths' house, which he knew well from previous visits, and was shown into a room where Captain and Mrs. Wentworth sat together. His early appearance created some surprise and excessive pleasure; they were totally unsuspicious of its real cause, and concluded only that he had reconsidered his refusal. His eager inquiry as to whether Miss Darcy were still with them, and whether he could see her, aroused a momentary fear that he had brought bad news for her, but it speedily became evident that he was on quite a different errand.
"Oho, William, you sly fellow, so it is Miss Darcy you are come to see?" exclaimed Captain Wentworth. "Well, we congratulate you upon your good sense, do we not, Anne? But why in the world did you not come down weeks ago, when you had the chance?"
William avoided answering this, and as his friends still did not understand the urgency of the case, he was obliged again to go through the particulars of theMedusa, and Portsmouth, and seven o'clock. Now, indeed, were the precious moments not to be wasted; Anne left the room, but returned directly, saying: "Captain Price, I am very sorry, but I find Miss Darcy has gone out. She talked of wishing to do some errands in the town, but I did not know she had already started. What is to be done?"
William was quite clear that there was only one thing to be done, namely, to go in search of Miss Darcy, and asked which shops she was likely to have visited. Mrs. Wentworth named one or two, and called after him as he was hurrying away, to suggest that if he was not successful in finding her in either, it was possible she might, as the day was so fine, have gone to finish her walk in the grounds of Wolvesey Palace, a favourite spot of hers for a stroll. Armed with information William was gone on the instant.
It was fortunate that he had obtained it, for his inquiries in the High Street were fruitless, and he thereupon retraced his steps under the archway and past the Cathedral, turned along College Street, and finally found himself in the old Palace gardens, where, seated with a book among a quiet part of the ruins, he presently came upon Georgiana. She did not see him until he was close at hand, when she sprang up, scarce able to believe her eyes, and the colour deepening in her cheeks; and William forgetting all the lengthy explanations he had intended to make, darted towards her, impulsively exclaiming: "Oh, how glad I am to see you again! I came back—I could not help it—everything is all right—you will let me speak now—am I too late? Have I the least chance—any chance at all?"
Georgiana unconsciously yielded her hand to his, but shrank back a little as she faltered: "But—but Kitty?"
Breathless from haste, and full of anxiety as to his reception, William hardly knew whether he had been intelligible, but there was something in Georgiana's look which showed him, even while she hesitated, that he was understood—even more—welcomed. Her very question was an answer to him, and that he quickly disposed of it, and yet in a manner entirely satisfactory to her, could not be doubted, making thereby the glorious discovery that his cause was won, when he had been almost ready to despair of achieving anything in the short time at his command.
It seemed at first impossible that it could be true, but the surprise of receiving a good fortune beyond one's deserts is one to which it is easy to grow accustomed. The fact of Kitty's engagement, once realized, could be put aside as something delightful to be thought over at leisure; but for the present moment there were only two people in the world, and those two could give themselves up, unchecked by any sense of guilt or responsibility, to the exquisite happiness of love acknowledged and returned. Perfect confidence might now exist between them; William might repeat, and far more eloquently, all that he had said in the picture gallery at Pemberley; and Georgiana might now venture to confess the feelings which in that interview had awakened to life. To her, indeed, it was easier to listen than to talk, for after her long self-repression, the relief, the wonderful change, were almost overwhelming; her heart had been too deeply stirred, and her habitual shyness was not soon to be overcome. But William's joy in the fruition of his hopes, so infinitely more complete than any he had dared to hope for, and his gratitude to herself, had to be put into words in his own frank and eager way, touched now with the earnest gravity befitting so great an occasion.
It was one of those beautiful mornings which sometimes occur in the ungenial early months of the year, as a reminder that spring is actually on its way. By noon, the pale sunshine had some warmth, and the lovers paced to and fro, or sat in the sheltered corner which had seen their meeting, while a soft breeze rustled in the ivy and the murmuring of the stream could be heard just beyond the old wall. Georgiana lifted a face of delight to the blue sky, and watched the rooks busy in the elm trees near, while occasionally other sounds came to them, unnoticed at the time, but being woven into the picture which their memories would always hold of that hour, voices, gay with youth and spirits, of the college boys as they passed in and out of their gateway, and the slow sweet chimes from the tower of the Cathedral.
Georgiana knew something of William's plans, but to learn that their parting must take place almost immediately was indeed a blow, until consoling reflections came, and they reminded each other of what a trial of faith and patience his departure in other circumstances would have meant. Of course, it would have made no real difference; neither would admit the possibility of its having caused any change in their feelings, but there was comfort in knowing that now theirs was an attachment which separations could only strengthen, and in the light of which misunderstandings could no longer exist. Both lamented William's being unable to see Mr. and Mrs. Darcy before he sailed, but Georgiana anticipated no opposition on their part, and this thought gave perhaps the crowning touch to a felicity so intense that she could hardly believe it to be hers.
Captain and Mrs. Wentworth's warmth of kindness was to be expected, in view of their affection for both the young people. William stayed with them until four o'clock, which gave time for many plans to be made, and the more important letters to be written, and when at last he said his farewells he buoyed himself and Georgiana up with the promise that it should be no more than six months before he returned to claim her.
When he had actually gone, she went to her room, feeling in need of solitude to compose her mind after a day of such wonders. It was impossible that she should not let fall a few tears at the thought of William's going every moment farther and farther from her when they had only just begun to realize the delight, the security of their new relation to each other, but they were not the bitter tears of hopelessness that she had so often shed in the last few months.
Whatever the period of his absence, it would be long, and the lot of the one left behind, inactive, would be the hardest; but Georgiana was willing to wait in thankfulness and quiet trust for whatever the future might bring. That there might be anxieties and alarms, she knew, but the heart which had once and for all been given to William Price was strong in courage as in tenderness, and the remembrance of the vows they had exchanged had glorified her life.
Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy came to Winchester shortly afterwards, to take her home. Her news, while explaining many things, had been a considerable surprise to them, and Darcy deemed it necessary to make further inquiries about the young man, who, it appeared, now desired to be even more closely connected with his family than had at first been thought. Though regretting, for his sister's sake, the profession of the man she had chosen, he could not withhold his approval when she had convinced him how completely her happiness was bound up in the affair; and, indeed, he could hear nothing on any side but what was in Captain Price's favour, so while Lady Catherine, who had made a show of objection, was appeased by the substantial fortune and the relationship with the Bertrams, Darcy and Elizabeth found contentment in their knowledge of his character and position.
All went as delightfully as Georgiana could have wished. Darcy, who had been inclined to regret Mr. Bertram's dismissal when he first heard of it, became so entirely reconciled to the idea of his cousin as a substitute, that Georgiana never heard a word of the dreaded scolding; and Captain Wentworth promised that all his own, and his brother-in-law, Admiral Croft's, interest should be used towards hastening William's promotion and shortening his absence, for he declared it would be impossible to do too much for a lady who, in spite of early prejudices, was venturing to trust so far in the fidelity of sailors as actually to be going to marry one of them.
Georgiana had many questions to ask about Kitty's engagement, and from what Elizabeth told her of the particulars given by Jane, she was able to piece the story together for herself. Morland had sincerely tried to forget Kitty, but her return to Desborough, more bewitching than ever, had shown him how vain had been his efforts. And when the intimacy between the Rectory and the Park had been renewed under his sister's auspices, what wonder if Kitty's feelings towards him changed somewhat with the changed circumstances? If, touched by his continued devotion, and a little piqued by the want of appreciation in another quarter, she had allowed him to see that a second attempt would not be treated like the first? Georgiana rejoiced to think that Kitty had the power of consoling herself, and that she was at that moment adoring Mr. Morland as whole-heartedly as she had ever adored Mr. Price.
The two girls exchanged letters of congratulations, but it was no longer possible to write with quite the same openness as of old, though Georgiana's good wishes lacked nothing of affectionate sincerity. Kitty declared herself too busy with the preparation of her wedding clothes to send a long letter, and perhaps also a small feeling of resentment lingered in her mind, and prompted the remark: "I thought you must have been in love with him all the time, though you would not admit it."
She had, however, nothing to envy Georgiana, for had she not achieved the distinction of being the first of the three brides? The ceremony at the parish church near Longbourn was fixed for Midsummer, and was attended by a number of relatives and friends; while the Darcys soon after had the pleasure of witnessing the marriage of Mary Crawford and Colonel Fitzwilliam, which took place in London in the following month. The latter couple settled in town, but also possessed themselves of a small hunting lodge in Leicestershire, whence the road to Pemberley and back was frequently traversed, though it is to be hoped with less haste and agitation than by two persons who made the journey on a certain melancholy day in January.
It was long before William learned the true history of his cousin's second visit to Pemberley, but Georgiana could afford to smile at the recollection of it, when, some three months after the announcement of her engagement, the families of Darcy and Bingley received the wedding cards of Mr. Thomas Bertram and Miss Isabella Thorpe.