Chapter 9

THEIR sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth
felt for her probably more than she felt for herself.  The carriage was sent to meet them at  --, and they were to return
in it, by dinner-time.  Their arrival was dreaded by the elder
Miss Bennets; and Jane more especially, who gave Lydia the
feelings which would have attended herself, had she been
the culprit, was wretched in the thought of what her sister
must endure.
They came.  The family were assembled in the breakfast
room, to receive them.  Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet
as the carriage drove up to the door; her husband looked
impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy,
 Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was
thrown open, and she ran into the room.  Her mother stepped
forwards, embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture;
gave her hand with an affectionate smile to Wickham, who
followed his lady, and wished them both joy, with an alacrity
which shewed no doubt of their happiness.
Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned,
was not quite so cordial.  His countenance rather gained in
austerity; and he scarcely opened his lips.  The easy assurance
ofthe young couple, indeed, was enough to provoke him.  Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked.  Lydia
was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless.
She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations, and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly
round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and
observed, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had
been there.
Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but
his manners were always so pleasing, that had his character
and his marriage been exactly what they ought, his smiles and
his easy address, while he claimed their relationship, would
have delighted them all.  Elizabeth had not before believed
him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down, resolving
within herself, to draw no limits in future to the impudence
of an impudent man.  She blushed, and Jane blushed; but the
cheeks of the two who caused their confusion, suffered no
variation of colour.
There was no want of discourse.  The bride and her mother
could neither of them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who
happened to sit near Elizabeth, began enquiring after his
acquaintance in that neighbourhood, with a good humoured
ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her replies.  They
seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the
world.  Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and
Lydia led voluntarily to subjects, which her sisters would not
have alluded to for the world.
"Only think of its being three months," she cried, "since I
went away; it seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there
have been things enough happened in the time.  Good gracious!
when I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of being
married till I came back again!  though I thought it would be
very good fun if I was."
Her father lifted up his eyes.  Jane was distressed.  Elizabeth 
looked expressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard
nor saw any thing of which she chose to be insensible, gaily
continued, "Oh!  mamma, do the people here abouts know
I am married to-day?  I was afraid they might not; and we
overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was determined 
he should know it, and so I let down the side glass next
to him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon
the window frame, so that he might see the ring, and then
I bowed and smiled like any thing."
Elizabeth could bear it no longer.  She got up, and ran out
of the room; and returned no more, till she heard them
passing through the hall to the dining parlour.  She then joined
them soon enough to see Lydia, with anxious parade, walk up
to her mother's right hand, and hear her say to her eldest
sister, "Ah!  Jane, I take your place now, and you must go
lower, because I am a married woman."
It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that
embarrassment, from which she had been so wholly free at
 first.  Her ease and good spirits increased.  She longed to see
Mrs. Phillips, the Lucasses, and all their other neighbours,
and to hear herself called "Mrs. Wickham," by each of them;
and in the mean time, she went after dinner to shew her
ring and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two
housemaids.
"Well, mamma," said she, when they were all returned to
the breakfast room, "and what do you think of my husband?
Is not he a charming man?  I am sure my sisters must all envy
me.  I only hope they may have half my good luck.  They must
all go to Brighton.  That is the place to get husbands.  What a
pity it is, mamma, we did not all go."
 "Very true; and if I had my will, we should.  But my dear
Lydia, I don't at all like your going such a way off.  Must
it be so?"
"Oh, lord!  yes; -- there is nothing in that.  I shall like it of
all things.  You and papa, and my sisters, must come down and
see us.  We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say
there will be some balls, and I will take care to get good
partners for them all."
"I should like it beyond any thing!" said her mother.
"And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of
my sisters behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for
them before the winter is over."
"I thank you for my share of the favour," said Elizabeth
"but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands."
Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them
Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left
London, and he was to join his regiment at the end of a
fortnight.
No one but Mrs. Bennet, regretted that their stay would
be so short; and she made the most of the time, by visit in
about with her daughter, and having very frequent parties at
circle was even more desirable to such as did think, than such
as did not.
Wickham's affection for Lydia, was just what Elizabeth
had expected to find it; not equal to Lydia's for him.  She had
scarcely needed her present observation to be satisfied, from
the reason of things, that their elopement had been brought
on by the strength of her love, rather than by his; and she
would have wondered why, without violently caring for her,
he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain that
his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances;
and if that were the case, he was not the young man to resist
an opportunity of having a companion.
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him.  He was her dear Wickham 
on every occasion; no one was to be put in competition
with him.  He did every thing best in the world; and she was
sure he would kill more birds on the first of September, than
any body else in the country.
One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with
her two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth,
"Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wedding, I
believe.  You were not by, when I told mamma, and the others,
all about it.  Are not you curious to hear how it was managed?"
"No really," replied Elizabeth; "I think there cannot be too
little said on the subject."
"La!  You are so strange!  But I must tell you how it went off.
We were married, you know, at St.  Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings were in that parish.  And it was settled that we
should all be there by eleven o'clock.  My uncle and aunt and
I were to go together; and the others were to meet us at the
church.  Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such
a fuss!  I was so afraid you know that something would happen
to put it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted.
And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching
and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon.  However,
I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you
may suppose, of my dear Wickham.  I longed to know whether
he would be married in his blue coat.
 "Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it
would never be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand,
that my uncle and aunt were horrid unpleasant all the time
I was with them.  If you'll believe me, I did not once put my
foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight.  Not one
party, or scheme, or any thing.  To be sure London was rather
thin, but however the Little Theatre was open.  Well, and so
just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called
away upon business to that horrid man Mr. Stone.  And then,
you know, when once they get together, there is no end of it.
Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my
uncle was to give me away; and if we were beyond the hour,
we could not be married all day.  But, luckily, he came back
again in ten minutes time, and then we all set out.  However,
I recollected afterwards, that if he had been prevented going,
the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have
done as well."
"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.
"Oh, yes! -- he was to come there with Wickham, you know,
But gracious me!  I quite forgot!  I ought not to have said a
word about it.  I promised them so faithfully!  What will
Wickham say?  It was to be such a secret!"
"If it was to be secret," said Jane, "say not another word on
the subject.  You may depend upon my seeking no further."
"Oh!  certainly," said Elizabeth, though burning with
curiosity; "we will ask you no questions."
"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, I should certainly
tell you all, and then Wickham would be angry."
On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to
put it out of her power, by running away.
 But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or
at least it was impossible not to try for information.  Mr. Darcy
had been at her sister's wedding.  It was exactly a scene, and
exactly among people, where he had apparently least to do,
and least temptation to go.  Conjectures as to the meaning of
it, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain; but she was satisfied 
with none.  Those that best pleased her, as placing his
conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable.  She
could not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of
paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation 
of what Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the
secrecy which had been intended.
"You may readily comprehend," she added, "what my
curiosity must be to know how a person unconnected with
any of us, and (comparatively speaking) a stranger to our
family, should have been amongst you at such a time.  Pray
write instantly, and let me understand it -- unless it is, for very
cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems
to think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied
with ignorance."
"Not that I shall though," she added to herself, as she
finished the letter; "and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me
in an honourable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to
tricks and stratagems to find it out."
Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak
to Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth
was glad of it; -- till it appeared whether her inquiries would
receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.