My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  To Caroline, who had spent most of her life within view of the great peaks of Derbyshire and a short journey from the magic of Dovedale, it was difficult to believe that anyone could live happily in Manchester. But to Isabella, it seemed it could have been perfection itself.

  Writing to her cousin and friend Emma Wilson on her return from Manchester, Caroline expressed her surprise.

  There is such a remarkable change in Isabella as to make her almost a different person. She was always patient and kindhearted and remains so today, but there is an unmistakable sense of joie de vivre in her, which is quite new.

  Before, even whilst she was married to Henry Forrester, she was earnest and eager to attend upon others, making very little time for herself. Today, though she continues to be compassionate and thoughtful of others, she seems keener still to enjoy her own happiness, which to the observer seems quite considerable. I believe Mr Bentley has certainly made her happier than she has ever been before.

  Their home, being situated off a city street, has not the grace and beauty of a country residence, nor can it be as spacious as a similar house in London, for it appears land is at a premium here; but it is a handsome villa with well-proportioned rooms and tastefully furnished. I do believe much of the furniture was transported from London.

  When I asked Isabella if she does not miss the countryside, in which after all she has lived all her life, she laughed and said, “Dear Mama, I think if I were to say yes, you would worry that I was not happy here; so I must say no, because I have been so very happy since we have come to live here. I hardly notice that we are in Manchester.”

  By which, I assumed that she meant she was so happy in herself since her marriage to Mr Bentley that her surroundings do not matter greatly.

  Dear Emma, you and I must recall that this is not an unusual condition when one is first married to a man of strong affections; it seems that is how it is with Mr Bentley and Isabella. He is clearly devoted to her and though there is certainly no lack of decorum in their public behaviour, it is easy to see that the depth of their feelings sometimes quite overwhelms them; it is as if no one and nothing else matters.

  Isabella did not have the benefit of knowing the contents of her mother's letter, yet if she had, she would have been hard put to it to disagree with the sentiments expressed therein. Her life had altered so profoundly since her marriage that there were moments when she was, herself, surprised at its felicity.

  Apart from her son Harry, who was soon to attend a private day school having quite worn out a succession of tutors, the most important person in her life was the man who had for many years loved her in vain, while she had loved him without admitting it even to herself. Her marriage to Henry Forrester had given her affection and security and a beloved child. But she could not deny to herself that she had never forgotten Philip Bentley, whose association had filled the best part of a year with the unexpected pleasures of a most engaging companionship.

  For his part, Mr Bentley, who had long believed he had no hope of securing her affections, was delighted to discover how easily and with what warmth Isabella learned to express the love that had lain dormant in her heart. With him, she enjoyed a mature and passionate union, as he had evolved from being her “very good friend” whom she had recalled with guiltless affection into the husband who had won her heart and sublimated in their marriage all her deepest needs. So complete was her contentment, she wanted for nothing and sought no material enhancement of her situation.

  Nothing else did matter. Not the distance from her family, not the ugliness of industrial Lancashire, of places like Bolton and Bury, which scarred the road leading to the small green oasis in which they lived, and certainly not the derision of her uncle Robert's wife, Rose, and her mother Rosamund, now Lady Fitzwilliam.

  Robert Gardiner had come from France to attend Isabella's wedding; Rose was indisposed, he had said, trying to sound convincing. Though not a particularly ungenerous man, Robert was unfortunately too weak-willed to withstand the persuasive pressure of his wife and mother-in-law. Hence, instead of the silver tea service he had proposed to give them as a wedding gift, he had arrived bearing a very small French clock, which he presented to his niece with such an apologetic air as to be thought mean.

  Moreover, his mother-in-law, Lady Fitzwilliam, who had attended in her daughter's place, had made some disdainful comments on the fact that the Bentleys were to live in Manchester. She had remarked that they would not have much use for a silver tea service in Manchester and a clock would be much more practical and appropriate. Indeed, had the choice of such a clock been left to her, they would surely have received a far more serviceable piece than the ornate model Robert had chosen.

  Young Rachel, having overheard the remarks, had hitched up the skirts of her bridesmaid's gown and raced upstairs to convey them to her mother and sister with a mixture of anger and glee!

  “Lady Fitzwilliam thinks that Rose would not be able to breathe in the polluted air of Manchester,” she reported, affecting a lugubrious tone of voice. “I heard her tell aunt Jane she has only once driven through the place on her way to Blackpool and almost choked, the air was so foul.”

  Rachel was a good mimic and Isabella, who was being helped out of her wedding gown into a travelling dress, had smiled tolerantly and said, “Ah me, then it's just as well that my uncle Robert did not inherit the business, is it not, Mama? It would have been a sad day if his wife and his mother-in-law had both choked to death on the foul Manchester air.

  “I cannot help but wonder though,” she had continued, “how very salubrious are the towns of France and Italy where they spend much of their time. Mr Bentley, who has lived many years in Europe, tells me there is not such a deal of difference in the air at all.”

  Mr Bentley, who had come to escort his bride down to the carriage that waited for them, had overheard her remark. “Ah but dearest, the air across the channel has that particular distinction of being French, no matter how foul! That is the material difference!” he had said lightly, making them all laugh. Quite clearly this couple were not about to let such taunts dilute their happiness.

  Isabella soon forgot Lady Fitzwilliam's jibe, but Caroline did not, recalling that the same snobbery had been at work when the Fitzwilliams had queried her brother Robert's credentials during his courtship of their daughter Rose. Caroline's loyalty to her family was absolute. She determined that if and when an opportunity presented itself, when she could deliver an appropriate riposte, she would do so and as it happened, she did not have long to wait.

  Some weeks later, the two women were present together at a family gathering at Camden Park. Elizabeth, who had heard the exchange between them, wrote of it later to her friend Charlotte Collins.

  She wrote:

  My dear Charlotte,

  I trust you are well and that Summer at Longbourn is as pleasant as it has been here in Derbyshire. We have enjoyed excellent weather and much entertainment, including a church fair, a circus, and a cricket match which was easily won by the team from the Pemberley and Camden Estates, ably led by my dear grandson Darcy Gardiner.

  Speaking of young Darcy, I know you will forgive me if I say that he is proving an exemplary manager of the estate and a fine young gentleman in every sense of the word. He grows more like his grandfather Mr Darcy with every passing year: handsome, kind, and devoted to Pemberley.

  That said, Elizabeth proceeded to give a lively description of the day's events and the party that had gathered at Camden House for tea after the cricket. The Fitzwilliams, Sir James—as he now was since the demise of his elderly and ailing brother—and Lady Fitzwilliam, obviously feeling the weight of their title and the loss of the match by their team from Staffordshire, had joined the rest of the party in one of the handsome reception rooms that opened onto a terrace overlooking the park.

  Elizabeth had noticed that Rosamund Fitzwilliam was pointedly ignoring her sister-in-law Caroline, even though their husbands had been deep in conversation. Sir James
Fitzwilliam, having inherited a somewhat impoverished farm together with a thriving pottery in Staffordshire, appeared to be in need of advice from his younger brother.

  I think you already know, Charlotte, that the two sisters-in-law have never been close. Well, recent events have set them even further apart.

  …wrote Elizabeth, determined to give her friend all the news.

  Speaking of which, I have a story to relate that will put you in mind of your days at Rosings and the pronouncements of Lady Catherine de Bourgh!

  While I do not mean to imply that Rosamund Fitzwilliam is to be compared in stature, wealth, or pomposity to Lady C., she is certainly making a very good fist of emulating her Ladyship's talent for giving offence.

  Rosamund still appears disgruntled by the fact that Caroline rather than Robert was entrusted with the management of Mr Gardiner's business. Caroline, despite all the predictions of gloom emanating from Rose and her family, has successfully steered the business through some quite troubled waters and into what Mr Darcy tells me is an enviable level of prosperity.

  Of course, she has had the help of excellent staff, Mr Kennedy and then Mr Bentley, whom Mr Darcy himself selected, but it has meant that Robert, like the rest of the beneficiaries and partners, has received a substantially improved income from the enterprise.

  Unaware of or choosing deliberately to ignore these facts, Rosamund continues to criticise and did so to Mr Darcy when they met after the cricket. She complained loudly that Rose and Robert had been hard done by being deprived of Oakleigh and were consequently forced to pay an exorbitantly high rent for their modest apartment in Paris.

  Mr Darcy expressed surprise that they had chosen to live in France if it was so very expensive, and inviting Caroline who was passing to join them, he repeated for her ears Rosamund's complaint.

  (Charlotte, I have since accused him of making mischief, but he denies it. I am not so sure I believe him!)

  Elizabeth had heard the rest of the story and enjoyed the telling of it.

  To Rosamund's consternation, Caroline remarked, in a voice replete with sweetness and concern, “Is this true, Lady Fitzwilliam?” and before there was time for an answer, added, “Poor Robert, I am very glad we were able to send him such a good cheque out of the company at the end of last year. It does seem a pity, though, that he must pay it all out to the French in rent! Now if only Rose could bear to live in Staffordshire, they would surely save most of it and she would have much more pin money! Is that not so, Mr Darcy?”

  Elizabeth continued:

  I do not exaggerate, dear Charlotte, but at this, Rosamund went so red with anger and embarrassment that I feared she was about to have a seizure of some sort. She muttered something about Rose having her own very generous allowance and sought to make a hurried exit, but not before Caroline got in the last word.

  “Of course,” she declared, still all innocence, '"Isabella and Mr Bentley have been very fortunate to acquire a most comfortable villa for a reasonable price in a part of town where the air is far fresher than in Staffordshire,” knowing, of course, that the estate James inherited lies in the very heart of the Staffordshire potteries.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam has told us that it includes several potteries where the dust and chalk and the ash from the kilns lies over everyone and everything. This would surely be unbearable to some one as sensitive and delicate as Rose.

  Touché! I think you will agree, Charlotte?

  Although I confess I was surprised at the sharpness of Caroline's riposte, I have to say that I was certainly not sorry, and my dear Darcy was genuinely pleased. He has grown weary of Rosamund's pretensions since James succeeded to the title and has little time for Rose and Robert, with whom he maintains polite contact only on account of my dear aunt Gardiner's feelings.

  Besides, as you know, my cousin Caroline is a favourite of his and he will not hear a word against her…

  Elizabeth's account did not include particular mention of the happiness which Isabella and Mr Bentley enjoyed, but of this Charlotte had heard much from both Jonathan and Anna Bingley. Having visited the couple in Manchester, they had returned to Hertfordshire convinced of their felicity.

  “It is as though two people who are so completely right for each other have at last been brought together, and their delight in one another is unmistakable. Having been with them, one is left with a great sense of joy,” Anna had declared and her husband had agreed without reservation.

  DESPITE HER DEEP CONTENTMENT IN her marriage, it was not long before Isabella began to feel the need to do something for the community outside her home.

  She could not visit the markets or walk in the public park without seeing the children of the poor, those who were not working in the mills themselves, playing in the gutter, begging for coins, or scrapping among themselves for food. The numbers of young girls whose grimy little faces looked older than their years shocked her and she longed to help them.

  Returning from the grocer one grey morning, she complained, “If they are not to be educated, not taught to read or write or count, what else will they grow up to be but skivvies and slaves, dependent upon the whims of others for their very existence?”

  Her husband heard in her voice a discordant note for the first time since they had been married. Always sensitive to her feelings, attentive to her needs, he asked what she had in mind.

  “I should like very much to set up a school for little girls where they may learn cleanliness and good manners as well as letters and numbers. I know I have not the skills to be a teacher, but I could run the school and hire a teacher with whom I could work.”

  Seeing perhaps some uncertainty upon her husband's countenance as he listened, she bit her lip.

  “Do you think I am being too ambitious, Philip? I must do something for the children. Would you prefer it if I just went down to the church and helped with the soup kitchen at dinner time each day?”

  He was immediately contrite. “Most certainly not, my dearest, I think a school for girls is a wonderful idea, I am only concerned that we may not have the money to pay a teacher and you, my darling, would wear yourself out with work.”

  “Apart from your concern on that score, you have no objection to it?” she asked eagerly.

  “None at all if you will promise me that I will not find you doing all the work yourself.” She gave him her promise and was rewarded with a warm embrace. His love for her overwhelmed every other concern in his life; having almost lost her forever, he was afraid to disappoint even her smallest wish.

  Having assured herself of his support, Isabella wrote away to her parents, her aunts, uncles, cousins, and her grandmother asking for donations for her school and, within the year, had collected sufficient funds to make a start. The offer of a vacant cottage, two helpful neighbours who provided some furniture, and a kindly parish priest who found the rest, and she had things organised to open the school with eleven little girls and one enthusiastic young teacher.

  Mr Bentley was amazed at the enthusiasm and energy Isabella could generate in herself and others, working tirelessly with the children, while maintaining the warmth of her affection for himself and her son. He was surprised to find that her exertions on behalf of the poor increased rather than exhausted her energy, inspiring similar charitable feelings among other families in the parish and bringing more donations of money and furniture as well as offers of help.

  When Caroline next visited the Bentleys in Spring, she took back good news of Mrs Bentley's school for girls, which had opened with one teacher and Isabella as her helper, and was growing by the week with more volunteers and children appearing every week.

  She also had much more exciting news to impart to her husband.

  Isabella, after eight childless years since the birth of Harry, was expecting a child.

  “You cannot imagine how happy she is—they both are,” said Caroline.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was delighted at the prospect of becoming a grandfather, of course, but had not ant
icipated the next part of the conversation.

  “The doctor says it will be in the Autumn, which means I shall have to be there and I mean to take Rachel with me… there will be much work to be done…”

  He stopped her in midsentence. “Caroline my love, what do you mean? Surely you are not intending to spend all that time in Manchester? Cannot Isabella come to us? All our children have been born here,” he argued, but in vain.