Mistaken

by Jessie Lewis

  “Curious, then, that you feel the need to ask me about it,” Jane replied before thinking, pained by the very mention of Elizabeth’s popularity. She hastily affected a laugh to disguise her bitterness and added, “But she is at Pemberley and means to stay there for Christmas, I understand.”

  “One does not wonder why. I am sure that will be delightful.”

  Jane knew of at least one person who would not agree. In her most recent letter, Lady Ashby had expressed her dismay at having been summoned to Pemberley and joked of being made to sit down with the tenants for a “Christmas meal served with a garnish of gaucherie and a second course of impudence.” Jane felt the vast compliment of her ladyship’s admission of envy for her own, humbler arrangements.

  Rather than speak any more of Elizabeth, she enquired as to the Etheridge’s plans for Christmas, which they discussed until the clock struck the hour, and Marianne all but leapt from her chair, insisting she would not outstay her welcome, and left.

  Jane would not have objected if the visit had lasted longer, for she was expecting no other callers that day and was rather offended by Marianne’s resolve to go. She consoled herself with Lady Ashby’s assurances that, contrary to what Elizabeth might think, it was not for her to associate with a woman who had been slighted by the rest of society.

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  December 18

  To Miss Mary Bennet

  I thank you most sincerely for your last letter. Life at Longbourn sounds very lively. Until recently, I should have said Pemberley was quite different, but that has not been the case these past four-and-twenty hours. All but two of our guests have now arrived for Christmas, and yesterday there was such a commotion! I have not seen my brother so cross since for quite some time, but I am ahead of myself. Allow me to explain.

  My aunt, Lady Catherine, arrived yesterday. I was shocked to see how frail she has grown. She was scarcely able to walk into the house, even with assistance. Whilst everybody was fussing over her, attempting to get her indoors and make her comfortable, your cousin Anna ran into the hall without looking and knocked her ladyship’s cane from her grip. I was very sorry for her, for she had been an angel until then and chose such an unfortunate moment for a spell of mischief. The cane fell across her ear and made her scream until she was snatched up by her father and carried off to the nursery.

  It was then that Lady Catherine discovered the Gardiners were staying at Pemberley for Christmas. Oh, Mary, she was so angry! I should never have thought, from that first sight of her, that she would have the energy for such a tirade as she then gave! I am ashamed to say she was very unkind to your aunt and uncle and demanded they leave. When my brother told her none of his guests would be leaving, she turned her anger upon him and Lizzy. Lizzy bore it with impossible civility, but Brother was not nearly so forbearing, and there was a terrible scene.

  In the end, when nobody would yield to her demands, my aunt attempted to leave instead but was too weak to walk back to the door and almost fell. Mr. Montgomery and my cousin Fitzwilliam were obliged to escort her against her will to her room, where Lord Matlock (her brother) instructed her to remain until she could “recall in which trunk she had packed away all her dignity!”

  Be assured, I have spent some time with Anna since, and she is quite recovered from her fright and the trifling injury to her ear. Lady Catherine will not so rapidly overcome her wounded pride, I fear. Lizzy, however, spent an hour with her last night—truly, Mary, your sister is fearless—and whatever she said seems to have persuaded her ladyship against leaving.

  Your aunt and uncle have been astoundingly gracious throughout. You must be proud to be able to claim such relations. Excepting Lizzy and the children, they are the only two people here of whom I am not at least a little bit afraid. Even my brother—nay, I daresay especially my brother when he is as angry as he was yesterday—can be a fearsome creature. My cousin Fitzwilliam assures me matters will settle down in a few days, but his grandmother thinks otherwise and insists that, when my other cousin Lord Ashby and his wife arrive, the fireworks will begin in earnest.

  I am not afraid, though. Not with Lizzy here. She has such a way of manoeuvring people out of ill-humours and encouraging them to good cheer. Already, she has persuaded my brother to overlook Lady Catherine’s incivility and have her seated next to him at dinner this evening. All apprehension aside, I believe this year will be the liveliest and, I hope, the merriest Christmas Pemberley has seen in many years.

  To answer your query: yes, Lizzy does very well. Very occasionally she tarries abed of a morning, but she assures me a little fatigue is quite common, and thus, you must be similarly assured that she is in perfect health. I share your anticipation for the arrival of a niece or nephew. Lizzy teasingly suggested that I watch Lady Catherine closely during her stay for ideas on how best to go about the business of being an aunt—at least, I hope she was teasing, but I would prefer to be more like Mrs. Gardiner.

  Enclosed is the music for two cradle songs I thought we might learn and play for the baby when he or she arrives. Mention it not to Lizzy in your letters. Let it be our surprise when next you visit, which I hope will be very soon.

  Wishing you a very happy Christmas,

  Yours sincerely,

  Miss Georgiana Darcy

  ***

  Thursday, 24 December 1812: Derbyshire

  “’Tis a play!” Fitzwilliam shouted. At Mrs. Gardiner’s nod he gave a bark of triumph—it being his only correct guess of the entire game. It was a game to which everyone’s (mostly) willing participation he could only attribute to the vast quantity of mulled wine and punch collectively consumed over the course of the evening. Whatever had brought on the singularly peaceable interlude, he approved of it, for against all odds, everyone seemed to be having uncommonly good fun.

  “’Tis but one word,” Elizabeth surmised from her aunt’s raised index finger—and then, “One syllable.”

  “You might actually guess this one then, Dickie,” mumbled Ashby from the chair next to Fitzwilliam.

  “Fie, you have not guessed one correctly yet, either.”

  A host of calls loosely apropos of horses erupted around them as Mrs. Gardiner began enacting her clue.

  “Mayhap my understanding does not run to a mercantile bent,” Ashby said under his breath.

  “Oh, untwist your ballocks, man. The Gardiners are very good people.” Indeed, Mrs. Gardiner was presently proving what a very good sport she was, galloping back and forth before the fire, to everyone’s delight. “Stallion?” Fitzwilliam guessed.

  “One ruddy syllable, you ninny,” Ashby grumbled. “And my manservant is a very good person. It does not mean I wish him to cease pressing my shirts and begin playing parlour games with me after dinner.”

  “Mare?” called Mrs. Sinclair.

  “Upon my word, you are a fastidious arse,” Fitzwilliam hissed, “Even Lady Catherine has condescended to converse with them. She and Mrs. Gardiner exchanged ten words at least over dinner.”

  Ashby snorted. “Lady Catherine only approves of the woman because she believes it is deference that makes her blush and mumble whenever Darcy addresses her.”

  Fitzwilliam had to smirk. He, too, had noticed Mrs. Gardiner’s appreciation for his fair-favoured cousin. “Let her think it is deference if it makes the situation more palatable to her.”

  “Trot?” Mr. Gardiner tried.

  “It makes it no more palatable for me,” Ashby replied.

  Fitzwilliam gave up attempting to placate him with reason and handed him his hip flask instead. “Here. Have something spiritual to cleanse the injury to your pride.”

  Ashby accepted the flask with a broad grin then shouted, “Charge?”

  Mrs. Gardiner shook her head. Still she galloped about on the rug, now looking exceedingly vexed.

  “Horse!” Lady A
shby said for possibly the third time, seeming bemused it was still not correct.

  “Steed?” Montgomery guessed.

  Again, Mrs. Gardiner shook her head and galloped furiously back the other way. Fitzwilliam heard Elizabeth hoot with laughter.

  “Reins?” Mr. Gardiner attempted again. “Horse?”

  “That has already been said!”

  “Nag, then? Pony? Mule? Goat? I do not know! Do something else, for heaven’s sake!”

  Mrs. Gardiner ceased galloping and stood on the rug with her hands on her hips, glaring at her husband.

  “‘The Provoked Wife,’” Matlock called.

  The room erupted into laughter, though a feeble exclamation, barely audible above the merriment, caught Fitzwilliam’s notice. He turned to his aunt, sitting on his left, and enquired whether anything was the matter.

  Lady Catherine withdrew an emaciated hand from her blankets and pointed at Darcy. “You are correct. He is happy. He looks the picture of my sister when he laughs.”

  The observation was as unexpected as it was moving, and Fitzwilliam knew not what to say.

  His aunt, never plagued by such difficulties, spoke on. “And she is jousting.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Mrs. Gardiner is jousting.”

  “Inspired, madam!” Fitzwilliam swivelled back to the room and called, “Joust” over the hubbub.

  Mrs. Gardiner pounced upon it, waggling her ear forcibly.

  “Sounds like joust?”

  “Faust!” Mr. Gardiner roared, coming to his feet exultantly.

  “About time, sir!” his wife replied, to the delight of the entire room.

  Mr. Gardiner doffed an imaginary cap and scuttled past her in deep obeisance, apologising facetiously. He then began his turn by re-enacting the exact same gallop across the room as she had. A chorus of groans went up from everyone else, but Mrs. Gardiner instantly and correctly guessed canter, showing her husband how easy a thing it could be to make a sensible suggestion.

  “The Canterbury Tales!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed, to an uproarious round of applause. “How can you find these two aught but agreeable?” he whispered to his brother before standing to take his turn. “I think they may be the most diverting couple of my acquaintance.”

  Ashby only grunted but notably refrained from demurring. Fitzwilliam left him to brood upon his prejudice, full in the belief that it was as much at risk as every other prepossession in the room of being overturned.

  ***

  All the hilarity sank in Darcy’s awareness next to the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter. Her countenance glowed, and her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. Her merriment was wholly unaffected, demure—yet altogether without ceremony. He marvelled at it, for despite all their prior hostility, she was genuinely enjoying his family’s society. Moreover, his family appeared, quite against their will in some cases, to be genuinely enjoying hers. It was all her doing. This was Pemberley as it was intended to be: a true family seat. And this was his family, with Elizabeth at its heart.

  Because he was watching her, Darcy noticed her laughter ebb. She shifted in her chair and rubbed the swell of her stomach. He reached to lay his hand over hers and whispered a query as to her well-being. She bit her lip and slid her hand from beneath his to press his palm to her belly, whereupon he felt a small but unmistakable nudge. His heart thudded in his chest, and he waited, staring at his own hand, and was rewarded with another palpable shove. Overcome with wonder and delight, he raised his eyes to Elizabeth’s. She was beaming, her countenance suffused with joy.

  “Happy Christmas,” she whispered.

  It was a moment before he composed himself enough to whisper back how very dearly he loved her.

  Absorbed in their own private rejoicing, they missed the end of the game, alerted to it only when Anne guessed Fitzwilliam’s charade, and he roared an exasperated “Hallelujah!” After that, the festivities drew to a natural conclusion. The elders took themselves off to bed, and everyone else adjourned into the great hall to check that the Yule log was still burning and to enjoy a last glass off mulled wine before bed.

  Fitzwilliam came to stand next to Darcy, giving him a firm slap on the shoulder. “I own I was not convinced even you could accomplish it, old boy, but a pleasanter Christmas I cannot recall.”

  “Do not believe me ignorant of the fact that is because you won your wager with Ashby.”

  “You wound me, Darcy! What wager?”

  “Whether or not I would exclude at least one relative from the house before Christmas Day.”

  Fitzwilliam grimaced. “I am discovered, though still ten pounds richer than my brother.”

  “Not so, regrettably, for I wagered him fifteen pounds he could not make you give up your hip flask. By my reckoning that makes him five pounds richer and significantly drunker than you.”

  Fitzwilliam muttered an unseasonable imprecation.

  Darcy returned the slap on the back. “I am delighted you are here, Fitzwilliam. It has been the happiest Christmas in my memory also.”

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  January 11

  Jane,

  I shall not pretend I am not deeply grieved by your silence, yet because I love you and because I cannot dispel my concern for your happiness, I am making another attempt.

  I have weathered my first Christmas at Pemberley! We made merry on Christmas Eve, attended church on Christmas Day (and danced that evening, after all those who would despise us for it had retired), toasted the servants and tenants on St Stephen’s Day, and feasted with our neighbours on Twelfth Night. On the whole, it was merrier than we could have hoped, though not without incident. I like to think, however, that Lady Catherine felt better for being able to inform me of at least three ways a day in which I erred.

  I jest, but I found I did not mind her imperiousness half so much as I thought I would. She and I have had an exceedingly tumultuous acquaintance, but she is esteemed by so many of the people I have come to love, I cannot but be moved by her plight. Darcy and I sat with her in the gallery one morning, listening to her tales of all the people in the pictures there, including a few about Darcy’s mother he had not heard before. Notwithstanding all her antipathy, I will ever remember those few hours with great fondness.

  Now the decorations have been taken down, all my guests are gone, and Pemberley is quiet once more. Is it the same at Netherfield? We heard from Mary that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst did not join you. I hope that did not make your celebrations any less agreeable. I wish you would write and tell me about it, though it seems probable you will not. I am not entirely without hope, though, for if I can make peace with a woman so wholly prejudiced against me as Lady Catherine, surely I can reconcile with my own sister?

  Wishing you a happy New Year,

  Elizabeth

  ***

  Saturday, 23 January 1813: Hertfordshire

  Pevensey Hall, Ashby, Derbyshire

  January 21

  Jane

  I must say I was rather alarmed by the tone of your last letter. You sounded rather hysterical. Yes, I received your previous note but had not yet found the time to reply—nor, indeed, realised there was any urgent need to do so. Certainly, none of your news was remarkable enough to warrant any haste on my part. Neither was your eagerness to hear how dreadful my Christmas was likely to induce me to be prompt.

  I do congratulate you, of course, on being satisfied with your first Christmas as mistress of your own house, though I do hope you will not make a habit of petitioning me for compliments. As your friend and better, you must allow me to tell you it is excessively coarse. Objectionable though your sister’s self-sufficiency may be, it does at least make her easier to please.

  I hope you are not too disappointed to learn that in truth I had a very agreeable Christmas. My stay at Pemberley w
as tolerable, but then the splendour of the place is such that even your relations being there could not lessen the elegance of our party. Your sister continues to be Lady C’s favourite, but that also turned out to my advantage, for it saved me the inconvenience of her notice.

  E yet boasts the same graceless independence and brazen coquetry of which you have ever accused her, but her novelty, and thus her potency, is diminishing. She is becoming less interesting by the moment, so let us speak of her no longer. Of much more interest was my attendance at Lady O’s Twelfth Night Ball. I know you will congratulate me when I tell you of the favourable reception I enjoyed there.

  “Mrs. Bennet is here to see you, ma’am.”

  Jane shoved her letter between the cushion and her leg, acting not a moment too soon. Seconds later, her mother burst into the room, coming to roost on the sofa next to her. “Good afternoon, Mama. Would you like some tea?”

  “No, I am too vexed for tea. Your father has had a letter from Mr. Collins. That sly Charlotte Collins, whom we all treated as a friend for so many years, has begotten herself a boy child, and they have written to boast of it.”

  “I am sure they did not mean to boast.”

  “Oh yes, yes they did! We must already endure being turned out of our own home as soon as your father draws his last breath. There is no call for them to taunt us with heirs as well. And you can count on their knowing that you are not yet increasing. How cruel of them to gloat of their issue in the face of that failure!”

  Tears sprang to Jane’s eyes. “I would hardly call it a failure.”

  “Well, it scarcely qualifies as a success.”

  A tear dripped off her chin, followed by others she did not trouble herself to wipe away.

  Her mother peered at her with some confusion. “Jane? Oh, Jane, Jane! Calm yourself! Let not those wretched Collinses’ thoughtlessness distress you. You will be blessed eventually. If your sister has managed it, I daresay you will.”

  Jane let out an exasperated wail and shook her head. “No, I begin to think I shall never do as well as Lizzy. Even my Christmas celebrations were inferior to hers apparently.”