Lady Catherine looked down at the drawing, smiled, and looked up again to her nephew who sat quietly across from her. “I confess I have no idea what to make of such a gesture.”
“I would hope it would begin to sincerely open your heart to Mrs. Darcy, that you might begin to recognize my wife for the generous-hearted, warm woman that she is, and not, as you have so unjustly done, as Anne’s artful and designing rival.”
Lady Catherine sighed anew. She was grown weary of a resentment seemingly shared by none. The image in her hand had deeply touched her and recalling with fondness her sister, revived the genuineness of affection for her nephew that her bitterness had been unable to crowd from her heart. “Your mother and I planned the union between you and Anne from your earliest days, and then I watched you grow into such a fine gentleman. How could I not continue to wish you for Anne’s husband? How could I not hold fast to the plans your mother and I had proposed in this very room? I believed you designed for each other. How am I to see your wife as other than the woman who ruined my long cherished plans? The woman who robbed Anne of her destined husband?”
“You must absolve my wife of a responsibility that was never hers, Lady Catherine. It was my error to permit you to continue anticipating the possibility of a union between myself and my cousin; it was through my selfish disregard for your feelings, and those of my cousin, that you were allowed to continue cherishing wishes which I had no intention of satisfying.” He continued with a conviction to finally put to rest the offensive subject of the suitability of his marriage, to restore the regular and natural relations that had long subsisted between them. “You must comprehend that I would have never made Anne my wife. It was what you wished for, and perhaps it is true that my mother also wished it so. Yet it could not be. I am not the only one who did not wish for such a marriage. Anne had no desire or inclination to be the mistress of Pemberley, no wish to be my wife and companion. If you will but speak to her you will confirm that she is entirely indifferent to my having married another. I am not her husband as you had desired, but freed from those expectations I can now be truly her cousin. I give you my word that she will always have from me the loyalty and counsel of a trusted friend. Let us not persist in an acrimony and resentment that benefits no one and conducts to nowhere. Tomorrow Pemberley will again open its doors to its Derbyshire neighbours in a manner not contemplated since my mother lived. If you will but allow yourself, you shall see that my wife brings honour to the Darcy name, that she is as gracious a hostess as my mother ever was. I beg of you, do not go on blaming her. It was in my power alone to satisfy your wishes; it was my choice to disappoint your hopes. If my wife is pleased to forgive offenses against her character, why should you and I not find forgiveness within our hearts? We are family. Let us forgive the past and let us truly reconcile.”
Darcy searched his aunt’s countenance, but found it unreadable. Her eyes were steady upon his face, but she revealed nothing. He sighed and pressed her hand gently within his own. “My mother would have wished for us to be reconciled, to return to our formerly good relations. For my part, it is all in the past.” He lifted her hand and kissed it respectfully, leaving her without another word.
She watched him depart and turned to gaze again at the drawing before her. With her fingers she hovered lovingly over the face of her sister in all its youthful attractiveness, recalled the lovely blush of her complexion, the mildness of her voice and the quiet manner that disguised such a firm, diligent character. She smiled, for she felt as though the simple drawing had returned to her long neglected happy memories of her beloved sister. Lady Catherine was surprised to discover feelings of gratitude for Elizabeth’s consideration, gratitude for her forbearance.
She stood and walked to the window. Below in the park she saw Elizabeth with some of the ladies and gentlemen that made up the summer party ambling about the lawn with the Ashton and Thorney children. It was a picturesque domestic tableau: the children playing cheerfully, the women strolling about beneath their parasols in the bright sun, a gentle breeze moving dresses and trees in gentle undulations, and the shadows from the trees casting pleasing variations of greens up and down the verdant lawn. Elizabeth had reached that time in pregnancy when fatigue has passed and before heaviness sets in, when a woman is uniquely radiant and comely. Dressed in a pristine white dress, smiling and merry, she was the very picture of health and good-humour. Anne was naturally not among the group, and her mother suspected she was likely inside, in a darkened, silent room, indulging her taciturn sickliness. She turned away from the tableau. Her brother had been entirely correct to exhort her to leave off the topic of their nephew’s mésalliance; it achieved nothing but the embitterment of her own heart. Whatever private scorn she would continue to treasure in her heart towards the pretentious upstart who had defiled her nephew’s noble line, from her nephew she resolved to hereon keep it concealed. Darcy was her fallen idol, but she could not endure further discord with the nephew she loved with the same motherly intensity as ever.
Better for her resolution to have turned away from the window, for as she walked out of the room Lady Richmond came out onto the lawn and invited Elizabeth to take a stroll with her beneath the shade of the lime trees. In their gaits, in the turn of their heads was evidenced a harmony and ease that illuminated the ever-increasing intimacy that affronted Lady Catherine nearly as equally as had her nephew’s marriage itself.
“That will soon enough be you,” Lady Richmond remarked to Elizabeth of the mothers watching their children at play on the lawn.
“God willing, but there is time yet.”
“How are you feeling? You look very well.”
“I am in excellent health. My mother writes me that she never had any difficulties and trusts I will be the same. I have never been prone to sickness or indispositions so I imagine it will be so. I only hope that unlike my mother I will not prove incapable of producing a son,” she added drolly.
“Darcy is eager for a son?”
“Naturally; are not all gentlemen? Once Pemberley has an heir, I am sure he will be entirely indifferent to whether he has sons or daughters, but of course now he desires an heir above all else.”
“It would certainly be a great triumph should you present him with an heir within a year of your matrimony.”
“Lady Richmond!” Elizabeth admonished, “I can assure you that should I indeed present my husband with a son, I will not look upon the infant as a triumph over those who have disapproved my marriage to him. I hope such pettiness is not something I would ever learn.”
Lady Richmond laughed softly, passed her hand through Elizabeth’s arm and rested upon her as they continued to stroll down the avenue. “That being the case, should this child be a son, let me enjoy the triumph on your behalf. You have certainly earned it. You have behaved with notable grace and forbearance all these months. I know from Darcy that it is your doing that he has reconciled with Lady Catherine. I should have never been capable of such generosity.”
“I have my fair portion of faults, your ladyship, but I am thankful that resentment has never been among them. There are absolutely no benefits to indulging such an emotion. Resentment succeeds only in marring the capacity for joy of its holder and injures not the object. What is more, I am blessed to be Darcy’s wife. What injury has Lady Catherine done me? None what so ever! A few harshly expressed opinions, a few ill-advised insults can have no impact on what is sacred between my husband and myself. After all, it is very easy to exercise compassion from a place of happiness and plenitude. If we have none when we find ourselves in fortunate circumstances we will certainly have none when the inevitable misfortunes of life cast shadows on what has been otherwise good.”
“Do you think so? I am not certain. You and Darcy have made clear that your life at Longbourn had been happy and carefree. I have always supposed wisdom is born from suffering. How does such a life as you have lived give you such wisdom and compassion?”
“I cannot speak to wis
dom, but does compassion need to be learnt?”
“For many people, certainly. I never had such a natural tendency towards kindness and goodness.”
“You have been kind to me.”
“If you did not remind me so poignantly of Alice, had you not come to me that morning at Grosvenor Square to so candidly seek my friendship, perhaps I should not have proven so kind. I cannot be sure.”
“It does not much signify to me the cause, your ladyship. You have been kind and for that I will always be grateful.”
“I am grateful for something as well. I am grateful that Darcy disregarded all our impertinent and entirely mistaken wishes. For his is not the only heart you have filled with a happiness and joy that had been long lacking. My dear Alice would have been delighted to see her cousin truly happy.”
“I wish I could have known Alice. Darcy has spoken of her with great affection.”
“They were good friends. Edith was always lamenting that Alice had no sense and was all sensibility, that she did not grasp the inexorable veracities of the world; in truth she did have far more heart than the rest of us and comprehended from the earliest of ages the precariousness of time and fate. She lived as so few people do, unreservedly, with her whole heart and soul. She would have been ashamed at how coldly we received you when you were first married to Darcy.” Lady Richmond stopped walking and turned to face Elizabeth. “As am I. Will you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Elizabeth responded with warm sincerity. “I was a stranger to all of you; you could not know that my affections for Mr. Darcy were profound and sincere. Whatever may have been lacking in warmth when you first received me has long ago been displaced by a gracious attentiveness and sincere friendship that I had not anticipated and for which I feel truly indebted to your ladyship. I have every intention of relying upon that friendship in the future, if I may.”
“Pray do, my dear Elizabeth!” Lady Richmond smiled, taking Elizabeth’s arm anew and continuing their stroll under the shade of the lime trees. Her spirit had not felt so light since before that terrible afternoon word had come of her dear Alice’s unexpected passing.
Chapter 39
The Mistress of Pemberley
Mr. Bennet stood a little to the side of the doors and observed the carriages coming down the drive one after another as it seemed every notable Derbyshire family from near and far arrived for what was being universally talked of as the restoration of Pemberley. He did not know how he would ever give a creditable report of the evening to Mrs. Bennet when he returned home to Longbourn in the coming days. He was taking Kitty home with him—a little before the intended time and to her great disappointment—and he hoped she would prove more capable of providing a worthy account.
The house had been a bustling of activity and the final arrangement was nothing short of splendid. No expense had been spared nor detail overlooked. The most fragrant and glorious flowers of the season filled the rooms with colours and aromas of sublime intensity; the gardens and pathways were lit with torches; candelabras in abundance lighted the rooms and the flames shimmered off the gilding and mirrors; the best food and fruits were presented with exquisite care; the best wines and liquor served in finely cut crystals; the linens glistened with silken threads and the silver was painstakingly polished. Everything was laid with care and elegance.
As the guests flowed into the house in all their finery, faces alight with anticipation and approbation, Mr. Bennet turned to watch the giddy multitude being welcomed with such dignity and warmth by Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy at their side. Such a powerful pride filled his breast. Elizabeth had never appeared so arrestingly handsome. The elegance of her dress and the fine jewels certainly had their part, but he comprehended these were only adornments; something within her had flourished since she married and it had never been so evident as on this evening. All the wealth and privilege that had come with her new station had not altered Elizabeth’s artlessness, her sensible calm or her warmth in the least, as though she almost disregarded the luxury in which she now lived; and yet she was blossoming because of the opportunities it afforded her into a woman of greater depth and worth. He saw in her now a superior elegance, a more informed mind, a less defiant independence and he knew she was in a fair way to becoming a very great lady.
Lady Richmond came to Mr. Bennet’s side. “Are you admiring your daughter, Mr. Bennet? Well you should. She is particularly handsome this evening.”
“My daughter? My Lizzy was a spirited girl who was always being scolded by her mother for climbing trees and muddying her dress in the brook. She was a girl who dearly loved to laugh and would hide away from her sisters in my library. I am indeed admiring that elegant, handsome woman, but she is not my daughter; she does not belong to me; that lady is Mr. Darcy’s wife.”
Lady Richmond smiled and rested her hand upon Mr. Bennet’s arm sympathetically. “My good sir, I am afraid you are entirely mistaken. Your daughter belongs to no one but herself. My Alice was just the same. There are some few people like that; inimitable, indomitable spirits who need us only half as much as we need them. They are never ours to command or to possess. They belong only to themselves.”
Mr. Bennet returned his gaze to Elizabeth just as she was welcoming an older woman with the same kind-hearted smile that would light her face as a child when she nursed a bird back to flight. “I think you have it exactly correct, your ladyship,” he replied. “Do you suppose your nephew understands that?”
“I suspect he does; I suspect it is no small part of why he is so violently in love with her. When you have the ability to satisfy your every caprice without pause or pain, when you are accustomed to obsequiousness and obeisance, can there be anything more desirable, more precious than that which you can never truly possess?”
“Then all will be well,” Mr. Bennet replied. At that moment he saw Kitty coming down the hallway. “Ah, here comes another kind altogether. My daughter Kitty is just the opposite of her sister; I think she is looking to belong, to be sheltered. If you will excuse me.” Mr. Bennet bowed politely to Lady Richmond and went to Kitty’s side.
“My dear Kitty,” he said warmly. “You are looking very pretty this evening. I hope your sister has invited many fine young men who might admire what a charming young lady you are become.”
“Truly, Papa?” Kitty replied, her countenance alight with satisfaction to be so spoken to by her father.
“Truly, my dear girl.” He offered her his arm and escorted her into the drawing room.
Lady Richmond looked a moment at Elizabeth and Darcy, Georgiana faithfully at their side, joining her brother and his wife in welcoming their guests with a poise she would have never imagined her young niece capable of just a year ago. Everything at Pemberley was just at it should be. She smiled and walked away, went into the drawing room to join her husband. She found him with Lady Catherine, sitting a little apart from the growing crowds. She saw immediately in their dour expressions that neither was anticipating the same delightful evening she was so happily expecting to enjoy.
“Lady Catherine, I have not seen Anne. Is she not to join us?”
Lady Catherine lifted her chin proudly and responded to her sister-in-law with supercilious defiance; she suspected Lady Richmond was intentionally provoking her. “Anne has excused herself for the evening. She will remain in her chambers. Such an arrangement is too much for her.”
“You are not in earnest, Catherine!” Lord Richmond barked in disbelief.
“Why should I not be, Brother?”
Lord Richmond looked about the room, now overflowing with a multitude of relatives, friends and neighbours. Moving through the throng with her habitual good-humour was Mrs. Darcy. She seemed to catch the tone of every conversation, to have a word or a smile or a sweet tribute for each of her guests. She was now visibly with child and had an unmistakable, becoming bloom in her pretty countenance; her energy was undiminished and vitality and optimism seemed to pour from her person. Lord Richmo
nd turned to his sister in consternation. “Anne has not sufficient strength to attend this gathering in her customarily passive silence and yet you wished her to be mistress here?” He gestured to the crowded room before them, packed with people and humming with conversation and expectation.
Lady Catherine looked at her brother bitterly. “Whatever my wishes were, are hardly of any consequence now.”
“Unconscionable!” he cried. He rose and turned to his wife. “Come, Eleanor, I see Mrs. Chesterton who was so kind to my sister during her last illness. She need not come to us.”
Lady Catherine watched them walk away, straightened her back and raised her chin. “Unconscionable indeed!” she murmured under her breath. She remained in perfect silence and stillness until they were all called into dinner.
Not until the fish course was complete and the game course half consumed did Mr. Darcy have a moment for reflection. He could not be more satisfied with the progression of the evening. The house had never looked so fine and the mood was easy and welcoming without any loss of the elegance and propriety he so valued.
His gaze swept the table until it settled on the very pleasing sight of his wife as she conversed with Squire Hale. The Squire was a good-natured, jovial man of advanced years. A gentleman strongly inclined towards the congenial, he had quickly taken a liking to the lively Mrs. Darcy upon first making her acquaintance during the Christmas season. Across the din and hum of conversations and silver upon china that ran up and down the course of the well-populated table, Darcy could not hear Elizabeth’s voice with any clarity, but he could watch her. At that moment her countenance was alight with amusement as she listened attentively to the squire’s cheerful chatter.
Like Mr. Bennet, Darcy was sure Elizabeth had never appeared so lovely as she did this evening. Perhaps he could have credited the becoming golden hued gown, or the delightful arrangement of her hair prettily adorned with the delicate diamond studded comb he had gifted her when they were newly engaged; or perhaps her state of expectancy, that gave to her face a particular quality of serenity and to her complexion an appealing rosy blush that was perfectly reflected in the diamonds and amethysts of the necklace that so gracefully adorned her neck; but he knew it was none of that. There was something markedly new in her manner that he could not precisely define. It was almost as though she was exhibiting a new dominion over what she had hitherto considered as only his property; he fancied she felt herself at last, in every respect, the mistress of Pemberley.
To Teach the Admiring Multitude Page 41
