“My dear young lady, understand that I am not a tiresome old gossip and I do not customarily speak ill of others. I thought it perhaps beneficial for you to have a contrary point of view. Forgive me if I have discomfited you.”
“On the contrary, I thank you for your consideration. I feel I can confess to you that it has sometimes felt a heavy weight to know myself viewed with such misgiving at every turn.”
“It is hard, I am sure, but Darcy is a good man and will more than recompense for any unpleasantness. He is like his father in all the best ways, though he is at times too much his mother’s son for my liking. But I am not without prejudice against my cousin’s wife. George Darcy and I were not only cousins; we were intimate friends. Our mothers were sisters and we spent much time together in our youth. I like to believe that I have likewise been a good friend to your husband, particularly since his father’s passing. When Darcy was at university he came and supped with me weekly and we would hold such profound and penetrating discussions. When his father passed the Fitzwilliam clan got their hold on him soon enough and wished very much to bind him to them in a manner most adverse to his best interests; that is to say the best interest of his heart, of his soul. But he still came to me and has often confided in me. I am so apart from his life that he always felt assured of my disinterestedness. I want nothing from him but his friendship and nothing for him but his happiness and health.”
They arrived at the bench at the far end of the garden and sat. For a moment they were quiet and listened to the birds busily fluttering about with their tasks.
“Dr. Hodgson,” Elizabeth began, moved by his frankness to speak what she had not cared to confess to her husband. “I am too stubborn to let it get the better of me, and yet, I should have liked to have been simply welcomed by Mr. Darcy’s other relations as you have so graciously done: without reservations; without judgement; without suspicion of my motives or my worth. Only his sister and his cousin have been unequivocally welcoming.”
“Ah, because his sister and the Colonel, they care principally for the man.”
“I sometimes wonder what Mr. Darcy’s parents would have made of his choice.”
“Oh my dear, I lament to confirm your worst suppositions. His mother would have received you exactly as her brother and sister have.”
“With misgiving? Civil indifference at best?”
“I cannot tell a falsehood, my dear.”
“His father?”
“He would at first have lamented your modest connections, I am sure. He had his generous share of ambition and conceit. The Darcy family after all is far older and more honourable a line than many a titled family. But George was a good and amiable man, a fair man.” Dr. Hodgson raised his aged, trembling hand and placed it under Elizabeth’s chin. Admired her with his pale grey eyes. “Once he saw this lovely face with your honest and intelligent expression, once he saw with what sincere affection you look upon his son, he would have been charmed. Any person who truly cares for Darcy’s welfare must be pleased to see he has a true wife and companion. Not all marriages are so, unfortunately. It was not the case for my cousin, though he never complained. It is not what God intended that interests should weigh above rightness. Know that and carry that with you always, regardless of what great personage may counter otherwise. When we have right on our side we should fear nothing and no one.”
“You have renewed my courage, Dr. Hodgson. I thank you.”
“I suspect that your courage needs little renewal.”
“Is anybody always fearless and confident and unmindful to intimidation?”
“That fellow coming towards us now; sometimes to his determent. That is an unfortunate Fitzwilliamness, I am afraid. Lack of humility is a grave weakness easily manipulated by the astute.” He patted her hand with affection. “Your wife is everything you said she was, Darcy,” Dr. Hodgson remarked warmly as Darcy arrived before them. “She and I are good friends already, are we not, my dear?”
“I never doubted you would be,” Darcy replied, but privately grateful for such a simple, uncomplicated welcome of his wife with no judgements about her family or wealth or whatever else might be perceived as lacking. Just an honest acceptance of the lovely, charming woman she was.
They remained with Dr. Hodgson for a few days in perfectly delightful companionship. In the mornings Darcy and Elizabeth ventured out into the city together and there was much she learned of his university days; in the afternoons and evenings they held between the three of them just the sort of long and penetrating conversations as the good man had indicated was a regular part of his intercourse with Darcy. Rarely had Elizabeth seen her husband so at ease, so entirely unencumbered by expectations or norms, so free in expression of his opinions and doubts. What is more, outside of Georgiana, Elizabeth had never felt so well in the company of any of her husband’s relations or friends. When they departed for London both Darcy and Elizabeth felt a restoration of energies they had not known they required after so many weeks of conspicuous judgement. It had been an unexpectedly welcome respite.
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
Whilst Darcy and Elizabeth had been away at Cambridge, Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived in London with plans to remain through Easter. He had not seen his cousin since the wedding in Hertfordshire. Seeing him now he was immediately and powerfully struck by his cousin’s demeanour. Walking into the drawing room of Grosvenor Square, come to collect Georgiana, his pretty wife hanging lovingly on his arm, Darcy radiated an entirely unfamiliar contentment. The Colonel was not accustomed, even in the intimacy of Pemberley, to observing such an obvious felicity in his cousin’s manner. Indeed, even as a child, Darcy had always held a firm check on gratuitous demonstrations of either misery or joy. The Colonel was immediately recalled to the evening the prior spring when his cousin’s entirely dissimilar, sullen mood had caused him to force a confession as to the cause of such moroseness.
“Fitzwilliam, a gentleman does well to keep his own counsel on some matters,” Darcy had declared in resistance to his cousin’s petitions for information.
“Unquestionably. He also does well to know when not to,” Colonel Fitzwilliam had responded. “Come man, you can unburden yourself with me. I will keep your confidences.”
After a long pause, with a disquieting, deceptive coldness, Darcy had confessed. “I have recently made a young lady an offer of marriage. She declined my offer in a most unambiguous manner. I find myself entirely incapable of forgetting the moment, powerless of conquering the sentiments that led me so rashly forward.”
The Colonel had been as equally shocked to learn of the proposal as he was of its rejection. Privately he had admired Miss Bennet’s valour, for not many women in her position would have so incontrovertibly rejected so profitable an offer, so desirable a situation, for reasons of principle. He had never seen his cousin so affected, had encouraged him to master disappointment, reminding Darcy he was unlikely to see the young lady again unless he put himself wilfully into her path. “I can assure you I will do no such thing,” Darcy had replied with bitterness. Months later, in the heat of summer, had come Darcy’s letter, filled with poignant longing: I have seen her again, Fitzwilliam. Fate has placed her squarely in my path and I find I have a heart that is designed for constancy.
Constancy indeed, thought the Colonel as he observed his cousin gazing at his wife admiringly as she related something of their brief journey into Cambridge. At length the gentlemen were left alone; Lady Richmond wished to display to Elizabeth a newly acquired set of china.
“I need not ask how you are enjoying the married state, Darcy. You besotted fool!” Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed when they were alone.
Darcy threw himself vigorously into a chair and sighed contentedly. He was in a particularly fine mood. “I am entirely indifferent to your derisiveness, Fitzwilliam. Call me what you will.”
“Who should have thought when I came and dragged a confession from you last May it would all end so well?”
“I was certainly not hopeful
at the time, but you must acknowledge I was wise.”
“Whatever do you mean wise? You were angry and surly and remarkably ill-disposed towards everything and everyone. Most certainly you were as unwelcoming of my advice then as you are now indifferent to my mockery!”
“You insisted at the time that I should not waste my misery on repining a young lady who had so forcefully rejected me. You thought me mad when I confessed that it was precisely the manner and cause of her rejection that made her esteem more desirable. I told you that her rejection of my offer—an offer so manifestly to the advantage of herself and her family—because she would not betray her principles or sell her integrity, was confirmation that she was worthy of the utmost admiration, worthy of every sacrifice. I was entirely correct, Fitzwilliam. She is worthy of every sacrifice.”
“Fortunately you have not appeared to sacrifice anything so very important. If a few doyens of society have been less than warm in their reception, or a few gossiping young ladies stingy in their compliments, it is hardly of any consequence. Not everyone has proven immune to her charms. I do confess I am surprised by how utterly she has won over mother. Mother declares you are bewitched, but I suspect she is rather bewitched as well.”
“I am not surprised by your mother’s growing attachment.”
“Of course not, you must think her capable of winning over anyone. And I dare say she is.”
“I was thinking of Alice. Elizabeth carries joy within her, Alice was the same and it is, I am sure, why your mother has so quickly become attached to my wife.”
“Alice was the bright centre of our lives. She was such a mischievous little troublemaker when we were children. I am pleased for mother that she has found something like solace in your wife. Mother and Edith have never understood one another; Edith has always been father’s pet and mother’s plague. Her sons will not offer anything in that regard, either. I am a long way from abandoning the bachelor state and she will find nothing but dullness in Lady Patience Faircloth.”
“We will of course remain in town to attend the wedding and have postponed our departure for Pemberley until after the celebration of the marriage.”
“I cannot understand why such an elaborate celebration. A more insipid creature I defy you to find. More the fool Edward!” the Colonel added crossly. “She offers him nothing but a handsome dowry.”
“Do not be so pitiless, Fitzwilliam. She is a respectable young lady from a fine family.”
“I am surprised at you, Darcy. You would still advocate such a match?”
“It is true that I did not, in the end, give importance to questions of family and wealth when I married, but it does not follow that what I desired in my marriage is what others desire, nor that a marriage established on those concerns need necessarily be opposed. Your sister married Norbury for those precise reasons and is remarkably satisfied with her situation; indeed, their union is a model of like-mindedness. There is no single mode for finding happiness and contentment in our lives. Unless Lady Patience gives you cause to mistrust her, accept her as your sister gracefully and openly. She need not be your dearest friend, but for your brother’s sake be generous in your welcome.”
“As generous as Edward has been to your wife? Come now, Darcy, you must be softened by this love business after all.”
“I am sure I continue to suffer folly and banality as gracelessly as ever. But I have learnt that for those we most esteem we must sometimes exercise equanimity.”
“I will abide by your good counsel, but it does not follow that I must think her any less insipid.”
“Indeed it does not,” Darcy laughed.
“Right then. Enough on this; we sound no better than a bored, gossipy clergyman’s wife entertaining an equally bored neighbour. I have no patience for the topic of Lady Patience,” he wryly remarked. “As you appear to have been abandoned by your wife and sister, shall we go to the club or to Angelo’s for a little fencing? I cannot allow myself to grow fat and stiff whilst idling about town. You never do know when trouble will rise again across the channel.”
Chapter 19
A Musical Evening
Miss Georgiana Darcy looked at herself in the glass and blushed with anticipated timidity. She did not know if she felt the greater share of anxiety or of excitement. She was not yet out in society, nor would she be for another year, but her brother had agreed that she would be allowed to attend some discreet entertainments where she would not be the object of sycophantic or avaricious attentions. Now he was married, Mr. Darcy had come to realize how discomfiting and stifling it had been to be the constant object of the same and he did not wish for his sister to be exposed to it so young.
In truth, Georgiana’s amusements had been of the most ordinary and appropriate since arriving to London. She accompanied Elizabeth frequently to visit her Aunt Gardiner or her sister Jane. Miss Caroline Bingley, who was fonder of Georgiana than ever, came upon an afternoon to call upon her young friend. She accompanied her brother and Elizabeth regularly for a carriage ride in Hyde Park and the prior day they had visited the British Museum to view the newly installed colossal bust of Ramesses II[10]. She had stayed with Lord and Lady Richmond whilst her brother and Elizabeth had been in Cambridge, and she attended the small gatherings they had hosted at home. Indeed, there was a greater activity than she had yet experienced in her quiet life, but she had not yet attended the opera or a concert though she longed for the opportunity. This evening was to be different.
When the invitation arrived to attend a musical evening at the home of the Ashtons, Elizabeth had thought it an ideal opportunity for Georgiana to attend her first London party. Darcy had concurred with Elizabeth’s estimation. Dressed to attend her first musical soiree, wearing an elegant evening dress and a delicate coral necklace adorning her neck, Georgiana stood looking at herself in the glass, surprised by her own reflection. When she appeared in the drawing room where her brother and Elizabeth awaited her, Darcy was startled to see her so evidently grown, a young woman in full. He approached her and took her hands within his own, kissed her brow. “My dear sister, what a handsome young lady you have become. If only our father could see his little Georgie now.”
“Little Georgie!” Georgiana replied nostalgically. “I had almost forgotten that he called me so.”
“I hope you have not forgotten that you were the comfort and joy of his life; as you have been for me.”
“Until now,” she replied with a smile and turned to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth rose from her chair and came to Georgiana’s side, placed her hand affectionately upon her arm. “Do not mistake the matter, Georgiana. A man’s love for his wife and his love for a most cherished sister occupy very different parts of his heart. You will always be the comfort and joy of your brother’s life and he could never be happy and well unless you are also happy and well.”
Georgiana smiled, thankful for Elizabeth’s delicacy for Elizabeth seemed to have made an effort from the first to ensure that Georgiana never felt herself displaced in her brother’s affections. “Come now,” Elizabeth continued. “Your brother does not approve of being tardy,” she declared teasingly as she took Georgiana by the arm and quit the room. “It is entirely undignified and unbecoming of a Darcy to lack punctuality.” Darcy chuckled mildly, following behind, profoundly gratified by the sight of his wife and sister in such easy and ever-increasing harmony.
The Ashtons lived on a quiet street not far from Portman Square. The house itself was modestly sized, not grand, but the rooms were ample enough, well-furnished and tasteful. Much space was given to the musical instruments, of which there were many.
Mr. Edward Ashton was the son of a clergyman, himself the third son of a Baron of comfortable means. Mr. Ashton’s marriage to the former Miss Henrietta Coombes was a perfect meeting of interest and compatibility. The former Miss Coombes was the daughter of a moderately wealthy landowner from Lincolnshire and brought to the union a fortune sufficiently large to allow for an independent living;
he offered superior connections; they offered each other a sincere compatibility of dispositions and tastes. They were both of affable temperament, clever and fashionable, and both, to the great pleasure of all wherever they were greeted, were possessed of exceptional musical ability. They had a young daughter upon whom they doted. They were universally liked and welcomed about town.
Darcy and Ashton first became acquainted at university. Darcy was not particularly intimate with Mrs. Ashton, but she and Elizabeth had got on well from their earliest acquaintance. Mrs. Ashton was in possession of a certain lucid practicality and sensibility that reminded Elizabeth of her Aunt Gardiner.
The party this evening was not too large, with not above two-dozen guests in attendance, but it was sufficiently crowded for Georgiana to feel not entirely at ease. She stayed close to Elizabeth throughout and was filled with admiration at Elizabeth’s ease and fluidity of conversation. Elizabeth was never lost for a word or a clever remark and was as composed with those with whom she was already acquainted and those to whom she was only just being introduced. For her part, Georgiana felt all the greater awkwardness at her own inability to converse with such ease and charm, feared that she appeared to all as ungainly as she felt. But she was in full possession of the Darcy carriage, and though she was quiet, her very reserve, her attractive figure, her graceful movements, together conveyed not ungainliness, but a familiar Darcy hauteur that was in this circle in no way disapproved.
Mr. Darcy was across the room conversing with some gentlemen on the politics of the moment. In such situations he never felt a need to loiter by his wife; indeed believed she would have found it rather irritating to have him constantly underfoot as though to monitor her actions or words. She should have disliked even more had he loitered about her like a turtledove. When once he had been particularly playful in the privacy of their rooms she had affectionately teased him for the great difference between his private and public demeanour. “What would all your dignified acquaintances say to see you so very lively and unreserved?” she had laughed light-heartedly.
To Teach the Admiring Multitude Page 21
