The Family Circle ~ Section I

By Eleanor

Beginning, Section II

“to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own”

(Pride and Prejudice, Volume 3, Chapter XVI.)

Chapter I

Posted on Monday, 14 May 2007

"Are you quite comfortable?” The man sitting opposite me in the carriage asked with an unusual degree of concern creasing his bow. For a second I did not think to make a response, but continued to lean my forehead against the cold window of the carriage my whole body was jostled by the uneven road. Out of the corner of my eye I could tell my companion was about to make some further protest. I suppose he did not want a wife with addled brains, if he had to have one at all.

“I am quite well.” I replied in a clipped tone.

“You are warm enough?”

“Yes.”

“There is nothing more you need for your comfort?”

I laughed shortly, he looked puzzled, “Why surely sir I could want for nothing.” I said dryly echoing the words he had spoken to me not a week hence. He made a slight bow of acknowledgement, clearly he agreed wholly with what I had just said. My mother agreed with him apparently, she was over the moon at the amount of pin money I would be receiving, not to mention the rich men I would, as a consequence, be able to throw my other sisters in the way of in the future. To be sure, he was rich, he owned an estate worth ten thousand a year, it was in that respect a brilliant match given my own comparative poverty. He might have been handsome. At the very least he had proven himself to be honourable. But really his list of attributes was rather thin on the ground.

For while he was honourable he had show himself to be proud and conceited, to assume that I should think myself lucky that he had proposed to me and not only that but that I should be grateful for his condescension in doing so. What was more he seemed to be under the assumption that I should be happy because of everything he had offered me, all the riches, jewels, dresses, trinkets and so forth, especially given my own lack of fortune.

Well I was not. Because there was one thing which he could not offer me that which I desired above all else. Love. Not that I was expecting him to offer me that, it would be rather unreasonable given that I knew that on no uncertain terms could I ever love him either. But I could still regret it because I had always hoped above all else that I would marry for love. Yet here I was forced into a marriage with a man who I could not love. How was I ever to be happy again?

He apparently did not even care for my company. No doubt he was too repulsed by me. We had been travelling for nigh on two days now and he had hardly uttered a word, when he was not reading he was watching me in the most aggravating manner, as though he were waiting for me to make some unpardonable slip or other. The only rest bite I had received was the opportunity for a break in his company yesterday evening when I had been allowed to keep to the privacy of my own room in the suit at the inn we had passed the night at and given way to the luxury of tears. It had seemed as though it were the first time I had had a moment's privacy since my engagement had been announced.

“Elizabeth please you shall hurt yourself.” His hand reached across the carriage to touch my arm lightly. I was ready to make an impertinent reply to him but found, as I had a lot of late, that none was forth coming.

“Very well.” I leaned my head against the seat of the carriage tiredly and continued to gaze sullenly out of the window at the dramatic landscape that was slowly beginning to reveal itself to me.

“Would you like me to read to you?” He asked apparently thinking I was bored.

“No thank you Mr Darcy I find I have a headache.” I was feeling perverse for I certainly did not have a headache. It was more like heartache.

“That is understandable.” He observed, I turned to look at him sharply. What had he meant by that? Was it to reprimand me or to offer some empathy with the situation I had found myself in?

It was not inconceivable, after all he was no more inclined to this marriage than I was. He had made me quite aware of his distaste for my family and connections when the marriage was agreed upon. He was only doing his duty, for he was a Darcy and Darcys always did their duty. I knew that about him even if I knew nothing else. I may well have been an unknown country-miss of no fortune, education or birth, nonetheless he had to at least make an appearance of doing the right thing. But he had made it quite evident that if he could have avoided it he would not have married me. Not that I particularly minded for I too would have avoided it if I could. Why would either of us have wanted such a marriage?

The only thing that I could possibly be glad of was that since he was so disinclined to marry me it would be a marriage in name only. But still it was entirely his fault that we had to marry so it was difficult to feel any gratitude towards him.

I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep hoping that this would be the best way to not only avoid conversation but likewise to pretend that I was not there. Although I could not actually think of any place that I would rather be at that moment. My family had proven themselves to be uncaring forcing me to marry, my mother had shown me no sympathy whatsoever all she could do was harp on about how rich I would be. Consequently I had spent much of my remaining time keeping to my rooms. I tried to suppress a smile, perhaps that was the way to avoid it, pretend to sleep for the next lifetime.

“What are you smiling at Elizabeth?” No such luck then, I thought with a sigh as his voice interrupted me.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.” He seemed disappointed. Silence hung awkwardly in the air for a few seconds, until he began again, “Elizabeth? Can we not call some sort of truce, may you and I not be friends?” I shrugged; not really feeling able tell him all that I thought on that subject. “Please Elizabeth, you and I we are not so dissimilar when you think about it both thrown into a marriage neither of us desired and we shall have to live together, it would make it more bearable for you, I think, if we did not do so in hostility. Please can you not forgive me for the hurt I have caused you? It was after all an accident and I am sorry.” He entreated me with earnest humility, I could not help but be surprised by it - evidently there was more to him than met the eye.

I took his measure for a moment as I absorbed his words, did he really think it possible? Did he have no idea that it was not the only thing that I was upset about? Still I did not think that I would like living day to day in the same house as a man who I hated for the rest of my life and it would be better, would it not, for us to begin as well as we could. “I suppose sir.” I agreed with only a small sigh, and I shall admit to feeling relief for it was not in my nature to be in ill spirits for any length of time. “But you too must promise not to show your displeasure at the damage you perceive me to have done to you, for this marriage was not my fault either?”

“We have an accord.” He said with a small smile.

We travelled on for perhaps half a mile in complete silence once more both of us observing the passing scenery at length. But at length I began to dwell on what Mr Darcy had said to me, that he wanted us to be friends. He had made the first step, now surely it was my turn. How though? I knew nothing of him, how was I to be friends with a man I did not know? Normally the answer would have been simple enough, but for some reason making idle small talk with my husband seemed too bizarre to even consider. Eventually though I realised that it was my only resource and so said, “Tell me about Pemberley?”

“Pemberley?” He seemed surprise.

“Yes.”

“Have you heard much about it?” He asked, stupidly I thought.

“How would I sir?” Why did he seem to assume that I would even know it at all, then it struck me, “Is it a very fine house?”

“I should like to think so. Certainly it has been the work of many generations of Darcy, the library is particularly fine, and the grounds, I think you shall like the grounds given your fondness for walking, they are some of the finest in the country.”

I said no more. It would be dreadful. What was I ever going to do in a house like that? How would I manage? “Finest in the country” I was surely not cut out for such a thing. No I certainly was not. Longbourn was, well not that sort of a fine house.

“Do you not agree?” His voice roused me from my perturbation.

“Pardon me?”

“That you shall enjoy the grounds.”

“Oh yes forgive me certainly.” No doubt more so if there were no fine house attached to the property for me to attempt to be mistress of.

“You do not seem very certain of it?” He commented attempting to keep his tone light, why in the world was he concerned whether I liked the house or not? I supposed that it had something to do with his wanting us to be friends, and so I told him of my concern that I was not quite capable of being able to look after such a grand house as Pemberley apparently was. He laughed lightly, “You need not worry Elizabeth, we have a very competent housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds she has been with us for years now and knows perfectly well how to run Pemberley, she will help you with everything I dare say, you shall run things just as fluidly in no time at all I would imagine and you shall love it as well as I.”

“Thank you.” I bowed my head at his praise, feeling certain that I would never learn to love the place, but perhaps one day I would be able to endure it, despite it's unwanted riches and elegance. And once again we fell silent. This time it was more amicable, occasionally he would point to something of interest outside the window, but for the most part both of us were content not to talk at all. “How far are we from Pemberley?” I asked after about half an hour.

He smiled slightly, “Georgiana is forever asking me the same question. Have patients, it is not long now.”

“Who is Georgiana?” I wanted to know, so he explained it all to me. “I am sure you and she shall get along well.” He finished with a smile, “There now what do you think?”

As we drove along, I had watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when at length the carriage turned in at the lodge, my spirits were in a high flutter that they were good enough to rival one of Mamma's fits of nerves any day.

The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. We had entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through a beautiful wood, stretching over a wide extent, Mr Darcy had been right, it was just the sort of place that I would enjoy rambling about. I did not tell him so though, for my mind was too full for conversation, but I saw and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. After gradually ascending for half a mile, we then found ourselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and my eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road, with some abruptness, wound. It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned. I was delighted. Of all of this I was to be mistress, suddenly my fear vanished, I was so enamoured of the place, every other thought must be pushed aside. Never was there a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. My admiration could be nothing but warm; and at that moment I felt, for the first time since I had been told my fate, that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!

We descended the hill crowned with wood, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and I looked on the whole scene—the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it—with delight. Crossed the bridge, and drove to the door.

I was so busy looking up at the exterior of the house, gazing at it in awe and conjecturing as to the building's date that at first I failed to notice the three people who were standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the doorway. Another man, a young girl and an elderly looking woman.

“Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy's voice interrupted me again, “Come,” He made a small movement of his head indicating that I should join the rest of the party, taking my hand as I neared them. “May I present my wife to you, Elizabeth and this is Pemberley's housekeeper Mrs Reynolds, Georgiana and Fitzwilliam my son.”

Chapter II

Posted on Tuesday, 29 May 2007

It had been two weeks since I had arrived at Pemberley; two miserably long weeks. For the most part I had been left to my own devices, the family only came together at meal times and even then we ate in silence. I longed for my sisters and the rest of my family. There was no affection in this one into which I had mistakenly been placed, just cold, hard silence. I would have eaten in my rooms and continued my lonely vigil were it not for the fact that I was determined to prove to them that I was not going to be worn down by their uncivil behaviour.

With a sigh I looked around the room. It was handsomely decorated, with what can only be described as real elegance as opposed to the ostentation that was frequently seen in such places. I was in the smallest sitting room, the rest were far too large and empty in my opinion and this one had a pleasing view out of the window. Yet despite its comfort, it was nothing short of uncomfortable. There had been callers of course; a handful of women, the finest in the county naturally, had come, under the pretence of congratulating me on my marriage, to perform an inquisition on me. How did I make tea, cream first or tea first? Who was my family? What was their estate? Did I play pianoforte and paint and draw and cover screens? Had I ever been to London, or perhaps Bath? Each question growing more and more shrewish as I answered in a manner that I could only imagine was unfavourable.

My eye fell on the writing desk and the deserted letter from my Aunt Gardiner. I had had every intention of replying to it, but what could I write? It was so hard to pretend that I was content with my marriage and my new family when I was not. I had begun about four times; each attempt now lay in a discontented ball next to the letter. I stood up from the window seat and walked over to peruse it once again. She asked that I go and pay calls on her Lambton acquaintances, for she had discovered that there were still many of her friends from before her marriage who lived there still.

To Lambton then I would go. I eagerly ran up the staircase, startling a few of the servants thereabouts and put on my bonnet and pelisse and fetched my reticule. On my way back down, I asked a footman to have the carriage readied for me and then I made my way in the direction of Mr Darcy's study. I had only been there once before, when he had asked me to come so that he could go over the marriage settlement with me, but it was where he spent the chief of his time dealing with business in the company of his steward, Mr Wickham. I knocked on the door and was bid entrance. He looked up from his work slightly surprised by my presence and taking in my dress asked, “Are you going out Elizabeth?”

“Yes, to make some calls.” I said.

“Ah and who, pray tell, are you going to call on today? Lady St Vincent perhaps, she is closest to your age you and she should be friends.”

“No, I am going to Lambton.”

“To Lambton? But you have no acquaintance there. We never frequent Lambton, even for shopping. If you want to going shopping you need only say so and a trip to London can be organised.” I raised an eyebrow in shock, but said nothing of how extravagant I thought it.

“No, I am going to visit some friends of my Aunt Gardiner.”

“Your Aunt Gardiner…” He digested the words slowly apparently displeased. I should not have been surprised, she was married to a man in trade after all; this if nothing else was the connection which had displeased him the most. He turned to Mr Wickham, “Would you be so kind as to leave my wife and me for a moment?” Mr Wickham obligingly bowed and left. I gulped; evidently my husband was angered. “Sit down please Elizabeth.” I sat. “Perhaps it best I tell you that we do not frequent Lambton.”

“Why not?” I asked petulantly.

“There is nothing there, nobody of any import, no society, no shops worth the Darcy's patronage, nothing. It is just a market-town of no particular worth.”

“But my Aunt has friends there.” I protested weakly.

“Precisely.” He said shortly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I was spoiling for an argument now.

“They are friends of your Aunt's, they cannot expect that Mrs Darcy of Pemberley shall come to call on them. They are not worth your notice Elizabeth. There is a reason that they have not come to call here. You must understand this.”

I was shocked at how arrogant he sounded. I thought I should cry, tears were prickling at the corner of my eyes and my vision blurred, but I looked him straight in the eye and pretended that I was having a staring competition with Lydia. I would not let him know that he had upset me. “You promised me.”

“I promised you what pray tell?”

“You promised me that you would not resent my connections. They are friends of my Aunt's, therefore they are connected to me.”

“There is a difference between resenting and welcoming them, you must understand this.”

“No, I do not understand.”

“We are their superiors, they must be held at a distance, can you not understand this?” He spoke quietly.

“This is what you call tolerance? Why it is nothing short of resentment, you show them no leniency, no warmth, no respect whatsoever. You treat them with the same condescending contempt with which you and the rest of your family have shown to me. You promised me you would not resent me and yet all of you have shown me nothing but your contempt, but then what am I supposed to expect when I have relatives from a mere country market-town?” I raged angrily now.

“Elizabeth!” He pronounced my name with an anger that demanded compliance, “I have welcomed you into my home, I offered you marriage for goodness sake! If not for me you would have been ruined. How can you say that I treat you in contempt? If I did, then I should not have married you.”

“You married me because it was necessary. Let us not pretend otherwise Sir.”

“No I did not. After all I did nothing wrong, but I showed you charity and I have welcomed you into my home.” He repeated.

“Welcomed? Welcomed me?” I could barely speak I was so angered by what he had said, “How can you say I have been welcomed here? You avoid me, your son avoids me and as for Georgiana.”

“Silence, you will not speak so of my family.”

“But they are permitted to speak so of me?” I looked him squarely in the eye despite the fact that the tears I had previously attempted to hide were now rolling freely down my face, “You have no answer I see. I can only assume that your silence means that you agree.” I continued to shout despite his order to the contrary. “Well then Mr Darcy I need only remind you that it is your fault that were placed in this intolerable position in the first place.” I had promised him that I would not blame him for it, but likewise he had broken his promise to me. Not even bothering to wait for his reaction, not even wanting to see the look on his face I turned on my heel and fled the room, with a dramatic slam of the door.

I was right! I refused to believe that I was anything but right! Mr Darcy did resent my connections. He did nothing to stop his family from revealing their resentment of me and none of them wanted me at Pemberley. Not one of them had even attempted a façade of pleasure at my company when they were not avoiding me, hounding me, dismissing me; so on those occasions when conversation could not be avoided, they were cold, condescending and arrogant. The lot of them! It had started from the moment that we had all been introduced to one another.

“Mrs Darcy.” They all murmured together, his two children in a manner that could only be described as stoic; only the housekeeper maintained a civil air - appropriate for a servant dealing with a family member. I supposed though, Mrs Hill at Longbourn would never have been so distant. My heart sank. I was truly all alone despite being surrounded by these people, for not one of them wanted me there. Still I decided that their coldness was not going to put me off, if I could, I would treat them with the utmost civility that could be mustered.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all, I have heard so much about you.”

“Well we have heard n…”

“Yes that will do, thank you Georgiana.” He spoke over his daughter, “Shall we go inside. Reynolds, be so good as to show Mrs Darcy to a room where she may freshen up, then see to having her rooms readied.” He ordered.

Mrs Reynolds promptly handed me over to the care of a housemaid instructing her that I was to be taken to the Green Bedchamber to refresh myself. The maid carried out her task carefully with a degree of deference which unnerved me completely, finding me a change of clothes, offering to help me dress and restyle my hair before she left having received a negative answers to all her queries. After she had gone I flopped ungracefully down on the bed in the room wondering what I should do next; I had not been told. I supposed that it would only be deemed polite to make my way to the drawing room, but I had not a clue where that might be. Actually, I had the distinct feeling that there would be more than one; so asking directions to the drawing room was likely to be an exercise in futility. Besides, I did not like the looks the servants were giving me; it was most unnerving. Asking them would only confirm their apparent belief that I ought not be at Pemberley.

Well, I thought angrily, it would be ridiculous to stay in the room and wait. Probably nobody would notice my absence anyway to send for me. If they were so set on being discourteous, then I would just have to find them for myself. Pemberley could not be that big could it? Retracing the route that the maid had taken, I found myself once again close to the front door, taking a wild guess I turned right and walked along the corridor hoping to hear voices. Eventually a dull echo could be heard. I walk towards the door determined to knock and enter but was waylaid by the conversation coming from within, “Father I simply do not understand.”

“What is there to understand? I am married, you have a mother-in-law.” The elder Darcy's tone was clipped, indicating that this was not a topic for discussion, however his son persisted.

“But we have heard nothing of this. The least you could have done was write to us and inform us of your plans. We have not heard any news of you for a full fortnight though, I was worried you were ill again.”

“My decision was rather sudden.”

“Apparently so.” The younger man responded dryly.

“You must understand that I met Elizabeth on my journey up here and I knew that I wished to marry her. There was nothing else to it, so we married quickly. I could not wait in Hertfordshire as there was business to attend to.”

“Who is she anyway?”

“My wife.” He said firmly.

“What are her connections?”

“Her connections are our connections.” He said somewhat vaguely with a hint of tiredness, or perhaps misery.

“You mean she is a nobody. I suppose it is too much to ask if she brought any fortune to the marriage?” He asked, as if he had any right to do so.

“No she did not.” My husband replied simply.

“So you have been lured in, after everything that you have ever told me about my duty to my family, about marrying a fortune, securing the family's good name, you have gone and been lured in by a woman of no connections, no fortune, no family. In short she is nothing but a fortune hunter.” Well I… how dare he! Me a fortune hunter? I was so busy fuming over what had just been said that I failed to pay any notice to my husband's reply. “Georgiana must be exposed to her as well, did you think about that?” His son continued on his diatribe of my defects. “You have placed her in the care of a common flirt!” My eyes widened in shock, I had half a mind to go in there and give Fitzwilliam Darcy a piece of my mind, what right had he to judge me so? “And how old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

“My God! You have married a child. She is but 4 years Georgiana's senior and eight years my junior, you shall be a laughingstock. Was she even out?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of family is it that has a daughter out at that age?” He asked.

“It is not uncommon in those who are not of our sphere.” My husband responded.

How could he? He had promised me that he would not behave as though I were a degradation to his good name, yet not even a day later there he was his resentment showing full force one again. How was I ever to endure this? A voice cleared somewhere slightly behind me I jumped guiltily and determined not to blush looked around at my companion. It was Mrs Reynolds. Unsmilingly she told me that I was to go to the Blue Sitting Room to wait for everyone else. I followed her in silence for a little while, uncomfortable of it, unable to bear it. I eventually commented that the rooms all seemed to be very well decorated and were pleasing, surely she would have something to say on the subject.

“Yes, the late Lady Anne Darcy, the master's wife decorated them when they were newly married, she had such excellent taste, and she was very contentious of her duties to Pemberley, such an excellent mistress.” She said with little civility.

“Mr Darcy informs me that you run the household seamlessly.”

“Indeed there shall be little call for your involvement I should imagine.” Though her tone was not unpleasant it was evident that I was an unwelcome change to the Housekeeper, perhaps because she had been left to run the house for so long, or perhaps she did not think me deserving of the title of Mistress, or perhaps she was still too dedicated to Lady Anne.

“Nonetheless,” I said proudly drawing myself up to my full height, “I should like it very much if you would go over the running of the household with me and show me around the house.”

She obliged me a couple of days later, but it was evident that she did not think that such a thing was necessary. Mr Darcy had arranged it so that Mrs Reynolds would still look after the household accounts and the paying of the housemaids; apparently I was not capable of such as task. The dinner menus were already arranged to the satisfaction of the family, so there was little point in going over them and changing them, she informed me. The cook was French and served a lot of foods that I was unfamiliar with and were too rich for my palette, but I had had no say in the matter. The rooms had been redecorated when Mr Darcy was first married, so there would be no call to do so again until the next Mr Darcy was married and was master of Pemberley. Apparently I had no duties to attend to at all. I was responsible for nothing, not even my own pin money my bills were to go directly to Mr Darcy and he would deal with my expenditures.

It aggravated me that I was not trusted to such simple tasks. Longbourn may not have been so grand a house as Pemberley, but Mamma had been making sure since the time I could walk that I knew how to run a household. In her own fretful way she was perfectly competent at her job, she could organise her servants, she kept a good table and though she was extravagant with money she was at least allowed control of her own portion by my father. She had taught me well and there was no reason that I should not be allowed to run a household here. I was after all, the mistress. I knew why I was not allowed; it was because of my low birth and lack of fortune, and because I was living in the shadow of Lady Anne. While I could appreciate that she deserved some degree of respect, I believed that I did too.

So it was I had been left to pass my days with nothing to do but to entertain the seemingly endless stream of shrewish women, both single and married alike, who had come to examine the nobody the Master of Pemberley had married so suddenly. It was hard not to feel like I was uninvited in this new place I had unwittingly found myself thrown into.

Mr Darcy paid me none of the usual attentions that were considered normal for a bridegroom. He did not visit my chambers, lavish me with extravagant gifts, take me visiting, he even left the introductions up to Mrs Reynolds. In fact, he showed not the slightest inclination to spend any time with me. Passing all his days holed up with his Steward and son in his study dealing with estate business. When we did come together at meal times I was treated as if I were invisible, nobody made any attempt to talk to me, though I must say that nobody really made any attempt to talk to anybody at all, they were the most distant family I had ever seen.

And what of little Miss Georgiana Darcy? Mr Darcy had told me that he thought we should get along well. But then that was probably because we were of a like age or at least apparently we were both still children, for he treated me as no better than one, despite the fact that I was his wife. I had only been there a few days to know that we would not. Once I heard the words, “the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished!” I knew that this was some kind of secret code for, “quite the opposite of Elizabeth.” The little girl spent all her time with her governess and her nanny. She was ridiculously accomplished for her age and everyone knew and indeed could not repeatedly fail to point out that even at not quite eleven she was far more accomplished that I could ever hope to be.

She had even managed to perfect the art of condescension. At least twenty times a day I heard the words, “You cannot play…? But I have been playing that piece since I was…” or “You know nothing of art?” or “You have never been shopping in Town?” “You never had a governess?” And “You cannot ride a horse?” I was amazed for I had been informed that she was a shy girl. But she did not seem to either want or need my friendship, she was openly disdainful of me, I had even known her to go so far as to tell me in her superior little voice, “You are not my mother!”

But even that was not the worst of her behaviour. She hid my belongings from me, it took me days to find my embroidery basket, she claimed that she was reading the books I selected from the library before me, and they were promptly handed over to her with generous smiles. She blamed any misbehaviour on me. She refused my company, and then would cry and claim that I had promised to do something with her. She had said that she had seen me flirting with one of the gardeners. When we went walking in the grounds one day she walked off and claimed that I had left her. And in general, she painted me as the wicked-stepmother of fairy tales. No matter what I did, I just could not seem to win with the girl.

All hell had broken loose when I had made any sort of overture of friendship to her, on one occasion we had been getting along quite nicely and I called her Georgie, just as my own family called me Lizzy, she was polite enough to let it slip the first time it happened and I had no notion that it displeased her until I did the same thing again and she turned to me with a cold look, “I think you must not know what my name is, it is Georgiana not Georgie.” I never made an attempt to call her anything other than Georgiana ever again.

When I had been at Pemberley but a week she told me that her birthday was at the end of the month. I asked her if she was having some kind of celebration, and she told me that all of her relatives would be coming up to Pemberley to visit her and lavish her with gifts, she then proceeded to produce a piece of paper on which she had listed numerous items, “What is this?” I questioned her.

“It is a list of the presents I want.” She informed me crossly.

“A Pierotti¹ Wax doll with complete Layette of dresses, petticoats, mittens, nappies in bundles, a silver fork and spoon, a silver mug, and gold and pearl jewellery; a toy theatre, a new set of silverware for the dolls' house, a new pony, a carriage, Brussels Lace Pantaletts, a chinese silk gown, a new bonnet trimmed with blue ribbon, new sheet music,” And on her list went. “Is there anything that you have forgotten?” I could not help myself from asking when I came to the end of the complilation.

“Fitzwilliam says he thinks I would like a new book called Tales From Shakespeare.” She added.

“Does he now?”

“Of course I have shown him and Papa the list already, but now you must see it too.”

“And what did they think of your list?”

“They both said it was a very good list.”

“And shall you be receiving everything?”

“Well Papa has sent for the doll and my Aunt Matlock is having that clothes made for the doll and for me, our jeweller is making all her Christening silver. My cousin who is in the army shall look into the horse and Fitzwilliam shall see about the books and music. Barker & Co. shall be making the carriage; it is only a small one Papa says that can be pulled around the park by one pony, just for me. The toys and games are coming from London too, I think that is why Papa travelled down to London just after Christmas to see about all that. The sapphire earings belonged to my mother, they are Darcy family heirlooms.” Apparently she would indeed be getting everything that she had asked for, “What shall you be getting me?”

“Well I cannot imagine that there is anything else you could need.”

“I should like a puppy. A sweet little pug dog. I am going to call him Patroclus.” She bubbled excitedly.

“You have read the Illiad?” I did not question her further on birthday presents or promise her the puppy.

“No but Fitzwilliam has told me the story, or at least some of it, he left out all the horrid parts.”

“Then I cannot think that there was much of a story left to tell at all.” I replied mildly amused. Did this little girl know of no ill in the word, she was given whatever she wanted, whenever she demanded it, was seemingly doted on by everyone, her every whim and fancy met, and told stories where the gruesome parts were removed. Apparently I was the only thing in her life that she considered remotely evil, as the wicked-stepmother, I sincerley believed that were she to ask my husband to get rid of me then he would do just that so that Georgiana would remain happy.

“I would like a new baby sister too.” She added as an afterthought. My eyes widened, I believed that even her father would deny her that particular gift.

The spoilt behaviour that Georgiana had exhibited in our conversation did not annoy me half so much as what else she had revealed. That Pemberley was to be receiving guests at the end of the month. Nobody had thought fit to inform me of that; did they not think it necessary? I supposed they did not; after all it was unlikely that any of them would wish for me to have any part in the organisation of such an event. Still, did they not even believe me to be deserving of such a common courtesy as that?

After the argument with my husband, the final indignity, I did not make it to Lambton that day, or any day for that matter. If they did not want me to go then I would not go. Instead I hid upstairs in my rooms and did not bother to come down for the rest of the day. Nobody came to inquire after me beyond my maid Alice who asked me if I would like my dinner on a tray; I told her that I would not. She went away returning a couple of hours later with my book in her hand, “I thought you might like some entertainment Ma'am.” At that moment Alice was my favourite person in the world.

So it seemed that my loneliness was set to continue for some while yet, I would not be making any new friends at all. After the excitement I had felt earlier, before my plan was thwarted, and once my anger from the argument had abated slightly I felt my depression sink in more firmly than it ever had done before. How I longed for Jane, even they would like her, nobody could fail to like my dear Jane. I suspected even Georgiana would fail to think of her as an evil mother-in-law.

About ten o'clock Alice knocked on the door again and I bid her enter. She had a cup of tea in her hands, she placed it down on my table beside the bed. “Thank you Alice.” I said, thinking that would be all, but she did not make any effort to leave, although I had dismissed her. “Was there anything else?” I asked watching her as she nervously wrung her hands in front of her, looking so fearful that I thought her eyes should have popped out of her head.

“If you please Ma'am, Mr Darcy told me I was to tell you that he has dispatched a note to Lady St Vincent, Ma'am, and she is to be calling here for you tomorrow morning, Ma'am.” She practically squeaked.

“Oh,” I slumped back against my pillow disappointedly, she was possibly the last person in the world that I wanted to call on me. She was so… annoying? Patronising? There really was not a word that I could think of that could describe her manners precisely. Why did Mr Darcy persist in this idea that she and I would be friends? Why did he want me to make friends? I had half a mind to tell Alice that I was indisposed and would not be receiving any visitors, but I did not. “Then I suppose you must ready me something to wear tomorrow Alice. What do I have that shall not put me to too much shame in front of the great Lady St Vincent?”

“How about your spotted muslin Ma'am?” She suggested.

“Yes that should be quite adequate I would imagine.” I agreed with her.

It was not. Before I had even offered her a seat the following morning Lady St Vincent began to abuse my clothes, “Oh Mrs Darcy did you not have wedding clothes?” She looked me up and down, “That muslin is very pretty I suppose in a countrified sort of way, but it is so out of fashion! People shall say you quite shame your husband even thinking of wearing it.”

“I have not yet had the opportunity to buy new clothes. May I offer you some refreshments?” I made a poor attempt to change the subject.

“No.” She agreed nodding her head like a little dog. “I suppose that you have not, there is nowhere around here one can purchase a new gown, but then there never is outside London, Bath or Brighton.” She paused for a second, “However, I am sure that we can do something about that, I have plenty of fashion magazines in the carriage, please send a servant to go and collect them and we shall look through them together.”

Grudgingly I did as I was bid. Who did she think she was ordering me about in that manner? Just after the servant returned and the refreshments had been served, my husband appeared in the doorway, “Good morning Lady St Vincent.” He bowed reverently, “I am so glad that you could join us this morning.” He glanced at the numerous fashion magazines spread out around us, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Indeed we are Sir, I think Mrs Darcy needs some new gowns do you not? She is so countrified, so we shall send to Town and order new ones today. I think you have been quite negligent Mr Darcy.” Lady St Vincent answered before I had even opened my mouth.

“Quite right you are Lady St Vincent, I thank you for your help. Elizabeth would likely be utterly lost without you. She shall need seven day dresses and seven evening gowns, as we are soon expecting guests. Then at least two new bonnets and a coat, slippers and gloves and whatever else you think necessary.”

“Surely I do not need that much Sir.” I managed to open my mouth to protest. I only had three best dresses as it was and that was quite enough I always thought.

“My dear Elizabeth!” Lady St Vincent cried, “How could you say such a thing! Mr Darcy, do not worry I shall look after your wife and get her everything that she needs.”

“I thank you. Do whatever you must and have the bills sent to me. No doubt you shall take your time, perhaps you would do us the honour of staying for dinner this evening?” She acquiesced and he bowed and left the room.

“Oh Elizabeth, how lucky you are!” She giggled gleefully. I could not have disagreed with her more.

1. 1) Pierotti wax doll making company founded by Domenico Pierotti in the 1790s. Pierotti learned the skills for plaster mould making and wax casting from his English wife's family. Typically the dolls would have material bodies. The Pierotti family business continued into the 20th century, ending in 1935.

Chapter III

Posted on Monday, 4 June 2007

A carriage rumbled along on the driveway of Pemberley the following morning, at a speed that was not entirely necessary. A number of stable hands and footmen's frantic voices could be heard although their words could not. I was sitting in my favourite sitting room and the noise provoked my interest enough for me to proceed to poke my head up at the window and see what the commotion was. A grand carriage had pulled up and the footman had jumped down to prepare for the exit for its occupant. I did not recognise the livery he wore or the grand dame who regally exited the carriage while evidently scolding the servant.

I could hear a commotion in the foyer and the next thing I knew a terrified looking maid had appeared at the doorway to the sitting room and announced in a trembling voice, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh here to see you madam.” she managed to say as the woman swept past her without waiting for my approval.

She stood right in front of me, glaring down from her prominent height, her eyes narrowed. With the huge feather that took pride of place on her bonnet I could not help but be reminded of a vulture or some other sort of bird of prey, “So.” she said in an accent so autocratic I was hard pressed not to laugh outright. But as it was I could just tell that there was going to be trouble all my courage, I attempted to put it off for as long as possible.

“May I offer you a seat?” she sat down in the gilded cream and gold seat with the high back and looked about her, eyes still narrowed. “Have you travelled far today Lady Catherine?” I inquired as I reached for the bell to ring for tea.

“From Oxford.” she sniffed; but it was barely eleven o'clock? Who was this woman? “This is a rather small sitting room.” the look of distaste on her face made me think she had swallowed a feather from her bonnet. But before she gave me a chance to reply she began again, “Do you know who I am?”

“You are Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” I answered quickly.

“The wife of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh of Rosings Park in Kent, daughter of the late Earl of Matlock and sister of Lady Anne Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley, Derbyshire.” would it have been rude to point out that all her connections were apparently deceased?

“It is a pleasure to meet you, your Ladyship.”

“And who, may I ask, are you?”

“Surely your Ladyship is already aware of that, given that you have so kindly come to call on me from as far as Kent. Indeed, I am greatly honoured.” I replied with feigned innocence.

“You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I have come.”

“For Georgiana's birthday? I must tell you, your Ladyship, that our guests were not expected for another few days yet, but I shall see a room is prepared for you.” she must have thought me supremely stupid.

“You ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature has reached me stating that my brother had been married to an upstart girl of no birth or fortune. In short an uneducated country girl. I set forth at once in order to see that the report was contradicted, for I knew it must be the most scandalous falsehood.”

“If you believed it impossible to be true I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far.”

“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted, for I know it to be patently untrue. Is my sister's name and reputation to be slandered in this infamous way?”

“It is unfortunate then that my presence here, I believe, speaks only of a conf...”

“Silence! I have seen this happen before, you are not his first indiscretion, however, you shall be his last. I shall not see my sister and her children brought so low.”

“Yet I believe, your Ladyship, that it is considered among certain circles to be perfectly acceptable.” I shot back at her.

“You vulgar little upstart, I want you to leave this house at once! Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy?”

“Mr. Darcy is neither by honour nor inclination confined to only your late sister. Why is not he to make another choice? Why is it so inconceivable that his choice in wife may be me?”

“Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his family or friends if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by every one connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us.”

“If that is so, then I can only wonder at your coming here today, it shall, I would imagine, be seen as a confirmation of your approval rather than censure.”

“I am ashamed of you! I came here today with the expressed wish of seeing you removed from this situation.”

“As I see it, there is nothing wrong with my situation.” at least, I thought, not in the manner that she meant.

“Insolent, headstrong girl!”

“Lady Catherine, I am so glad to see you Aunt.” both of us had been so heatedly involved in our argument that we had failed to notice the arrival of the third person in the room, “Mrs Darcy.” he turned to me and spoke for the first time with a warm smile and a kind tone, “Aunt, I believe that you will find my father in his study.”

“Nephew! You cannot mean that this report is true, you do not support her? Think of you mother! Think of Georgiana! Think of Anne! Is such a girl to be the mother of my daughter, descended from such a noble line.”

He made no reply to her and eventually she gave up and did as she had been instructed by her nephew and went to find my husband in his study. My eyes were planted firmly on the floor in acute embarrassment at the situation at the situation that I had found myself in. Eventually I recalled that my companion was deserving of my gratitude. I raised my eyes and found his eyes fixed on me with an inscrutable look, I could only assume that it meant though he had defended me he I still did not have his approbation. The thought of this pained me slightly, but I was used to this kind of treatment now. “Thank you Sir.” I said tartly and got up and left the room.

I have no idea what passed between Lady Catherine and my husband after she departed to his study, but apparently they had reconciled enough that she decided to remain until after her niece's birthday. For once that evening all was not deathly silent at the dinner table. Lady Catherine most certainly was frank and she could speak without a breath on almost any subject imaginable. That she was a Lady who liked to be in command, would perhaps be the most polite way of putting it.

She was accompanied by her daughter Miss Anne de Bourgh, who she had suggested was engaged to her cousin earlier that morning. One glance at Miss de Bourgh and I could not help but be surprised at this, it seemed unlikely that he would willingly enter into an engagement when she was so thin and so small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies. Miss De Bourgh was pale and sickly; her features, though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke very little, except in a low voice to her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose appearance there was nothing remarkable, and who was entirely engaged in listening to what she said, and placing a screen in the proper direction before her eyes.

Upon returning to the drawing room, there was little to be done but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did without any intermission until coffee came in, delivering her opinion on every subject in so decisive a manner as proved that she was not used to have her judgement controverted. She inquired as to the domestic concerns of Pemberley's tenants, with the intent of discovering if they were working adequately; apparently nothing was beyond her notice. And then once everyone else's attention was beginning to lag she rounded upon me again. “Where do you hail from?”

“From Hertfordshire, your Ladyship.”

“What part?”

“My father's estate is in a small village called Longbourn. I doubt you will have heard of it, it is near a town called Meryton.”

“What is his income?”

I felt all the impertinence of this question but kept my countenance when answering, “About two thousand pounds a year, I believe.”

“It must be a very small park.” she sniffed, “Have you any brothers or sisters?”

“I have four sisters Ma'am.”

“And are you the eldest? Is the estate to be yours when your father dies?” her eyes suddenly brightened a little at this prospect.

“No, I have an elder sister, but in any case Longbourn is entailed on a cousin of my father's.” I explained, her eyes narrowed once more.

“I see no occasion for entailing estates from the female line. It was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh's family. Do you play and sing?”

“A little.”

“Oh then you must play for us now.”

A little hesitantly I made my way over to the pianoforte and flipped quickly through the sheets of music until I found a piece that I could play. I had played but a few lines when she interrupted me. “You do not play ill, but I dare say that you shall not ever achieve any excellence if you do not practice more, I can tell that you do not practice as well as you ought. And of course, without the benefit of London Masters you will never be deemed as accomplished. Georgiana, do you still practice? I hope you have not been led astray.”

Georgiana, who was sitting quietly with her governess at the other side of the room, looked up at the sound of her name, looking like a frightened little rabbit, as she had done all evening. Perhaps she truly was shy. “Constantly, Aunt.”

“Oh! Then some time or another we must hear you play too, for I am sure that you have a very good natural taste for it, so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. Do you not think, Nephew?”

“It is expected of all young ladies; you never hear of one that plays ill.” He replied vaguely.

His Aunt did not look particularly content with his answer. Clearly, she had expected some panegyric effusion on his cousin's outstanding abilities. “And do all your sisters play?” She asked me again.

“One of them does.”

“Why did you not all learn? You ought all to have learned. The Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not so good an income as yours. Do you draw?”

“No, not at all.”

“What, none of you?”

“Not one.”

“That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother should have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters.”

“My mother would have had no objection, but my father hates London.”

“Has your governess left you?”

“We never had any governess.”

“No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up at home without a governess! I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must have been quite a slave to your education.”

“Not at all.” I replied with a smile.

“Then, who taught you? Who attended to you? Without a governess you must have been neglected.”

“Compared with some families, I believe we were; but such of us as wished to learn, never wanted the means. We were always encouraged to read, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle certainly might.”

“Is your elder sister married?”

“No, your Ladyship, she is not.”

“I cannot say I am entirely surprised, after all, there cannot be that many foolish men in the world.” she responded, turning with a glare to her late sister's husband, apparently she was not completely reconciled to this marriage. I wonder what she would say if she knew that neither of us were either. Actually she probably knew what my husband's thoughts on the matter were, no doubt he did not hold back, just as he had failed to do so with his son and with me only a few days before.

The rest of the guests began to arrive on the twenty- ninth, two days before Georgiana's birthday. Mostly they were members of the extended Darcy family, or at least members of Lady Anne's family. There were eleven of them in total, not including all their servants. All arrived under the guise of visiting Georgiana in honour of her birthday, but in reality we all knew that the reason they were most interested in being at Pemberley was to see me. As opposed to the silent disapproval I had grown used to from my new family, I was forced to endure their impolite questioning. Lady Catherine alone had been a force to be reckoned with; all together, I was beginning to feel as if the whole outcome of the Peninsular Wars depended upon me outwitting and pleasing them.

Along with Lady Catherine her brother the Earl of Matlock, Georgiana's uncle, had arrived along with his wife. She mostly treated me silently, only occasionally venturing to make a snide comment to me, though for the most part she just tended to look very bored by everything that was going on around her. They had a daughter with them, Lady Harriette, she was very quiet this could perhaps be accounted for by her not yet being out, but within a family circle that seemed unlikely. Lord Matlock himself was a verbose man. He, like his sister had an opinion of everything and never bothered to hold his tongue. Between him and Lady Catherine it was amusing to watch the pair of them fight for the air to speak in. I wondered more than once what it might have been like for them growing up in the same household, and for the first time I found myself wondering what their sister was like. Did she talk as much as them? I could hardly imagine what that would have been like. My sisters and I were fairly lively, but even we had never fought to dominate attention as these two did.

Lord Matlock was perhaps a little subtler in his abuse of me that Lady Catherine, though the barbs flew just as freely. Instead of his sister's outright disapproval, he instead chose to make comments about the lower classes, and young girls today and their marital ambitions, “We all saw what happened in France when that sort of thing was allowed, anyone with any sense of patriotism would never consider to marry from outside their sphere.” did he really think that my marriage was going to cause the downfall of the country? “It gives them ideas.” he muttered looking accusingly at me.

“Certainly Sir,” I responded with a smile, everybody present looked up in astonishment that I should dare to speak to the forbidding Earl, “A steady ruling class is necessary, but even Plato allowed for social mobility.”

“Nonsense!” he barked, “See what I mean, revolutionary those tradesmen, what a ridiculous idea, my children never married either their superior or their inferior.”

They certainly had not, but I could not say from what I had seen that it had done them any good. Beyond Lady Harriette, two more of the children of the Earl and Countess were present at Pemberley. Firstly their eldest son, Viscount Shirley and his wife; accompanied by their children, Susanna and Thomas, who were six and four respectively. Lady Shirley was the daughter of a Viscount who had married in her first season. She now had no real interest beyond talking about anything but her little boy, I do not even know if she was aware that she had either a daughter or a husband. She was not the cleverest sort of woman, though she was certainly beautiful. Her husband showed little inclination to be in the company of any of them, he was in possession of a very bad temper and was evidently bored by the gathering but had attended because of duty. It seemed that the whole family was very keen on duty.

As for the other daughter she was a girl of one and twenty who was married to an Earl, Lord Dartmoor. She looked terrified most of the time, he was a loud booming man, he was jovial I supposed, but he had a tendency to be coarse. I could not really work out why he had married his wife. I supposed that she was pretty, but not stunningly so, nor was he in any need of money from what I could tell, and from what I gathered from the conversation he had been chasing after Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam for some years now. I wondered at his persistence I am sure there would have been plenty of women willing to marry him; he was rather dismissive of her really. The moment we were introduced, I disliked him, “She a pretty thing, but what on earth did you marry her for Darcy?” he asked still looking at me.

“That is just what I have been wondering myself, Lord Dartmoor.” Lady Catherine chimed in completely oblivious to the crudeness of his remark, I do not think she believed that a noble and titled man could do any wrong.

“I mean if you wanted to remarry there are plenty of debutantes out there, even rich widows who would have married you.” his eyes were still fixed on me.

Nobody knew quite where to look or what to say to him, although I do not think that his wife's parents noticed what he said. They both seemed utterly blind to his faults, it was amazing. If there was one thing that I knew, it was that my father would never have permitted me to marry that sort of man. Even if they had forced me to marry Mr Darcy, he at least had manners and taste despite all his arrogance.

Georgiana exhibit some signs of annoyance that all the attention was focused on me as opposed to her. Though I would have traded places with her instantly if I was given the opportunity to do so. At the same time though, she seemed to shrink from her relatives' attention as well. When they did speak to her she shrank back and answered them in monotones, which highly incensed Lady Catherine. She spent a large amount of the rest of her energies on scolding Georgiana and attempting to get her to talk, the poor girl was clearly terrified and for once I felt quite sorry for her, “Nobody shall want to marry you, they would do just as well purchasing a mirror. I like to see a woman with decided opinions, Anne would have had some very good introspections had her health permitted her.”

“Though naturally,” her brother, the Earl, added once again turning to glare at me, “They ought to show some respect to their superiors by holding their tongue and not attempting to insinuate themselves with us.”

As to the other cousin, who Georgiana had mentioned as being in the Army and the family member who had been nominated to purchase the horseflesh, he had been kept away from the scenes of merriment, if indeed they were such, by duty. He sent his most humble apologies to his young cousin. Georgiana silently accepted this message when it was given, though later when her father and I were the only ones present asked with a pout why her cousin had to have a job at all, she could not see that it was necessary, none of her other relatives did? “Because my dear Georgiana,” my husband replied with an indulgent laugh, “Your uncle cannot divide his title and lands between two sons.”

“Yes Georgiana, the second sons must have something to live off as well as the first ones.” I added.

“That is very silly.” was all she said, “Will he always be in the army? I do not like it.”

“Well, unless he marries well, yes.”

“Then I hope he does.”

“So do we all.” he agreed, I could not help but see the irony in this comment. So he was allowed to marry well, but I was not? That was ridiculous, no doubt this absent cousin would not marry somebody that he loved, if the rest of the siblings were anything to go by. And a marriage would be by his choosing, it was not as if I had any option with mine. Could none of them see the hypocrisy of their hopes and wishes in that matter given how they were treating me.

There were no other Darcys present. I would have thought this unusual were it not for the fact that very early on, while Mrs Reynolds was showing me around the house, I saw a portrait of a young woman dressed in fashions looked to have been from my childhood or perhaps a little before it. It was hidden away in one of the rooms which was never used by anybody, but which I had to be shown anyway to get my bearings in the house. I had already been shown the gallery of family portraits and could not place her as being one of the people on display there, however I could tell from her features that she was a Darcy, perhaps some distant cousin, “Who is this lady?” I asked my companion.

“That is Mrs Harris.” she replied quickly. This made no sense.

“Who is Mrs Harris?”

“She was Mr Darcy's sister.” she said in a voice that indicated that she did not wish to discuss the question any further.

“I beg your pardon.” I said assuming that the lady in question had been a favourite of his brother and he had been greatly affected by her death.

“You had best not mention her to her brother, he always gets quite angry whenever she is mentioned.” she said in a tone that was edged with glass, as opposed to a piece of friendly advice. “After what she did, I cannot say I am surprised.” she muttered almost to herself.

“What did she do?” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about them.

“She married a man beneath her.” Mrs Reynolds answered shortly, “Lady Anne was greatly angered and did not want her son exposed to such people as Mr Harris' families, at least that is what I have heard. I was not housekeeper here then, I did not arrive until the following year, about the time when Master Fitzwilliam was born.”

“They had another son then?” I could not keep myself from asking.

“Yes Master George Darcy was their first child, he died when he was four.”

“So she was a lot younger than her brother then?” I asked getting back to the subject.

“Yes, almost twenty years; her mother was dead and she had been left to be introduced into society by Lady Anne and Lady Helena, her Aunt who was married to the Judge Esmonde Darcy. They both thought Miss Eveline most ungrateful for all their kindness and would not have anything to do with her, Mr Darcy agreed with them and severed all contact. She has not been permitted into the house since then, nor has she had any contact with the family at all.” Mrs Reynolds explained to me. I thought this story just about told be everything that I needed to know about the Darcy family's pride.

My husband did not have any other brothers or sisters, nor did he have any close cousins despite being able to trace his line back many many generations. It seemed rather sad to me, to be honest, to have no real relations in this world beyond his two children. Still I could not help but feel that he had to some extent brought himself to this point, breaking contact with his sister because she had married a man beneath her. Was there no affection in this family at all? It seemed to me that their sole focus was on making good marriages and gaining more money and consequence. I supposed I ought to be thankful that I had not been thrown out into the hedgerows too and was permitted to live in the same house with the family.

I actually felt some relief the following evening when a dinner party was held involving a number of other people from the neighbourhood. Now the local ladies knew me, they could not continue to ask their questions, nor could my new family continue to treat me in the impolite manner which they had been thus far, it would not have made a very good impression. For the most part they managed to contain themselves, only the Earl and Lady Catherine occasionally made comments about me and most people seemed to just allow it to pass because of who the Fitzwilliams were.

There may have been some form of prior agreement that they needed to save face and display a united front to the people who were not in the family. I am not quite sure, but I did notice that every time Lord Matlock made a comment, his wife would nudge him in the ribs; I knew it was not because she was attempting to be pleasant to me. The evidence came soon enough when the ladies all withdrew to the drawing room after dinner, she and Lady Catherine made every attempt to show that I was not the hostess of the occasion, to the extent that Lady Catherine ordered Anne to serve the tea and Lady Matlock actually exerted herself so far that she chose to serve the coffee herself.

I was left to myself, I made a few attempts to join the ladies in conversation but every attempt I made was ignored. The younger girls who were unmarried seemed to resent me, although I do not really know why, and likewise their mothers treated me as if I had ruined their daughter's happiness. Surely they could not have wanted their daughters to be married to an elderly man? And it was hard, given that I was not really that well acquainted with any of the women present. So I was left to myself, with my hands folded on my lap.

The relief I initially felt when the younger Mr Darcy expressed a desire for some music from the young ladies, given that it would mean there would be no need for me to sit awkwardly in the circle of ladies not joining their conversation but instead would be able to listen politely, was quickly displaced when one woman suggested that they hear Mrs Darcy play. “Oh no, she does not play well.” Lady Catherine said quickly, “It would be much better if one of the young ladies who had the benefit of a London Master entertained us, of course my dear Anne would have obliged us all but unfortunately her health did not permit her to learn.” I quickly became utterly mortified again. I was sure that that was the answer that they had all been hoping for.

As soon as the last of the guests had left that evening I quickly excused myself, expressing a desire to retire for the night. My room was the only place I could escape the persistent disapproval. I undressed for myself, dismissing Alice who had appeared without me even ringing for her, and hung away my own clothes slowly. I then climbed into the ridiculously large bed that I passed every night in. It took me hours to fall asleep as I went over everything that the guests had said and everything which they had not said before I finally fell asleep sometime around dawn. The following day came all too quickly for me.

Chapter IV

Posted on Thursday, 21 June 2007

The eleventh birthday of Georgiana Darcy was the grandest affair I had ever attended. Of course, that was not surprising given my lack of experience in Society, having only been out four months before I wed and never having been further than Meryton in that time. I never even managed to dine with all the four and twenty families we apparently dined with. Still, the elaborate dinner that had been partaken of the evening before was nothing in comparison to the birthday party that was being arranged. Indeed I have wondered since if it was the grandest affair that I have ever attended in my life. It took days, in fact probably weeks to prepare for the event, although I did not have any involvement in it.

Georgiana had recently developed a fascination with the Arabian Nights and rumour had it that the whole party was to be themed along those lines. Unfortunately nothing was certain; the ballroom had been closed off so as not to give anything away, mostly for Georgiana's benefit. It was only open to a select few people, Mrs Reynolds, Mr Darcy and a handful of servants who had been bustling around the house for ages, checking to see who was approaching at each corner and completing most of their work after the family, and indeed the other servants had retired for the evening. So, of course, nobody could be absolutely certain of it.

On the morning of her birthday, she was presented with her presents before her guests began to arrive. She opened each one with a series of excited exclamations and offered her thanks to each of her relatives. If you could have seen her then, you would believe that she was an affectionate, warm hearted, sweet child. Indulged, yes, but not dangerously spoilt as I had recently witnessed. The doll and her layette were brought in by the servants in a long succession, beginning with her clothes, ermined lined cloaks, opera glasses, lace collars, silk stockings, handkerchiefs a long sealskin and muff, ball dresses, walking dresses, visiting dresses, hats, tea gowns, fans. There was a jewel case containing a necklace and a tiara which looked quite as if they were made of real diamonds, a silver fork and spoon, a silver mug, and gold and pearl jewellery; it was quite ridiculous, I thought, for she was getting to the age where she would be too old for dolls. “What shall you call her Georgiana?” I could not help but ask.

“I had not thought.” She replied for once with perfect civility. Her relatives then proceeded to make various suggestions they thought would be suitable for the doll, none of which the young girl approved. After about five minutes of this, I ventured my own suggestion.

“How about Sheba?” I suggested innocently.

“That is not a real name.” She looked a little puzzled, I thought I heard somebody in the room attempt to hide a little laugh.

“When I was younger, my sister Kitty wanted to call her kitten Bathsheba, I do not quite know why. We ended up always calling her Sheba because my Father said we could not call a cat that, I think it a very pretty name.” I quickly explained not wanting anyone to suspect the reason for my suggestion.

“Emma Annamaria Fitzwilliam Darcy.” she declared. The others all agreed that it was a very suitable name for such a doll.

The Toy Theatre was so grand that it looked as though it would have taken me years to put it together on the small amount of pocket allowance I had been allowed as a child. While I could not help but think that it took some of the fun out of it to have it all in one go and not have the fun of putting it together myself, Georgiana seemed perfectly happy with it. Then I supposed that she had never known things any different.

Along with the silverware for her Dolls' House, there was new set of drawing room furniture and a tiny carriage that was pulled by a pair of horses that looked very much like they were covered in real horse hair. There were Dominos and games of Goose, Mansion House, Pasatchi, and Ludo, Dissected Puzzles, Spilkins, a new Rocking Horse because the old one's mane was beginning to fall out, enough clothes to constitute a new wardrobe in my opinion, books and music, a selection of jewelry, some new, some belonging to Lady Anne and much, much more.

I had spent hours and hours thinking about what I would get the little girl for her birthday. It was quite a hard task given that she already seemed to own everything I could imagine as a suitable present for her. She had told me that she wanted a puppy and I knew that nobody was buying her one since I had made some very subtle enquires as to what people would be getting for her. However, I did not want it to appear as though I was condoning this ridiculous spoiling of her. Perhaps I would have been better off buying her some more music books or some embroidery thread, or ribbons; something simple, similar to the types of things that I would receive from my parents and sisters when it was my birthday.

Another part of me though wanted to win the little girls favour; it seemed that she was the only person ever likely to show me affection, since she seemed to be an affectionate sort of child on the whole, well to everyone except me anyway. It seemed to me as if the puppy would be just the sort of thing that would do that, and while I did not precisely approve of it, I still found myself making plans for the ordering of the dog. I was beginning to think that the only thing that these Darcys respected was the material, and if I were to earn their respect in the first place then I would have to behave in the manner they saw as appropriate.

Then there was the lingering thought that if I did not buy her the puppy, she would cry and make a fuss and say that I had promised her one. While I did not like to bend to such manipulation, I did not think that I would be able to face it in front of all of her relatives. It would be unbearable to face their anger and distaste of me, and I did not want them to see that Mr Darcy would favour his daughter over me. Besides it would completely ruin what should be a nice day.

I was proud of my cunning. I do not quite know why, but I decided that I wanted to surprise them all and please them both at the same. Two days after Georgiana had told me what she wanted for her birthday; after I had decided that it would be better if I did on this one occasion spoil her. I quickly penned a letter to my Aunt Gardiner in Town, telling her that I needed to purchase a pug dog, but that it was to be a surprise and would she therefore search one out for me and send me the bill and arrange it so that the puppy would arrive at Pemberley on the Thirtyfirst of January. I had been quite successful, at just the moment that Georgiana had finished unwrapping her presents, she turned to me and asked me where my gift to her was, when a footman arrived to inform us that there was a package for me at the door. I asked him to have it brought up for me.

He arrived with a wooden box in his arms I asked him to take it to Georgiana, she looked up at me slightly surprise. The lid of the box was removed and she peeked inside, then she suddenly leapt backwards in shock. “What is it Georgiana?” her father asked her.

She did not answer him but turned to me, “I do not like dogs.” She said petulantly.

“But you told me that you wanted me to get you a puppy.” I answered dully.

“No. I am scared of dogs, everyone knows that. Papa, she did it on purpose to frighten me.” She turned to him with wide eyes, the puppy barked and she burst into tears.

“Elizabeth.” He said nothing more.

“No, she told me that she did, she asked me for a pug specifically.” I insisted. I was not going to have this happen to me yet again.

“Why do you think there are never any dogs in the house?” he asked in an exasperated voice.

“I did not think about that.” I replied.

“What on earth are we going to do with it now? It can hardly be put out in the stables with the hunting dogs; we shall have to get rid of the wretched thing.” My eyes widened; he was not suggesting what I thought he was, was he?

By this point, Georgiana was crying very loudly and her nurse had taken her out of the room to wash her face and calm her down. Lady Matlock peered inside the chest and exclaimed at the little puppy. Her husband joined her, pulling it out and looking carefully at him. “A thoroughbred.” He said thoughtfully, “Nice looking creature, seems a shame to get rid of him completely. I suppose you want him?” He turned to his wife who said something about having been quite desolate since her own dear pug had died, but I was not paying any attention to them.

I glared at my husband, “She told me that was what she wanted, quite specifically.”

“Georgiana would never do that.” He said dismissively.

“Well she did.” I scowled.

“I know my own daughter.” He returned in a threatening tone.

“Really? I would suggest that you know neither of us if you can even begin to suggest I bought that puppy out of malice.” He had no reply for me, and after a moment, he turned away. I too turned on my heel and left the room in stunned silence, with the exception of Lady Matlock who was cooing contentedly over her puppy.

I would have spent the whole day in my room if I could; I did stay away from the presentation of the remainder of Georgiana's presents, the carriage and the horse. But when it began to near the time of her guests' arrivals, I knew I must go down. I called for Alice, who had already prepared my gown for me, a beautiful cream muslin with strands of gold running through it and a hem of gold. She wanted to put my hair up in a turban, but such a thing seemed far too elaborate for a mere children's party. Little did I know at that point, but instead I allowed her to make a kind of band with matching muslin which the dress maker had sent for a reason that had seemed inexplicable to me at the time. My only ornaments were the cross I always wore and an old gold bangle that she insisted I wore for the event. Before I left she draped a heavy piece of gold cloth around my shoulders, and said I should do very well.

Every child in the county of any import had been invited to attend the gathering along with the children of Pemberley's tenants. There must have been going on one hundred children present. Georgiana, dressed in her fine Chinese silk gown, was by far the most resplendent of the children. She stood at the doorway of the ballroom greeting each one of them pleasantly and thanking them for attending; the tenants' children managed to let out an awed muttering of thanks for the invite, the wealthier children offered their own more subdued thanks, though it was still evident that they were impressed (apparently this sort of thing did not happen all the time in their world either). People would be talking of this for years.

I was not at all surprised really to see that the ballroom had been transformed. The walls and ceilings could no longer be seen as the whole room was draped in reams and reams of eastern silks. The floor was covered by Persian carpets (all purchased for the party; what would happen to them later was anybody's guess) and cushions of numerous sizes were scattered on the floor for the guests to sit upon. A table was laid out, covered once again in silk with silver plates - old family heirlooms - which contained sweet dishes, olives, Turkish delight, dates, figs and other such delicacies along with the more traditional ones that children tended to favour, though each of these in its turn was made to look exotic.

There were footmen there to help the children to their food, each had silk tied around their waists and a turban wrapped around their heads (all Alice's work I might add) and the maids likewise were draped in elaborate silks and muslins. There was a man with a pet monkey in the corner and the children watched with amazement, a clown, an illusionist and a marionette whose puppets were retelling tales from the Arabian Nights to a captive audience. The children played at the usual party games; though each had it's own twist to it to make it slightly exotic. I could not help but wonder who had made the arrangements for all this?

There was not a soul there who did not seem impressed and slightly awed by what they had seen. One or two of the tenants' children looked utterly terrified, and even Lady Matlock and Lady Catherine could be heard to exclaim over it all once or twice. I determined this was not something that one saw every day, even if you had plenty of wealth. I quietly asked Mr Darcy if he could afford such an extravagance, it must have cost him a great deal. “I do not entertain often; I suspect that there shall perhaps be one or two more dinners for the year but that shall be it. Why not spend it on a day for Georgiana?” I did not wish to argue with him.

“Do you not intend to spend the season in town Sir?” I asked, since this is what his words appeared to have implied, well to me at least, not that I was particularly disappointed.

“No, not this year. Why, had you expected it?” He turned to me curiously.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed, not wanting him to think I expected anything of him, “I would much rather stay in the country, I had just assumed that you would.”

“I am getting too old for such things; Fitzwilliam shall probably go.” Was his response.

The enjoyment everyone else was receiving from the day could not fail to cast aside even my own misery, and I soon forgot about everything that had been troubling me for the last few weeks. As the children laughed and ran and shouted and danced around me I could not help but smile broadly. This was just the type of thing I would have loved to have had the opportunity to attend as a girl, despite all the unnecessary extravagance; it was nothing short of charming. The most I had received was a picnic with the Lucas children and my family and most years even that would be put off by bad weather; not of course that I had not enjoyed them, even on the years we had sat on a rug in the drawing room because it was raining outside.

Musicians had been hired for the event, for the most part they had been playing Handel's The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, a somewhat ironic choice I thought. It was apparently the only piece they could find that fit the theme; but after having endured the repetition of it for several hours, one of the braver children had ventured to suggest dancing, and as Georgiana was amenable, a country dance, entirely unrelated with the theme, had been struck up for the children.

To suddenly see something so familiar to me, when for so many weeks I had lived within this elegance, I was struck with a pang of homesickness. I may have only attended three assemblies at Meryton, but to see the children dancing about with no particular care to the steps they were performing, and without the refined stiffness which I had daily witnessed since arriving here, was almost more than I could bear. How I longed to go home, to see my parents and my sisters, to be a part of the teasing affection we had for one another. It was simply too much and my vision blurred just as a figure appeared before my face.

“My father says would you care to dance?” He said, his voice held no pleasure or warmth.

“Why does he not ask me himself?” I looked towards the direction where I had last seen my husband, trying not to let him detect my mood.

“You misunderstand. His leg shall hardly allow him to dance himself, he has asked me to dance if you wish it.”

“Oh.” I said. Then I was silent.

“Shall you?” He asked after a brief pause.

“Thank you, yes.”

He offered his hand and led me to the floor amongst the rabble of children who were screaming and shouting wildly. We stood for some time without speaking a word. I began to imagine that our silence was to last through the whole dance, and did not think I could endure it. I wondered why I had agreed to the scheme at all, but it had seemed like the polite thing to do at the time. I could not help but reflect bitterly that my husband's bad leg had placed me in a variety of difficult positions and was likely to keep doing so for some time. It struck me then, that while I knew it was the cause of all my misery, I never knew what was wrong with it. “What did your father do to his leg?”

“The doctor says it was a kind of mild apoplexy.”

“How long ago was this?” His answer I decided was most unsatisfactory.

“It was perhaps a year ago.” He replied shortly.

“What happened to him, I mean how did it happen?” I pressed on undeterred by his disapproval.

“He complained of feeling dizzy and then fell.”

“But he is well now?” I said with sudden concern, I do not know what had come over me.

“Except for his leg, yes.” he said with a slightly sardonic smile. What was he thinking; that I was anxiously awaiting my husband's death so I would become a rich widow; was that why he thought I had married his father? We fell silent again and at first I was resolved not to break it; but suddenly fancying that it would be the greater punishment for him to have to talk, I made some slight observation on the party. He replied, and was again silent.

“Mr Darcy, pray tell me, are you always so silent when you dance?” He smiled, and assured me that he would speak of whatever I wished him to, then fell silent again, I sighed with exasperation, if he wanted silence then silence he would not be getting, “Very well then perhaps I might say that there is a very large turnout here, and in turn you could respond that it is indeed, and then you could continue to ask me if I think it is a pleasant affair or not.” I gave him a pointed look

“Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.” He smiled slightly.

“I cannot imagine you fear such a thing as looking odd.”

I looked at him sharply, was he saying what I thought he was saying? Did he mean that my marriage made me look odd, or that it was odd? It certainly was, but that did not mean he had the right to display his displeasure in it so openly. Was this not yet another of the many barbs which the family had proceeded to throw at me over the past weeks? I could not tell anything from his face, he always had that same inscrutable mask on it; anybody would think that he was a statue. “I beg your pardon?” I said, not knowing how else I ought to respond, I was tired of having to keep fending off these comments, and I was running out of responses to make. He repeated what he had said, unafraid to meet my challenge, “I heard what you said.” My reply was cold, “Yet I wonder what you could have meant by it?” I let him know that I did not care what he thought.

“I only meant that...” The music stopped and I interrupted him before he could go any further.

“I believe that I have had enough of dancing now, Sir.” He led me back towards his father before leaving to speak with his cousin Lady Dartmoor, carefully avoiding Lady Catherine de Bourgh's suggestion that he ought now dance with his cousin Anne. My husband politely inquired if I had enjoyed my dance. I scarcely knew how I responded to his queries, for I was far too distracted to pay him any mind. How was it that I had managed to argue with all three of the Darcys in one day? Why was it that I just could not seem to do anything right?

I maintained a pleasant composure until the last of the guests had left at just after eight o'clock that evening. Then claiming tiredness from the exertion of the day I retired to my rooms, I did wonder if anybody either noticed my retreat or realised that it was an untruth, but I did not particularly care anymore. They all thought ill enough of me as it was, one more thing would not matter now, and they would not exactly miss my company. I spent the whole of the following day in my rooms as well, claiming that I was indisposed, and I enjoyed the peace and solitude that it afforded me, although I could occasionally hear the autocratic voice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and the Earl making some ridiculous declaration or another.

They were all to be departing the following day, since most had preparations to make for the season. Lady Catherine and her daughter would be remaining in Kent; she claimed that her dear Anne's constitution was too delicate for the air in Town. I knew that I would have to go downstairs to bid them all adieu, and I was able to do so with a surprising amount of tranquillity. I allowed all the barbs to pass almost unnoticed as I ate my breakfast with a perfectly serene countenance. When I stood at the bottom of the steps and each of them failed to either thank me or wish me goodbye, I still calmly responded with a farewell and a wish for their safe journey as well as thanking them for their presence. They still all ignored me.

Once they were gone, I decided to take a walk in the grounds; it would be refreshing and the weather was quite good, unlike the many previous days. Fresh air had always been a successful way to relieve my stress and anger and give me a more rational outlook on things. Unfortunately in this instance, it did not. I simply could not make sense out of anything. I knew that the Fitzwilliams all thought that I was a fortune hunter and had entrapped Mr Darcy some way or another, and that they thought that his marriage to me was a degradation to them all. Perhaps it was true, but honestly, they had not seemed to be altogether that well bred themselves.

What I could not understand was my husband's part in all this. He did not at any time attempt to protect me from them, and yet he could have. Why was it that he had not told anybody how our wedding had come about. Nobody could think him in love with me, it was obviously not the case. But why did he not simply explain to them that through no fault of his own he had compromised me? His silence did not seem to be doing any of us any favours; an explanation would put an end to all of their speculations and concerns. Though I could not see that it would make Georgiana happy, that was clearly another matter entirely.

I kicked at a stone angrily, frightening a squirrel away completely unintentionally. Would this ever become any easier? Was I going to get used to this at all? I marched on angrily, thinking that if I just kept walking I could reach Longbourn eventually. That was all I wanted at that moment; to go home.

But at length I recalled myself. That was an utterly ridiculous thought, walk all the way to Hertfordshire indeed! It was starting to become cold outside and I had apparently been out so long that it was already starting to get dark. I had to return to Pemberley as I would never be able to find my way back in the dark. I had walked quite a distance and it took me some time to return, but eventually I made it inside again.

Mrs Reynolds was there to greet me and informed me that dinner was to be served in half an hour and that my husband was waiting for me in the drawing room. He had specifically requested that I wait on him the instant I returned to the house. I gulped, surely that meant that I was in trouble again, especially if I was not even permitted time to refresh myself. I handed my bonnet, coat and gloves to the footman waiting nearby and made my way in the direction that I had been instructed.

There was laughter coming from inside the drawing room? Odd I thought to myself; with the exception of all the little children yesterday I had not heard any laughter in this house before. It emboldened me; for surely laughter was not a precursor to yet another argument? I pushed open the door. There was a strange man there, dressed less elegantly than my husband, who was laughing along with this handsome stranger, or his son, who was sitting there stern as ever, Georgiana was seated next to the guest, smiling happily. None of them noticed me at first, but at length my husband turned, “Ah Elizabeth, come in, come in.” I had never heard him quite so cheerful I do not think, “We have a guest as you see, I would like you to meet Mr George Wickham.”

Continued in Next Section

© 2007 Copyright held by the author.

The Family Circle ~ Section II

By Eleanor

Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter V

Posted on Monday, 2 July 2007

I found much to admire in the happy manners of Mr George Wickham, he was cheerful, friendly, jovial, everything that the Darcys were not. I was greatly amused, if not slightly puzzled, by their preference for his society, at least the father and daughter's. The son, I noticed, avoided him assiduously. It was an odd situation; he had no status, something which they seemed to value so much. I could not help but wonder at their preference for him. I managed to explain my husband's favour upon being told that Mr Wickham was his Godson, therefore it was his duty to some extent. Yet I could not imagine that he would want Georgiana exposed to one so “low,” particularly given the cold manner in which the younger Mr Darcy acted around him, if there was no friendship there, then why was there with a girl several years his junior.

Evenings suddenly became less of a trial as the son of the steward was invited to be in attendance on every occasion, it was as if he were one of the family. It certainly seemed to me that he was more a member of the family than I was. Although I would not resent him for it, he showed too much kindness towards me, when for so long, there had been nothing at all. I could do no less than treat him with warmth in return. The change of society wrought not only a change in the monotonous pattern of my apparently meaningless life, but a change in my new family too. No longer were the evenings a time when nobody spoke and there was a seemingly evident lack of desire for one another's company. Instead there was cheer and good humour about the walls of Pemberley, why even the maids seemed to smile more often.

“Mrs Darcy?” I heard Mr Wickham call out to me while taking a walk about the park only a few mornings after his arrival.

“Mr Wickham,” I greeted him with a smile, “I hope you are well.”

“Thank you, I see you are as well as ever, may I join you?” He offered me his arm with a warm smile and I accepted it. Alice, who had been accompanying me since apparently it was unacceptable to walk out alone, fell into step behind us.

“Where do you intend to walk to today?” He asked amiably.

“I had not thought. In all honesty sir, I am not altogether familiar with the park and have yet to establish my favourite walks. I am forever getting lost and poor Alice must quite be losing her patience with me by now.” I laughed at my inadequacy.

“It is a new place,” He acknowledged, “But has nobody shown you about the walks in the gardens? I am sure there must be somebody other than just a servant to accompany you about the place.” I could almost feel the animosity of Alice's glare behind him; evidently she did not like to be referred to as “just a servant”.

“I am perfectly content with Alice's company, I confess I rather enjoy a solitary ramble from time to time and Alice never makes any demands of me.” I replied as neutrally as possible.

“Of course not, but has not your husband taken you on a tour of the house and grounds yet?”

“I fear he is quite taken up with all his business demands. Your father keeps him quite occupied all day long.” I replied with a laugh, not wishing my companion to know that I felt the slight of his godfather's behaviour.

“Then I must apologise on my father's behalf and offer as a replacement my own company for your entertainment, my dear Mrs Darcy.” He said with a bow, “I grew up about these grounds. Darcy and I were often involved in many misadventures together as boys and I know all the best places for you to see.” He grinned charmingly at me and I returned his smile warmly. Finally there was somebody willing to bear me company who was not being paid for their presence. He steered me in a different direction from the one which we had been walking in, claiming that the Rose Gardens were of no great interest to anyone at all. “And how do you like Pemberley Mrs Darcy?” he asked cheerfully. “I know I have asked you this already, but I would like to hear your honest opinion on it.”

“I like it very well indeed, it is a beautiful place and deserves all the praise it has received.” I replied.

“But…?” He urged.

“You are very impertinent…” I said with a laugh, showing that I was not really offended by his questioning. Truthfully, I was glad somebody was paying some attention to my feelings, “though I suppose that I am willing to forgive you for it.”

“Indeed, I should hope to see you are not a hypocrite Mrs Darcy, for evidently there is more that you would like to say on the subject of your new home. I assure I am quite discreet and shall not reveal your secrets to a soul.”

“It is only that I am a little homesick, and I miss my sisters a great deal.” I admitted.

“Surely,” cried my companion with surprise, “there are companions enough here for you and in time I am certain they shall be as dear to you as your sisters. Georgie is an affectionate and warm hearted girl; I am sure that she and you get along very well indeed.” I looked at him in shock. Had he not noticed the open hostility the girl displayed towards me? One would have to be a fool not to notice it. After dinner the previous two evenings she had insisted on performing the pianoforte for “George” and demanded his attention to turn pages for her; and she had positively gloated over the gift he had brought her, saying how much she loved it and that it was better than anybody else's, especially the one I had given her. She was not going to forgive me easily for the incident with the puppy, but honestly I could not care, for I knew that I was not at fault.

“Georgiana spends a great deal of time at her studies.” I replied neutrally.

“Indeed she shall benefit from some of your lively company then, before she becomes too serious like her brother.”

“She has exhibited a great deal of liveliness in my presence.” I returned, thinking of some of her more spirited outbursts and troublesome activities; only three days ago I had to chase her around the house for a full half an hour because she had run off with the keys Mrs Reynolds had reticently granted me with and I was not willing to prove myself so inadequate for my position that I could not even take care of a set of keys.

“I confess that I have noticed she seems somewhat jealous of you.” He conceded, though I had not mentioned anything of her bad behaviour.

“Jealous?” I repeated with some amazement, is that what it was?

“Quite, she is the apple of her father's eye you know, he dotes on her something terrible, as I am sure you will have noticed by now; you are a very observant young lady. I know the Darcy family very well and if there is something that they dislike above anything else, it is to have their father's attentions focused on another. You have seen how the brother treats me. You are the new wife of her father, it is natural that he shall focus his attentions on you and she does not like this, however, she is a dear sweet girl, I would devote all my attention to her if I could.”

“All your attention sir?” I questioned his exaggeration, “But what of your parishioners? I had heard that you were destined for the living at Kympton... and your wife, a clergyman must have a wife you know.” I teased him.

“I am sure that you must have realised by now madam, that were it possible, there are other young ladies upon whom I would devote as much time and energy if I could.” he replied with an easy smile. I frowned, what on earth was he speaking of? To the best of my knowledge, he had not been in the company of any other young ladies. “But as I was saying, Georgiana is a charming young girl and she shall overcome her jealousy soon enough. I only wish that the same could be said of her brother.” He sighed.

“How do you mean?” I shivered a little from the cold February weather.

“You are cold. Perhaps we ought to continue our conversation indoors.”

“No, no you have not shown me anything you promised to yet.” I replied eagerly, I did so want somebody to treat me with a little consideration.

He turned to Alice, “Go inside and fetch your mistress another shawl, she is chilled... What are you about?” Alice eyed him up warily, before turning in my direction to seek my approval, I nodded to her and asked her if she would please bring me another shawl, for the weather was indeed chillier than I had suspected when I had peeked out of doors earlier and seen the watery sun in the sky. She bobbed a curtsey and hurried of with a speed she did not normally possess. I turned to Mr Wickham, a little angered at the dismissive manner in which he had treated Alice, and asked him if he thought such treatment entirely necessary. “I have had my dealings with your maid in the past, she has a great deal of servant's pride and does not believe that I have the right to ask anything of her. Besides this is not the type of thing that a servant should hear, they talk you know, and while she shall remain loyal to you, I doubt that she would spare the same courtesy for myself. Anyhow she ought to have been more observant of your needs; I would not have you take a chill.” He smiled, his eyes warm, I would not chide him any further, not when he was usually so generous and clearly a favourite with the servants.

“Then perhaps, if it is not suitable for the ears of servants, it is best that I not hear what you have to say about the son either. I owe the Darcys my loyalty, Mr Wickham.”

“Indeed, I cannot argue with you on that count, and you must not think that in general I would have anything bad to say of the Darcys. You know of my opinion on the daughter and as to your husband, he is one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I have ever had; and I can never be in company with his son without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections of the generosity the father. I cannot do justice to his kindness, his role as my Godfather, does not justify all that he has done for me. His kindness has been most generously bestowed. He supported me at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. I have been an inmate of the same house as the son for years and was provided with the same parental care as he. I cannot be more grateful to Mr Darcy for what he has done for me over the years, he as provided for me in a manner that my father could not.

“It pains me to speak ill of anyone connected to a family who has been so generous to me, but in a sense, I must confess that his kindness may have done me more harm than good. You must recall Mrs Darcy, that I told you of the jealousy of the Darcy children, and how little they liked others to garner the attention of their father; well my dear madam, you must understand me when I tell you that my friend Fitzwilliam Darcy may well have been my favourite childhood companion, but as we grew older he could not fail to notice his father's preference for my society, particularly as he grew so serious. We are no longer friends, much as that grieves me - particularly given that I would wish not to think one bad thing of my Godfather, but he has instilled that wretched Darcy pride in his son and made him think to seriously of his duty and made him what he is today - however, that is neither here nor there. The son could not fail to notice his father's preference for my society and… well, he realised that his father loved me better, and he could not stand it.

“It is fortunate that your husband had such a great degree of respect for both of my parents and their ability to raise a good son, for his son has done everything to malign my good name to the world. To some extent he has been successful, at school and at university he only had to tell people that I was the son of his father's steward for many to lose interest in my friendship. With his father, he has attempted more drastic accounts. When we were younger, around the age of fifteen or so, he began telling his father such tall tales of my misbehaviour, that were it not for my godfather's belief in me and respect for my parents I would no doubt be utterly penniless now and without a prospect in the world. Darcy's failure to turn his father against me has only made him dislike me more; it has been a long time now though, since he realised that there was no point in his stories. It is a pity since he and I were such friends as boys.”

Mr Wickham finished his serious tale; we had stopped walking long ago. I could not argue with anything he said of the Darcy pride, of their belief in their superiority to every other person, their dedication to their duty and of the jealousy that the brother and sister betrayed and their possessiveness of their father. I thought back to my first day at Pemberley and everything my husband's son had said of me then, all because of my supposed low birth. My husband may well have been a good man; but his son, to behave in such a manner, was most certainly not.

Georgiana's behaviour towards me was similar to that which Mr Wickham described as her brother's to him. However, she I found more easy to forgive, she was a child and hardly knew any better. But the brother had been a man, and to treat an old childhood friend so. It was too terrible. And his behaviour still continued! Of that I had no doubt it was impossible to fail to notice the manner of cold reserve with which he treated Mr Wickham and the icy glares he bestowed. My husband's children were evidently of a very jealous nature.

“Yet, Mr Darcy seems very fond of his son, I cannot help but wonder that he must know what his son is.”

“It has been many years since he realised his attempts to discredit me were futile. Besides he was young, and the follies of youth must be forgiven, and indeed they have been by his father and me. Yet it seems that he still cannot learn to forgive my birth. It never sat well with Lady Anne either, that I was such a favourite of her husband. She was a good woman, but she too placed too much worth in the circumstances of birth, and it seemed that she never could forgive me for mine. But enough of all this morbid talk, let me show you the old tree house.” He began walking again, into the wooded area where the tree house had been built in a huge crooked old oak tree. “This was the tallest tree here, you can see the whole park from up there, Darcy and I would pretend that we were pirates, or spies or some other such nonsense.”

The old rope ladder was still hanging fairly solidly from the construction at the top of the tree. I grasped it in my gloved hand and tugged just to check, before making my way up to the top of the tree. It was cosy inside, an old rug had been spread out on the floor and crates had been used as seats and a small table. There was a piece of paper nailed to the wall, weathered with years of disuse left in this place, but still when I looked at it closely, it was evident that once it had been a map, marked with names such as Mermaid's Mere, Phantom Forest, Crocodile Cave and Parrot's Point, a Pirate Map I concluded. “You and Fitzwilliam Darcy used to play here as boys?” I called down in astonishment. It seemed bizarre to think of my son-in-law in such a context, I could never begin to imagine it of him.

“Yes certainly, we helped to build the place.” He laughed warmly, “Mrs Darcy, you quite astonish me! Whatever will people say, should they ever hear that the Mistress of Pemberley spends time up trees?”

“No doubt they would find it quite shocking.” I agreed. “But should I be widely censored for it, then I shall simply live in this tree instead.” It was more homely and comfortable in many ways than the place I now called my home anyway. With a few adjustments it would be perfect, some cushions would make the place more comfortable and I could hang muslin from the walls and a few vases of flowers would be perfect. My companion continued to laugh at me.

“I can see it now, you seem well placed here, the picture you portray is charming. I doubt now that I shall ever be able to think of this place in the same way ever again.” he said when he had finished laughing at my silly conjecture.

“George!” I heard Georgiana's voice call out from outside the little coppice my companion had shown to me. Within seconds she had come into view, her brother and her nurse trailing behind her at a more sedentary pace, both quietly castigating her for her wild behaviour, her brother glaring more at Mr Wickham than his sister. This time I understood it better, evidently he was jealous of his sister's affection for his old childhood friend. Georgiana was very fond of her brother, but had never displayed to him - in my presence at least - half of the affection she showed to Mr Wickham. “We are looking for Mrs Darcy.” she said crossly, “She has wandered off again and Papa needs to speak with her.”

“Then I am sorry to disappoint you Georgie, but I have not seen her.” I breathed a sigh of relief; something told me that they would not be very appreciative of me climbing up a tree. “Have you tried the Rose Garden? I have noticed that it seems to be a favourite walk of hers.” He continued.

“We have already looked there.” Georgiana's brother broke in shortly.

“Ah well, as you can see, she is not here.” Mr Wickham replied with a great deal more civility, “I just came to inspect our old tree house Darcy, it looks as strong as ever; it is a great pity that the rope ladder does not seem to have faired so well. Perhaps I should join you in your hunt for Mrs Darcy.”

“With whom were you speaking?” Mr Darcy questioned him closely. I held my breath in fear of discovery.

“A gardener, I asked him about the rope.” He answered quickly, “Come let us go look for Mrs Darcy.” I heard him step away, and the others followed him. I waited a few moments, to make sure that I would not be discovered, all was quiet I could hear Georgiana's imperative little voice off somewhere in the distance.

So I began my descent, it was no trouble. I was used to climbing trees, although had my mother, or indeed most other people, known of my habit, they would have undoubtedly been scandalised. I was grateful to Mr Wickham for not revealing my presence to the others. I jumped down, three steps before the end, landed and turned around to return to the house, since my attendance was evidently requested. “I have been lately informed that the rope of that ladder is not particularly safe.” Fitzwilliam Darcy began before I had even had the chance to turn around fully and notice his presence. He was smirking in a most irritating manner. I could not help but blush with embarrassment and guilt at my situation.

“I hear I am required by my husband.” I said shortly, before turning to walk off in the direction of the house. Well there was no point in pretending that I had not heard what had been said, and I really did not wish to have to speak with Mr Darcy. Unfortunately he made to accompany me too.

“Did you enjoy the view?”

“It was lovely, I could see so much of Derbyshire, it is very impressive landscape; the view ought to be painted.”

“Perhaps you ought to paint it.” I looked at him closely.

“I cannot paint.” I replied crossly.

“Perhaps you could learn. My father would be willing to hire a master for you I am sure.”

“Perhaps.” I agreed simply. It would I suppose give me something to do in this lonely place, but I had never really had any desire to learn; I had always thought it was a rather pointless accomplishment to be honest. “At any rate it was kind of Mr Wickham to show me the view, do you not think?” I asked slyly. Just what exactly would he think of this?

“Indeed, but then his manners are considered by many as impeccable.”

“Genteel manners are a great attribute in a person.” I continued, eager to press the matter a little further.

“But not always the best way to judge a person's character.” He returned.

“Yet ill manners are certainly no indication of good character either.”

“I did not say they were.” He turned to me with a sharp look, “I simply suggested that not everybody with an appearance of goodness ought to be trusted, that is all.”

Yet how could I trust him with his serious scowl and his permanent disapproval? When he did nothing to recommend himself with his manners, what made him think that I would be inclined to believe him? He had thus far shown me no goodness, or any reason that I ought to think well of him. His very existence seemed to contradict his very point. “I suppose that you think that one cannot be genteel without coming from a noble lineage either, perhaps this is what you mean, that one ought not be well mannered unless they have some real reason to be?”

“Certainly Mr George Wickham is not the son of anybody of great import, but he has had a good upbringing and a gentleman's education. But education is no more a precursor to goodness and trustworthiness than excellent manners, we can all simper and smirk and pretend to be what we are not.”

So he did mean that Mr Wickham should not be trusted because of whom his father was, a steward. I suppose the same applied to me too, that I was pretending to be somebody I was not because I had connections in trade. What arrogance and conceit for him to think that he was better than me for the sole reason that his father was Mr Darcy of Pemberley. I knew his character, though his behaviour towards Mr Wickham and me was nothing short of disdainful. His reasons for it were that we were of lower birth and could not be considered his equal in either intelligence or character for that. How proud he was. Not even his father thought in such a narrow minded way, if he did, then Mr Wickham would not be such a favourite of his.

My husband appeared to resent my connections, but he seemed to have nothing against my own character beyond thinking me a little incapable of managing such a large household. I had not known him to chastise me for my manners and he had never once claimed that I was not to be trusted because of my birth. He was, it seemed, a better man than his son.

Upon reaching the doors to the house, moments after his declaration I hurried up the steps and asked the servant where my husband was to be found. I turned to my companion curtseyed and politely thanked him for his company, realising the irony of my statement. Certainly in this instance my good manners were not to be trusted nor were they sincere. He bowed very curtly and then turned back around and went out the door again, saying something about Georgiana. Probably he did not think it proper for her to be left alone too long in the company of somebody so inferior.

Despite the unpleasant interlude that the afternoon had brought the evening proceeded to be pleasant. Both Mr Wickhams dined with us and kept us entertained. While the father did not speak a great deal the son was quite entertaining. He regaled us all with some tales of his youth and while he encouraged his old childhood companion to join in the laughter and to recollect parts of the tale he had forgotten, all his attempts were for naught. My husband's son sat quietly in the corner all night hardly saying a word at all. For once I was almost completely untroubled by his presence except that I caught him watching me a little too closely for comfort from time to time while I was speaking with the younger Mr Wickham.

Our conversation was not so very interesting to warrant the attention of him either, but from his corner I could tell that he attempting to overhear our discussion. Did he not know that it was rude? Even Lady Catherine would have let us know that she wanted to hear what was being said, her demands to be included in a conversation were at least a step up from what can only be described as eavesdropping.

I knew very little of Derbyshire any knowledge that I had acquired of it had come from reading Gilpin, back at home, rather than having visited the sites of interest since my marriage. Actually, since my marriage, I had not been outside of Pemberley above once, though I longed to escape its confines. Nobody had shown me anything, my one attempt to go out had ended in disaster and since then I had been reticent to attempt any other such ventures. It was a pity, for Derbyshire was reputed to have some very beautiful landscapes and I had some interest to see it, more so than anything else.

Mr Wickham had been kind enough that afternoon to acquaint me with the grounds, a service my new family had failed to perform, and as such he had learnt my preference for the outdoors along with my ignorance of the country I now called home. It seemed the safest topic of conversation. From what I gathered we had a mutual appreciation for the outdoors. “Sir,” he said turning to my husband after we had been engrossed in conversation for quite some while, “I have been thinking that perhaps it would be pleasant for Mrs Darcy to experience some of the country hereabouts. She tells me she has seen none of it.”

“No, I suppose she has not,” he agreed with a slight nod and turning to me he asked, “Elizabeth should you like to see Dovedale?”

Surprised that he should even ask my opinion on the matter, it took a while for me to regain my equanimity enough to respond, “Indeed I would, Sir, for I have read so much of it, I confess to being quite intrigued by some of the sights the county has to offer.”

“You have read about Derbyshire?” he seemed somewhat shocked by my response.

“Then why do you need to see it?” Georgiana who had been allowed down after we had finished dining piped in, sounding somewhat cross.

“My dear Georgie,” Mr Wickham turned to her with a pleasant smile, “A book cannot possibly do justice to the many beauties that Derbyshire owns. I have always found myself that travel writings are rather useless, they never do any justice to the place. A book is never that much use for learning.” His tone was light, his point a valid one, I thought at least, in the corner of the room though, I saw the darkening of the face of the younger Darcy. It seemed he was in a proverbial bad temper of late, more so than usual anyway.

“Do you not wish to go, Georgiana?” Her father turned and asked her. If she said no, I knew that there would be no trip out, and though I did not know before that I had longed for some activity, I suddenly found myself holding my breath in fear that she would be set against it.

“There will be no lessons for a whole day if you come.” Mr Wickham added as a temptation. It seemed that that was just the idea to procure the younger girl's agreement, and so it was settled that the following day we would be making an excursion.

“I suppose I ought to go an speak with Reynolds; she shall see to it that everything is settled properly.” My husband rose from his chair with a little effort.

“No, I shall see to it.” I spoke up, suddenly feeling a little braver than I had been, “It is what I am here for after all.”

“If that is your wish.” He sat back down in his seat, seemingly with no objection to my request whatsoever. I had no idea what had got into my husband of late. Why had the appearance of Mr Wickham made him so much more amenable than he had been before? I did not understand it. What I did understand though, was that I hoped that Mr Wickham would never go away if he kept my husband in such good humour as he had been. It was making my life a lot easier than before his arrival.

I bid goodnight to my companions as I left the room, saying that I planned to retire for the evening after speaking with the housekeeper. Mrs Reynolds met me with her usual chilly civility and scowled further when I informed her of our plans for the following day. “It is rather short notice, I should have liked it if you had informed me of your plan before now.” she answered my request tartly, “How do you expect me to have it all organised?” she asked, though you could tell that she did not want a reply. I felt all the impertinence of her question, what right had she to question my behaviour? I was her mistress. Yes it was short notice, but she would not have spoken to anybody else so impertinently. Nor was there so very much for her to arrange; it was February, we would hardly be requiring a picnic, all she needed to do was inform the stables that the carriage was required the following day, and be aware of our absence from Pemberley.

“Mr Darcy and I just wished you to know that the family would be out tomorrow and to see to it in the morning that the carriage shall be readied. Good evening Mrs Reynolds.” I told her shortly.

The housekeeper was not the only one of the servants to be displeased by the news either; when Alice arrived that evening to ready me for bed I asked her if she would clean my walking shoes for me as they were muddy and we would all be going out tomorrow, she tutted. “I am sorry that I did not tell you of this before Alice, I hope you have no objection?”

“No madam, of course not.” she said with a smile, the words sounded as though she had practised them over and over in her head, not at all convincing.

“Mr Wickham only suggested the idea but half an hour ago, I would not usually be so negligent.” I continued perceiving that she was still displeased by my information. She however, made no further comment. I supposed that as a servant, it was not her place to be put out by me, but I did not like to see her displeased with me; she often seemed like the only person likely to be an ally in this lonely house, despite her being under Mrs Reynolds' command. But she uttered nothing further than an “Of course, Madam.” finished with my bedtime preparations, picked up the troublesome boots and left with a curtsey. With a sigh, I turned and looked in the mirror, seeing nothing in front of me. It was beginning to seem as though I could do nothing right.

But as I fell asleep and thought over my conversations with Mr Wickham, I could not help but brighten. It seemed I finally had a friend at Pemberley, somebody who was welcomed and welcoming in his turn, despite our low birth and lack of connections. While I could not understand why he was accepted by my husband, and I was still scorned, the very existence of Mr George Wickham gave me some hope. For the first time in a long while, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

Chapter VI

Posted on Monday, 12 November 2007

The smile was still firmly planted on my face the next morning when Alice appeared with a cup of tea at my bedside to wake me early. Of late I had developed the somewhat lazy habit of sleeping in, but I could hardly forget that I had plans for the day! Mr Darcy had promised us all a trip to Dovedale, for my benefit; I could hardly credit it. Mr Wickham was the one I had to thank for the idea, but I could not help but recall that my husband had granted me the pleasure. Even if I could not fathom his reasons, it had seemed that the previous evening he had agreed to the plan for my enjoyment; after all it had been me that he had asked, not Georgiana or his son, but me.

The smile on my face did not falter while we made the long journey in the carriage. When last I had travelled through Derbyshire, my whole outlook had been so desolate that I had failed to take in the scenery properly. Today I saw it in all its splendour. Charles Cotton¹ had not been mistaken with his assessment of the “glories” of the district.

Even Georgiana's moaning about the distance we had travelled did not bother me that day; I was simply far too happy. Her brother rode alongside us on horseback and my husband was dozing in the corner of the carriage piled under a multitude of rugs and blankets. Mr Wickham quietly spoke to me of the scenery which we passed when it was of interest. Georgiana had no interest in it, she was rather too young to appreciate such things, I supposed, or was simply used to them. Her governess sat in what I supposed would be called a respectful silence. Therefore, the pair of us were left to converse quietly together, only occasionally interrupted by the gentle snore of my husband or Georgiana's demands to know how much longer we had to travel.

We stopped at the inn in Bakewell for a luncheon of cold meats and salad. My husband and I had briefly stopped at the same inn on our journey up from Hertfordshire, but I had been paying so little attention that I had failed to notice the easy pleasantness with which the proprietors and Molly, the girl who served us, were treated by the family. I thought it odd. Surely these were just the sort of folk they disliked mingling with in Lambton, yet here they were laughing with Mr Wallis and speaking with Molly about her Uncle and Aunt who were tenant farmers at Pemberley. I was left to eat my meal in silence, mulling over this rather odd facet of my new family.

Molly chattered on cheerfully as she served our meal, that her Aunt and Uncle had been vastly pleased by some improvements to their cottage which my husband had overseen. “It is to my benefit that they are happy on their farm.” my husband had replied with what I could only describe as genuine humility. He did not seem shocked when, upon returning to clear away the meal, Molly presented him with a simply printed letter for her Aunt; apparently it was always the way as it saved her having to frank it. Not even at Pemberley were they that at ease with the servants. Surely it was not just Mr Wickham's presence which had wrought such a change in my husband; not if this was a common practice?

Once again I returned to the question of why he continued to hold me in contempt? What had I done? How could he be so cheerful with these simple towns people and not allow me to pay calls to Aunt Gardiner's acquaintances in Lambton? I could feel my mood beginning to turn sour, but it did not last long once we arrived at our destination. Such miserable deliberations would have to be put aside until later.

My husband, being unable to walk well and the pathways at the side of the river being unable to accommodate a carriage, deserted us at the entrance to partake of his favourite sport, fishing. The Dove was apparently well stocked, though at this time of year, it seemed unlikely that he would have much luck. His son expressed some concern at his being out in the cold, to which he assured him that if the weather became too bitter, he would have the carriage returned to the inn and he should wait for us there. “I am only sorry to be missing out on such an entertainment. Do you remember when we came here when you two were boys?” he addressed both his son and godson.

“With my mother, yes I remember it well.” Mr Wickham replied. “We all played hide and seek amongst the caverns.”

“Did Lady Anne not accompany you, sir?” I asked, puzzled by such an odd party.

“No, no!” he seemed almost shocked by the suggestion. “She was never one for the outdoors.” I waited for some further information, watching my husband sink into some melancholy reverie. He said nothing further than, “It was a very pleasant day out.”

“Despite you and my mother getting lost for an hour or two as I recall!” the godson laughed again, “Well come, come Mrs Darcy, we had best be off, Georgie, Darcy, come along you two.” he cried with a swing of his walking-cane, taking me by the arm and leading me forwards.

We had a pleasant afternoon. Mr Wickham explained to me the nature of our surroundings so well that Georgiana's governess, Mrs Robinson, soon gave up attempting to explain the geography to her charge and left the task up to Mr Wickham. He guided us expertly along the pathways by the side of the river, beginning with the steep assent up Thorpe's Cloud, stopping only to pick up a fossil for my examination. I slipped it into my reticule when he had finished, and later placed in on my dressing table, though it mostly looked just like a normal rock to me.

I confess to being somewhat amazed that the small area could hold such a diversity of landscapes; an ash forest, rock pinnacles, spires, arches and caves; and we only walked about a mile along the river! “Hertfordshire is hardly comparable to Derbyshire and Shropshire.” I had exclaimed as Georgiana and I stopped at one of the Cores and arranged ourselves nosegays of Solomon's seal, lily-of-the-valley, herb Paris and small and large-leaved limes with the aid of Mr Wickham, who arranged some early yellow cowslip he had managed to find, in Georgiana's hair; she giggled at his attentions.

He led us up another hill, “This is Lover's Leap.” he informed me with a smile when we had reached the top.

I looked out at the view, so wild and untamed and exclaimed, “I must agree with you, it is very pretty.” I thought the name an odd description, but I let him continue.

“Should you like to hear how this place came to get it's name? It is rather unusual, you must admit.”

“I am sure you will tell us anyway, whether we wish to hear it or not.” my son-in-law, who had been some moments behind us, commented as he arrived, I turned around to glare at him for his rudeness.

“Pray continue, Mr Wickham.” I said with a smile in his direction, utterly ignoring the rude remarks of my son-in-law.

“Well, they say that not so long ago there was a young lady who lived about these parts, and her beau had been sent off to fight in the war. You can imagine that was enough reason for her to be desolate; but then she received word that he had died in battle, and being a somewhat passionate young lady, gripped by remorse that he had died, even though it was a hero's death, she decided that she would end her life because she believed that she could be with him in the next, I suppose.

“So she came up here, intent upon ending her life, and she decided that she would jump to her death. She cried out her lover's name as she jumped, only to find that her billowing skirts were caught in the branches on the way down, and she did not die. Instead she managed to scramble to safety and made her way back home again. And what do you think she found when she returned? Her lover was safe and well after all, and he was returning home to see her again.

“It is a lovely tale is it not?”

“Indeed it is, sir.” I agreed.

“And what say you, Mrs Darcy, do you think that if I jumped I should be granted with my hearts desire?” he asked seriously.

“I should hope you would.”

“A very nice tale, Wickham, but I am sure my father would not appreciate knowing you were filling his wife's head with nonsense. Georgiana, Mrs Darcy, there is something I would have you see.” He offered us each an arm, which I accepted somewhat grudgingly as I could once again find no way of refusing. He guided us towards a small cave and motioned for us to look inside, “What do you say to this?” he asked, turning expectantly to us for a reply.

“There are lights inside!” Georgiana cried out in surprise.

“How?” I managed to ask.

“They are glow worms.” he explained briefly.

“Worms that glow, do you expect me to believe that?” disbelief was evident in my voice. What absolute foolishness! Worms wriggled around in the soil and turned the earth, they most certainly did not glow! Creatures just did not glow! As usual, he did not seem perturbed by my annoyance with him; he simply reached inside the cave and collected one of the little lights for my closer inspection. Sure enough, when he removed the little lantern from the darkness, I could see clearly enough that it was a creature, though it was no longer emitting the light it had been within the cave. I could not argue with the evidence before my eyes. “How extraordinary!” I exclaimed, reaching out to touch the worm.

“Quite,” he agreed, “this is the only place I have ever found them, they are the most amazing living thing I think I have ever seen, an animal which produces its own light.” He handed the glow-worm over to me for my inspection, “Cup it in your hands,” he instructed, “look at how he lights up again.”

I peered in at the tiny gap between my hands, and sure enough, the little worm was glowing again. “So beautiful!” I gasped, almost breathless with wonder, “Georgiana should you like to hold him and see?”

“Beautiful?!” Georgiana looked utterly appalled by the thought of holding a bug; for once I was not offended by her scornful tone. I simply laughed.

Of course, one good day, when for so long all there had been was misery, does not ensure improvement. Once again, the old habits prevailed. It seemed as if the pleasant behaviour of my husband and Georgiana was merely a temporary whim of the moment. As to my heavy-handed son-in-law, he remained as ever, alternately ordering me about, treating me like a child rather than his father's wife and ignoring me while glaring aggravatingly at me. I could not even find it in myself to be thankful to him for showing me the glow worms, for he had all but dragged me to look at them; he had been quite unpleasant.

It was evident in his every action that he despised poor Mr Wickham. He never uttered a word more than civility required; sometimes he was even less than civil, even downright cutting, when he spoke to him. Anybody could tell that he despised his father's godson, just as Georgiana despised me. I could not forgive them for it. Nor could I forgive my husband, for it was he who had nurtured such a nature in his children, spoiling them with their every fancy and indulging them to an unhealthy degree.

Only Mr Wickham remained civil. He was, indeed, far more than civil! It seemed as if his sole occupation had become seeing to my entertainment; and I was wholly thankful for it. In all honesty, I think that I began to depend upon it, for it was the only pleasant thing I had to look forward to now, and my life would have been quite desolate without his company. He helped me to forget everything I despised about my new life and position. What did it matter that I had nothing to do with the running of the household, when Mr Wickham was there to show me about the gardens and the house and keep me entertained? What did it matter if Georgiana was rude and unpleasant when he was there to deflect her words? Actually she was a far more pleasant child when he was present. What did it matter that the others did not talk to me in the evenings, when Mr Wickham entertained me with stories and conversation and turned pages for me at the pianoforte?

I began to forget about all the unpleasantness there had been before he arrived, and I learnt to ignore all the unpleasantness that continued. I focused only on the more pleasant aspects of life. He became almost my every thought; I supposed because there was nothing else. When I woke in the morning, I wondered about him, and when I went to sleep, I replayed our conversations. When I dressed, I though about the clothes and ornaments he had complemented, because no one else ever praised me. I played music he had said he liked. All because I was so desirous of having somebody like me at Pemberley. I found myself dreading the time when he might go away, although no mention of such a thing had been made, for I did not know what I would do if he was not there to bear me company.

A few days later at breakfast, my son-in-law, while buttering a roll, asked me, “Do you plan to walk out again this morning, Mrs Darcy?” He did not look at me as he spoke, but concentrated on his food.

“Why yes. Mr Wickham has promised to show me the orchards today.” I answered with a degree of puzzlement. When had he ever taken notice of my activities? I felt somewhat uneasy, why the sudden interest? I sincerely hoped that he did not wish to join us, that was about the worst thing that I could imagine.

“It has been some weeks now since Lady St Vincent called upon you, it shall appear rude if you do not return her call soon.” He took a bite of his bread when he had finished, then rose from his seat to stare out the window.

“You have not returned Lady St Vincent's call yet?” My husband looked up from the morning paper, in which he had previously been almost completely engrossed, a frown creasing his face. Once again I had displeased him, yet it failed to rile me half as much as it usually did. Instead it only served to add to the far more outraged anger I felt towards his son.

“As you well know, she has been ill.” I replied stiffly. I had not seen Lady St Vincent since the day my husband had invited her to Pemberley and she had ordered new gowns with me. She had been indisposed ever since, and I was not even certain that she was yet receiving visitors. I should have to ask Alice, whose sister was her maid.

So it was that I found myself being led up to the private sitting room of Lady St Vincent. A scenario that I found oddly intimate given the brevity of our acquaintance, Lady St Vincent had proved an odd sort of woman thus far, relatively unconcerned with proper ceremony, except in matters of dress, it seemed. Alice, however, had informed me that she would see me. Perhaps she had misunderstood, I thought, as I stood outside her doorway waiting to be announced by her maid. She was sitting on a sofa, a blanket over her knees, an awful pallor to her face and a melancholy in her eyes. A book was left open on the side table and embroidery was tossed aside, a rainbow of threads hanging limply from a basket. In amongst this discontented scene, a Pug dog sat obediently at her feet.

Clearly she was in no state to be receiving visitors; but then why had the servants let me in? “I am sorry to have troubled you, your ladyship. I was told you were receiving guests.” I began awkwardly. “I hope you are well.” I added, in confusion.

“No, please come in.” There was a note of pleading in her voice, gone was that assured confidence which had at first annoyed and later amused me. “Would you care for tea?” She, I noticed, took none herself.

We sat in silence as I sipped my tea; my past meetings with her had always been characterised by her taking control of the conversation in her boisterous manner. Now she sat small and inconspicuous, her eyes nervously flitting around the room from one object to another, barely taking them in. She reminded me of a butterfly, their beauty was always so fleeting, and their lives too short lived.

“How do you find married life treating you now?” she finally asked. Her question held none of the implied criticism it usually did when other women asked the same thing.

“Well enough, thank you.” my well rehearsed reply.

“And how does your husband?”

“He is well. He has been recently enjoying a visit from his godson, Mr Wickham. Do you know of him?”

“We are acquainted, yes. He has very handsome manners. I had heard that he is to be a clergyman and have often thought that he would do well for one of my sisters.”

“Your sisters?” I found this hard to credit, Lady St Vincent seemed the kind of woman who placed value on wealth. There could be no other explanation for her marriage to Sir Edmond, surely one of the most dull and uninspired gentlemen to ever marry a pretty girl half his age. Not that I was one to pass judgment, for I knew that people thought the same of me.

“Certainly, when they are old enough.” We fell into silence again.

“My new dresses arrived.” I gestured vaguely towards my attire, it was a gown that Lady St Vincent had selected herself. “I believe I must thank you again for your help.” I had thought that if anything, fashion would be just the thing to cheer her mood, but she simply smiled politely and observed that it suited me very well indeed. Awkward and uncomfortable, clearly she had not wished to receive any visitors; I rose to leave, thanking her for the tea. I had visited a quarter hour.

“Please do not go yet.” She looked like a small child begging for a favour. I longed to leave the oppressive discomfort of the room, but found I could not; she was one of the few people who had shown me kindness since my arrival in Derbyshire. We were as opposite as could be with few common interests, however, she wanted me to stay. I sat back down.

“I hope your husband is well?” I said after more awkward silence.

She blushed and looked away uncomfortably, “He is gone away to Town, departed some weeks ago, I thought you would have heard?” I shook my head slowly, perhaps I had heard, I tried to remember, “Those women have not spoken about it yet then?”

“What women?” I was startled by her bitterness, she had always seemed so utterly unconcerned by everything and anybody's opinions before now.

“Lady Conrad, Mrs Neville, the Colonel's wife and Lady Cecilia Bertrand they always get such glee out of it.”

“Out of what?” I was becoming more mystified by the minute.

“My husband, of course. Taken a mistress before we had even been married a year. He keeps one in town and one on another estate of his. He always did have a fondness for pretty women, and they'll do anything for money; and me, unable to carry a child. We've been married for five years now, since I was eighteen. I've lost six children; and how they gloat over it! I begged Papa not to make me marry him, I knew what he was like, but Papa saw nothing beyond the comfort his pocket book would receive!” The words came tumbling out of her mouth, words I am sure, ought never have been mentioned by anybody polite. “I have tried so hard to make the best out of things, but he has given up on me completely now after this latest baby. I am afraid that he will stop sending money to Mama and my sisters because Papa left them penniless; he gambled everything Sir Edmond paid for me away again.” She burst into tears; her face, which had been ashen grey, was now a fiery red colour. The pug remained staunchly at her feet, whimpering along with his mistress.

Startled, I rose from my own seat once again to take the place by her side. She seemed barely to notice when I took her hand in mine and tried to offer some words of comfort. She looked up after several minutes and sniffed loudly, I handed her my handkerchief which she kept gripped in her hand but never used, “I am sorry. I always promised myself that I would not behave like that.”

“It is understandable… you have just lost… that is.” I did not know if I was supposed to mention the child she had just lost.

“It is nothing, it happens all the time, but I cannot stand the thought of turning out like one of those women, complaining all the time about everything they do not have and their health and petty little things which do not matter one ounce to the rest of us. When I married my husband, I swore to myself I would make the best out of a bad situation. After all, everybody else would be happy; my father had regained some fortune, my mother and sisters would be secure in their futures again and would not have to make the same sacrifice and Sir Edmond would have won his prize. I ought to be grateful for it.”

Just as I ought to be grateful that my sisters were secure, that my mother would never be forced out into the hedgerows and that my father now had one less daughter's welfare to concern himself with after he was gone. Lady St Vincent had been able to look at her situation with a selflessness that I never had; and which of us was worse off? I did not have the continual threat of heirs looming over my head, my husband did not make me the laughingstock of Derbyshire Society, he always treated me with respect and politeness in public at least.

“It is so hard to pretend that I am happy, lucky even. If he takes away my mother's income, then it will have all been pointless. To know that he thinks nothing of me anymore, when he was the only person I knew who did admire me and think me worth something, even if I was just a suitable mother for his children, is almost heartbreaking.” The words tumbled out of her mouth like water out of a broken dam, as though they had been gathering in her mind for years.

There was nothing I could say that might offer her comfort. “You will not be like those women, you know. They are only angry because they expected more out of their marriages than they have, they have nothing to concern themselves with beyond money, marrying off their daughters and gossip, it is a rather empty existence.”

“But so do I.” She objected.

“At least you know it, they do not even see it.”

“You think that better?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not, whichever it is, you must learn to live with your knowledge for there is no other option.

I sat quietly staring out the window that evening in the drawing room, my own book open on my lap as I watched the driving rain that had begun to come down without ceasing late in the afternoon. An angry wind whipped about, shaking the branches of the trees outside. Even with the candles burning, the room seemed drab, my husband dozed quietly in his chair, Georgiana was in bed and the younger Mr Darcy was absorbed in reading a book. A shadow fell across me, “I missed your company this morning.” He sat down next to me.

“And I yours, Mr Wickham, but duty called I am afraid.” I replied with a pleasant smile, I was not in the mood to moan about such things, my conversation with Lady St Vincent was still fresh on my mind.

“Damn Darcy and his interference. He really puts too much precedence in duty, he has no right to interfere in such a manner anyhow, you are not his wife.”

“My visit to Lady St Vincent was long overdue.” I replied neutrally.

“Of course, and it is in your credit that you pay such pains, but really you could have gone tomorrow; you and I had plans, did we not? It is just like Darcy to behave so selfishly. He only did it to deprive me of your charming company, he hates to see me with that which I covet.” I felt a blush rising in my cheeks at his flattery, it certainly pleased me to know that one member of the house valued my presence. “I can only hope that he does not interfere with our plans for tomorrow.”

“I think, sir, the weather may have already done that.” There was not a chance that it would have improved by the morrow, that much I could tell, “I am sure though, that we need not walk out, we can do something indoors.”

“No doubt your son-in-law shall find a way to meddle in the house. It is so much easier to escape his disapproval in the gardens.”

“Yes, he can certainly be disapproving.”

“He thinks of himself as being rather superior in his actions to other people and therefore they ought do as he demands.” Mr Wickham explained, almost apologetically. But it was not he who should be sorry for that behaviour, it was not he who shepherded me about in such a judgmental manner.

“You mean to suggest he considers himself without fault?” Surely not? Nobody thought himself perfect.

“I am not without fault, nor have I ever suggested that I am, madam.” There he was, standing only a few feet from the window where Mr Wickham and I were seated. We had neither of us noticed that he had placed his book aside to join us in conversation. How much he had heard, I could only begin to imagine, I drew myself up slightly and turned to face him with an imagined equanimity.

“But you shall not own to them, shall you?”

“What would be the good in people knowing of my weaknesses?” He asked with a frown.

“You should not be such a terrifying object to so many people, I should imagine.”

“I rather believe that for many people to know of all my floors, it would undermine their trust in my abilities, I have a duty to them.”

“Not yet though, do you Darcy? Pemberley is not your responsibility yet.” Mr Wickham laughed at such pomposity, while I carefully suppressed a smile at our companion's vanity.

“Do you expect that when you take the living at Kympton, your parishioners shall forgive your past weaknesses because of who you will then be?” my son-in-law returned with a deeper frown. “It does not seem a good foundation on which to begin - asking them to place their trust in you purely because of your position, and not from what they know of the credibility of your character.”

“We speak of you though, do we not, sir?” I deflected what I saw as an attack on Mr Wickham, who had done nothing of which to be ashamed.

“That is my point. From the day I was born, I owed my loyalty to my family and their position; not just my family, but the servants and the tenants. If they have a reason to doubt the quality of my character, then they have a reason to doubt the security of their own positions as well.”

“Your approach seems somewhat dogmatic to me. People would surely have more confidence in you were you to be more…” I paused, wondering how I could politely explain that his demeanour was rather disapproving because he gave the appearance of thinking too much of himself, “imperfect?” I finished with some uncertainty.

“I thank you for you honesty, madam, however, anybody with any common sense knows that nobody is without fault and would realise that I simply have no wish to expose myself to ridicule.”

“You puzzle me, sir, which I suppose I ought be grateful for since you own no weakness I can laugh at.” I teased him.

“I am glad to be of some amusement to you.” he replied with a sardonic grimace. Mr Wickham, who until that point had been oddly quiet for several minutes, then took the opportunity to petition me to play for him, offering his services to me as page turner with a gallant bow. I agreed, glad of the opportunity to be away from my stern son-in-law.

1. 1) Charles Cotton 1630-1678 owner of Beresford Hall where the valley the River Dove runs through is known as Beresford Dale, famous for his works ,i>`The Complete Angler' and the poem `The Glories of the Peaks'.

Chapter VII

Posted on Saturday, 1 March 2008

A grey sky can mean absolutely anything. Sometimes it remains purely overcast, other times a light drizzle falls; sometimes it announces the imminent arrival of rain, but every so often, later in the day, a little ray of sunshine peeps timidly through a gap in the clouds, and a few hours later you forget it was ever dark and gloomy at all. The problem is that more often than not, clouds are what we are greeted by every morning, and it is utterly impossible to predict just how the day intends to pan out. I can hope for sunshine, or at the very least that it shall remain the same. Usually I am wrong. You would think I would have learnt to be more distrustful by now; unfortunately or perhaps fortunately I have not.

“She is so strong willed.” Mrs Reynolds muttered from the doorway of my husband's chamber to Walters, “We can all be doing without this. It is not as if I have not enough to be dealing with already.” Walters muttered something I could not make out. His demeanour and behaviour was everything that it ought to be, revealing absolutely nothing. She said nothing farther, however, which I could only take to mean that he had issued her with some form of warning. Seconds later, he shut the door and turned his attention back to the confines of the dressing room.

I looked towards my husband to see if he paid the housekeeper's comments any mind, only to find him asleep. How long had I been reading aloud to nobody but myself? I placed a marker between the open pages and closed the book, putting it quietly on his bedside table, and crept quietly out of the room, careful not to wake him. I would come back at teatime and see if he was awake. In the meantime, I had nothing better to be doing with myself than wandering the echoing hallways of Pemberley. The heavy rainfall that had not abated for the last four days kept me and the other members of the house confined within doors, and visitors in the safety of their own homes. Even a visit from Lady Conrad and her charming daughter should have been welcome.

Georgiana was occupied in the schoolroom with her governess. As to the younger Mr Darcy, he was in the library riffling through paperwork and taking care of the estate in his father's absence. I intended to steadfastly avoid his company, even if that meant depriving myself of a good book. I supposed I could always go and sew more fancy work or practice the pianoforte, yet my mood was unsettled and distracted, and my mind would not settle on either occupation for long. Instead I wandered aimlessly about the house, from room to room, trying to find something to engage me.

Mr Wickham had gone. About a fortnight before, he had left abruptly, stating that he was called away upon hearing news of a sick friend, a Mr Bunbury, I think he said. He had been eager to away. It pleased me to see such a display of devotion to his friend; yet Georgiana, my husband and I were all disheartened to see him go, “Must you leave, George? You have been with us but a month, I had expected you to stay until April at the least.” Mr Darcy had said with regret over dinner that evening.

“I am afraid I must; my friend is most unwell, now if you shall excuse me, I fear I must take my leave of you all. I am not yet ready to depart, and I hope to be gone by first light.” He was not to be gainsaid in the matter, which I though most admirable, that he chose instead to visit a poor sick friend than to sample the delights of Pemberley. Yet it did not help us from all being downcast at the loss of his company. It had been that melancholy which provoked my husband into suggesting a trip to see some more of the local sights. “It shall not be so pleasant as when George was with us, but I think it shall brighten us all.”

“I fear the weather is determined to keep us indoors, Elizabeth. We shall have to put off our excursion until another day.” My husband had announced at breakfast the next morning. I looked out of the window expecting rain, only to find the same grey clouds that had greeted me earlier that morning. Mrs Reynolds entered with a bowl of kedgeree. I had originally thought it strange that she chose to serve us at meal times, at Longbourn Hill never had, but now I had become accustomed to this strange protocol.

“It does not seem so very bad.” I replied, “There has been no change since I awoke, I think it shall soon be a clear day.” My husband, however, thought it not a wise plan anymore. It appeared that once again my day was to be confined to the house, with the possibility of a stroll around the rose gardens, and perhaps, if I had very good luck, a visit from one of the local ladies. Our discussion continued for several minutes, while he argued the merits of staying indoors, and I the merits of going out. All the while, my son-in-law's head went back and forth as though he were watching a game of shuttlecock, and Mrs Reynolds was quietly and unobtrusively tidying empty breakfast dishes off the side boards. I shall not bore you with the particulars, for there is nothing so very droll as the weather. “Can we not wait a few hours and see how it fares then?” I finally suggested, for I so wanted to go. Mr Darcy, with a sigh, relented to my pestering and that was that.

Suffice to say, the weather had not broken a few hours later, and I cheerfully ran into the study without bothering to inform Mr Wickham, the steward, that my husband would be taking the day off, and dragged him out while he laughed at my excitement. Unfortunately my happy mood did not last long. The heavens opened about a half an hour into our walk, and Georgiana, Mr Darcy and I were all soaked to our skins. A warm bath, a change of clothes and a cup of tea laced with brandy were enough to see me on my feet again. Georgiana did not fare as well, though she only suffered from a minor snuffle for a few days. She was young and strong, though not as used to the outdoors as me.

As to my husband, the following morning when Alice entered, she informed me that he had taken to his bed; and there he had been ever since. A doctor had been summoned from London and was staying in guest quarters until the patient was fully recovered. For a few days, he had had a fever, but the worst of it was gone now. He was just very lethargic and had no appetite. Mrs Reynolds clucked over him, reciting that age old mantra, Feed a cold, starve a fever, “Your fever is gone now, sir, you ought to try some of the gruel cook has prepared for you.” He mostly slept, even when I went in to see him, and had very little to say. I had apologised frequently for insisting that we go out, but he simply patted my hand and told me not to worry, it was not my fault. That was all I could ever think to say to him, hence I had begun reading instead; but even his favourite books could not seem to keep him awake for long. It was for the best, Dr Matthews had said. The more he rested, the faster his recovery would be.

It was not until several years later that I learnt of the existence of a conversation which was at that moment taking place elsewhere in the house. Buried behind a pile of estate papers, sat my very frustrated son-in-law. He had dealt with matters of estate before; his father had raised him to be a proper master of Pemberley. He had even taken care of things on his own before. When his father had suffered from apoplexy, it had been he who had taken care of the estate, along with taking care of his father's recovery. But this was different! Never in his life had he had to look at dinner menus for their approval! It was not part of a gentleman's education. Why had I, as his father's wife, not taken care of the matter? Furthermore, why was he being forced to look at my accounts? I should be handling such trivialities as what I had spent on dresses and bonnets. He knew my education had been poor and haphazard, but this reached new levels of absurdity! Could I not even add up some simple figures? He had thought me more sensible than that implied. He glared angrily at the papers before him, or perhaps, he thought with a hint of cynicism, I had been too busy flirting with Mr George Wickham to pay any mind at all to my duties.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, twice, stood up from his desk and stalked angrily around the room (I know his manners well enough to be certain he did so) and then, with a frustrated sigh, rang the bell to call a servant. “Have Mrs Reynolds brought here immediately.” He barked to the footman, who exited with a swift bow to hastily find the housekeeper. The young master clearly had an ill temper. I suspect he warned Mrs Reynolds of this, and likewise knowing her opinions, she sharply told him not to spread idle talk around the servants' hall. This, however, is supposition on my part, I must confess.

When she knocked and was bid enter, he had calmed his manner slightly, though only slightly. He offered her a seat and politely rang for tea. He even managed to carry out a civil conversation for a few minutes until the servant had returned, so as not to be interrupted. The conversation that he was to have with the housekeeper was one that he considered far too delicate, and far too important. She poured the tea while he began talking. “Mrs Reynolds, perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me why these were in a pile of papers which had to be dealt with today?” He placed the menu sheets on the desk and waited expectantly for the housekeeper's reply.

“Your father always looks over the dinner menus, sir, so cook assumed that you should be doing the same, and I told him I knew no different.” she replied pleasantly, if with a small degree of confusion. She had been told by him that everything would be run as normal, there was no reason to make changes. The master would be well in a few days anyway.

“My father usually looks over the dinner menus?” Had he heard this properly?

“Yes sir, he has done it since your dear mother was in her final illness.” Surely his son knew this?

“I see.” He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, “Then Mrs Darcy has never looked over them since she has been here?” Once again he pondered on his father's mysterious marriage. There was no evidence of love on either side. The best he ever saw was perhaps a cool fondness on his father's part even that had only seemed a recent development. No, his father had not been such a fool as to think himself in love with a pretty little fortune hunter. He then turned his thoughts to me, I had seemed almost hostile from the moment I had arrived so unexpectedly at Pemberley, but then again, he would have been more astonished had the young bride exhibited signs of affection to her aged widower husband than to see his father taken in by my wiles. Try as he might, he could simply find no justification for the marriage. He could not even understand how we had come to be in one another's company.

He had looked over my expenses briefly, and once more he had been forced to dismiss the idea that I was a fortune hunter, for I spent so little of my allowance, it could not be the case. Evidently his father did not wish for a wife to run the household, or visit tenants or the like. She does nothing; just walks in the gardens all day or sits quietly in that little sitting room she has taken such a fancy to - had she refused to act as was expected? She does not seem to care much for propriety, spending all her time flirting with Wickham, not doing her duty and returning Lady St Vincent's call, to be sure. But then she always wants for some form of occupation, she has an active mind and I do not think that she finds much enjoyment from all that sitting around. What an odd marriage it is. He rolled his eyes in frustration, why was he pouring so much energy into the conundrum? It was done, and it was not his place to question his father's actions.

“No sir.” Mrs Reynolds replied without elaboration, that was not her place.

“Is it just menus, or is there more I should know?”

“Mrs Darcy is not involved in any of the running of the household, sir.” she replied.

“Do you know why?” Darcy pressed on, desperate for some further clue, and he was sure the housekeeper knew something more than she was currently letting on.

“He does not think her suited to such tasks.” She replied briskly. Not suited. He was astonished. Was his father hoping for a wife to complete the perfect picture of familial bliss? If so, he had gone about it quite the wrong way, plucking a fifteen year-old girl from the obscurity of the country. The son deemed me as lacking in almost every aspect for the role I had been assigned. Not suited. Perhaps that was a fair enough assessment, though he did not consider me to be deficient either, having on too many occasions been on the receiving end of my decided opinions and cutting wit. It was merely that his pride would not allow him to consider that a girl from a family of no particular means would be totally prepared for such a role as that of the Mistress of Pemberley. He did not doubt, however, that I could learn.

Of course, if the fault did lie with me, there was no reason that a servant would know of any objections I had made against running a household. He really had to speak with me directly about it to find out the truth.

“She is being trained to take over these tasks, I take it, Mrs Reynolds?” He knew the answer before he asked. It had been nearly three months; nobody was that slow a learner. To be sure, he objected to the task, but what did it take to look over a list of dishes and approve them? There was basically nothing to it.

“No sir.” It was just as he had suspected.

“Well, Mrs Reynolds, now seems as good a time as any for her to begin. We need all the help we can get, given how the situation stands.” If I proved reticent to do as he asked, then he would certainly have a thing or two to say to me.

“Would you like me to take the menus to her, sir?”

“No. No, be so good as to send her to me, there is another matter that I wish to discuss with her. I would like you to go over the household accounts with her tomorrow as well. Thank you, Mrs Reynolds.” He smiled and indicated to the housekeeper that the inquisition she had just endured was over. She curtsied politely and left to complete the task the young master had just assigned her.

To say that I was surprised at being confronted by a somewhat flustered Mrs Reynolds in the corridors of the east wing would be true enough. That I was further surprised that she violently hastened me to the library for an interview, could only prove to be even more astonishing. Apparently she had been searching for me for some time without success. I do not think that she liked me wandering aimlessly about the house, it disturbed the servants she seemed to think; it unnerved them to have the mistress poking around - they felt as if I were spying on them. Why, I cannot understand, it was a widely known fact that I did nothing to contribute towards the running of the household. At Mrs Reynolds' implications, I turned sharply to look at her, eyebrow raised, though I said nothing. She knew I was not above spying, having caught me the day of my arrival at Pemberley; but it bothered me beyond words that she had so little respect for me that she would voice her opinions out loud.

My son-in-law looked up impatiently at us upon our entrance. “I am sorry, sir, Mrs Darcy took some finding - she was exploring the house again.” He chuckled softly and asked her to bring some more tea, he was sorry she would have to rush around again so soon. When she returned and served the beverage, he thanked her and apologised again.

“Thank you, Mrs Reynolds,” I also said as she handed me my cup. “I hope the servants were not unduly unnerved by you presence in the kitchens.” I smiled at her sweetly, she looked shocked, and he looked puzzled by my comment. It may not have been the most intelligent thing I ever said, but the point carried. It was a widely known fact in the house that the housekeeper and the cook did not get along well with one another. The cook, a temperamental French man, believed himself to be the superior, for he had once worked for an earl. Even once preparing a meal for the Prince Regent, and he liked to brag of how his Highness had sent down his complements on such excellent food. Mrs Reynolds, though the housekeeper, was just a local penniless widow, taken on, the cook believed, more out of charity than for her abilities. Their war over who ruled the servants' quarters had been going on for many years, and Mrs Reynolds avoided the kitchens when possible as a result; a fact which pleased Monsieur Ponsot greatly, for he liked to be left in peace to create his elaborate masterpieces.

With Mrs Reynolds gone, I turned my attention to Darcy, and I noticed dinner menus lying on the desk. He said nothing, just looked at me thoughtfully for several moments; he leaned back in his chair, his head to one side. Would he ever say what he had called me here for me? Eventually he sat up straight again and pushed the paper on the desk in my direction. “I found these amongst my paperwork this morning, and I was hoping you could tell me about them.”

“Well, they are menus.” I stated the obvious.

“And?” What did he want to know? Aggravating man! Would he not just come to the point?

“They are this weeks?” I added with a small degree of uncertainty.

“And?”

“It's a list of food that cook is planning to serve.”

“And?” He looked stern

“I believe you are expected to look over them, change anything if you do not think they are right and give cook your approval.” I felt as though I was about to bubble over with laughter, this was such a curious conversation.

“Wrong!” He declared rather harshly, “Though I am pleased to see that you are actually aware of what you are supposed to do with them, it shall certainly save you some time.”

“You want me to look at the menus?” I could not keep the shocked tone out of my voice, I shall confess to feeling slightly flattered that he at least thought me capable of it. His father had not.

“I assume you have no problem with that.” It was not a question, yet at them same time it was, he was awaiting some response. I did not know how to react; should I just thank him and leave? Should I ask why he had chosen so? Should I ask him why he was contradicting his father's wishes? While I debated the answer to make, he grew impatient, “In the future, Mrs Darcy, I do not expect you to neglect your duties, I certainly do not expect to have to do them for you.” Well, who could help but be infuriated by such a statement? Who did he think he was, telling me what to do? Any gratitude I may have felt quickly seeped away, and once again my resentment of my proud and condescending son-in-law returned with full vengeance.

“I believe sir, that it is your father's decision and not yours.” I said through gritted teeth. I would not lose my temper with him. “I am mistress of this house,” I drew myself up with pride, despite my statement being almost no better than an outright lie. I wished I looked tidier too, but Alice had been ill that morning and I had ended up finishing my hair alone. How was I mistress of Pemberley? “You, on the other hand, are only fulfilling the duties of your father until such a time as he is well again.”

“If you are Mistress of Pemberley, then I would suggest that you begin to act as such.”

“I certainly shall, good day, sir.” I stood up and swiped the menus from the table, marching towards the door. He rose too, following after me and reaching the door before I was even half way across the room. His hand was placed firmly on the handle; clearly he had no intention of letting me out the room.

“Sit back down.” he said quietly. I would have told him no, but looking into his face I saw only an anger that scared me into obedience. Meekly, I returned to my seat. He paced over to the window and stood there for several minutes. I was glad for his silence, for it gave me a chance to repress the tears that were welling up in my eyes. I would not let him see that he had made me cry. I swiped fruitlessly at them for a while. By the time he turned his attention back to me again though, we both, I believe, had such looks of cold determination on our faces, that he would never have guessed he had made my cry.

“That,” he began with an air of calm almost unbelievable given his anger of a few minutes ago. “is precisely the reason that I do not treat you as the Mistress of this place. You act as though you are a spoilt child, storming out of rooms, screaming and shouting, climbing up trees, shirking your duties. You have to be reminded to return calls, you do not see to menus or take care of your accounts. My father allows you to get away with too much. You may not be happy to be here, but I shall remind you that you married my father, you are his wife, and you will act as you are expected.

“Now am I clearly understood?” he concluded, his voice still calm and quiet.

I gulped nervously, somehow it was rather worse than had he shouted at me, but I would not let him know that he had intimidated me, “Yes sir.” I was proud of my ability to look him straight in the eye. In actuality, I was rather nervous of the task allotted to me, as I wished to make a number of changes to the menus, and I knew that Monsieur would throw a fit when he found out. I had already heard a whisper that he had taken a great dislike to me and my palate for leaving so many of his dishes untouched. If I could just get one plain dish at meal times, it would be so much better. I will confess that as little as six months later, Monsieur Ponsot quit our employ saying he could not work for such an uncultured little English girl with no appreciation for his gifts. I heard he went to work at Rosings Park, the home of Lady Catherine; for she of course had the finest taste in everything.

“Good, now Mrs Reynolds shall see you tomorrow to go over the household accounts and introduce you to the servants. I assume that you have no objection to that.” I could tell that my apparent lack of repentance bothered him exceedingly.

“She already did that when I first came here.” I answered simply, “She does not need to do so again.”

“Then why is it that you have not taken over the tasks from her?” He was waiting for some refusal to do so from me.

“I suggest you ask your father.” I smiled sweetly at him.

“I am asking you.” He leaned further forward in his chair, an indication of his implacability.

“Well then I find that I cannot account for his decision that I not be involved in such matters.”

“You mean that it was his decision?” He sounded amazed; clearly he thought I was just refusing to behave as I ought.

“His, and Mrs Reynolds' if I am not much mistaken. She once inferred that she did not need my help as she had been doing such jobs for years.” Was I wrong to say that?

“That makes no sense. Why would she show you, if you would have nothing further to do with it? The only way I can understand it, is that you the refused the role. I wonder what you thought being my father's wife entailed?” I thought him rather rude, the way he was prying for information regarding his father's marriage. I thought back to the last time I had heard the two of them discuss the matter, his father was tight lipped and refused to reveal any of the details of the marriage, I assumed that the situation remained the same, in which case I would not be the one to reveal it. Though perhaps it was time that he heard, for then he may stop simply thinking badly of me alone.

“No, and I cannot account for it either. When I asked him to have Mrs Reynolds show me, I believed that I would be undertaking such tasks only to find that I would not. That was not what I was brought up expecting of marriage. I believe your father was simply acting the part of the bridegroom and catering to his bride's every whim and fancy. But that is just conjecture on my part, sir. You would do better to ask him, for he has never justified it to me.”

He looked confused, but at least he seemed to believe me, despite my confession being only a half-truth. I had my suspicions regarding why I was not permitted to oversee the running of the household, but I was not about to tell him that it was because his father thought me to be so inferior. That was one mortification I was not willing to face. “As I recall it,” I continued, “I was sent clothes shopping with Lady St Vincent instead of having to plan meals.”

“Yes, yes, so you were I was just going over your accounts. In the future, I would prefer it if you organised those for yourself as well. I am sure that you can cope with the figures.” I smiled at this unexpected vote of confidence.

“You do not want to check that I am not a fortune hunter who cannot control her spending?” I asked innocently.

“Clearly you are not, you spend hardly anything. You may go now.” He dismissed me as unexpectedly as he had asked to see me.

What surprised me more, was just as I reached the door, he stopped me from leaving again. “Mrs Darcy?” I turned round to look at him again, “How do you like it here?” I smiled, shaking my head slightly. I had been at Pemberley for several months, yet it was the first time any of the Darcys had even thought to ask me the question.

“It is very beautiful.” I said, and dropping a curtsey, I left the room.

The following morning, I was so busy that I did not have time for a walk. I had briefly stopped by my husband's rooms to ensure that he was comfortable at least, he was still sleeping, and I spoke with Dr Matthews regarding the state of his health. But I was so busy learning the names and roles of the household staff, reviewing menus and getting to grips with the accounts, that I did not even find the time for a walk. It did not bother me in the least. For once, I did not find myself dwelling on the morbid state of affairs my life was in, nor did I miss the companionship of Mr Wickham. In short, I felt a little happier, though I would not say that I was happy.

At teatime, I went and sat with my husband. He was propped up against a mountain of pillows waiting for me. “Elizabeth, where have you been?” he asked. “I have not seen you all day.”

“I came early, but you were asleep. Did Walters not tell you?” I was less inclined to snap at him now, usually I would have felt as though he were criticising me for something I had not done, but that day I had a reason.

“No, oh perhaps he did. But you know how he is; he talks so much I often do not listen to him.” I smiled, I had very rarely actually heard the valet talk beyond a “Yes, madam;” but I had heard from Alice that he certainly liked to talk. He was an old man with many stories to tell. My husband liked him for it, for he liked lively conversation, and Walters had that in abundance. “Where have you been? Tell me about your day.”

“I have been with Mrs Reynolds. She has been showing me the accounts again and introducing me to the servants, at your son's bidding. I went to speak with Monsieur Ponsot too. I think I have offended him, I asked him not to serve ragout at dinner tonight.”

He looked at me with amused suspicion, paying perhaps more attention to me than he had ever done before, “You enjoyed yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You want to have a role in running the house?”

“Yes, sir.” Had he thought then, that I had no interest in the matter? I had never said so; what had made him think that? My behaviour, I do not think, in anyway indicated that I had no interest.

“Forgive me then, Elizabeth, I had thought that you would do better not to be involved, given how opposed to the marriage you were. I thought perhaps it was best if you did not have to have any involvement in the household. Why did you never say anything?”

“Why did you never ask my opinion?” I countered.

He reached out and took my hand, patting it gently, “It seems I have underestimated you, my dear, I shall not do so again.” He smiled, and I smiled back at him. “Now where were we in that book of yours?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that, actually.” I answered laughingly. It was the first completely civil conversation that the pair of us had ever had.

Chapter VIII

Posted on Tuesday, 18 March 2008

“You wished to see me?” I peeked my head around the door of the study with some uncertainty, surprised by the scene that greeted me. There was my son-in-law looking as severe as ever and Mrs Reynolds looking stern and deeply concerned. Perhaps something which ought not shock me, given what I knew of the characters of each. Indeed I should not have been, were it not for the third person in the study. Seated quietly next to the housekeeper and looking tearful sat Alice, my maid. I stepped forward with more concern than I had felt before entering. This was not at all what I had expected. “Alice?” I was by her side immediately; she looked up at me and burst into tears.

I had imagined that I had been summoned forth after my altercation with Monsieur Ponsot the previous day. Pots and pans went flying along with one volume of his beloved Le Nouveau Cuisinier Royal et Bourgeois and freshly cooked velouté sauce ended up on the head of a footman. Sarah had informed me that morning that he was still in a rage about it and was threatening to leave. Apparently that was not what I was doing here; this matter was a clearly more serious. Otherwise, Alice would not be crying her eyes out. “Has the doctor been sent for?” I asked Mrs Reynolds.

“There is not need for one.” Mrs Reynolds stated plainly, not an ounce of pity in her voice for the poor girl.

“No need?” how could she say that? “She has not been well all week and before that, she should see a doctor, Alice why did you not say something, I am sure Dr Matthews could have seen to you before he left yesterday.”

“We will not be needing a doctor for Alice, Mrs Darcy.” Mrs Reynolds repeated more firmly.

“Why?” it sounded petulant to my own ears.

“Alice will be leaving your service as of today.” Darcy spoke for the first time since I had entered the room. His face was closed; I could not read his thoughts at all. Alice cried with even greater earnest than before, and Mrs Reynolds cuffed her around the shoulder and muttered, “silly girl.” Alice continued to sob freely, as the housekeeper simply tutted her disapproval.

“Sarah shall be placed as your new maid; she is a very sensible girl.” Mrs Reynolds added. She was not wrong; Sarah was incredibly sensible and organised. She had been acting as my maid in Alice's stead all week, arriving promptly at nine o clock every morning to wake me up with a cup of tea. My clothes for the day were ready selected and awaited only my approval. In many respects, she was a far superior maid. But I liked Alice, not that Sarah was not a pleasant girl either; she had a very sweet almost motherly nature.

“I appreciate you telling me so,” I began again more politely. I really did mean it. As a rule, I would not even have expected them to tell me of their plans. “But why must Alice leave and be replaced by Sarah?”

“If you do not approve of Sarah, you can interview for your own maid, madam.” My son-in-law said. It seemed he just did not understand.

“No, Sarah shall do very well.” I waved that concern aside. Alice let out a little whimper, and Mrs Reynolds glared at her. I turned to Alice with a smile and took her hand in mine, “Alice, do you wish to leave Pemberley?” perhaps she could tell me what they would not.

“Oh Ma'am… I'm… so sorry, Ma'am.” she sobbed.

“So you should be, you foolish child.” Mrs Reynolds hissed at her. She then turned to me with a look that implied she was not speaking just of Alice, who, if possible cried even harder than she had before.

“Excuse my ignorance, Mrs Reynolds, but perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me just what crime Alice has committed, for I can think of none.” She had always been a very good maid; though she did have a penchant for wild experimentation that often took hours to rectify. That, however, could hardly be considered a sin.

“Alice has herself a follower.” Mrs Reynolds answered, looking me straight in the face. It was a phrase I recognised, but I could not credit it with Alice. She told me almost everything; but apparently she had not trusted me with this.

“Why did you not come and speak to me, or Mrs Reynolds, of it, Alice?” I asked. She should have been well aware that fraternizing would lead to her dismissal. But really, it was unfair, given that she was such a good maid; she was almost exemplary, and I knew how hard such a thing was to come by, no matter how much money you had.

“That is not the worst of it. We would have been lenient with her if that was all; for there has never been a thing we could complain of in her work.” Mrs Reynolds continued.

“Worse?” I queried, what could be worse?

“She says she will not marry him, Ma'am.” Mrs Reynolds added crossly.

“Can't!” Alice wailed, finally adding her own voice to the conversation, only to be swiftly clipped around the shoulder again.

“Well, she possesses the power to choose, I believe.” Feeling that she deserved to be defended in some manner or another, “Though Alice, you ought to have told him before he started calling round. I know it is not always so easy to do, but if you had told Mrs Reynolds, I am sure she could have helped you.” I really though that Alice would have had more sense that the situation implied. But still, just because she would not marry him was not excuse enough.

“I do not think Alice ever had any intention of telling him to leave her be, Mrs Darcy. There is a baby coming, that much is clear.” Mrs Reynolds said stiffly.

“A baby?” I could not believe my naivety. I felt a blush rising. Would it indicate to them the situation of my own marriage? I only hoped that they would be too absorbed otherwise to pay any attention; but my eagle-eyed son-in-law never allowed the slightest thing to escape his attention. I resolved to be composed and not be embarrassed by the talk. “Alice, is this true?” I said in a cold voice that evidently shocked her. It startled me too. She nodded solemnly, the only acknowledgement she was capable of.

Alice was a responsible girl; the oldest of three children at eighteen. Her parents were dead both dead; her father for many years, her mother since Alice was twelve. That was when she had first arrived at Pemberley as a Scullery Maid. It was an unfortunate reversal in fortune for the girls. Their father had been a tailor; their mother had laundered for a little extra money. All three girls had been sent to the Dame School, but beyond that had received little education. Alice was a smart girl though, and had impressed everybody at Pemberley. By the time she was fifteen, she was an upstairs maid in the great house. She had been the natural choice for my ladies maid, though she was not trained for the situation. Nothing of either her character or her history coincided with her current situation.

A woman from Lambton had cared for the two younger girls, and in those years, the familial bonds had frayed. The younger two, now both serving at Pemberley as well, refused to accept Alice's authority as the eldest. Sometimes Alice struggled with her youngest sister, Amy, at that trying age of thirteen. Annie, the middle girl, coddled the youngest, and Alice often felt more like an outsider than a family member. Amy made it no easier either, for she would always do as Annie asked. As the responsible eldest, she was required to be decisive and take control, but she could not. The two younger girls, still angry with their older sister for deserting them, felt that they owed no loyalty to Alice.

Many girls who went into service lived comfortably. With food and board provided, they often spent little of what they earned, only having to clothe themselves and pay for the occasional luxury or entertainment. Anything else would be saved and taken with them upon their marriage. The charity of neighbours had not come without a price. Practically all of Alice's wages had gone towards caring for the two girls. She had nothing to offer a child. And for me, at least, it was hard to forget that.

Her plight, even to my innocent mind, was evident. Even were her sisters to support her and a baby in the same manner she had them, few would be willing to take in an unmarried pregnant girl. Likewise, she would be driven from Pemberley without a reference, and would never be able to find work in another house. The presence of a child alone was enough to discourage any form of charity. It was like keeping a mouse in your house when you did not own a cat, or asking a thief to hold your reticule while you tied a bootlace. It just was not done.

Alice and her child would end up living on the streets begging for their bread; for I knew that she would not marry. I would not see her married to a man she did not wish to wed either. It was her only recourse; the only chance she may have for a better life. Yet she did not want to wed him, and that must count for something. “Who is the man, Alice?” I asked, gently taking her hand. She shook her head and a snort escaped her as she had been trying to hold in her sobs. “Please, you must tell me.”

“I can't.” she said.

“Cannot marry him or cannot tell me his name?” I asked, recalling her comment from earlier. The venom, the determination in her tone; it was as if she been asked to drink all the water from the Thames.

“Both.” She continued to cry; tears of bitter anger though; not tears of pathetic futility, as they had been earlier.

It has been many years now since that morning when I learnt of Alice's plight. In that time I have spoken with other young girls who have found themselves in similar situations. Yet never in twenty-nine years have I experienced in any of these girls the same emotion as Alice. Never have they been so vehemently opposed to the man in question. So utterly hopeless, yet completely unflinching in resolve, a life in the gutter, was to Alice, by far the better of the two fates. Another girl could easily have been talked round, too daunted by the prospect of exile or independence, they would with little persuasion enter a marriage that would make them more miserable, but more respectable. One girl even begged to be married to the father of her child; it did not seem to matter to her that a footman had come to her rescue after her heard her scream. A different solution was found though, as it always was.

Even without the benefit of foresight, I could not tolerate the prospect of seeing her married where she did not wish to be. Perhaps the bitter sting of my own situation was still too fresh. Perhaps I was too young to see the good sense in Mrs Reynolds' chosen course of action. “Alice,” began my son-in-law, who until this moment had been nothing more than an observer in the conversation. He sounded tired and defeated.

“No,” I broke in, coming to the defence of my maid, “if Alice does not want to marry him, then she shall not have to.”

“Do you understand the repercussions of what you are saying?” He looked at Alice, but he was speaking to me, the angry tone was indication enough of that.

Alice answered with a quivering “yes,” before I could attempt a tirade on the repercussions of marrying where she had no desire.

“You ought to have thought of that,” Mrs Reynolds entered the foray once more, “before you committed yourself in such an unsavoury manner.” Mrs Reynolds was not a woman inclined to marriage. She had never wed herself, and in general had the greatest suspicion of all men, with the possible exception of men who bore the name Darcy. My husband was the only man whom she was willing to adopt the moniker of marriage for, as a housekeeper, not a wife. She was married to Pemberley, and she found it the most felicitous of unions.

“I know, Mrs Reynolds, I'm sorry.”

“Then why did you do it, if you knew better?” Darcy asked.

“I thought…” she stopped and sniffed loudly, “I though he loved me, but he didn't. I hate him. Even if you could make him marry me, I wouldn't do it, sir, I'd rather starve on the streets than be married to that brute.”

“Silly girl.” Mrs Reynolds clacked her tongue against her teeth, “It is what they all do. I would have thought you were more sensible than to fall for such a common tale.” With a wry smile, I realised that in fact this sentence was as close to flattery for anybody but a Darcy as I had ever heard the housekeeper speak. Praise shrouded in condemnation.

“No matter, Alice, I am afraid you will have to tell us his name, and you will have to marry him, like it or not.” I looked at my son-in-law with surprise. I had thought him more inclined to listen to her case than that; after all he had taken the trouble hear her tale thus far. Underneath her tearstained red face, Alice turned pale in terror.

“No!” the words tumbled out before I had thought twice, or even once about them.

“Mrs Darcy.” He shot me a warning glare.

“No, she will stay on as my maid. The final decision is mine, after all. Alice shall not be married off to a man she can neither like nor respect, just because she made a mistake.”

“A mistake she would not have made had she had proper guidance.” Mrs Reynolds muttered under her breath. Darcy did not seem to hear it.

“You shall not foist all responsibility at my door, Mrs Reynolds. You are head of the staff; you must claim responsibility for her mistake too.”

“It does not matter who is to blame, it is done now. It cannot be undone.” Darcy spoke calmly in an attempt to diffuse the argument now brewing between the housekeeper and me. It was hardly helpful to the situation we were attempting to resolve, I confess. We had returned to the same point in the conversation as we had been not five minutes before.

“Mrs Darcy, you must see why it is that Alice needs to marry, and why she cannot stay on as your maid.” He turned to me. There was no pleading in his voice; no pity for Alice. It was a tone which brooked no arguments. He was telling me what I ought to think.

“If Alice is prepared to face censure, then so shall I. Alice, come with me.” I got up to leave the room, looking astonished Alice did not even have the opportunity to move before he spoke again.

“Stay where you are, Alice. Mrs Darcy, if you cannot behave in a rational manner, then I am sorry that I even thought to have you involved in this discussion. Alice shall be leaving Pemberley, and more importantly she will marry.”

“I shall speak with your father.” He was, after all, only resting in his rooms upstairs. Almost recovered from his bout of influenza, Dr Matthews had requested only that the patient rest a little more before returning to his duties running the estate.

“By all means, if you must behave so, but he shall tell you only the same as I have.” He sounded dismissive of me, not even looking in my direction. Evidently I was no longer required in the room. That arrogant and presumptuous man!

Only a week before, he had been handing over the household reigns to my care. Suddenly it suited him no longer though. For no other reason than we could not agree, he had taken control off me all over again. The decision was mine. As mistress of the household, the staff was my responsibility and ultimately my decision. In fact, Mrs Reynolds had no right at all to even be involving herself with the hiring and firing of my maid; yet the pair of them together had presumed that much and more. Not only had they dismissed Alice without consulting me, they did not even having the decency to respect my opinion. They had proceeded to hire me a new maid without asking. That was my job. I just would not have it.

I found myself in my sitting room without even realising it. I was so angry; at them, at Alice, at myself. My own behaviour could not be excused either. For all that Darcy had promised me a week ago, I too, had promised him to stop acting a child. Yet there I was storming out of rooms and running to Mr Darcy (not that I had any intention of actually going there). It was little wonder that they were so disinclined to value my opinion. Who would listen to a child? Certainly not Darcy and Mrs Reynolds; it would be like a bricklayer asking a woodcutter how to build a house.

Alice, however, would not marry that man, whoever he was, since she was so disinclined to do so. I could not stomach the thought of condemning her to such a fate, despite my opposition. I would carry my point. Even if she was not allowed to stay on as my maid, there must be some other solution. I would have returned to the room that instant were it not for the arrival of a footman who announced Lady St Vincent had come to call on me. It would have been rude to turn her away; Wednesday was my At Home Day. “Sophie, how well you are looking.” I greeted her with a pleasant smile, and we enjoyed a pleasant visit together; despite the preoccupation of my mind.

When Lady St Vincent left, I had every intention of returning to the study to speak with my son-in-law again, only to find that he had been called away on estate business. Nobody could tell me when he would be expected to return. Indeed, they would not even tell me where he had gone. I wondered briefly if he was just avoiding me. He did not even appear at dinner that evening. My husband had come down, and I was grateful for the company; but he was still easily tired, and after our meal, he returned to his rooms to retire for the evening. I may have gone and read to him, but I was determined not to miss the homecoming of the younger Darcy.

At about nine o'clock there was a knock at the door of my sitting room. I put aside my needlework and bid enter to the visitor. “I do wish, Mrs Darcy,” he began, “that you would not walk away from conversations.” Not a word of apology for his own behaviour. Still, what was to be expected, a sudden revolution of temperament? It was hardly feasible.

“There was little point in my staying. You did not seem inclined to listen to my view on the matter.” I picked up my sewing once again. It almost burnt my hand as punishment - I had to be civil for Alice's sake, so why must I be perverse with him now?

“I do value you opinion. As you said, the final decision rests with you.”

“Then why do you question me?” the words came out as a whine, I wanted to stamp on my foot to silence myself. It was embarrassing really.

“Your intentions are well meaning, I grant you that. But you think of only Alice in this matter, and perhaps yourself.”

“I think of the baby.”

“Do you think of the other servants?” He asked quietly.

“It is not their business.”

“Do you not think of the example you are setting for them? It is an awkward position we are in. Keep Alice on, and it appears we condone her behaviour. Neither you nor I can, I am sure.” On that much at least we could agree Alice's behaviour was reprehensible, but it was a mistake, and mistakes ought to be forgiven.

“Your father once said to me,” I was still hoping to argue Alice's cause, “that it would be easier for everybody to forgive past transgressions for future harmony.” I had thought about that earlier in the afternoon, remembering what he had said to me on the carriage ride to Pemberley in January. In words I had forgiven him, yet I still held the past against him, and living together had certainly not been easy these past few months.

“He is a wise man, my father; but in this instance his wisdom falls short. Letting Alice go is better for everybody. We cannot be seen to be condoning her actions, or every maid here shall find herself in the same situation…”

“You exaggerate.” He was not a man prone to any form of misrepresentation.

“But you understand my meaning; Alice has not set a good example. Why have more than one girl in the same situation?”

“You want to make her a martyr.”

“Now who exaggerates?” He looked cross at my flippancy, but then he never did seem to have the patience for it. He walked over to the window and was silent for many minutes. Though his back was turned and I could not see his expression, his disapproval was evident. Eventually he turned and took the seat next to me on the sofa, instead of standing as he had been.

“You know of Alice's situation? She has no family beyond two sisters on small wages, no money of her own, no home but this one. Her reputation will be ruined. Nobody shall hire a maid of uncertain morals, for no matter what we may say of her, the presence of a child will always contradict that. I will not, I cannot in good conscience just turn her out the house friendless. She would end on the streets.

“It is far better for her to marry the man than that, do you not see that?”

“No, I do not.”

“Her sisters, is it fair to them? They shall always be connected to the unmarried girl with the baby.” It was an argument similar to the one I had heard when my father told me I was to marry Mr Darcy - though I had not even come close to being with child. I lived in relative comfort though, my husband was kind, and nobody could ever call him a brute. In this case, two people had the chance at happiness while two would be destined to misery.

“She is so adamant against him though.”

“She was not at one time.” he argued.

“Do we know who he is?” I asked, for when I had left the room that morning he had been unidentified.

“No, we do not.”

“She will not tell you.” Alice was as stubborn as a mule,that much I had learnt. Though the issues we had quarrelled over had been only trivialities - which bonnet matched which coat best and other similar matters - I had learnt not to argue with Alice; she was not to be moved in matters she felt passionate over. Her current predicament was most definitely one of those situations, more so than any bonnet could ever be.

While I could not fault Alice for not wanting to be married to a man she clearly detested, I could admit it was foolhardy of her to even attempt to raise a child alone when she had utterly nothing to offer. “What if I were to set her up in a cottage on the estate?”

“Would you do the same for every servant who did not wish to marry?”

“If I had to, yes.” I thought him rather uncharitable for asking this.

“But to support her so, it is foolish.” I bristled, but said nothing, the argument was not about me, and for Alice's sake I would keep my temper with him allowing any of his superior slurs on my character to pass unmentioned.

“You are immovable, is marriage her only option?”

“Yes,” he replied slowly, he seemed distracted.

“Yet she thinks him such a man.” I shook my head; he did not even seem to hear the comment though.

“Tell me, are you opposed to her marrying, or marrying a man of whom she now has such a low opinion?” He suddenly seemed alert again. “Mrs Darcy, if I were to find a man, another man, of whom both you and Alice approved, would you then be willing to let her go?”

“If Alice approved, then I would not stop her.”

“It shall cost, of course, but the whole thing could be made to look completely innocent; she shall be safe and respectable.” He broke into a smile, pleased, I supposed, with his own cleverness. “I know just the man.” He said nothing further on the matter, but got up to leave. At the door he turned, “Are you quite content with Sarah, you know you can always interview if you wish?”

“Oh no, why bother? Sarah is as good as any other maid.” I had almost forgotten about that. What did it really matter who my maid was? To be sure I was sorry it was not to be Alice any more. I would miss her company, but now she had other fates awaiting her.

It has been said that many an infatuation has been cured with evidence of a beloved's imperfection. The myth did not hold true with William Wainwright though. A shy and rather unfortunate looking man, he had admired Alice since she was fifteen and he nineteen. He had recently acquired his father's farm - a tenant of Pemberley. A wife could only make his situation complete. He refused to take the hundred pounds that was set aside to waiver her situation. They made a pleasant couple, he doted on his beautiful wife, and she was so grateful to him as to make him quite content. In fact, I believe that she eventually came to love him, for there was no kinder and more generous man to be found that he. They were married within a month, and six months later Lizzy Wainwright was born.

Author's notes:

It was common practice to call a step relative an “in-law” instead in Regency England. So when Lizzy calls FD her son-in-law this is not a mistake.

Mrs Reynolds isn't married, but as a housekeeper she gained the honorary title “Mrs” as opposed to “Miss” this was common practice.

Chapter IX

Posted on Wednesday, 9 April 2008

A tiny black clad foot emerged from the carriage, a black lace veil concealing her face. Shrouded in a coordinating ebony ensemble, she was a most perfect example of widowhood. She remained silent as the grave as she followed Mrs Reynolds into the house. From the upstairs window of my sitting room, I could see quite clearly as her daughters followed behind her. As they looked up at their surroundings, I shrank back from their view. Somehow I found myself dreading seeing them all again. We had not parted on the best of terms; but the meeting was to come, sooner that I would ever have liked and yet later than I would wish too. They were led straight to me in my little yellow sitting room before they were taken to their rooms.

Removing her bonnet, her whole appearance was dramatically altered. The glint in her eye and the smile on her face exposed her true state. She plopped herself down on a sofa without waiting for an invitation. “Well.” She looked around the room, “It's rather small.” I could only hope she referred to the room and not the house, but perhaps she thought ten thousand would bring more than this vast expanse of emptiness in which she was now ensconced.

“Would you like some tea? After being on the road so long, I am sure such a luxury will be welcome.”

“Green?” She sounded excited.

“No, black.” She looked disappointed, yet one was no better than the other.

“Well, would you believe it, your father has gone and died and that wretched Mr Collins and his smarmy son have thrown us out of our own home? I never met a more useless man than your father in all my life. He never would've insisted on you marrying if it weren't for me; and then where would we all be? Huh?”

“Mama…” I began, but found already I did not have the energy for her.

Everything I did seemed to displease her, from the room to the tea, my dress (ordered on very short notice from Lambton, and not fine enough, I suppose) and my manners. Not to mention her and my sisters' rooms. They had been placed in the east wing, not in the family quarters, which displeased her greatly, especially given that the younger girls were to be placed in the nursery with Georgiana. Gradually she looked more and more disappointed with what she was discovering.

I could not help but feel my ire rising. It was lucky for her that I was married, for otherwise we would all have been utterly destitute. When looked at in a prudential light, I had far exceeded my expectations. She had decided that we - Mr Darcy and I - would take care of her. It was, of course, a given, but it made me uneasy that she did not even wait to be invited by us. She simply announced, in the same letter that informed me of Papa's death, that she would be with us within the week. I was not entirely sure how Mr Darcy felt about this unasked for visit. He claimed that he would never deny me my family, but I knew he would only abide them all for so long. Mama though, seemed quite determined to stay.

She was the type of woman who was born for a life of luxury. There was nothing Mama did better than order servants about for her comfort and pleasure. The servants at Pemberley were most happy to oblige her, naturally, for they were nothing, if not efficient. But it made me cringe to see it; the way she ordered them about so freely, as though they were her own servants, and she was not a guest at Pemberley. On the second morning after her arrival, she looked disappointedly as the last breakfast dish arrived, “Are there to be none of those little mushroom shaped meats this morning?”

“You mean Pigeons a la Crapaudine?” Georgiana asked in an impervious little voice; she was never particularly shy of Mama. It was too obvious that the little girl found my mother astonishing. She had thought that nobody, I imagine, could be more uncultured than she had found me. Kitty looked at the younger girl in amazement.

“No, Mama, only on Tuesday.” I told her as I buttered my toast.

“We used to have them more often, but Mrs Darcy insists on only one French dish at breakfast now.”

By the next morning, the little French delicacy had appeared on the table again; for news had, of course, managed to get back to Monsieur Ponsot through Pemberley's talkative staff. His triumph on the occasion, Sarah informed me, was great; only to then hear that he had sent her up pičces montčes before she went to bed. I was rather fond of this little spun sugar treat myself, but he had stopped preparing them, even as just decoration, since I had requested more English dishes at meal times. Mama had him wrapped around her little finger; he was having a love affair with her taste buds. Whatever she desired, it only needed to be mentioned, and it was served. It vexed me greatly that she had usurped me. That she had the French man charmed was an irritation in the extreme.

It was only three days later, while we were all seated in the drawing room taking tea, that she began with further suggestions as to how the household ought to be run. As if changing the dinner menus was not enough for her, “Mr Darcy,” she suddenly called out across the room, “I have been thinking that it is time Lizzy redecorate; your furnishings are outdated.” It was the first time that she had said anything on this subject to me. Perhaps she was trying out a new tactic; fed up with my implacability and deafness to her ridiculous pleas.

“Mama!” I was appalled that she would raise this subject.

“Oh Lizzy, stop fussing so. It is only proper that you change the furnishings.” She folded her shawl carefully about her as she said it.

“There is no need for it.”

“Lizzy you're mistress of a grand house now, you need to act like you are one.”

“I find,” my husband finally decided to enter into the conversation which had been aimed at him, “that Elizabeth runs this house impeccably. I have no complaint to offer with regards to her behaviour.” I am sure he did not mean no complaint; I was far too obstinate in other aspects of our life.

“Besides, Mama, the furniture is comfortable, elegant and in excellent condition,” Georgiana did not scramble over the furniture as my sisters and I had been allowed. “Lady Anne did a remarkable job. I could not pretend to do so well.”

“What will visitors think? They'll think we have no money. I will be ashamed to have them in the house.” Mama cried. I flushed in embarrassment for her and looked towards my husband. He, thankfully, had tactfully pretended not to hear, and with a nod, had resumed reading his paper once again. However, I knew his temperament, and it would not be long before even he would be incapable of tolerating her silliness with pleasantries.

I sincerely hope you do not think that I was becoming too proud for my own family; that I was wrong to be embarrassed by my own mother, and that I did not wish to have them with me. Most certainly it was not that at all; but with my mother behaving as if she owned the place, taking over a role that I had struggled to adapt to for so long with nothing more than a blink, it was hard not to feel resentful. Twenty times a day I had to bite my tongue to keep from yelling out, “Why did you not marry Mr Darcy then?”

Naturally, I would always have invited her to come and stay with us. I would have protected her, even if she were guilty of murder; it was my duty. Besides, I could not bear to see her or my sisters destitute; and no matter what, I loved them. In many ways, I was glad to have them with me again. The noise and laughter in the house made the whole place so much more cheery. It was only Mama's manner of going about Papa's death that troubled me. She seemed not to mourn his passing in the least. She did not wait to be invited (perhaps she should not have), and never showed any gratitude, but continually made suggestions as to what could be improved upon.

We did not mention Papa ever, unless Mama was berating him for something or other. However, in general, she had no reason to complain, she liked her new situation exceedingly. Nor did she ever thank me for my sacrifices, which kept her and my sisters in such comfort now.

Only Lydia had found a cause to complain. She hated that she was not queen of the nursery. That Georgiana had toys, and more importantly clothes that were far nicer than her own, made her greatly envious. That she had to attend classes with Georgiana's governess in the daytime made her angrier. Then there was the shame of finding that while she was only a few months younger than my daughter-in-law, the older girl's education far outstripped her own (and Kitty's too). Lydia had grown up being constantly praised by Mama. She was the cleverest, prettiest girl in the world. Yet for all the self-confidence my youngest sister possessed, she could not fail to notice that Georgiana had the best of everything, and was the best at everything.

In the daytime though, I had Jane for company, and nothing could have made me happier. When we were not with Mama, who was being delivered special treats from Monsieur, we passed our time in the still room making toilet waters and such, or the gardens walking, or the conservatory and hot house tending to the plants. It was almost as if we were back at Longbourn before one disaster after another befell our family.

“Lizzy?” Jane began one afternoon while we were out in the garden, “You know that we are all very lucky to have you and your kindness.”

“It is I who am lucky to have you here with me, Jane; you and all my family.”

“Have you been very unhappy here? In your letters you have not seemed yourself. I know you were unhappy with what occurred; but truly, Lizzy, it does not seem so bad. Mr Darcy seems very kind and Pemberley is lovely. I am sorry for what happened.”

“It is not your fault. I chose this path, it just took some time to adjust, that is all. And now I have you all here with me; nothing could make me happier.” Unless, I added privately to myself, Papa was with us too.

Papa, he was the only thing I regretted now. I could only wish that we had not parted on angry terms. I could only regret that I had not written to him these many months; but regret could do nothing now. It was too late.

My son-in-law had been away for some time in London for the season. His father, on recovering his health fully, had insisted he attend. It was high time, he had said at the beginning of April, that his son started seeking a suitable wife. For the first time in our acquaintance, I began to feel rather sorry for him. I knew only too well the mortifications one endured when a parent's sights settled on ones matrimonial happiness. “I had thought,” I said, trying to keep my face serious, eyes wide and innocent, “that the matter was settled, and he was to marry his cousin, Anne.”

Which of the two was more discomforted by this was unclear for a moment, until my husband said with an equally straight face. “To be sure, Lady Catherine has decreed it, and she is not a woman to be gainsaid. Fitzwilliam, do not bother going to town, there is no point.”

When the younger Darcy opened his mouth, I could not resist interrupting. “What would be the point of it they are formed for each other?” I continued, repeating something I had heard her say to him on her visit two months before.

“To be sure, descended from the same noble lines.” his sincerity seemed evident.

“With great fortunes on either side.”

“Your only misfortune is me… but…” he paused and sighed overtly dramatically, “at least you and Anne are equal in that respect.” Was he laughing at his own supposed failings?

“There could be no match more desirable. Really, sir, unless you wish to bear the brunt of your Aunt's `most serious displeasure,' then there is no need to journey to town.” I imitated the grand dame herself. Darcy seemed about to protest, squirming uncomfortably in his seat; but before the opportunity arose, my husband could contain his mirth no longer and laughed boisterously.

“Elizabeth, we must not tease the poor boy so on a matter so important.” he addressed me, still chuckling. For a while, he laughed at the idea of his son marrying Anne de Bourgh, but he was still intent on his son making a dazzling match to some wealthy and connected society beauty.

So Darcy had journeyed forthwith to the great cattle market of town to seek out a suitable bride. Naturally, he returned empty handed, but then there was always next year, or the year after, or the year after that. He was a man not particularly inclined to marriage, or it may just have been that his standards were beyond exacting. I would wager though, that on his return, he regretted his choice instantly. Nothing could march a man to the altar more quickly than my mother. It was either retreat or surrender from her attack. She was throwing poor dear Jane in his path before his horse was even up the driveway.

Without waiting to be introduced to her by either his father or me, she rushed forwards and took his arm, “Ah so you're Mr Darcy's son, arrived from London; goodness how tall you are!” I instantly blushed and looked down and my shoes. Jane, standing next to me, tightened her grip on my arm, the only indication of her own discomfort. “Well, I'm certain you've heard all about us. I'm your Grandmamma Bennet,” Oh please no; could this be any worse? “and over there is my eldest daughter, Jane. She is a beauty, is she not, I doubt you found any girls as pretty as her in town, come Jane, come and meet your new…” She seemed to flounder here; `nephew' would have sounded too incestuous even for her.

“Mama, I am sure Mr Darcy is weary after his ride, and would far rather come inside and rest.” Jane sounded serene and unconcerned.

“Oh, of course, goodness yes, come inside, dear. Lizzy, ring the bell for tea. Whatever were you thinking? And have it sent to the blue sitting room.” She remained attached to him like a limpet, and dragged him inside, forgetting to even introduce Mary. I would have felt sorry for him, had he not appeared so disdainful of her attentions.

With us all adjourned to the blue sitting room and tea served to everyone, tea which she had insisted that Jane actually serve (as though she were the hostess's daughter), she began her tirade of chatter again. Thankfully, by this point, she had managed to regain some semblance of calm. “So, I am sure that you have heard that Mr Bennet has gone and died. He does so love to vex me.”

“I am sorry for your loss, madam.”

“Oh yes, my losses, they have been great indeed. Really I don't know what was wrong with Mr Bennet entailing Longbourn on that wretched illiterate cousin of his, and depriving our girls of their proper inheritances. Still, we are all come to live here now, and it has worked out very nicely.” Neither Jane nor I attempted to correct her. We had tried many times to explain why Mr Collins had inherited the estate, but all to no avail. “If it was not for Lizzy, we would have all been thrown out to starve in the hedgerows and fend for ourselves, oh if only we had been able to have sons! Lizzy, you are a lucky woman, you don't know how lucky you are; such a fine son you already have.” She looked at him with a sudden degree of suspicion, terrified that he too might one day inherit and banish us.

Her attention once again returned to forwarding a match between my sister and my son-in-law. She had security, but now she wanted some insurance; insurance that she would not be left penniless and homeless again. She was content to stay at Pemberley forever. He remained silent, staring into his coffee with an angry frown. “I have five girls, you know, aye but Lizzy must have told you so,” (actually I do not think I ever had), “Jane, she is my eldest, and by far the most beautiful. Do you not agree, Mr Darcy?” She looked on this occasion to my husband, as opposed to the younger Mr Darcy, for a response.

“Even the angels are envious of Jane's beauty, I am sure.” He acknowledged with an easy grace that can only have come from spending years in the highest of circles at court.

“Indeed they are. She shall make an excellent match, I am certain. Two years ago, a young man at my sister's house in town wrote some very pretty verses on her, but it all came to nothing.”

“And that put an end to it.” I suddenly found the courage to interrupt her constant flow of embarrassment. “There is nothing more effective than poetry in driving away love.” I spoke at the same quick pace my mother used, terrified that she would find an opportunity to interrupt if I were to pause for breath, “I wonder who first discovered it?”

“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Darcy,

“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may, everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”

“Oh Lizzy, how you do run on. You would have never have married if it had been left to you. Chasing all the men away with your wild notions. It is all your father's fault, I tell you. Now Jane, Jane is a good girl. Jane would never be as impertinent as Lizzy is, Mr Darcy.” She once again renewed her attack with vigour. “Such a dear, sweet girl, so obliging.”

“Mrs Darcy, how is your music coming along? I should like to hear your progress.” He was clearly desperate for anything to distract Mama; as if he had ever been interested in hearing me before. He knew I hated exhibiting. He knew that I never practiced. Still, I hoped at least it would save Jane from mortification.

“Of course, though I have not practiced properly. Jane,” I turned to my sister who looked as if she had paid no mind to the conversation that had passed, “shall you come and turn pages for me?” Jane naturally obliged willingly, good-natured soul that she was. Mama managed to sit in silence for the duration of my song at least, swaying slightly, very out of time to the tune.

She began again as soon as it was over. “Lizzy does not play so well as Mary, my other daughter over there, Mr Darcy,” she finally managed to introduce another of her daughters to his attention. Poor Mary, until this moment she had been almost completely invisible. “Mary, go on, play, play for the gentleman.”

Mary was ever happy to oblige. It had been made clear to her throughout all our younger years that she was not a pretty child. She was shy and withdrawn, with an air of disinterest that annoyed many. However, she was only too happy to display one of her accomplishments, for she toiled harder over them than my other sisters, and I had never bothered with her education. She stood up and made her way to the pianoforte. Mr Darcy rose a few seconds later, “Oh, shall you turn pages for Mary? Oh! How very obliging of you!” Mama looked as though she had been given the world.

“Excuse me.” He bowed curtly and left the room.

Continued in Next Section

© 2007 Copyright held by the author.

The Family Circle ~ Section III

By Eleanor

Beginning, Section II, Section III

Chapter X

Posted on Tuesday, 29 April 2008

Mama had taken Jane shopping into Lambton. She needed some new gowns, for none of hers were particularly fine. “Mourning or not, there are still men in this world.” Mama had said when I reminded her that Jane would have no need for finery. “I do not know what your father was thinking going and dying on us all like that; really I do not. Jane is already eighteen. Next year she'll be nineteen, and then where shall we all be? Huh? Only girls like Charlotte Lucas are not married at nineteen. Your sister is far too beautiful to end her days as an old maid. Why, I was married to your wretched father when I was just seventeen. Of course, why would you care, you are just like your father, only ever thinking of yourself. I suppose it does not matter if your sisters are married or not.”

“Mama, you can hardly afford to be spending money of frivolities.” I argued.

“I haven't any idea of what you speak. Frivolities indeed. A new dress is for your sister's own good.”

“She has no need for a good evening gown though, she shall hardly be going into society. It would be most scandalous.”

“What do I care for that?”

“Last time I checked, you cared a great deal.” I spoke with immense bitterness.

“Besides,” she completely ignored my comment, “there's that fine son of yours. He would be just perfect for my Jane, so tall and handsome; and only think, heir to all this. What a fine thing it would be. And you too, Lizzy, could do with some new gowns. Those are too small, you must have grown two inches since we arrived, not to mention it is about time you had some corsets made; why we could have used you for a table before you married. But really, I cannot see why Jane should not have some pretty gowns for the evening, you are most unfair on us all.”

“Mama, I really do not think…”

“You are just jealous of your sister taking over from you after your husband dies. Really Lizzy, you are the most selfish and unfeeling of daughters; not buying a new gown for your sister. He has already seen her at least twice over in what little she does own. How could you be so selfish when you have all of this, not to share your wealth with us.”

“Not to…”

“Come along, Jane. Lizzy, I shall be adding to your account.” With that parting comment she grabbed Jane's hand and tugged her out of the room. Twittering something about lace or a new bonnet, or maybe it was lace on a new bonnet. I sighed. Honestly, I had never met a woman more determined and stubborn than my mother. From the moment Jane had turned fifteen, she had practically nothing but thoughts of marriage in her head; only occasionally interrupted by the distraction of lace and gowns and some new ailment or another.

Jane turned as she left the room, giving me a pleading glance. Whether in apology or desperation, I could not decide. She would not say anything, for she hated to displease anybody, and was well aware that while I tried to curb Mama and her spending, I did not mind sharing my wealth with my family. Whereas, were Jane to deny Mama, she would never hear the end of it.

I took up a letter that had arrived for me that day from Charlotte Lucas and began perusing it. She retold all the gossip from Meryton, none of which was particularly interesting, and would have been even less so to a person who was unacquainted with the residents of the area who she told me of. Beyond one interesting scrap of information regarding the son of the new Master of Longbourn, William Collins, a young man of twenty, recently returned from Oxford for the summer. She told me of his pretensions of grandeur and how he loved nothing better than to talk of how he ran the estate for his illiterate and idle father.

“…My Dearest Eliza, were you to search all the world over twice, you should certainly find no man like Mr William Collins, so absorbed in his own self worth, so utterly enchanted by himself, and yet with so little so offer the world. He pays me no attention at all. I am, after all, nothing to him, and cannot be worthy of his notice, for he has a certain fondness for pretty girls. We had all expected there to be an announcement before your family left, yet none was forthcoming, and now he has eyes for nobody but the eldest of the Watson girls…”

I put the paper down, bemused. From what she implied, young Mr Collins had taken a fancy to Jane, but nothing had been announced. Perhaps it had been Mary though; what had Mama been playing at? I could only imagine that she had refused to leave her room, and as such, had failed to notice such an apparently eligible suitor was right on her doorstep. He was, after all, the heir to Longbourn. Pemberley was undoubtedly the greatest of consolations to her, for I had seen nothing of despair since her arrival. No indeed, just that morning she had spoken of writing to her sister Philips to invite her for a visit. My husband had glanced up from his newspaper, but said nothing in response to that announcement. I was still wondering if he had expected me to gainsay her.

With a shrug, I turned back to Charlotte's letter. “Lizzy, Lizzy!” Lydia and Georgiana burst into the sitting room both holding firmly onto a doll, Emma Annamaria Fitzwilliam Darcy to be exact. “Lizzy!” Lydia pronounced stoutly, “Tell Georgiana that she has to share her doll with me.”

“She is my doll.” Georgiana protested loudly. I thought it rather unfair of Georgiana, for truthfully she had little interest in the doll, certainly she had asked for it for her birthday, but eleven was really a little too old for a doll, and mostly she just sat in a chair in the nursery. As to Lydia, well she wanted anything and everything.

“Girls, where is Mrs Robinson? You ought to be at your lessons with her.” Lydia stuck out her tongue.

“It is her day off today.”

“Then where is your nurse?”

“Anna is so stupid!” Lydia said, “She says that the doll is Georgiana's. I don't see why! Mama says that you have to share everything with us now because we are so poor and you are all so rich. That means that Georgiana should let me play with the doll.”

“She is mine.” Georgiana protested with a scowl crossing her brow. She was as good as an only child and had never had to share anything in her life before the arrival of my sisters, who knew nothing of the luxuries of her life.

I sighed. “Georgiana, it is very selfish of you not to share your toys with Lydia; she has not as many as you. Why not swap your dolls for a while?”

“Her toys are so boring.” Georgiana protested. I thought of the old rag doll with the wooden head that had been mine until I turned ten and it was handed down to Lydia. Polly had lost an eye, only had one other dress, and her stomach was all stitched up after Lydia had hit Kitty with her one evening because Kitty had not wanted to swap dolls with her. I could not help but feel a stirring of resentment that Georgiana thought so little of Polly, who had been my favourite companion for many years.

“Lydia,” I turned to my sister. “You should not demand toys, it is not polite, you should wait to be offered.”

“See,” Georgiana gloated, “I told you Anna was right.” I opened my mouth to protest the statement, but Lydia, tired of hearing what she did not like, took matters into her own hands.

“Give her to me!” she insisted with an mighty tug. Georgiana very nearly lost her grip, but was quick to regain her footing, as she was the larger of the two girls.

“No, I will not!”

“Give her!” I watched as Emma was tugged between the pair of them.

“Girls, stop it now.” Both of them, as ever, failed to pay any mind to my authority. My sister never listened to anybody if it did not suit her, and my daughter-in-law had no time for anything that I had to say. “If you do not stop, you will go to bed with nothing but bread and water to eat.” They continued to ignore me. “Lydia, Georgiana, stop.” I cried futilely. I had utterly no experience with childrearing and teaching them obedience.

With one gigantic tug and the horrifying sound of tearing cloth, Georgiana fell backwards, hitting her head against the edge of a small table, the leg of her doll still held tightly between her fingers. Lydia looked on without remorse, and only seemed disappointed on finding that her hard won prize was no longer intact, a few moments later, she dropped it disinterestedly to the floor. Georgiana did not move from her spot or utter a word. I watched as the blood drained from her face. As I stood to pick her up, she lifted her hand to the back of her head, and upon finding a little blood on her hand, promptly burst into tears. Lydia rolled her eyes at the sight; she and Kitty often fought boisterously, and both had received worse injuries than Georgiana's tiny cut, or at least so she thought.

I knelt down next to the injured child, placing my hand on the back of her head and pressing her hot face into my shoulder, “Sshh Georgiana, it is not so very bad.” I tried to tell her, she only cried harder, I was not surprised that she did not believe me, for I sounded none to certain.

“I… wa…want Anna.” She sobbed between short breathes.

“Lydia,” I called to my sister, who was slinking out of the door quietly. She stopped dead and turned to me, looking like a startled deer. It was not the time to reprimand her for her behaviour however. “run and fetch Anna, please.” Lydia scuffed her foot along the carpet, “Now, Lydia.”

She certainly took long enough finding Anna, a task that was hardly difficult, given she would only be in the nursery with Mary and Kitty. When I asked her later about it, she simply shrugged and said she forgot because Mary and Kitty had been arguing over some thread and distracted her. It was hardly a very good excuse, but Lydia was so self-centred, it was hardly surprising that she showed no concern for Georgiana.

Anna, when she did arrive, took Georgiana into her capable hands and sat the little girl down on one of the sofas, whispering soothing words to her despite her continuing to bawl. She sent me to retrieve some lotions and bandages from the housekeeper, who upon hearing what had happened, decided that her presence was required too. As she was more experienced than young Anna, who had only been taken on as a result of the sudden influx of little girls in the house. Old Mrs Bird spent too much time dozing in her chair by the fire to manage four rambunctious children. She was only kept on out of loyalty, she had served the family since Miss Eveline (my husband's sister) had been a small child, and she had been elderly when she arrived.

Naturally, the patter of feet, and voices along the corridors, along with Georgiana's heaving sobs were never destined to remain undetected. “What is all the clatter?” boomed my husband as he came out of the study door. I stopped breathing and quickly surveyed the scene of disarray before me, but there was nothing to be done about it. We all stopped, except for Georgiana, who did not appear to notice anything but her current situation. At the threshold of the sitting room, he paused, “What in God's name is going on in here?” He looked to me for an explanation.

Georgiana was quicker though, she struggled out of Anna's lap and shrugged her head away from Mrs Reynolds deft fingers. “Lydia broke my doll, Papa.” she laced her hands around his middle and looked up at him with watery eyes, “And Mrs Darcy was mean to me and made me hurt my head.”

To parents, their child is the lieutenant of heaven.

Therein lies one of the greatest problems. For if every parent believes this, then every child ought to be beyond reproach.

You can, I imagine, perfectly predict Mama's reaction when she returned from Lambton with Jane to hear that her favourite child had been locked in the nursery bedroom alone for breaking Georgiana's doll. Especially on hearing that Georgiana, who was in some ways at fault too, had escaped with no punishment at all. She did not even receive a sharp word of caution from her father. “And you, Lizzy?” she suddenly turned upon me too, “Why have you not said anything to that spoilt little madam? Oh, I knew from the moment we arrived that she would be trouble. All that clinging to her father and acting like the cat had her tongue. I knew it was all an act. She'll have us thrown out of the house in no time at all, you mark my word.”

“Mama,” Jane placed a soothing hand on her arm, “I am sure that is not Georgiana's intention. She is just not so used to sharing as Lydia and Kitty. You must admit it would be very new and overwhelming to her.”

“No,” I agreed despite myself, “she is not at all inclined to it.” I thought of her resentment towards me, and I knew that it stemmed from nothing more than her dislike that I had somehow or another stolen away her father's affections from her. I knew for certain that after today's fiasco, she wanted nothing more than to turn him against me. Her every little manipulation in the past had without fail provoked an argument between her father and me, which was undoubtedly followed by days of resentment on my part and disinterestedness on his. Today would no doubt be just such another occasion.

But Mama, she took it to entirely new levels. While I silently stewed, revealing no outward signs of real displeasure, Mama sat sulkily toying with her soup spoon at dinner, letting the liquid trickle off the spoon and into the bowl repeatedly. I could only be grateful that she had thus far chosen to hold her tongue, for I did not know if I could bear another argument that day.

My husband sat in silence, still wearing his gloves. As though he were dining with strangers.

My head ached after the confrontation that had occurred between my husband and me earlier that afternoon. Shakily, I took up my glass of water and sipped at it.

Two pairs of eyes watched me across the table. Jane was the first to break the uncomfortable silence between the five of us. “Lizzy, I was wondering if we might begin the rose water tomorrow?”

“I would imagine so, Jane. I am wanted about some linens first, but I shall come and find you afterwards.” Poor Jane found herself aiding me in carrying out a conversation with three completely silent dining companions. Only occasionally did Mama interrupt us, still on her soup with the rest of us almost finished, as she made what she believed to be a subtle dig at my husband. He ignored her, though I could tell from his face that he was becoming angrier and angrier as the meal continued. I have never been so glad to withdraw from the gentlemen as that day; there had never been a meal more intolerably uncomfortable.

This was not how I had imagined it, I thought for the umpteenth time that day as I picked up a book. I flipped it open at the marker I had left the day before, but found it impossible to concentrate even a fraction of my attention on the words before my eyes. When Mama wrote, announcing her intentions of living with us, I could not deny feeling concern at her presumption that my husband would happily provide for her. Along with that though, was a sense of relief to have her and my sisters come to Pemberley for good; five friendly faces, as opposed to two frosty companions and a husband so whimsical in his pleasantries.

I put the book to the side and picked up some embroidery instead.

Today's events proved that it was not a comfort though. The arguments were just a handful of a thousand such disagreements of a similar bent: petty disputes, the sorts that occurred between my sisters and I had frequently occurred at Longbourn, but the frequency was wearing. It was almost as if along with my dresses, I had out grown my family.

The needle pricked sharply into my forefinger.

I looked up guiltily, suddenly struck by the horrendous thought that somebody would be able to read my thoughts. Mama was muttering to herself, likely about my husband or Georgiana. Jane sat quietly at the table, playing with a pack of cards. She yawned absentmindedly. My husband and his son were nowhere to be found.

“That Georgiana is a piece of work.” Mama looked up and spoke finally, “Her father spoils her, you know. It is all his fault. Your Father and I never treated you girls in such a useless manner, you know. Just look at how well you have all turned out, such dear sweet creatures, even you, Lizzy.”

Had the Darcy Pride, which had revolted me so much, oozed into my own character? How could I be so heartless towards my family, my real family, as to wish them gone, as to wish them to be different to what they were? Why could I not be more welcoming to them all?

Mama did not use me entirely for her own benefits. She had always done what was best for me, or what she thought was best, and for the other girls too. It was only there that our opinions differed. I knew that one of us would have to marry well. I had always selfishly hoped that such a fate would not befall me, but what of my other sisters? When I once told Jane to, `take care to fall in love with a man of good fortune,' I had in fact been half-serious, despite the jest in my tone. One of us needed to marry well, for the likelihood of five sisters of neither connections nor fortunes all being settled even moderately comfortably was about as possible as the sun rising in the west.

Her fearsome endorsement of marriage between Mr Darcy and me had secured the future of six otherwise destitute women. Should I not have made that sacrifice willingly? I thought of Alice, who had worked like a slave to care for her younger sisters - what a humiliation and downfall it must have been for her as a scullery maid, though she had borne it with grace and fortitude... for her sisters.

“Lizzy, are you well?” Jane interrupted my reverie.

“Yes, quite well.” It was, after all, only a mere trifle of a headache.

Yet here I was, wishing my family away. Embarrassed by them. Angered by them. Annoyed by them. All when they needed me most of all.

It was impossible to know where I stood amongst all this tension. My new family clearly wanted as little to do with my connections as possible. My husband struggled to maintain his resolution of fortitude. Every day, I could perceive his growing impatience with my mother. He was pleasant to Jane, but paid little attention to the other girls. Georgiana constantly bickered with my sisters and told tales to her father, governess and nursemaid, of them as she did with me. And to the son, well he had observed my mother for a whole half an hour, and now avoided us as assiduously as was possible, and spoke even less frequently than civility allowed.

Because of this, I seemed to feel ashamed of them all in a manner I never had before now. Truthfully, Mama and her exuberance had never sat well with me, but the utter mortification that I felt now was unjust. She behaved no worse than at any other occasion. She was at least politer than their relatives had been when they visited in January. Her excitability had served her well in the past; her liveliness had captured my father's attention once upon a time. Why should it fail her in her quest to see her daughters well settled?

I could not protect one without offending another. The Darcys were ungracious, to be sure, but it terrified me that if I reprimanded them for it, then I would return to being treated as I had in the early days of marriage, viewed as an outsider, an inferior. But Mama and my sisters needed me. They needed me to take care of them. Without me, they would all be in the hedgerows. Could I not be a little more understanding of their plight? Why was I angered at them? It was not their fault, after all. It was nobody's fault that we were all in such disarray. Nobody would have imagined that Papa would catch a chill and die. Nobody could have foreseen twenty years ago that the Master of Longbourn would not father a son.

Why had I not written to him? All those months, and not one word to him? Not one word had passed between us since the eve of my wedding, and they had been the bitterest and most resentful of words.

“Lizzy?” Mama sounded panicked. “Lizzy? Whatever is the matter, girl?” Jane rushed over to my side, followed closely by Mama, “Oh, I'll have somebody fetch my salts. Come now, Lizzy, what is all this about? Do you feel faint?”

Dazedly, I shook my head, lip trembling as I tried to hold in the sobs that had suddenly overcome me.

“There now, Lizzy, do calm yourself down,” she flapped her handkerchief in my general direction as Jane pressed my hand, “The servants will hear you carrying on like that. Whatever will they think of you?

“Jane, fetch some wine.” Mama took command with a fervour that surprised me into a few moments of silent shock, she held the wine to my lips until the glass was empty. I hiccupped.

“There now, what are you playing at, Elizabeth? You mustn't let Mr Darcy see you like that; your father never came to my room when I was nervous and trembling.” She clucked about me in her usual abrasive manner.

She and Jane accompanied me upstairs and dressed me for bed, Jane brushing out my hair as she used to. Mama would not have Sarah called. Before they put me to bed, tucking the covers tightly around me as if I were a swaddled baby, she kissed my forehead and smoothed my curls across my forehead as she had on her infrequent visits to the nursery when I was a child. Jane remained, a concerned look creasing her usually serene brow. She said very little, and only left when I assured her I was well and just wanted to sleep.

“Elizabeth?” I heard his voice tentatively on the other side of my bedroom door. He tapped lightly and then opened the door without being bid entrance. I lay still, carefully regulating my breathing. A more difficult task you cannot imagine, he had never been in my room before. He had once said that he would never enter them; yet here he was. The bed dipped slightly as he sat on the edge. It took all my effort not to shrink back. “Elizabeth?” I was too exhausted to speak to him. After our explosive argument that afternoon I did not want to. “Your mother says you are unwell. I… I just …” he paused and let out an exasperated sigh, “Are you asleep?” I did not answer, “Elizabeth?”

His hand reached out and rested for just a second on my shoulder before removing it. He was still wearing his gloves. He struggled to stand again; his leg must have been bothering him. I could hear his soft tread retreating along the carpet before the door to my chamber clicked shut as he left.

Chapter XI

Posted on Monday, 12 May 2008

“May I speak with you when you have finished?” My husband asked as he rose from the breakfast table the next morning. His voice was unreadable. Georgiana eyed him carefully, half focusing on her plate, trying to assess his tone. The others paid him little mind at all. Mama was too engrossed in a piece of cervelas to pay any mind, and Jane was never of a suspicious nature. My other sisters were amusing themselves and paid no mind to the adults at all. My son-in-law was gone already. I swallowed some poached egg.

“Very well.” I knew I would be unable to avoid him any longer; though it did not stop me from dawdling over my breakfast for as long as possible and taking the girls back to the schoolroom myself, rather than having Anna take them.

My husband was the most impossible of men to judge. When I thought he would do one thing, he would do quite the opposite. When I thought he would never do something, then he would most certainly go and do it. He was more unpredictable than snow in July. So just when I expected him to speak to me of my behaviour yesterday, he turned around and said quite another thing, “Tell me what it is you want.”

“I…I,” what exactly did I want?

“You are unhappy again, Elizabeth. You had seemed much improved in spirits these past months, and now you are miserable again.”

“No,” I could not bring myself to look him straight in the face. Nor could I bring myself to speak the truth. That was practically akin to blasphemy.

“Elizabeth…”

“My father has just died. What do you expect of me?” Once again I found myself snapping back at him.

“There is no call for intemperance.” His tone remained so calm, so unmoved, that it rankled even further. Why did he call me here, just because he felt it was his duty? “I was concerned, that is all.”

“Well, now you know. May I go please?” I stood up. He shrugged his consent, clearly as baffled as ever by me, and went back to the papers he had been reading when I came in.

I rushed outside, stomping angrily through the gardens and into a wooded area, startling a group of gardeners who barely had time to remove their hats or tug on their forelocks before I had whistled by them like an angry north wind. The youngest of them, just a lad, seemed surprised and opened his mouth before receiving a swift clip around the ear from the senior gardener who was in charge of them all. “It ain't your place to talk of `em.” He muttered in a wheezy voice, pulling out his pipe and stuffing it with tobacco.

I carried on, not caring that as soon as they were gone they would be talking amongst themselves as though the King had just gone by. It would be in the kitchens within the hour, another sign of discord amongst the master and mistress. Servants' halls thrived on discord. I supposed I ought to be pleased that the argument between Mr Darcy and me would give them something to talk of for days. The maids all found a certain thrill at whispering about such goings on behind Mrs Reynolds' back. It was something like sneaking a forbidden treat to your room and eating it in the dead of night. You found twice the pleasure in it.

I continued to mutter to myself of him as I walked. Well, of them all really. But eventually my conscience intervened, berating me firmly for my behaviour. Once again, I had caused an unnecessary argument. He was only trying to keep the peace and keep my happy - though he ought to have realised by now that it was an impossible feat. I was not intended for such joy.

Again I had childishly walked away because fate was not destined to be on my side. They would never learn to either accept or respect me if I continued on in such a manner. I could only be grateful that this time, at least, I had not slammed the door shut behind me.

Acting as a married woman when I was all but a child was an incomparably difficult task. Women married all the time without love, but I had always imagined that it was of their choosing and with some degree of affection or awe for their chosen partner. A more unwilling couple than Mr Darcy and me could not be found. That was not an excuse now; not after six months of marriage. We had plenty of practice behind us; we ought to be capable of portraying our roles with more acumen.

I ought to be slower to defend myself. It irked me though, that he might think badly of me. A confession of uncharitably towards my mother and sisters would be just the thing to do that. I hated that he might think badly of me. I had to live with him after all, there was no escaping that. Whatever he may think of my mother, and it was becoming clearer and clearer that he had no particular regard for her, I could not outright say that I wanted her gone. He would never make the proposal either, for he was too generous a man. Anxiously, I twisted my wedding ring around my finger.

If they had to go then, perhaps I could propose I go with them. No, that would never work, the scandal… He would never allow it. Yet I thought it would make no difference if I were here with him and his children or elsewhere with my mother and sisters. The material point was we could not all live, even in contentment, under the same roof.

Exhausted, and some miles from the house now, I sat down on a wall and took my slippers off; it was a warm day. I rolled my quandary over in my mind, desperately seeking a solution. But no matter how long I sat there pondering it; I could not seem to reach a solution. There were locked doors at every turn. If I admitted to wanting them gone, then I would anger Mr Darcy, not to mention Mama would be devastated; it would be nothing short of cold and unfeeling. I could not leave with them for fear of scandal, besides he would never allow it. But we could not all stay under one roof together. What was to be done?

“Mrs Darcy!” a man, some distance away on a horse, called to me. It was my son-in-law. He drew closer and dismounted, “You know you really do need to stop running off like that.” Once again he was berating me for my behaviour. I said nothing. He pushed himself up onto the wall next to me with agility and handed me my bonnet and a peach, he pulled out of his pocket. “My father asked me to find you. He was worried.”

I lifted my head slightly in recognition, but said nothing. “Eat it, and then you have to come back to the house.” Obediently I took a bite of the peach he had handed me. It was not quite ripe, and the crunch echoed loudly through the still air. The sound of me chewing made the impenetrable silence more uncomfortable than ever.

“Do you miss your father?” he suddenly asked.

The gall of him! We had hardly exchanged ten words since his return from town; I had been too angered by his rudeness to Mama and Jane when he arrived. Nor had we ever been on intimate terms. “Did you not miss your mother?” I responded, my tone sweet, with no implication of criticism. He did not seem offended by the question, nor did he answer for some minutes.

“In some ways it was a relief.” he answered carefully.

“Had she been ill for long then?” I asked curiously; nobody had even told me much of Lady Anne Darcy.

“No,” he let out a little laugh of shock, “no, she was the picture of health. It was a chest cold.” he smirked a little, “Though she had the finest pair of lungs of anybody I know.”

“Then did you not love her?” It slipped from my mouth before I even thought of the impropriety of it.

“Of course I did,” he looked at me sharply, “she was my mother. You love your family because they are your family, it does not matter who or what they are.” Funny, this did not seem to extend as far as my mother and sisters.

“So…” I pressed on, trying to make sense of his riddle.

“Has my father ever spoken to you of our mother?” he asked.

“No,” I felt a sinking feeling, “it would hardly be proper.” Now he would not tell me either. I swung my legs back and forth against the wall. He remained silent for a few moments. Pensive. I suppose he was trying to decide how to start.

“They were… no.” He stopped again. He was struggling to explain delicately, yet I appreciated his honesty.

“You need not tell me.” I said gently, feeling disappointed that I would not receive the insight that I had hoped for. “I know that Georgiana was very fond of her.” I thought of how the little girl had hated me for trying to take her mother's place.

“No. No she never met our mother. Georgiana was all but three when our Mother passed on, and she was still away with her nurse.”

“And you?”

“I was fifteen, away at Eton.”

“You were not called home to see her then?” I could not help but pry, for he had aroused my curiosity.

“It was, as I said before, most unexpected, there was no time for father to send for me.”

“Do you wish you had been able to see her before she died?” I thought, thinking of my own deepest regret.

“She and I were not close; she was not an affectionate mother. I saw her but infrequently as a child.” He stopped for a second, “You would have liked to have seen your father, yes?”

For a second I did not answer, my throat was constricted and my eyes blurred with tears, “We parted badly; I had not spoken with him since January. The last thing I said was… was that I hated him.” I barely whispered the last part.

“You would be surprised how similar love and hate truly are. They are both extreme opposites of one another, and yet to hate, you must love, otherwise it is nothing more than dislike or even indifference.”

I looked away, embarrassed at just how deeply personal the conversation between us had managed to become. I threw away the peach stone and watched it carefully as it arched into the air before dipping and falling aimlessly behind a bush. I cleared my throat in discomfort. “I am glad your mother's illness was of short duration.” I reverted back to the previous topic, just to fill the air with something.

“Yes, it was a relief to us all.”

“But you said you were not there. That you knew nothing of it.” I persisted. “Whatever can you mean by it all?”

“I mean, Mrs Darcy, that my mother and my father had an intense dislike of one another, not a hatred; and their constant arguing made for difficult lives for the rest of us.”

I sprung down off the wall and turned to in the direction of Pemberley again, “Where are you going?” He sounded puzzled by my sudden action.

“To speak with your father. I shall see you at dinner, I imagine.” And off I ran. Leaving him, I could only imagine looking utterly astonished, watching my retreat, still sitting on the old stone wall.

Clarity was quick to come after that, and by the time I had reached the house, a plan had been formulated in my mind. Suddenly it did not appear anywhere near as terrible to admit that I thought my mother ought not live at Pemberley. We would likely all be a lot happier. Well, Mama may not be initially, but the prospect of her own home would likely become an inducement that she would relish above all the temptations of Pemberley.

With a light step, I sprung up the stairs to the entrance of the house. I did not linger, quickly rushing to my husband's study, not even pausing to knock or contemplate the consequences of our earlier conversation. He and old Mr Wickham were deep in discussion over some boundary disputes between a pair of tenants. “Can it wait until Mr Wickham and I are done, Elizabeth.” It was not a question, or even a request. It was an order. I felt my cheeks flush with colour, but what ought I expect other than a reprimand? I nodded slowly and went to wait in my sitting room until my presence was acceptable to him.

I was left in my sitting room for hours waiting for him. I supposed he had his day planned and was unlikely to drop everything now just because I was suddenly willing to speak with him. Doubt once again began to seep into my mind. For all my son-in-law had said to me, he had not been talking about our current situation. To distract myself, I walked over to my desk and unlocked it. Taking out my account book and some paper, I began looking over my accounts, wondering where I would be able to institute what could perhaps be called economy within my own spending. Mama's extravagances would far exceed my own few frivolities.

So engrossed was I in my figures, that I failed to hear either my husband knock or enter the room. Not until he spoke from behind me, did I notice his presence, “My, it seems you have been busy.” He spoke as an indulgent father would his child, praise for a simple task. He picked up one of the papers that were now strewn across my little desk. “Now then, what is all this, may I ask?”

I took a breath, “Well sir, may I first apologise for my behaviour this morning, it was inexcusably rude of me, and you were only making a pleasant gesture, I ought not have reacted as I did.” I paused, but he said absolutely nothing; he was going to make this harder for me than I would have thought of him. It was a shame he was not so skilled at disciplining his own daughter. “You were quite right, I have been out of spirits of late. I am sure it has not made for pleasant living. You have been very good to put up with us all these last few weeks, and I am certain that Mama is grateful for your hospitality too. I can see though, that it has done nothing but try your patience, and if I am entirely truthful, although I do not like to confess to being such a terrible daughter, I am exhausted by the chaos that has resulted in them coming.” I looked up at him, attempting to gauge his reaction. Once again he said nothing, his expression remaining blank.

“You must not think that I am not thankful to you for allowing them to visit, nor that I have not enjoyed having them all here.” Again I felt nervous. “But I think that it is time that we were separated.”

“What do you mean? You cannot just leave, Elizabeth.” he sounded stern.

“You misunderstand, our party here at Pemberley, we are not the most compatible of companions. I just think that it would be best if Mama and my sisters were given a home of their own. I have looked at my accounts, and I think that I can set aside an annuity, or whatever it is called, for them. Mama has her five thousand pounds too, which will give her about two hundred pounds a year. But that is hardly enough for five to live off, you must agree, sir.” He looked surprised.

I continued to lay out my plans. I would establish Mama in a cottage, not so far from Pemberley, that would be suitable to all their needs, or at least as many as a cottage could provide. Along with that, they would be provided with the use of carriages and horses from Pemberley, a footman and two maids. I would not allow them to live in abject poverty, which they would, were I to provide no assistance at all. I would pay for their accommodation and servants. He remained silent throughout. I handed him the figures to look over. His brow knitted in intense concentration.

He paused and cleared his throat. “You have been most thorough, I see.” He sounded neither pleased nor annoyed, “I only wish, Elizabeth, that you had seen fit to tell me all this when I inquired this morning. I have no time to be chasing you all over the country just because your mother and I have displeased you. Why must you always make things so difficult?”

“I have apologised for my behaviour already, sir. What more do you want of me?”

“I want for you to behave with a degree more maturity than you currently exhibit. I want for you to tell me when there is a difficulty, and not to mope about sulking for days on end and then insist that there is nothing the matter. It is not right; the servants all talk of it, as though it is their business, because you make it so. They should not be made aware of any discord between you and me.” Within me, I battled with the urge to point out his hypocrisy. He did not mind playing out discord with his first wife; what made our marriage so different? But I knew better, at least, than to bring that up. Why add yet further fodder for the fire. I would take his advice, and not cause more debate between the pair of us.

“I understand that perfectly, sir.” I replied between gritted teeth. I had, after all, been told repeatedly enough about my appearance towards the servants and my duty as a member of the Darcy family. I would always have to adhere to it if I were to ever be accepted, if not welcomed, into the folds of the family.

“Then why do you insist on acting like a child? Had you only spoken to me this morning, then you would have known that Fitzwilliam came to speak with me last night offering the very same proposal of using your jointure for your mother. I only wished to be assured that this was what you truly desired before I broached the subject with you.”

“He what?” My surprise came not merely from being made aware of my settlement, to which I had previously paid no mind. How dare my son-in-law meddle and scheme in such a heartless manner. How dare he be so rude as to suggest, no, to tell his father, that my family was not welcome in the house. He was not master yet. It was worse to hear that it was what my son-in-law had planned than what my husband had planned; for it was really none of his business.

He had all the cunning of a wild cat! To think I had thought that he had been concerned when he came to find me, asking about my father and telling me all about his mother. That was no more concern than my current mood was joy. Telling me it was better that people who did not get on with one another did not live together. I supposed he only told me that so that he did not look proud and arrogant. He did not want to discredit the precious Darcy name most likely.

It was just as Mr Wickham had told me. He was meddlesome and manipulative; removing from his circles anybody who threatened him or he considered beneath his notice. All that scheming, and the discreetly clever whispering, to achieve his means, without appearing to do anything wrong at all. It was akin to suggesting the prime minister looked tired to end his term in office. Truly, he ought to have been a woman!

I barely heard anything that he said to me after that. I somehow managed to nod and murmur my assent in the appropriate places; but he may as well have been talking to himself. I do not think he even noticed I was not paying any attention. By the time he had left, I realised that I had no idea what was happening anymore. All I managed to hear was the statement: “I trust I can leave it to you to inform your mother.” As though I were nothing more than a messenger!

Of course, breaking the news would naturally be the most difficult part of it all. Just how was I going to broach the subject with her? She would be absolutely hysterical. She would not give up Pemberley lightly; she viewed herself quite the equal of Queen Charlotte. I think Pemberley suited her better than it did me. Nor would she have been at fault if she were to say that I was throwing her out of the house; after all, that was basically what I was doing. Again feelings of guilt tugged at my conscience.

After dinner, in the drawing room, as I handed him a cup of coffee, my son-in-law turned and commented innocently, “I hope your conversation with my father went well.”

“Yes,” I could not help but hiss, “I do hope you are happy now.”

He looked so taken aback, that for a minute or two, he could not move. Did he honestly think I lacked any sort of intelligence? After a moment, he turned away and moved to a seat on the opposite side of the room.

At breakfast the following morning, I was still contemplating my predicament, when a servant delivered a letter to me. It was from Lady St Vincent, inquiring after my health and news. A firm friendship had developed between the pair of us. Our characters had little in common; and I did not doubt that were it not for our circumstances, the pair of us would not likely have been friends were we acquainted. It would have been hard to get through her apparently vapid surface. But as it was, she was the person I now had the firmest reliance on, as I was to her. Though we could not see one another due to my mourning, we could write, and so we did, every few days.

She inquired after my mother and sisters and how we were all getting along together. I wasted little time in relaying everything that had occurred over the past few days, knowing that she would keep my confidence just as I kept hers.

Not three hours later, another servant handed a note to me. Inside it simply read, “You must tell her this evening. I shall call on you tomorrow. Sophie.”

Sophie had therefore left it entirely up to me to initially broach the conversation. That evening after dinner seemed the perfect opportunity. I knew that my husband would not join us, and Jane, at the request of the younger girls, was in the nursery. I shall only say that my proposal was greeted as anticipated. Just the smallest suggestion of a house of her own, and I was an unfeeling, selfish girl, just like those Collinses. Her nerves, how could I think of such a thing! Oh, but she could not live alone. And how could I think to remove Jane from my son-in-law when they were getting along so well? (Only Mama could possibly believe this!) She went to her room in high dudgeon, calling for a maid to attend her.

I congratulated myself for handling the situation with such a degree of éclat. Perhaps if I left her long enough, she would at least become resigned to it. That was, after all, how Papa would have handled her. Perhaps there was a more effective way, but I had yet to see another succeed.

On Friday morning, Sophie arrived, dressed in her finest morning gown and looking every part the respectable wife of a rich man. I could hear her in the corridors as she battled with the servants to allow her entry. “Mrs Darcy is not accepting callers.” He repeated for what must have been the hundredth time.

“Yes, yes,” I could imagine her waving her hands around nonchalantly, “just think what people would say.” It was a favourite phrase of hers. “I am sure they would be delighted to actually have something to talk of. Now, she is expecting me, so let me past.” The next thing I knew, she had arrived in my sitting room, the outraged servant trailing behind her, looking as though he were headed for the gallows.

She was introduced to Mama and Jane before turning to me with a smile, “Elizabeth, my dear, goodness you do look tired.”

“Why thank you, Sophie,” I rolled my eyes; I had long since learnt that she was bluntest when concerned, and never intended insult. She then changed her attention to Mama. “Mrs Bennet, how do you find Pemberley?” Mama responded with an inventory of its perfections and wealth spoken in the most glowing terms, stating that she would be more than content to live here forever. I sent Lady St Vincent a concerned glance, but she took it all in her stride. “But you must miss having your own house?”

“Oh goodness no, not with my nerves. I suffer something terrible with them, you know, Lady St Vincent. Such trembling and fluttering in my heart! And since my late husband Mr Bennet was so thoughtless as to go and die on us without leaving us a penny, it has been all the worse. Oh, like you would never imagine! What a worry it was when Mr Collins and his son arrived and turned us out the house. But how thankful we were to have our Lizzy. It was such a good thing that she married Mr Darcy. Eh Lizzy? I bet you are glad you listened to me now?” I could see poor Sophie's eyes begin to glaze over as Mama twittered away like an excitable canary bird.

“Then you will not be moving to your cottage?”

“Oh goodness, no! Whatever can you all be thinking? No, a cottage would be just the very worst thing for somebody in my condition; all cramped and so much work.”

“Elizabeth, this cannot be correct?” She turned to me with assumed criticism. She was nothing short of destined for the stage; sounding inflection for inflection as she had the day she blew in and told me my gowns were just appalling. Only then, I am sure she half meant what she was saying.

“Certainly it is so, Lady St Vincent,” Mama answered for me, “send me to a cottage indeed; what can you all be thinking? Just imagine what people would say. A cottage! No indeed!”

“Oh, but Mrs Bennet,” she continued, “do you not know that it is quite the done thing amongst those in the first circles of society? My own husband established a little house for my mother and sisters, Mrs Bennet; and Mama says that there is nothing in the world like it.”

“No dear, I am quite content to remain here at my leisure, let me assure you.”

“You know, Mrs Bennet, that is precisely what my Mama said to me. She had run a house and raised three daughters, and now she deserved nothing more than a good rest. But you know the pressures of society; you simply do not live with your married daughter. It makes people talk. Mama was saying to me just the other day in a letter that she was so glad to have a house of her own; it gave her something to do. Not that it requires a lot of effort, mind you, just a couple of servants.”

“Everybody does it, you say?”

“Oh yes, Mrs Bennet. Lady Cecilia Bertrand's mother lived in a little cottage on their estate for nearly twenty years. Have you met Lady Cecilia and her husband Mr Bertrand yet? She is quite the finest lady.”

“Lizzy, I do believe I want a house of my own!” Mama turned on me, having been reeled in like a fish by Sophie, who frankly scared me a little with her inventiveness.

“I thought,” I said with a smile, “that you were set against such a notion?”

“Nonsense, we can't let people think that you and Mr Darcy are penniless now, can we? Oh, but I will not have you putting me just anywhere. Oh! I could go back to Hertfordshire, or perhaps to London. Oh, how splendid. Lizzy you are too kind; a house of my own. How charming!”

It took a further two months before the cottage was ready to a standard Mama found acceptable for her to live in. She was, as she reminded me frequently, the mother of the Mistress of Pemberley. Thus only the very best of everything was suitable for her; new furniture and every room redecorated to the exacting standards of her taste. I did, however, manage to persuade her to take the bed from the room she had been staying in, since she claimed that it gave her the best night's sleep she had ever had. The state of my own accounts once the venture was completed was pitiful, but it made her happy along with the rest of us. As she said, “There is nothing quite like having a home to yourself.”

I had the added pleasure of seeing them settled but a few miles from Pemberley, it was an easy journey for frequent visits. The younger girls came every day to have their lessons from Mrs Robinson, and they were invited to dine with us at least twice a week. I wish I could say that in settling in an establishment of her own, she became less exuberant and silly. However, that was not to be the case. My husband still found it trying at times to maintain his patience with her, but on the whole, all were less irritable, and I found that my family coming to Derbyshire could indeed be the greatest of comforts.

Chapter XII

Posted on July 15, 2008

There were to be neither balls nor parties. No merry making. No company. I was sixteen, and already my life was that of an ancient matron. Never again would I dance the night away with a dozen young men. A girl of my age, I have heard said, is ready for her first love. Instead, I was destined to live with an elderly man and his children - when the mood took them at least; deserted half the time and treated as a part of the furniture the rest.

It was the end of August when Mama retired to Primrose Lodge; and once again an unnatural quiet descended upon Pemberley. It was fortunate that Mama and Jane were now just a short walk away, for once they were gone from the house, I missed their presence dearly. I was more perverse, it seemed, than a cat; first, wishing them gone and then, wishing them back. As if that were not bad enough, my husband was soon to desert me.

In amongst all the furor Mama had created over furnishing her house, my husband decided to impart his own news. He was to be going away for all of September, and perhaps some of October too, for a shooting party. It was something of a tradition, which had been instated the year after Lady Anne's death. The other men were unwed, two widowers and two confirmed bachelors, plus my husband. “How odd, sir that you should think to go then.” I had commented lightly, attempting desperately to seem unhurt by his desertion.

“Yes, Papa,” Georgiana piped up. For a second, I considered it strange that she was agreeing with me, “why should you go? You always have the shooting party here.”

“Well I can hardly host anything given Elizabeth's circumstances.” I looked at him across the table, Georgiana screwed up her face at me. Clearly, she felt, this disaster was entirely my fault. Her father would be further away from her than ever now.

“What of Mr Wickham? I thought he was to return here?” I could not help but ask after the young man.

My son-in-law, I noticed, shot me a very sharp look before turning his attention, with greater interest to his father's reply. “I received a letter from him last week, it quite slipped my mind. His friend is still rather unwell, and George thought to take him to Bath, to take the waters. He is such a thoughtful young man. I have secured lodgings for them.”

“That was generous of you.” I commented.

“Yes, very.” added the younger Darcy. I could not tell if he was agreeing with me or not. Ignoring him, I opened a letter from Charlotte and directed all my attention to that instead.

With my husband gone to the Earl of Harrington's estate to shoot at coveys, there was very little left to occupy me.

I would take a hostile breakfast with my daughter and son-in-law, before Georgiana was joined by my sisters for her lessons and my son-in-law busied himself in the study. I was then left to see to my usual duties, of which there was once again little to do. I could not go out to make calls, nor was I receiving visitors. Once my duties were completed for the day, I often made my way over to Primrose Lodge to help Jane.

It was the strangest thing; Mama, once settled in her cottage, suddenly decided that she had no desire for society at all. In fact, she was quite content to sit bundled in her nightgown and thousands of shawls every day, having their poor maids running about after her as though she was an invalid. It lent such elegance and distinction to her recent widowhood. Puzzled, though I was, by what may be called a sudden timidity, I doubted that it was anything more than a temporary whim of hers and soon enough it would all be forgot.

Once Mama was settled in her bed for the evening, Jane would accompany me back over to Pemberley to dine. It saved both her and I from an otherwise lonely vigil in the drawing room. Most nights we would have the girls and Mrs Robinson down with us to play parlour games. Lydia even persuaded us to put on a play, having tired of the toy theatre; it ended quite disastrously. Other nights, we would sit more quietly with filigree work or embroidery. We even taught them all how to serve tea properly. My son-in-law, though present, joined us but rarely, deciding to keep to his own company in the library.

With my husband absent for six weeks, my time passed fairly pleasantly, though I had predicted otherwise. It was, not the life most girls of sixteen would have wished for. To be sure, I am certain that I would much rather have attended balls and parties, but here I was. Those other things would never be.

Under tragic circumstances, I had begun visiting tenants. It had occurred one day, while I had wandered away from the gardens, walking out. Not for the first time, I had ended up by some of the tenants' homes. There was something quaint and charming about that little road, and I had often found myself drawn back there. But there was nothing of any of this on that day. The birds singing up in the trees were interrupted by a scream from a woman who had just walked into her cottage door. Instantly, the other neighbours stopped. Heads poked out of windows, women rushed out their doors, wiping their hands on their aprons, and one lady dropped her clean washing into a muddy puddle. I joined them as they all hurried towards the house the woman had entered.

They were huddled around the doorway. Nobody had gone inside to attend the wailing woman. At the back, behind a cluster of women, I could not see what was going on. A few of the women muttered to one another. One eventually stepped inside, and the others began to move away, sadly shaking their heads, though none of them seemed to be overly surprised or shocked. “Excuse me?” I asked two of the women as they moved past me.

“Yes?” They stopped.

“Could you tell me what is going on?”

“And who may you be?” The plumper of the two women asked me, hands on her hips. She looked me up and down. She had flour across her front of her dress.

“Elizabeth Darcy.”

“Well I'll be.” said the shorter one to the first woman. She made a little bob at me.

“Can you be the master's wife?” the other one asked. Clearly she was bolder than most would have been.

“Certainly.”

“Never.” She replied.

I raised my eyebrow at her and drew myself up a little taller. Her companion nudged her in the side. “Nellie.” was all she said, half outraged half affectionate.

“Oh Jessie, you're too serious. Now go on who are you really? One of Mr Darcy's nieces, perhaps?”

“I think she is telling the truth, Nell.” her friend Jessie intercepted mildly.

Nellie looked me up and down as if I were a horse at the market. “She is but a scrap of a girl, Jess. It cannot be true.”

“We heard she was not that old though.”

“She's not fourteen, if she's a day.” I thought this was a bit of an exaggeration.

“Excuse me, but if you find it so unbelievable, do you think that I would be foolish enough as to even attempt to claim it was so?” I interrupted their good natured dispute with a smile.

“Next you will be telling us all you're the Empress Josephine.” she watched me closely.

I giggled, “Goodness no. My French is appalling.” Despite their scepticism, I found myself liking these two women for all their frankness. “Now, since we have established that, shall you tell me what happened in the cottage?”

The two women looked at one another, still slightly distrustful of me. “Tell her, it can do no harm.” Jessie said after a few seconds of silent communication between them.

Nellie inclined her head slightly. “That's the Chandlers' cottage, miss. Mary Chandler's baby boy… well he fell in the fire.”¹

I blinked. Suddenly remembering the smell I had thought was roasting meat, I felt sick. “And the baby?” I asked almost breathless.

“Alive.” She stated. I felt a degree of relief, but only for a second.

“Let me see.” I walked past them back towards the cottage. They trailed behind after me.

“You must not, miss.” They both protested, but I had already stepped through the door to the cottage. A woman looked up, while the other continued to sob huddled over her child. It was not until I touched her shoulder that she even noticed I was there. “She says that she is Mrs Darcy.” Nellie explained, attempting to sound as if she believed her statement herself.

“Has the doctor been sent for?” I asked, over the child's whimpers. Nobody replied; their gazes slipped away from me. Turning to Jessie, I asked her to send for one.

The baby had fallen, just as his mother walked through the door. Fortunately, he had only been there for a few seconds before his mother pulled him from the flames. It was long enough though, and his leg was badly burnt. The doctor wrapped the baby's leg in wax paper, along with a dose of laudanum for the pain. He had settled within the first half an hour. The doctor gave his mother and her friend further instructions before leaving them. He only said that he might survive, but it was evident that he did not hold out much hope.

I left, promising a visit the following day. On my return to Pemberley, I went in search of Mrs Reynolds and asked her to send food over to the Chandler household. I think she may have objected but for my son-in-law knocking on her door at just that second. He gave me a curious glance, taking in my sooty dress, saying that he would come back later. On my objection, he stayed and I left, since the housekeeper and I had finished our business.

I visited the Chandler family regularly over the following weeks. It was not long though before I began to visit the other tenant houses. They were not the only ones who had a sick child or relative. In amongst all my other duties, I now found myself visiting the tenants of Pemberley as well.

The little boy, David, survived, but his leg was left lame. I saw to it that he received a good education, for he would never be fit for manual labour. Instead, he took up the job of schoolmaster at the little Dame school that the Darcy family had established in the area some centuries before.

It was that very same night that I had first met the Chandlers, as I was lying in my bed unable to sleep, that I heard a tapping outside in the hallway. At first I thought it was my imagination. Then, after a pause of several minutes, I heard it again. And again, this time accompanied by a small voice calling out, “Fitzwilliam.” timidly. It was Georgiana. She called out twice more, then I heard a door open. After a few more moments, the door shut again; Georgiana still, clearly, in the hallway. She let out a wet sounding sniff.

Throwing off my covers, I walked over to the door and peeked out. The dim light of her candle illuminated the corridor just enough for me to see her, “Georgiana,” I called out softly to her. She jumped and looked in my direction, only I could see her, bathed in candlelight, far better than she could see me. “It's me, Elizabeth.” I stepped out of the door and towards her, she quivered, “What ever is the matter?” I asked. It was only as I came much nearer to her that her shoulders slumped a little.

“Oh, you.” she replied glumly. I should have been more offended by her tone.

“Yes, me.”

“Where is Fitzwilliam?”

“I do not know, why?”

She looked at me, eyebrows in a half scowl, suspicion evident, “I want Fitzwilliam.”

“Well, I have no idea where he is. So why do you not tell me what the matter is?” I did not have the patience to play at favourites with her.

“I want Fitzwilliam.”

“Well then, I shall return to my own room.” I turned back and began retracing my steps.

“You cannot leave me,” she sounded half panicked.

“I thought you wanted your brother.” I sounded detached, unperturbed; but actually I was thrilled that in that moment, at least, she wanted me to be there.

“You must help me find him.” She sounded just like her father; autocratic, assured that I was her inferior to be controlled.

“Must I indeed?” I felt too angry. Any sympathy I had felt for her dissipated. I stepped inside my chamber door.

“Wait,” She was following after me and reached my door before I had even shut it. “you must not leave me.” Once again, her fear returned to her face. She stepped inside my rooms.

“Why ever not?”

“Demons.”

“Demons?”

“Lydia said so.”

“Did she now? Well, you should not trust everything my sister says.” In fact, you probably should not trust anything Lydia said.

“She said they would take me over and live inside me and I would do horrible things. She says she heard about a girl back at your old home that had them in her.”

“I thought you two were still fighting.” The day before, they had not been speaking with each other, after both blamed the other for a broken vase, the result of a particular energetic game of Deerstalker.

“We are. But, I heard her talking to Kitty about it.”

“So Kitty did not know about this girl. Do you not think that odd?”

“No. Kitty is stupid.” The words I had heard so often spoken by Lydia popped out of Georgiana's mouth instead; like she was a parrot.

“Georgiana, that is not nice. Kitty is not stupid.”

“Lydia says she is.”

“You do not even like Lydia.” Little girls, I thought with a sigh, they were a most baffling breed. Not friends, then friends, then fallen out again. They changed their minds more often than they changed their stockings.

“I want to stay with Fitzwilliam tonight, he will look after me.” She suddenly changed the subject. “Where is he?”

“I am not sure.” It was past two in the morning. “Why do you not stay with me instead?” It was just a suggestion, I remember once feeling a similar dread of being snatched by child-catchers in the middle of the night; but I had not slept alone in an empty nursery, there had been four sisters.

“No.” She replied staunchly.

“Why not?”

“Because I want Fitzwilliam.” She looked at me as if I were a dribbling baby.

“I do not know where you brother has gone. Or when he shall be back.” My temper was starting to fray like an old rope, “Why not read a book, to distract yourself?”

“All mine are boring.”

“Only boring people get bored.” I replied with that oft-repeated phrase. “What about one of mine?” She closely examined the selection I had to offer, an action that frankly shocked me; she never paid me much reverence. Unsurprisingly, she declared them to be “boring,” except a gothic novel, which would have done her no good at all. The genre could only spawn ridiculous over imagination, and that was not what Georgiana needed. She demanded that I accompany her downstairs, to the library, to find some suitable reading fodder, only allowing me time to pull a dress on, over my nightgown, before she dragged me off.

In the library, we found her brother, huddled over some papers, still at work. He looked up questioningly, and Georgiana ran to him. To his credit, he was always the best of brothers to her, and not only did he swiftly attempt to allay her fears, not once appearing as if he would laugh at her, then he put aside his work entirely and suggested that he read to her. She was much more content to be left to his care; though she still offered a little objection to his choice of book. There is no eleven year-old that really wants to hear poetry read to them. She far preferred a novel.

To me at least, there had seemed very little reason to remain. The picture the sister and brother made of loving devotion was enough for me to feel displaced. Opposition was raised when I bid the pair of them goodnight. They paused long enough in their affectionate bickering over the choice of book for the brother to turn to me and request that I stay. Under normal circumstances, I would have declined. I felt awkward enough, but when Georgiana added her own petition, I could do nothing but agree. Often I had found myself annoyed by my husband's inability to refuse her anything, but there I was, doing exactly the same thing. It felt rather good to be wanted, despite being fully conscious that she only wanted me to act as jury to their tastes.

Finally, it was settled and the book was opened, “You have read this?” he asked me cautiously. To which I assured him that I had, and there was nothing particularly objectionable of The Heirs of Villeroy². Our little group settled down to the story, passing the book between us in turns. Not fifteen minutes later, as Darcy had finished his section, Georgiana was found to be asleep; the hour was certainly late. Georgiana's night terrors became something of a habit. Nightly, the three of us would be seated in the library, reading aloud until she finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.

I was certain that he would return his sister to the nursery then, but instead he turned to me, “Where were you this afternoon?” he asked demandingly. “I needed to speak with you.”

It was clear to me that he was angered that I had not been there exactly when he desired it, it irked me; I was not his slave. Neither was I inclined to be particularly forgiving; we had not had a civil conversation since he had tried to manipulate me into removing my mother from Pemberley. “I went out. I was not aware I should have told you.”

“Fergus told me you had gone walking, but I could not find you in the gardens.”

“I walked down to Green Lane.”

“By the tenants' houses? I was not aware that you walked that far.”

“Not often. What did you wish to speak with me about?” I changed the subject.

“It is no matter; I settled it with Mrs Reynolds before you got back.” Having established that, I stood up to leave, not desiring to linger for a pleasant chat with him. I was thwarted as he spoke again, “Did you speak with any of the tenants?”

“Yes, in fact, I did.” I stood still again. “I take it you heard about the Chandlers?” News travelled quickly around the estate; perhaps Dr Lambert had already sent him the bill for his services.

“No, should I have?” I was surprised.

“Their little boy, the youngest, David, was burnt badly this afternoon. I had the doctor called to take care of him.”

“You did?” He seemed, I could not help but notice smugly, rather impressed. “How is Mrs Chandler? You ought to have some food and linens sent to her. She shall need help over these next few days.”

“I have already, and her friend is to say with her as well.” I could not read his expression, and he said nothing further on the matter. He just stood and picked up Georgiana's sleeping form and left the room.

• A common cause of childhood death. Babies were often left in cribs by the fire while their mothers went about their daily tasks. Once they came out of swaddling they would be able to wriggle around. This often resulted in the cribs falling over and into the fireplace.

• Henrietta Rouvičre Mosse, `The Heirs of Villeroy', (1806),

Chapter XIII

The Living at Kympton was destined to one-day secure Mr George Wickham's future. My husband had decided this on the occasion of his birth, when it was revealed that his Godchild was a boy. Mr Wickham had, more than once, told me this himself, when he had visited us. Thus, when the news came to us one morning that Mr Denley had passed away in the night, I knew that it was time for Mr Wickham to finally return to Pemberley. After an absence of several months, an absence, which Georgiana had led me to understand, was of greater duration than was his want. And that her brother dryly informed me was, “probably because of the lack of merry-making to be had here.”

During breakfast one morning, a missive was delivered by a footman, separately from the post. My husband took it up, giving it a puzzled glance, for he did not know its sender, and broke the seal. His two children and I watched him closely as his eyes flitted across the page and he muttered a surprised exclamation. “What is it, Father?” his son inquired.

“It is Mr Denley, he passed on in the night.”

“But you dined with him last week.” I said, realising that it was a comment befitting my mother. “What of Mrs Denley?” I asked with a degree more sense.

“I appreciate your concern, Elizabeth. You must send her a note offering her our condolences.” He stood up and left the room, his son closely following on his heel.

It was then that Georgiana turned to me, chewed her food quickly and said, “Now George shall come.” The foundations were laid in my head.

For the rest of the day I did not see either of them. They remained shut in my husband's study.

As I took out my black edged paper from my desk, I reflected miserably on the suitability of the colour, but wondered what it was that I ought to write. It was not something to be put off. I understood that it was my duty as the wife of the new widow's patron to offer my condolences to her; but I could picture her sitting there, as she always was, in perfect composure, behaving just as she had throughout our acquaintance, calmly, modestly and coolly. Putting pen to paper, I acknowledged what a fine man her husband was.

She had many children, all of whom were grown up now, for her husband and she were both elderly. One of her many children would undoubtedly send for her as soon as may be. For certain, I knew that she would never be able to remain in her home, and that made me sorry; but the new rector would live there now.

With my daily responsibilities seen to, I prepared to call at Primrose Lodge. Briefly, before I left, I considered informing my husband I was leaving to visit my mother, only to be put off when I heard my husband's exasperated tone, “For goodness sake, Fitzwilliam.” I did not stay long enough to hear the rest. Experience had taught me well to keep from my husband's presence when he was in such a mood.

Mama would undoubtedly want to learn of this news; it was a pity that she had nobody to impart it to, for her sake, at least. Still, it seemed unkind to leave her so completely withdrawn from society. While gossip was nobody's true friend, Mama had little left but to hear of the busy goings on and misfortunes of other folk. On hearing of Mr Denley, a man she had never met, and who had always been of so little interest for her, she said she was sorry for his sake, but then quickly turned her attention to news of his widow.

Naturally I reported that she undoubtedly bore under it all with a degree of elegance few women could boast of, a degree of elegance, which had, in fact, chilled me to the bone to observe. Mama's hysterics at least showed feeling, even if some may say they had a lack of breeding. “I suppose he has seen her secure.” Mama had sniffed. A comment to which I quickly told her that, no, he had not left her anything, and from what I understood, she had a daughter who would see her right; thus preventing yet another of her tirades against my father.

Mama's attention was not likely to settle for any great length of time on the widow's plight when there was a far more important issue to be addressed, in her mind at least. “So, the parish sits empty, does it? Does your husband have a new candidate in mind for the living?”

“I believe so.”

“And his name?” A name, you must understand, is vastly important. It tells more of a man's prospects as a suitor than anything else. Were it something as common as “Smith,” Mama need know nothing further of him.

“Mr George Wickham.”

“You wrote of him in your letters, did you not, Lizzy?” Jane asked so serenely, one might have assumed we were only discussing the weather. She knew exactly who he was.

“Wickham,” Mama rolled the name on her tongue as though she were tasting it, “my, what a fine sounding name that is.” I suppressed a grin, knowing it would be so, “And what of the man? Is he single?”

“He is my husband's Godson.” I did not plan on revealing any more information just yet.

“Oh, then he must be very grand.” Mama said with authority. “What a fine thing, Janey.”

“He is a most pleasant man.”

“It is a pity he is only to be a clergyman. But it is a tidy living, I suppose?”

“I imagine Mr Wickham would think so; but I have no idea of its value. The Denley's lived quite comfortably.”

“And what of his father?”

“His father?”

“Yes, his father, what is his estate? I assume Mr Wickham is a younger son.”

“No, an only child, actually.”

Mama's face dropped a little as she began to understand, “Why Lizzy, I believe you are teasing me! Oh you are just like your father was! Oh, then I suppose he is no good for Jane. She is too beautiful to be married to a man of no estate, too beautiful by half. Perhaps he shall do for Mary, she'll not likely do better, and she will be out soon.”

“Mama,” Jane put in gently.

“Well never mind, I am sure you have somebody more suitable in mind for Jane. But I must hear more of this Mr Wickham.”

“He is charming, intelligent, kind, handsome (I believe he is the most handsome man I have ever seen), well mannered, good humoured; in short, he is everything that a young man ought to be. As I said, he is the Godson of Mr Darcy. You have met his father, Mama, Mr Wickham, the steward at Pemberley.”

“Steward? Oh Good Lord. A steward's son. Lizzy what can you be thinking. Aye it's a good thing I am here, or I don't know where you would be, really I don't. Married to a steward's son, I dare say. Jane, pay your sister not the slightest bit of mind. Teasing us all so; making us think him a fair prospect.”

Once I may have cringed at such an outburst from my mother; now I laughed with relief. It had been too many months; she had been a mere shadow of herself. To hear her interested, truly curious and up to her old habits again was nothing short of a relief to Jane and me. Let her match-make, I thought, until her heart is content again. And I would have thought that even were I still single.

I held my tongue from asking after Mr Wickham, well aware that it would be viewed suspiciously by my son-in-law. Thus I was required to keep my patience. But I had not long to wait. Georgiana, who greatly favoured Mr Wickham, asked her father as soon as he entered the breakfast room the next morning. “Is George coming?”

“Yes Georgiana, his father wrote to him of the news, and I wrote to call him home immediately.” His son, I thought, looked slightly sour. “Elizabeth, I have settled it that he shall be staying with his father rather than us, given the circumstance.

“That is kind of you, sir.” I thanked him. Mr Wickham would likely be in near constant attendance at Pemberley anyway.

“Very good then.” He sat down and picked up his morning newspaper.

“He shall bring me a present.” Georgiana turned to me with a cutting glance. It was my fault, of course, that this year she would be having no grand party for her birthday as she had last year. Instead, it would be observed only with gifts and a meal of her choosing. Once again, her birthday was destined to be a bone of contention between the pair of us, just as it was the previous year. I could only be grateful that I had been sensible enough to simply have a dress made for her as a gift; hopefully I could not get that wrong!

Mr Wickham arrived the following week, late one evening, after dinner. I had not heard his horse on the drive, but after he had been to see my husband and his father, he came to find me in my sitting room. I had been completing some white-work for Alice's little girl, Lizzy, my own Godchild. When he entered, I quickly stashed the items under a cushion, and he pretended not to notice what I had done. “Mrs Darcy,” he said jovially, “how well you are looking.”

I blushed, I could not help it, “Mr Wickham what a pleasure to see you again.” I rose and curtsied, “Might you allow me to introduce my sister Jane. Jane, this is Mr Wickham.” They bowed, curtsied, and took their seats as I called for some refreshments.

“I was sorry to hear of your father.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I remember how it was when my own dear mother passed. I still miss her every day.” He looked wistfully out of the window. Jane looked at him and smiled softly, his sensitivity evidently pleased her.

“I am sorry, sir. How long has she been dead now?” Jane asked him gently.

“About seven years ago. She was the dearest of women. As her son, I am biased, but ask your husband, Mrs Darcy, he had the best of opinions of her.”

“I shall do.” The tea was brought in, and Jane served. He watched her closely as she elegantly poured him a cup and handed it to him.

“Miss Bennet, you make a marvellous cup of tea.” he commented after taking a sip. She bowed her head in acknowledgement of the compliment, but said nothing. He then turned his attentions back to me. “Mrs Darcy, now you have been married a year. How do you find that it suits you?”

“Very well, sir. I find myself most busy with tasks about the house, and my mother and sisters are not so very far away. I find that I am most content.”

“Yes, I can tell it agrees with you. You have other sisters?”

“Indeed I do, three younger than me, they are upstairs with Georgiana.”

“My, four sisters, and all of them beauties I should not imagine. Your mother shall have her hands full soon enough.”

“There is nothing she shall enjoy more, let me assure you, sir.” I laughed.

“As with the best of mothers. It does her credit that she wishes to see you all well settled. There is nothing worse than a neglectful mother I have always thought. Absolutely shocking!” He said with a smile.

Was he displeased by nothing? Did the thought of such a mother not send him cowering into a corner? Jane was smiling at him; I knew his amiability would be to her liking.

“I understand you have been in Bath, Mr Wickham.” Jane redirected the conversation.

“Yes, how does your sick friend, sir?”

He took a sip of his tea before replying. “Oh! Bunbury! Yes. Well, he is improved, but I do not think I can ever say that he shall be well. He is of a rather sickly nature. Poor fellow. I was sorry to have to leave him, but he was most understanding; duty and honour called me home, and here I am.”

“You should have brought him to Pemberley with you.” I commented politely.

“Bunbury does not like to be a burden to anybody. He is already most thankful for everything that my Godfather has done for him. He would never contemplate imposing himself thusly.”

“Tell us of Bath.”

“What would you have me tell you? The streets are crowed with people, there are more shops overflowing with more trinkets than I have ever laid eyes on before. There is gossip to be had at every street corner. London has nothing on Bath. There are pleasures of every sort; plays, opera, balls and assemblies; women promenading about in all their finery like painted peacocks. Mrs Darcy, with your interest in studying character, you could find no place more entertaining than Bath. And then there is the pump room; Bunbury and I went there every day. If I am honest, I do not understand the fuss about the water, it is rather disgusting, if the truth be told.”

“It sounds like you had a wonderful time, Mr Wickham.” Jane commented.

“Ah pity me, Miss Bennet, for I was not at liberty to enjoy the pleasures Bath has to offer. I was too occupied with my friend's illness to pay them any attention.”

“It is to your credit though, sir, to show such care and concern for your friend.” she said.

“I thank you, Miss Bennet. I can only hope that some day I may have the opportunity to return there and absorb its entertainments. And how about you, Miss Bennet, should you like to go there some day?”

Jane assured him that she certainly would. The three of us spoke of travelling for some time more before the subject was exhausted. We spoke of the continent and of the varying spas of England, of Town and of Hertfordshire. Until such a time as Mr. Wickham began to feel that it was only polite that he should depart our company, saying he was sure he had troubled us enough. Though we did protest, he rose, bowed very properly, and said, “Ladies, you have been most kind to indulge a gentleman about to embark upon the dullest of professions.”

And though we shook our heads and disclaimed against his statement, he quite cheerfully refused to hear it any other way, and soon departed from our company.

Chapter XIV

Posted on July 25, 2008

Mr Wickham's visit lasted a little over a week. One might have been mistaken in believing that he stayed for several months, for all the devastation he left in his wake. My husband's temper was foul, and nothing could soothe him. He and his son barely tolerated one another's company, let alone conversed. That year I was gladder than ever for my son-in-law's departure to Town for the season. Isolated from the intimate circles of family business, I could but guess what exactly had occurred during his visit, and to where George Wickham vanished so abruptly.

Mr. Wickham seemed as easy and content on the day of his arrival as he did just hours before his unexpected departure. My husband though, I did notice, was not as jovial as he had been during his godson's visit the previous year. I attributed that to Mr Denley, Kympton's late priest, being a very dear old friend of his, rather than to any difficulty between him and Mr Wickham. After his godson's departure, I concluded from the gruff and evasive answers both Georgiana and I received regarding his disappearance, that some difficulty had arisen and remained unresolved between the pair. Yet, I was to remain ignorant as to the precise details for some period.

Mr Wickham was a favourite companion of Georgiana's. There had, before my sisters' arrival, been very few children with whom she could regularly play, and she was as good as an only child. No matter how doting her brother was, the disparity in their age, not to mention his serious character, meant she had little liveliness in her life. Mr Wickham though, despite being of much the same age as Georgiana's brother, had a lively temperament that could not but recommend him to the child. During his visits, he dedicated many hours to her amusement. His presence, however, was quite unexpected in the schoolroom.

I opened the door to hear Lydia stoutly proclaim, “A clergyman, how dull!” Nevertheless, my sister appeared thankful for the interruption to her lessons, from a future clergyman or otherwise, for if she found anything duller and less profitable to her time, it was her books. With a toss of her curls, she flounced away to another part of the room, not bothering to wait for his reply, dragging Kitty behind her.

“My, my Mr Wickham. Encouraging slothfulness?” I smiled at him from the doorway.

“No indeed, Mrs Robinson and I have an agreement,” he winked at the middle-aged lady, who in turn shook her head affectionately. “Just ten minutes, and then the girls must be about their lessons again.”

I thought it best to leave them all for a time, as I had come to observe their lessons, not their play. Upon my return some ten minutes later, they had failed to return to their studies. Instead, all the girls, except Mary, had settled around Mr Wickham and were all talking at once in excited tones. “I bet there were balls and parties every night.” Lydia said with dreamy authority.

“Who did you dance with?” Kitty asked.

“Did you go to the opera?” Georgiana wanted to know.

He laughed, “Girls, girls, so many questions! Alas, here is Mrs Darcy, and you must be about your lessons again. Mrs Robinson has indulged us all for far too long.”

“Just five more minutes.” They pleased in unison.

“Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep; and an idle soul shall suffer hunger.”¹ Mary looked up from a page of verb conjugations, to direct this latest piece of wisdom, reproachfully, at the three younger girls. She also threw a quick glance in Wickham's direction, as if she sought his praise.

“Lord Mary!” Lydia snorted.

Later that morning, as Jane and I took a walk in the gardens, Mr Wickham came upon us. Immediately he offered us his company, and an arm for each of us to lean on. “How long do you think you shall be here?” I asked him.

“Not long.” His answer was brief.

“Oh, what a pity. Jane and I had hopes that you might consider taking us to see some of the area, as you did last year. I am sure Georgiana would enjoy it too.” It would be a relief to us all to have something to do.

“Well then, we shall have to see what we can do, shall we not, Mrs Darcy?” There was a brief pause in the conversation before he began anew. “Now, Miss Bennet, I am mightily glad to hear that you and your mother and sisters have taken residence in Primrose Lodge.”

“Yes indeed, sir, my brother has been good enough to provide us with a lovely home.” Jane demurred, “We are most grateful to my sister and him.”

“Ah, such is the way with him. He is the best of men. He has always been most generous towards myself.”

“It certainly seems he would do anything for anyone.” Jane's reply was so characteristic of her, I thought.

“And how do you find Primrose Lodge?” He pressed on. He appeared eager to return to the subject of my family's new home. I never had any idea it was of so much interest to him. His question seemed to speak of something more than common politeness.

“It is very pleasant.” Jane had little more to say. Her new home was indeed nothing extraordinary.

“I am glad you find it so, it has been empty far too many years now. I have often thought that it needed a family to liven the place up. I believe its previous resident was my Godfather's mother. That was before even I was born.”

“Lizzy and Mama did much to the place before we moved there.” Jane calmly attempted to turn his attention to me as well.

“Jane helped.” I added; my sister was too modest for my own good.

“That was good of them.” He addressed her, barely saving me a glance. I was beginning to get the feeling that he was speaking around me. “And you, Miss Bennet, did you have any say in the refurnishing of the place?” This question was evidence enough of that suspicion.

“I helped choose some of the wall coverings.” She admitted gently.

“I should very much like to see the improvements that you have made. Perhaps there shall be opportunity during my visit to pay my respects to your mother. I have met all your charming sisters, Miss Bennet, but I should like to meet her and judge for myself the enhancements to Primrose Lodge.”

Silently I waited for Jane to reply, since this was so clearly meant all for her. “I am sorry to say, sir, she is not accepting callers.” Jane eventually replied. Having fallen a step or two behind, I smirked. Surely he did not know what he was attempting to get himself into.

“She would be glad of the company I am sure though.” He apparently did not take Jane's hint.

“But sir,” I sought to discourage him, “it is hardly proper.”

“No less proper,” he argued, “than my presence here with you and your sister. You do not appear to have any objection.” He soldiered on with his argument in apparent ignorance of our discouragement.

“But to seek out the meeting…” After all, Jane and I had not sought out his company purposefully.

“Our mother,” Jane added, almost beginning to sound as if she, of all people, was frustrated with him, “suffers from her nerves. Callers only make her uneasy, I am sorry to say, Mr Wickham.”

“Then I suppose, that for now, I shall have to content myself with your charming company. But be assured that one day she and I shall meet. No matter, I am sure that you have done a charming job on the place. And I might also hope, Miss Bennet, that when I am settled at the parsonage, you would be willing to advise on its improvements too? I would be incredibly grateful to you; a house cannot be a home without the touch of a gentlewoman.” Jane blushed, with a sweet smile, refraining from making any further conversation, while I silently fumed at my dismissal.

The following day found me making my usual calls to the tenants. Rapping my gloved knuckle against the butter yellow door of the Wainwright's cottage, I waited patiently for Alice to answer the door. She greeted me almost a minute later with baby Lizzy in her arms, looking greatly distressed. “Alice, what is the matter?” She simply shook her head in reply. “Is this a bad time? If you are busy, I can come back.” Once more she made no response to my question. I was utterly surprised when another voice - belonging to a wholly unexpected person - answered instead.

“No, I was just leaving.” said my son-in-law. He put his beaver on and stepped out of the door into the garden. My mouth dropped open. “Alice, thank you for your time today.” He turned to say before walking swiftly up the lane.

Alice motioned me through the door, and I encouraged her to sit down. “Here, I have made these for Lizzy.” I passed her a package wrapped in paper containing some embroidered bedding for the baby and an old dress of mine for herself. I moved over to the hearth and rekindled the fire and swept the slightly sooty floor. Out of habit, I pushed Lizzy's crib away from the fire, though Alice would likely move it back when I had gone. We were both quiet as we worked. Sitting back down again, she handed me Lizzy. I sat pensively for a second before calling on all my courage to ask, “What was Mr Fitzwilliam doing here?” When she did not answer, my concern really set in. “Does he come here often?”

“No, he has never come before.” She finally answered.

It was something of a relief to hear. Still the feeling niggled. Once again I attempted to quash it with reason. For everything I could say of him, my son-in-law was honourable and took his duty towards all of Pemberley very seriously. Surely he would never… No. I simply could not begin to justify such behaviour in him. I thought back to the day in his study, when he had pressed Alice for an answer to the baby's father. If he had already known, he would not have been so adamant in her answering the question. No, certainly not. My mind was just over active.

Yet still, his presence was puzzling. Why would he be there otherwise? I wondered briefly if he had come to call on her husband. Surely that would not have distressed my old maid so much. “What did he do?”

“He did nothing; he wanted to speak to me is all.”

“About what though, Alice? Please tell me.”

“Just some business he had with my William.”

Why would she be so upset about that? I glanced down at Lizzy, who was contentedly chewing on my bonnet ribbon. “I think she takes after you in her love of fashion.” I laughed, and for the rest of my visit, we kept as normal a tone as possible, though she was undoubtedly troubled and I was disturbed.

At dinner that evening, my husband turned to his son, “Where were you all day Fitzwilliam?” he asked, “I wanted to go over those figures with you.”

Usually when the pair of them spoke of business, I paid but little attention; yet I wondered just how the son would respond. Would he make a mention of his visit to the Wainwrights' Cottage? He did not. “I had some calls to make.”

“I hope you called on the Grimstones.” commented my husband. He did not wait for the answer I desired to hear, quickly turning his attention to other matters.

For all Jane's beauty, there was something more attractive in her character: a natural modesty, more attractive than all the blonde hair and green eyes in the world. Her lack of conceit and ignorance of her suitor's intentions was, perhaps, a little naďve; particularly, when Mama crowed from the rooftops of her many successes, which was undoubtedly the reason for the death of many of those seedling courtships. But, for all those many men, Jane had never felt more than a passing attraction, if any at all, to them. Likewise, I think none of them were left truly heartbroken.

Our cousin, William Collins, was as good an example of this as any. Charlotte's letters informed me that he had apparently presented a prospect to my sister during their brief sojourn as guests at the newly inherited Longbourn. Charlotte was surprised that his attraction to Jane had ended in nought, and that no announcement was made before Jane came to Pemberley. A conversation with my sister revealed that our Cousin William had every intention of such an announcement being made; but that Jane, with an atypical contrariness, had failed to react favourably to this proposal. With typical concern, she had subsequently fretted over his disappointed hopes, especially when his proposal had been “so kindly meant.” I was merely gratefully surprised to find that it was within Jane's capacity to say “no,” and pointed out to her that a woman only really had the right of refusal. It was not her fault that our cousin had proposed on so short an acquaintance, when neither he nor she could have any proper feelings towards one another. My point was proved by the latest of Charlotte's letters, which announced our cousin's engagement to the eldest Miss Watson.

Mama, naturally, had a thing or two to say of the Watson family when she heard the news from her half-hearted correspondence with Lady Lucas. Not because she had considered the younger Collins a prospect for Jane, but because it was the final blow to her deposition from Longbourn.

This piece of gossip is really of little consequence, and our acquaintance from Longbourn were to be of hardly any matter or interest to us in the coming years, except on the occasion when Mrs Collins bore her first son. My point was that for the many men initially attracted to Jane over the years, there were few encouraged enough to make a lasting commitment. To my knowledge, Cousin William was the only one self-important enough to make that venture.

Then though, there was the curious case of Mr Wickham. From only their second meeting, his intentions seemed clear enough, that even I, a novice in matters of the heart, knew of them. His announcement of having Jane help him at the parsonage could not be clear enough; nobody but its mistress would have the right to re-decorate. Moreover, single young men, especially clergymen, did not trouble themselves with fashionable furnishings.

Jane, for her part, had discouraged the conversation from straying any further into such realms, not solely for reasons of propriety. Yet, at every turn, he seemed to be with her - talking, flattering, flirting - dedicated to her amusements. He was a man not to be dissuaded, despite her quiet demurrals, attempts to insinuate others into the conversation, and nonplussed reactions to his charms.

In many ways, I could not account for the attraction. Certainly, Jane was greatly admired by many; no one could fault his taste in beauty. But in disposition, the two were so different that attraction seemed in many ways impossible. Their contradictory characters seemed insurmountable. I had thought he would be the type of man attracted to lively, bold, women. Jane, so serene, possessed none of that, though her generosity of spirit and pleasant manner would make her a perfect parson's wife.

An attraction, based purely on the physical, as it had first appeared, would have been quickly laid to rest on further acquaintance; particularly when paired with Jane's neutral reaction towards him. Yet it was not. He seemed more insistent on wooing her, than he had at first.

When I went to visit her at Primrose Lodge a few days later, I found a nosegay sitting in the porch; Wintersweets, Snowdrops, Christmas Roses and Glory-of-the-Snow, all prettily arranged. I picked them up. “These were on the doorstep.” I handed them to Jane, the only person present.

“Who do you think they are for?” Jane asked, rather stupidly I thought.

“Well, unless Lydia has been flirting with a stable boy again, which is… not impossible, I would imagine they are for you.” She turned, but not quickly enough for me to fail to notice the blush rising in her checks, and walked out of the room to find some water and a vase. I followed her into the kitchen, which was also empty. “Where is everybody?” Mama, it transpired, was upstairs in her rooms, nursing a headache and a bottle of smelling salts. Predictably, she required both maids.

Once we had sat down with cups of tea, I once again broached the subject with her. “So… Mr Wickham?” I began, motioning to the flowers. They had been placed on the marble base of the fireplace, neither obvious nor hidden.

“What about him, Lizzy?” She plucked at a loose thread on her sleeve.

“What do you think of him?” I went for the blunter approach.

“He seems a very affable gentleman. You are obviously all very fond of him up at Pemberley.”

“Is that all?” I was relieved by her reply.

“Yes. Should there be more?”

“I do not know, but I think he likes you very much.”

“Lizzy you tease me.” She blushed bright red, although she attempted to laugh off my suggestion.

“Oh no, my dear Jane, I am quite serious. Mr Wickham fancies himself in love with you.” I smiled to myself that Jane had once again missed what was almost un-missable. Only she could do that. Only she could be believed of her ignorance and not have it mistaken for false modesty.

“What have I done?” She looked mortified at the prospect of it.

“Oh Jane,” I laughed, “you have done nothing at all; nothing but be yourself. It is only right that he should think himself in love with you. It shows he has excellent sense and taste.”

“But… Oh, but Lizzy, I do not love him.”

“Then if he should ask you to marry him, you must tell him so, that you do not love him.”

“Oh, but poor Mr Wickham, I could not bear to hurt him.”

“No doubt it will cause him less pain to find out now, than to be tied to you for all eternity, only to find that you cannot return his feelings.” I gently suggested. “Surely that is worse.”

“I would not want Mr Wickham to think that I had led him on.” she said earnestly. “I have only ever been polite to him. I had no idea that he felt… that he wished me to… Whatever am I to do about it? How can I stop Mr Wickham from being in love with me?” My calm Jane appeared so truly distressed. The thought of injuring somebody, however unintentional, went against her very nature. She was constitutionally unable to offend.

Even my husband, disinterested in romance, noted evidence of the young man's burgeoning attraction to Jane. He even went so far as to ask for my opinion on the matter. “George seems very fond of your sister.” He took a seat next to mine after dinner. “I saw the pair of them out walking earlier today.” His voice was low; he did not wish for anybody else to overhear our words.

“Yes, he does seem to be.”

“And what of Jane? Does she return his feelings? Elizabeth, do not think I mean to pry into your sister's private business, but I should not like to see her injured.” He bumbled through this justification, apparently fearful of angering me. “I cannot make her out; she seems just as she always does. I never thought one could be too tranquil.”

Softened by his concern for my sister, I relented. “May I be honest? I think… in fact I know that she does not return his feelings.”

“I am glad to hear it. They can neither of them afford to be in love with one another.”

“You Darcys are far too prudent.” I teased. It was, at that time, a matter of little consequence. Under normal circumstances, his comment would have annoyed me. The Darcy sense of duty, so firmly impressed upon in their daily lives, was a ridiculous notion. All that it had encouraged was a serious, pompous mien in the son, and scornfulness and superiority in the daughter. Not to mention deep unhappiness for my husband in both his marriages, and both his wives; though I could not account for Lady Anne. I thought of his poor sister, married to a man the Darcys did not approve of, and banished from her own relations' circles. Who could do that to a family member? If they loved her, they should have been happy for her. They loved doing their duty more. Jane deserved to marry for nothing but love. I would make sure of that.

“And you Bennet girls are far too romantic by half.” He returned with good humour.

“Do you think Mr Wickham's hopes shall be greatly disappointed? If he proposes to her?” I echoed Jane's fears from the day before, almost not wanting to hear the answer. I liked Mr Wickham, despite his somewhat annoying propensity to speak only with Jane. I was grateful to him for the friendship he had offered me the previous winter, when I had nobody. I did not want to see him disappointed.

“I doubt the affair shall ever come to that, Elizabeth.”

“You think he is trifling with her?” There was only the tiniest hint of alarm in my voice. Thankfully, I knew that my sister's heart remained untouched by Mr Wickham, and she was not in any danger.

“He is no fool. He knows the importance of money. If Jane knew herself to be in love, then I would do something for her. She is a sweet girl, and I would not like to see her troubled.” He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy. “As to George's hopes, well, he is too young to know what it is he wants.” There was an element of aggravation in his words as he spoke of Mr Wickham. Yet, I knew better than to pry into my husband's worries. He would never reveal them to me.

My husband's attention to Mr Wickham's doomed courtship of my sister was touching; his son's was simply annoying. I knew the younger Darcy to be no great admirer of Wickham; I had heard from Wickham's own account that throughout their lives, Darcy had been nothing but jealous, meddlesome and controlling of Wickham's life. Now, it seemed that he had progressed to interfering in Jane's life too; where previously he had treated her as nothing but a common and indifferent acquaintance.

I was not made aware of young Darcy's feelings until we were alone together. The house was always full, and both he and I always much engaged with various businesses. Of course, neither of us was eager to seek out the other's company either. I thought it natural that he and I should see each other rarely, except at meal times. When I did encounter my son-in-law, I frequently felt frustrated in his company. As a general rule, we sought to avoid one another and spare ourselves the awkwardness of such meetings. Or at least I thought we did.

When he sat down beside me on a sofa in the library, I was surprised, but relieved, for he offered me only a nod before turning all his attention to his book. For once, I was grateful to be alone with him, for it presented me with the perfect opportunity to ask him of his curious presence at the Wainwright cottage. I studied him for a few moments, turning my pages at strategic moments. He, though, was the first to break our silence. “Are you aware that your sisters are in your sitting room?” At first, I thought that it was nothing more than a hint for me to leave, which I would not, for I was there first. Only then he added, “Mr Wickham is with them.” with such a tone of accusation, my head shot up from my book.

“Then they are well entertained.” I replied tartly and with an air of finality. I returned all my attention to my book hoping we would not have any further conversation.

“The girls should be at their lessons.” He sounded disapproving.

“Georgiana and Mary are about their music lessons with Mrs Robinson, Jane is helping Lydia and Kitty with their embroidery.” I justified puffing myself up to meet his eye, proud that I could refute his claim.

“Yet not a needle or thread is in sight. Lydia and Catherine are run wild, while Miss Bennet's attention is captured by Mr Wickham.” he reported with equal frankness.

Seeing that I was caught, I simply said, “Then I shall caution Lydia and Kitty to behave.” I knew that it would not go down so well. He did not need to be aware that Lydia would refuse, and accuse me of being all high and mighty, just because I was married.

“Perhaps, while you are about it, Mrs Darcy, you shall caution Miss Bennet too.”

“For what? She is not obliged to sit with them over their lessons like a mother or a governess.” I was not prepared to scold Jane. Lydia, especially, was too strong willed and defiant for nicely natured Jane to control. She would never listen to a sister only seven years her senior.

He sighed ever so slightly. “You misconstrue my meaning.” He paused for a minute; I waited for him to continue. “She spends too much time with Mr Wickham, people will remark upon it. They will not marry, you know.”

I knew they would not, of course, I knew. I had heard confirmation of that from Jane's own mouth… And yet, his words riled me so much I could not help but argue with him. “Whether they shall or not, it is no business of yours.”

“It is every business of mine if she is the centre of the latest scandal. She is a Darcy by default.”

“Mr Wickham is gentleman, and shall be a clergyman to boot.” I reclaimed my ground with fierceness. “Your lack of faith in him is most unfair.” I cried. This was not, after all, about Jane's feelings. Still, his interference was unwelcome. It was Mr Wickham he was attempting to slander, just as Wickham had once told me he did.

“While you have too much faith in him.” he rejoined with feeling.

“What proof have you?”

“There will be all the proof in the world if your sister does not care to check the acquaintance.” Until this point, he had remained seemingly calm, but as he looked up at the ceiling, I could tell that he was willing himself patience. He took a breath before proceeding, “He only wishes to use her to his advantage.”

“You have too low an opinion of my sister.”

“I speak not of mere seduction.”

“Seduction? They are both too good for that.” I laughed.

“You cannot think he shall marry her.” He laughed in return. “Neither of them have a penny. Connections alone will not secure her, and there are only so many tenant cottages available... Even if they could, my father would never have it. He is a Darcy, he would never be happy to see his good name blemished by your sister's marriage to his steward's son.” He stood up and paced across the room to the window. Then I knew that he was more annoyed than he appeared. There, he was trying to regain control of his emotions, to appear as a perfectly emotionless Darcy to the rest of the world.

I knew he was right. Once again I thought about my husband's poor sister, Mrs Harris, of whom they never spoke following her shameful marriage. I knew that he was right, and I had to admit that my husband, so slow to accept me and my unfortunate birth, would never change, despite what he had said a few days earlier. Chilled, I suddenly found myself admitting into the uncomfortable moments of silence. “Jane… does not love him.”

“And yet she tolerates behaviour like his anyway. Only a woman in love or fool enough to desire such a marriage would even consider allowing him the liberties she does. Whether she loves him or not, it shall be remarked upon.”

“Is that all you care about? Jane allows it, because it is not in her nature to see any malice in his manners, and indeed I do not see that he means any harm in it either. I truly think he is in love with her. Is that so very inconceivable?”

“In him, yes. Yes it is.” I looked at him with a sad shake of my head. It was not Mr Wickham, I was sure, who was incapable, but my son-in-law. His every word to me confirmed it: his strident and unswerving belief that money and connections remained the key to everything; the arrogant assumption that Jane and Wickham's lack of fortune made them an impossible, inconsiderable match. This, this was what the pride that had been instilled in him had brought about. An emotionless man.

“He was your friend.” I whispered horrified.

“Until I saw the truth of him, yes he was.” Once again he was disclaiming Mr Wickham's honour. As he said it, my mind returned to his curious visit to the Wainwrights' cottage.

“What were you doing at the Wainwrights' on Monday?” He looked thunderstruck by the sudden turn the conversation had taken.

“Alice has, no doubt, already answered that.” He regained some of his aplomb and succinctly avoided the question.

“Perhaps I would just like your account.” I sighed, with disinterest, determined not to make him aware of my frustration. Sometimes I had the strangest feeling that he liked to wind me up.

“As I told my father, I had some calls to make.” He looked me straight in the eye as he said it. Clearly, it was the truth. For a second I held his gaze before looking away.

“I cannot imagine how Alice would come to be involved in these calls.” The implication, despite attempts to restrain it, was heavy in my voice. He knew precisely where my thoughts had led me.

“She was not,” he stated clearly, “I had some business with Wainwright.” His tone was chilly, undoubtedly offended by my accusations. That his response so neatly coincided with Alice's own somehow only managed to increase my suspicion, rather than relieve it.

“Yet you went inside, even though he was not there?”

“I am not in the habit of bandying about my business in the middle of the lane.” He proudly drew himself up in his seat. I glared back with icy eyes. He must have seen my disbelief, for he changed tact. “Very well, she offered me refreshments and I accepted. I was curious to see how she and the baby faired.”

While I still had the sense that he was not speaking the absolute truth, in essence I was convinced enough that there was nothing underhanded or suspicious about his visit to the Wainwrights, even if he would not tell me. Feeling embarrassed that he was now aware of my groundless fancies, I stood up from the sofa. “Excuse me, I must go and see to Jane and Mr Wickham.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “you should keep an eye on him.” I could not be bothered to even ask him what he meant by that.

1. Proverbs 19:15
   </OL< p>

Chapter XV

Posted on September 1, 2008

“Why Alice! What do you do here?” I called out, surprised to see my old maid standing outside my husband's study, dressed in her best. She had not entered the house since the day of her wedding; there was no reason for her to ever be here again. If I had thought my son-in-law's call on her odd, it was suddenly nothing to this intriguing occurrence. What would she have to say? I may have asked but for her timid little bob and murmur of my name. It was as if we were not acquainted; that she was nothing more than a humble tenant's wife, and I the lofty mistress of an estate, not the keeper of some of my more intimate secrets.

The door to the study opened, and both Mr Wickham and my-son-in-law stepped out. “Ah Mrs Darcy!” Wickham cried jovially. His eye then turned to Alice, who was engrossed in the study of a painting, “And your maid, charming.”

“Alice is not my maid anymore, Mr Wickham. She is married.” I offered innocently.

“Is she indeed?” he asked, though he did not sound earnestly interested in the knowledge.

“Yes, and she has a child, my goddaughter.” I informed him cheerfully. Wickham blinked at the information, but said nothing more on the matter.

“Alice,” my son-in-law interrupted, with a cutting glare in my direction, “my father shall see you now.” Alice jumped at the address and scurried past without so much as a glance at either Wickham or myself. She appeared so grateful to be gone that again I puzzled over her. Why so nervous in a place that had been her only home for so many years? How I longed to listen at the door.

I saw nothing more of the study's two guests that day, or its usual inhabitant. I did not question it. Alice could hardly have dropped in and made a social call. My husband, much occupied with business and greatly out of sorts, often failed to appear at meal times. And to his son, well, it was difficult to either regret or notice his stoic company. I was happier alone, or in company with my sisters than the two men.

What did shock me, was that I never saw Mr Wickham, either that day or any other that followed. This is not to say that I never encountered him again; but he just vanished, without taking any leave of either Jane or myself. It was this snubbing of Jane that confused me the most. For a man who had appeared to be so much in love with her, a man of honour and decorum no less, to depart with no promise to return or expression of regret over his departure was odd indeed.

In her own way, Jane too, was sorry to see him go. She confessed to me with mortification that she was glad to be spared the discomfort of any serious discussion with him, especially when she would be obliged to disoblige his wishes, but she could regret his company. It must have been dull for her to be at Pemberley, her mother always sick and withdrawn, her youngest sisters at lessons and me much occupied with running an estate. Pemberley had little liveliness to offer. Mr Wickham though, whether infatuated with her or not, would have always had some amusement at hand.

My husband's mood, which had been grave for some time, became darker still. He shunned us at meals and in the evenings, locking himself away in the study. When Georgiana did receive a reply to her questioning, he simply said that there was much business. Briefly, I wondered if there was some financial trouble. In the year that had passed since my arrival, money had been thrown around lavishly, and I had little concept of how far ten thousand a year could truly stretch.

On the infrequent occasions he did appear in my company, my husband was silent and brooding. I knew that it could not be me that was the cause of this anger. I had troubled him plenty in the course of our marriage, and I had never seen him in such a black humour. Besides, I could not think of anything I had done that was at fault. No, though he avoided my company, I was certain that it was not that he wished to avoid me particularly.

The whole affair was quite bizarre. His withdrawal made me realise just how much I had come to depend upon his company. Of his family, he was the only member I found to be tolerable. He was, to be sure, not a lively man now, nor an especially witty man; and were circumstances different, I would not seek out his company. But he was clever, and more accepting than either of his children.

What I could not fail to notice, when in his company, that he and his son seemed cautious of the other. Before, while naturally there were little causes for exasperation, there had been a cordial and trusting relationship, with my husband evidently proud of his son, and a son who greatly admired his father. They were neither of them great talkers, but the resentful silence that now tensely emanated from the pair made them appear as enemies, not relatives. Something, I knew, had occurred between them.

Mr Wickham, I assumed, had left to be about his studies¹. When I asked my husband if it was the case, he had replied with a grunt… I took this to be an affirmation.

Thus, once again, Pemberley passed into quiet, with little to occupy our minds or lives. The only gossip of any note was the arrival of a newly ordained curate named Thursfield, who had taken up lodgings in Kympton; and the scandalous affair of a maid at Pemberley, who had found herself with child. As we had the year before, it was arranged that she would be married to a tenant.

Not long after Mr Wickham's precipitated departure, the younger Darcy followed suit. His father, speaking to him for the first time in many days, informed him that he would be expected in Town for the season. My son-in-law, who was never fond of society, and the previous year had delayed his departure for as long as possible, looked about to object. It was only early February, and London would not be busy for many weeks. But his father spoke before him. “I shall brook no argument, Fitzwilliam; the Grimstons left last week.” He looked hard at his son, eyes full of reproach.

In a matter of days, my son-in-law had been shipped off to London and the company of the ever so charming Miss Grimston. Mama was naturally distressed by the news, for in her heart, she still dearly cherished the idea that one day Jane and the younger Darcy would be united, and thus secure her at Pemberley to the end of her days. How she moped and fretted to hear that my husband had sent his son in pursuit of the universally acknowledged, 'charming Grimston Girl.' “Oh Lizzy, you and Mr Darcy must take Jane to Town for the season!” she cried. Knowing that Jane's most fearsome competition would gain months worth of ground there, and without a care for our position. Jane dutifully and patiently reminded her of it. “Oh, your father, how he loved to vex me!” She had wailed in response to this piece of sage wisdom.

Although we had decried her demand to journey to town, Mama's memory of society would not be laid to rest. With so little going on at the house and its district, she had little gossip to occupy her mind. This left her with a great deal of time to contemplate another favourite topic: the marriage of her unattached daughters; albeit that three were too young for such schemes. “It is never too soon to begin planning.” she told me once. The warning to plan for the future may have been her only wisdom.

She reminded me in March, as my sisters and I made the transition from full to half mourning, that in only three months, we would be free to do as we would again. More importantly, I ought to remember my duty to her and my sisters and find them all suitable husbands. “No more of your wild ideas either, Miss Lizzy!” she scolded, “No stewards sons and no curates, though Mr Thursfield may be so particularly handsome.”

Mama, though, was not the only one to being to think of such things once more. My husband, too, was determined to see me re-enter local society. His resolve was strengthened when at the end of the Season, his son returned home, once more unwed. His only relief stemmed from the knowledge that there was no mention of the Grimston Girl's being engaged either, though she had been the toast of the Season, and courted by many. “Hogging all those men to herself, that is really very selfish.” cried Lydia, when Georgiana imparted tales from the society columns in the papers to her and Kitty.

Diana Grimston, my husband had decreed, was the woman upon whom all the future happiness of his son, would rest. A girl, the granddaughter of an knight, and only child of a recently widowed neighbour, was eminently qualified for the position of the future Mistress of Pemberley. More importantly still, I was instructed to welcome her with open arms into my own intimate circles when the time came for our acquaintance to be made. I was supposed to feel flattered to be entrusted with such a pivotal role in the delicate operation of uniting the pair.

My husband and Mama had their own rather similar motives for wanting to see me out and about again. Sophie, Lady St Vincent, surprised me by being of a like mind. “Oh,” she had giggled, “you had best make an appearance, or they shall all start rattling away about how your husband is ashamed of your provincial ways. We must show them you are not some little milk-in-first miss. Besides, company is utterly intolerable without you.” She sat up a little straighter, “We must go shopping.”

My own shoulders slumped; more dresses! “Goodness, yes my dear! You are all outdated again, and you are grown taller. Your Jane shall need some too, I would imagine. Oh, but we should find her a husband. Have you met Henry Parkin yet? So dashing!” She continued to giggle.

Somehow, she persuaded my husband to allow her to take me to Lichfield, where the shops were the finest in the region, and served the gentry of Warwickshire, Derbyshire and Staffordshire. “Wait until you see Trings, Lizzy. I buy all my bonnets from there.” I had never known anybody as enthusiastic about the mere prospect of shopping as Sophie. “Pretty girls do not cry, they shop.” she told me seriously one afternoon when I teased her of it.

There was nearly fifty miles between Lichfield and Pemberley, so we were obliged to set out very early, dozing in the carriage until we stopped at The George² for lunch. Sophie, I noticed, was welcomed warmly by the landlord, for she was a regular customer at the place. As we ate a meal of cold meats and salad, I asked, “What do you know of Miss Grimston?” Sophie had been permitted to spend the season in Town by her husband that year.

“What do I not know of Miss Grimston, is perhaps the question you mean to ask.” She laughed. “I have never in my life heard anybody so without scandal, talked of so much.”

“Are you jealous of her, Sophie?” I teased.

“Oh, naturally, my dear! Now that she is come to Derbyshire, she shall be more eponymous than I, all because she is so pretty. What a relief that shall be to me. Goodness, I almost hope she does marry your Fitzwilliam, for otherwise she might move out of the area, and then where will we all be?”

“Mr Darcy has requested that I be nice to her.” I went from laughing to glum in a heartbeat.

She laughed again, “Are you courting her for him? Well, I suppose he needs all the help he can get. He is a little… reticent, shall we say? But no matter, the whole world knows that it is he she wants to marry.”

“What can you mean, Sophie? I thought she was without scandal?”

“She could have married a duke or a marquis is all I shall say. Yet she did not.”

`Fashionably late,' was how Sophie termed the arrival of our honoured guests, the Grimstons. Downright rude, I called it. I had been obliged to speak with cook once already and ask her to delay dinner; yet they breezed through the doorway, pausing long enough to be announced. The other young ladies instantly turned to remark upon Miss Grimston's dress. The eyes of the lady in question flickered briefly in our direction; except for a slight twitch about the corners of her mouth, she gave no indication of having noticed their actions.

My husband, having dragged Mr Grimston away on the pretext of business, left it up to his son to introduce me to his future bride and her frail old grandmother. “Lady Grimston,” he turned to the most senior of the party, “Miss Grimston, allow me to introduce Mrs Darcy and her sister, Miss Bennet. Ladies,” he then looked at me and Jane, “Lady Grimston and her granddaughter, Miss Grimston.”

“Charmed.” Lady Grimston murmured, making little attempt to bow. I could only hope she suffered rheumatics. She took a seat next to Lady Conrad, saying nothing. Lady Grimston was too old for Society, I once heard her say, but for Diana, she would have saved herself the irksome bother of it all.

“Mrs Darcy, a pleasure to meet you. Your son has told me so much about you.” She languidly lowered herself into the seat next to plain Cynthia Neville. “Ah Miss Neville, you are back from town at last. You must tell me, since it was only my first, how it compared with other seasons.” She smiled. Then turned to address me, “Miss Neville is something of a connoisseur, you see, Mrs Darcy, she has had five already.”

“Why spoil the anticipation, Miss Grimston?” Sophie asked, “Next year shall be your second, making you just as experienced amongst the young ladies.”

“That is precisely what I was thinking, Lady St Vincent. I should like to be prepared to answer when they should ask.” She returned gravely. “Mr Darcy, would you be so good as to fetch me some refreshments?” she asked my son-in-law. Turning to the other ladies, she added, “I am absolutely parched, our carriage took forever getting here, did it not, Grandmamma?”

“No, my dear, I think you were just impatient to be here.” Her grandmother replied with a smile.

“Oh, but I was. I have been talking about this since we received your invitation, Mrs Darcy. I have been so eager to meet you. Have I not, Grandmamma?”

Lady Grimston replied in a short affirmative, “And I do think Pemberley is the dearest of places, such a pretty little house.” she added. Seeing that her drink had arrived, she smiled wistfully, “It must be so lovely living here.”

There was the briefest lull in conversation before one of the younger girls spoke up, “Miss Grimston, your dress is beautiful. You must tell us who made it.” The dress was certainly beautiful, it would not have looked out of place in a ballroom.

“I commissioned Madame Lanchester just before leaving town. You know, I had a gown very similar to yours two or three years ago, it was quite a favourite.” The young lady who had addressed Miss Grimston flushed, and beamed with evident pleasure at owning a gown like one the famous Grimston Girl once possessed.

Dinner was soon announced, and Miss Grimston sought the arm of her future intended. “Grandmamma, Grandmamma, dinner is ready at last. Come, here is Mr Darcy to escort you and I. Grandmamma is a little hard of hearing, Mrs Darcy.” she added, addressing me in a hushed tone.

Miss Grimston was a great talker, I observed at dinner. It was most fortunate, since her dinner partner was so taciturn in disposition. She spoke enough for two of them. The perfect match, they complimented one another perfectly. She talked of the theatre and the museum, and even one of Mr Davy's public demonstrations she had attended. She made very little mention of balls. When the young lady seated opposite her raised the subject, she stated that she found little interest in balls; though she had naturally attended many.

Perhaps it was refreshing to meet such a very cultured young lady? For cultured Miss Grimston certainly was; not to mention well educated. She had attended a good school where she had been most successfully screwed out of health and into vanity. In short, she was an exemplary pupil, having mastered all the usual accomplishments and more. Among other things, her vast knowledge was widely remarked upon by many. Nobody, though, would ever have contemplated calling her a bluestocking.

She was the last of the ladies to withdraw after dinner. She delayed a few seconds to remark upon something or another to Fitzwilliam Darcy. Thus, she was forced to take the empty seat next to Jane. As I looked between the pair of them, it was hard to decide who was the more beautiful. Miss Grimston was a little taller, a little slimmer and she exuded a confident air that Jane did not, there was a surety in her every movement, every word. Even as she sat there completely still, she looked more like she belonged than Jane did. But Jane's lack of conceit was endearing. “Have you ever been to Town, Miss Bennet?” she demanded to know.

“No, my father was not fond of Town.” Jane responded quietly.

“Then how did you ever meet your husband, Mrs Darcy? You are not a local of Derbyshire.”

“He was passing through Hertfordshire.” I replied evasively.

“Oh! You are from Hertfordshire. We have some relatives in Hertfordshire, do you know the Viscount?” I could only answer the inquiry in a way that dissatisfied her. She fell silent again.

It was not long before the gentleman joined us again. No doubt, my husband was eager to have his son returned to the company of a particular lady. Jane and I dutifully poured tea and coffee for our guests, while they amused themselves with conversation. We had barely sat down to enjoy our own when Miss Grimston turned to Jane, again seated next to her, and asked, “Do you play, Miss Bennet?” Jane owned that she did not.

“Diana plays remarkably well.” Lady Grimston, who remained silent unless otherwise addressed, offered unexpectedly. “One ought not boast, but everybody says how beautifully she plays and sings.”

“Perhaps you would be so good as to play for us, Miss Grimston.” I recited, knowing that it was expected.

“How kind of you, Mrs Darcy. I would be delighted. Mr Darcy, you must turn pages for me. I have been practicing a new piece all week. I hope you shall like it.” Standing up, she took his arm and swept him across the room. Rifling through the music that had been left out, she sighed, “Bother, I cannot find the piece here. Never mind, I shall attempt to play it from memory.” she trilled gaily. Sitting down at the instrument, she played a few notes, whether to examine the tuning or to attract the room's attention, I was unsure. Then, after this little performance, she began the true one.

If I knew that you
Showed me signs of your affection,
And of what I feel for you,
You felt but a tiny fraction;

That your greeting in return
Met my greeting halfway even
And your lips did likewise yearn
To return my kisses given,

Then, o heavens, without thought
Would my heart be brightly flaming!
Life and limb be not for nought
At disposal of your claiming!

Favour shown is favour found,
Given love will be returning
And inflames a fire unbound
Where just cinders would be burning.³

As she was playing, Sophie turned to me with a whisper, “So, now you have met the famous Miss Grimston, what do you think of her?”

“She seems very sure of herself.”

“Hmm, yes. Brassy, I should say. Goodness, look at her dress, Zonas Bands, at dinner!” She was utterly outraged by the much admired dress.

Miss Grimston delighted the room with another two songs after the first one before being accompanied over to her father, who was speaking with my husband. The three were only stood in conversation for very few seconds before my husband approached, “Elizabeth, do you have cards planned for this evening? I think our guests would enjoy a game.”

It seemed that most of our guests were indeed eager for cards. All their attention was quickly engrossed in the games that were laid out. Even the young ladies, who had been eager to exhibit on the pianoforte, soon joined various tables. The older gentlemen had a table to themselves. The younger, unmarried men spread out amongst the ladies, some helping their mothers, others had fairer partners. My son-in-law was partnering Miss Grimston at Whist.

Their game, I found to be far more interesting that my own. For a woman noted for her accomplishments and intelligence, she appeared to need a great deal of help with the game, continually deferring to Darcy's wishes and asking his opinions. Her meekness in dealing with Darcy would no doubt suit him very well in the future. I knew how high handed he could be, but, I also wondered how long she would bear under it. Everything I had heard and seen of her contradicted her submission to Darcy. She was the darling of the ton, the girl who every other looked to follow. She seemed perfectly content in it for now, though. That much I could state with absolute certainty, for my eyes were so often drawn to their side of the room, as to make my play quite unsuccessful.

1. Although Wickham had already been to Cambridge it would not have been uncommon for him to study theology for 6 months to a year before being ordained by a bishop, either back at university or with a tutor. He would also have been too young to take the living.

2. The George in Lichfield, famous now for its architecture, but then for being a Whig establishment.

3. Gegenliebe (Love Given, Love Returned), Gottfried August Bürger (1747-1794).

© 2008 Copyright held by the author.

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