His parents, whose lives had been devastated by the death of their elder son William, had promised themselves when Julian was born that they would not be excessively protective or possessive of him. They had endeavoured to give their son as much freedom as possible.
This liberality was probably responsible for the fact that Julian had a disposition as open and amiable as one could hope for in a young boy; his pleasing manners made him a general favourite. More mature than one would expect at his age, he seemed to take a greater interest in the estate and the people who lived and worked there than William had done, which was a matter of great satisfaction to his father. Cassandra, who had learnt a great deal from her father and his steward while Julian was still a baby, had made a point of teaching him all she knew. That he had no brothers and sisters at home had served to enhance his relationship with his parents, whose company and advice he sought often. They, in turn, gave him all the care and love he needed.
Though the years that had passed since William’s death had not assuaged the pain Elizabeth felt, Julian had brought much lightness and pleasure into their lives, transforming the sombre atmosphere at Pemberley. Unlike William, Julian was eager to go to college—and in preparation, plans were afoot for him to be enrolled next year at a public school near Oxford, recommended by Dr Grantley.
With a perfect Autumn evening, a gathering of their favourite people, and all arrangements flowing smoothly, Elizabeth relaxed, confident that this evening at Pemberley would be one to remember with pleasure.
Just one shadow remained—the happiness of her sister Jane had been so deeply compromised by the situation of her daughter, Emma, that it preyed upon her mind. If only, thought Elizabeth, if only things could have been different.
While Julian’s birthday party was in progress, with all the delights that children look forward to on such occasions—ample food, games and novelties, and, because it was also Guy Fawkes Night, a promise of fireworks to follow—the adults, who were staying to dinner, watched on indulgently or sat in groups on the lawn. They were all waiting for that magic moment when it would be dark enough to start the fireworks and light the Guy who sat waiting atop a bonfire in the lower meadow.
Darcy’s steward had just indicated that they were ready to begin when a carriage was seen crossing the bridge and coming up the drive.
It was not a familiar vehicle—being modest though fashionably modern—and the late evening light glancing off its windows concealed the identity of the occupants until it drove right up to the house. A gentleman, who looked vaguely familiar to Elizabeth, alighted and helped Emma Wilson out, followed by her two little girls and their nurse.
Delighted, Elizabeth almost ran to her niece and Jane was not far behind. “Emma! How wonderful that you could come after all.”
Elizabeth embraced her niece, and as she released her, Emma turned to the gentleman who stood quietly to one side and said, “Aunt Lizzie, this is Mr James Wilson, my brother-in-law, whose kindness has enabled us to be here today. When he heard that my husband was unable to accompany us, owing to his work at Westminster, Mr Wilson offered to bring us in his carriage,” she explained, “and we are very grateful to Uncle James, are we not my darlings?”
Both her daughters indicated complete agreement with their mother.
Jane, who had arrived at their side, embraced her daughter and granddaughters before turning to thank Mr Wilson, but he was unwilling to accept so much gratitude, insisting that it had been no trouble at all. “Believe me, Mrs Bingley, I had to travel to Derby tomorrow for a professional consultation with a client—all I did was leave a day earlier. It was entirely my pleasure.”
Mr Darcy and Bingley had joined them and after greetings were exchanged, James Wilson was easily persuaded to stay to dinner. A quiet, cultured man, perhaps thirty-six years of age, well spoken, with an interest in public affairs, he was soon drawn into conversation with Fitzwillliam and Anthony Tate, providing them with news from Westminster. He was well informed on a variety of subjects.
There was a great deal of interest in the new houses of Parliament, which had replaced the old buildings destroyed by fire in 1834. James, who had been in London at the time of the fire, shared memories with Fitzwilliam and delighted Darcy with his knowledge of the work of Turner, whose paintings had immortalised the great conflagration.
Mr Wilson praised the new buildings, designed by the architect Charles Barry, pronouncing them to be elegant and impressive. “The Lords will soon be moving into their new premises, but regrettably, the new House of Commons is unlikely to be ready for a few more years,” he said, agreeing with Mr Gardiner that the fire had probably hastened the demise of the old wooden buildings, which were in need of replacement anyway.
He won even more approval when he expressed support for the type of commitment to building communities that Mr Darcy and Fitzwilliam had been advocating for years and pleased Mr Gardiner with a clearly argued case for the promotion of freer trade between nations.
A Whig and a Reformist, he revealed that he had nevertheless agreed with Peel’s abolition of the Corn Laws, arguing that Britain’s advantage in being a trading and colonial nation would be lost by support for the extreme protectionist policies advocated by the Conservatives.
“You are a man after my own heart, sir. You must attend a meeting of our reform group when you are next in the area,” said Mr Gardiner, plainly delighted to find a Member of Parliament who supported his views so wholeheartedly.
“Emma’s brother Jonathan Bingley is a member; he can provide you with whatever information you need. I do hope we will see you at one of our meetings soon,” Mr Gardiner added, and James Wilson was clearly surprised at the level of interest shown in his views, promising to follow up the invitation.
His kindness to Emma and her girls had already marked him as a favourite with the family. By the end of the evening, he had been pronounced a gentleman of the highest distinction and invited to dine with at least four of the families present whenever he was next in Derbyshire.
Jane, finding him beside her as they watched the bonfire in the meadow, thanked him once again for bringing Emma to Pemberley. “Mr Wilson, James, you must let me thank you for your kindness to Emma and to me, in bringing her and her little girls here today. I cannot begin to tell you how much it has meant to me and to all of us. We were so disappointed when we heard she was unable to come; you have made such a difference to us all today. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Jane spoke quickly, and James Wilson was a little disconcerted, but seeing tears in her eyes, he stopped and taking her hand, said, “Mrs Bingley, I want you to know that I would do anything to ensure that Emma and her children are happy. When I called to see my mother, who as you know is recently widowed, I found them all looking very unhappy. It was my mother who revealed the cause of their disappointment and, immediately, I saw that I could help. Pray, do not imagine that it has inconvenienced me in any way at all.
“I have heard so much about Pemberley—this beautiful house and its great estate—it has been a great pleasure to visit here and meet so many members of this distinguished family. Believe me, the pleasure has been all mine,” he said, adding with a smile, “so, in truth, you have nothing to thank me for. Indeed, I am in your debt and Mrs Darcy’s for a wonderful evening and such generous hospitality,” he said with so much grace and sincerity that Jane was quite overwhelmed. Not for the first time did she wish that her daughter had married the elder and not the younger Mr Wilson.
Not long afterwards, he was preparing to leave and, though pressed to stay, insisted that he had to be at a meeting in Derby very early on the following day. Darcy and Elizabeth invited him to return and dine with them, while Fitzwilliam urged him most cordially to visit them when he was next in Derbyshire.
“Occasionally, I miss the cut and thrust of Parliament and would welcome some news straight from the horse’s mouth,” he joked, a
nd Mr Wilson said he would look forward to their next meeting.
“I may even have some good news for you on the Public Health Bill,” he said as he took his leave of Fitzwilliam, who had declared that it was a long overdue measure and a great scandal that sanitation was left to the whim of slum landlords.
Before he bade them all goodnight, James Wilson sought out Emma and arranged to call for her and her daughters after breakfast on Monday.
Elizabeth unwittingly overheard the end of their conversation:
“Are you sure we can stay until Monday?” Emma asked anxiously, to which he replied, “Of course, my mother will explain it all. David knows you are in safe hands. There will be no trouble, Emma. I give you my word.”
Emma smiled and gave him her hand, which he kissed lightly, and minutes later, he was gone, leaving Elizabeth wondering how much Mr Wilson knew of Emma’s troubled situation.
As she watched his carriage drive away, Elizabeth recalled a conversation with Jane, sometime before Emma’s wedding. She had expressed a distinct preference for Mr James Wilson over her intended son-in-law, David, and when Elizabeth had queried her attitude, she had hastily produced a reason—it was simply that he reminded her of Bingley.
But it was not as simple as it seemed.
Elizabeth remembered her words clearly, as if they had been spoken yesterday, “Lizzie, not since that Summer when Mr Bingley came to Netherfield have I met so kind, amiable, and modest a young man as Mr James Wilson,” she had said, with so much certainty that Elizabeth had been convinced that Emma was marrying the wrong Mr Wilson.
Now, almost ten years later, it seemed she was right. Unfortunately, it gave her no satisfaction at all.
As Emma Wilson travelled back to London, her mind was in turmoil. As for her heart, well, that had been left behind with her family and friends at Pemberley. Her two daughters, still weary from enjoying themselves so thoroughly, had fallen asleep. Their nurse, equally exhausted as her little charges, had nodded off as well.
While she was herself rather tired, she had stayed awake, trying to read, but the movement of the carriage would not let her concentrate.
Sitting across from her, James Wilson was immersed in his papers, which he had explained related to his client’s business and were very dull indeed. Dull they may have been, but Mr Wilson applied himself to their study most assiduously, Emma noticed. There was little left for her to do but contemplate the passing countryside.
As twilight overtook them, even this was difficult, and Emma was wondering what she could do to pass the time when her brother-in-law put his documents away and said cheerfully, “It is too dark to read, so we may as well talk.”
He changed his seat to sit beside her, and Emma, surprised and pleased, said, “What would you like to talk about?”
She half expected some polite enquiry about the children, and she was quite surprised when he said, without hesitation, “Tell me about Pemberley and your friends and family. I enjoyed very much meeting them on Saturday, but there was so little time and so many interesting people.”
Emma laughed. “I thought you would have remembered most of them. They were all at my wedding,” she said.
James looked abashed as he admitted that he was not very good at recalling names, and anyway, there had been such a crowd at that wedding, he would never have met them all.
“I was busy being best man, remember? I do recall Mr and Mrs Darcy very well—they are such a handsome couple—but hardly anyone else, except your parents and your brother Jonathan, of course. I had also met Fitzwilliam at Westminster when he was in Parliament some years ago; he was a member of the Reform Group. But you must tell me about the others. It is quite clear they all love you very much. They were obviously delighted when you arrived with Victoria and Stephanie. I was very glad I had taken you. I believe I acquired some immediate popularity with your family,” he said lightly.
Emma smiled and acknowledged her debt to him, thanking him again for his kindness. “I cannot tell you how much joy you gave us, especially to my dear parents, who had quite given up hope of seeing us there.”
James Wilson begged her not to thank him for what had been a genuine pleasure and asked only that she tell him more about the people he had met at Pemberley. “I can truthfully say I have never met so many attractive and interesting people in one place before,” he declared.
Relating some of their stories, Emma was surprised at how much he had noticed in so short a time—like Fitzwilliam’s obsession with Palmerston, Rebecca Tate’s preoccupation with education for girls, the sound common sense of Mr Gardiner, and how deeply Richard and Cassandra loved each other.
“Theirs must have been a great love story,” he said, and Emma agreed.
“What made it perfect was that it brought great happiness to everyone in the family, especially their parents, who are the closest of friends. Yes, Richard and Cassy are special,” she said, a little wistfully. “Until their marriage, Pemberley had not shaken off the gloom of William’s death. Even the birth of Julian, a few years later, did not seem to help much. William remained in all our thoughts each time we visited Pemberley. Aunt Lizzie certainly had not recovered from the loss; it was as if she would never stop grieving after losing him so suddenly.
“The wedding of Richard and Cassandra was the first occasion on which we noticed a change. They were so much in love and so keen for everyone to share in their happiness that it seemed to splash over all of us like the water from a fountain, and it brought back some of the magic that had been lost.
“I shall never forget watching them walk from the church through the crowds of people, frequently stopping to thank particular persons and then standing with their parents on the steps of Pemberley House. I thought at the time, ‘Today is the day on which we can let go of our dear William at last and share the happiness of Cassy and Richard.’ So you see, they are a very special couple and mean a lot to us.”
“Indeed, I can and I understand why. I knew of William’s death, of course, but I did not know how deeply it had affected the family,” James said quietly.
“He was everyone’s favourite—a very gentle boy, and with so much talent. He wanted to be a concert pianist. My parents were distraught, and Jonathan blamed himself for not having stopped the boys from riding out that day. You see, the Fitzwilliams lost young Edward on the same day. Oh, it was a dreadful time for all of us!”
Noting his grave expression, she stopped and said, “I did warn you they were not all happy stories.”
“And your story, Emma, is it one of the happy ones?” he asked, quietly. Taken aback by his question, she was embarrassed and tongue-tied.
Seeing her discomfiture, he was immediately contrite, “I’m sorry, I did not mean to pry. It was not unkindly meant. If I have offended you, Emma, I apologise.”
Emma found her voice in time to assure him that she was certainly not offended. How could she be? “I know you were not intending to pry, and I do thank you for your concern, but there is very little to tell. It was not very long after the deaths of William and Edward. I was very young, very sad, and rather lonely in London. I fell in love and married David. At the time, I believed I was the happiest girl in London. Everyone told me I was the most fortunate.”
He persisted, though gently, taking her hand in his. “And are you happy now?” he asked.
One of the children stirred and glancing quickly at her, Emma gently withdrew her hand from his—but in that instant, meeting his eyes, she knew she could not lie. Uneasy, she bit her lip and shook her head.
His entire expression changed as her meaning sank in. Looking most concerned, he turned to her and said, “Emma, is there anything I can do to help?”
When she said nothing, he continued, “It grieves me that you have joined our family and you are unhappy. I would certainly like to help. I know you cannot speak of it now, but at a more appropriate time an
d place, will you tell me about it?” He sounded anxious and concerned.
Looking directly at him, but unwilling to speak lest the nurse or one of the children should hear, she nodded and said, “Thank you, yes,” in a voice that was hardly audible.
Darkness had fallen as they reached the outskirts of London. The streets were busier and noisier. James returned to his place beside the window opposite Emma, but before he moved, placed his hand on hers to reassure her. Without understanding why, Emma felt she was not as alone as she had been before. While nothing had happened to relieve her situation in any way, the merest glimmer of hope, which had resulted from their brief conversation, seemed to lift a weight from her heart as the carriage pulled up before the house in Mayfair.
They had travelled as expeditiously as possible, breaking journey only for a meal and to rest the horses, arriving around dinner time.
Mrs Wilson, who was entertaining a couple of old friends from Bath—a Colonel and Mrs Barclay—welcomed them home. She was happy to see them, especially Victoria and Stephanie, who were her particular favourites.
She informed them that David had not yet returned, having gone out directly after tea with another Member of Parliament. “I assume he will be back for dinner. We shall wait half an hour for him, no more,” she said for the benefit of the hovering servants.
Emma was genuinely pleased, and the relief she felt lightened her manner as she greeted her mother-in-law. James Wilson noted that she had lost the look of apprehension that he had seen on her face as they approached the house. There was no doubt in his mind that she was relieved at not having to face her husband upon arrival, grateful to have time to prepare herself for their meeting. Clearly, she feared his disapproval.
James could only guess at the reasons for her trepidation. Neither his brother nor their mother had ever spoken of any problems between David and his wife. But, having observed his sister-in-law’s demeanour, her happy, relaxed manner when she was at Pemberley with her family and friends, and her reluctant confession of unhappiness as they journeyed home, James Wilson was convinced that something was wrong, and he was quite determined to discover what it was.
The Women of Pemberley Page 3
