by P. O. Dixon
Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth
Pride and Prejudice Continues
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About the Author
P. O. Dixon is a writer as well as an entertainer. Historical England and its days of yore fascinate her. She, in particular, loves the Regency period with its strict mores and oh so proper decorum. Her ardent appreciation of Jane Austen’s timeless works set her on the writer’s journey. Visit podixon.com and find out more about Dixon’s writings.
“Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed.”
Jane Austen
Chapter 1
I am the happiest creature in the world, Elizabeth Darcy, née Bennet considered, in joyful remembrance of having written those words in a missive to her aunt Mrs. Gardiner so many months ago. She had completed her sentiments by writing, Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane. She only smiles, I laugh.
By his own account the happiest man in the world, Fitzwilliam Darcy, a tall, handsome man with chiseled features and noble mien, soon joined his wife outside. He breathed in the fresh morning air. How she loved this man. What a pleasure it was to awaken each morning knowing his was the first face she would see. Positioning his warm body behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and bestowed soft kisses along her neckline.
“I knew I’d find you here,” he said at length.
His warm breath against her skin comforted her. She smiled. “I declare this is a most delightful view of the rising sun. I do not know that I shall ever tire of it.” Being alone with her husband on the balcony overlooking a small, glistening pond and witnessing the dawn of a new day was becoming one of Elizabeth’s favorite morning rituals. Nestled comfortably in his arms, his lips gently trailing along her skin and his fingers intertwined with hers, she could not imagine a better moment.
Darcy said, “Pray what are you thinking, my love?”
“I merely recalled my reply to a letter from Aunt Gardiner in which she endeavored to remind me of all your good qualities.”
“No one can deny your aunt’s impeccable taste. I owe a great deal of my happiness to her as well as your uncle, for in bringing you with them during their tour of the North, I must credit them for providing the means of uniting us.”
A warm feeling washed over Elizabeth in the wake of this glowing commendation of two people so dear to her heart. Her spirits rising to playfulness, she said, “Let us not forget to acknowledge your own aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as well, for if I recall correctly, her confrontation with me in Hertfordshire over wild speculations that you and I were to be married is what taught you to hope that a union between us was even possible.”
During the aforementioned incident, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who hailed from Kent, had been extremely indignant about her nephew’s marriage. In keeping with the frankness of her character, she announced her opposition to the scheme in a scathing letter with exceedingly abusive language, especially of Elizabeth.
“Granted, except I do not imagine I shall ever be able to thank her properly as she has cut all ties with us.”
“You will be censured, slighted, and despised by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us,” said Elizabeth in a tone disconcertingly similar to the grand lady. She laughed a little. “Thank Heavens her dire prognostications did not prove true.”
If there was one thing Elizabeth knew about her husband’s haughty aunt, it was that she did not like to be proved wrong. This must certainly explain the lady’s lapse in extending an invitation to her favorite nephew to visit her palatial home in Kent during Easter. Not that Elizabeth minded the slight. The last thing she wanted or needed was harsh disparagement from someone in whose home she might be a guest.
Darcy kissed his wife’s earlobe. “Joy, contentment, and perfect harmony have been our constant companions from the moment we met at the altar.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said smilingly. She threw a reflective glance over all that had unfolded since she accepted Darcy’s second proposal last autumn until the present. First, there was their courtship period during which she’d spent as much time shielding him from the ridiculousness of her Hertfordshire family and acquaintances as she’d spent getting to know more about him. Next came the wedding, their first Christmas as husband and wife spent with his noble relations in Matlock, the months-long wedding journey in the south of England, and finally her presentation at court during her first, albeit abbreviated, Season in town. The time had finally arrived for her to assume her proper place among Derbyshire society as the wife of one of the wealthiest men in the county.
Elizabeth and Pemberley’s esteemed housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, had spent prodigious time planning the occasion that would include an elaborate dinner party for her husband’s peers and their wives, as well as a separate celebration for the tenants. Both events were of equal importance to Elizabeth. Her reputation as the mistress of Pemberley was at stake as well as Darcy’s reputation for having chosen his wife either wisely or poorly.
Elizabeth had insisted on inviting her sister Jane and Jane’s husband, Charles Bingley. Indeed, she could not imagine taking on such a monumental feat without her dearest sister by her side. She invited the Gardiners as well. She did not extend an invitation to her other relatives. Her lapse was by design. It vexed her that the Bingley party included Miss Caroline Bingley, the younger of Charles’ two sisters. The young woman spent the better part of her time in London with the older Bingley sister, Mrs. Louisa Hurst, but, as fate would have it, she was staying at Netherfield when the invitation to come to Pemberley was extended. The situation of her being at Pemberley during such an important time for the Darcys could have been far worse had both of Bingley’s sisters been there. Elizabeth consoled herself as best she could with the knowledge that the absence of one half of the pernicious duo always rendered the other half rather more tolerable.
Sighing over the prospect of surrendering her idyllic spot, Elizabeth squeezed her husband’s hand, and then moved to go inside. Too much needed doing if she planned to have breakfast with her family who might soon begin stirring.
“You’re not leaving me already are you, my love?”
“I must discuss the seating arrangements with Mrs. Reynolds. Then I have planned to sit with Mrs. Garrison to go over the menus for the dinner party as well as the banquet. Lest you forget, no sooner will the formal dinner party be over and the overnight guests taken their leave than the tenant festivities we have planned commence. After meeting with Mrs. Garrison, I must visit the conservatory to speak with Mr. Spanks about the floral arrangements.” Elizabeth placed her fingers to her lips. “Why do I feel as though I am neglecting something?”
Darcy said, “Because you are—something vital…”
Elizabeth arched her brow inquiringly.
“Your husband,” he said playfully. “Can’t all those other matters wait awhile longer?”
“Why? What do you have in mind?”
Darcy took her hand, raised it to his lips, and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. Lowering it, he started guiding her into the house.
“Where are you leading me?”
“Where do you think?” Darcy’s eyes tore away from his wife toward the direction of their bed.
“As much as I would enjoy the prospect of lingering in bed, I am afraid I cannot. I have so much to do this morning.”
“
I assure you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, there will be no lingering this morning. That is unless you consider this lingering.” He swept her into his arms and kissed her lips passionately. At length, he ceased. “Or this,” he whispered, lowering her to their bed. “I dare say anything else that you have planned for this morning can wait.”
Gazing into his wife’s eyes, he stripped himself of the shirt and trousers he had casually donned earlier and slid into bed beside her. Affectionately taking her into his arms, Darcy commenced doing all the things to Elizabeth that a woman wanted her lover to do.
Indeed, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy could not be happier.
~*~
The atmosphere at Pemberley took a decided turn later that day. Elizabeth ought to have known her mother would look upon the occasion of Pemberley’s first formal dinner party as a chance to get rid of her remaining unmarried daughters, Mary and Kitty, by throwing them in the path of wealthy men of Darcy’s ilk. Indeed, fewer than two days after the Bingleys and the Gardiners arrived, Elizabeth’s Longbourn relations descended upon Pemberley’s doorstep.
She was not entirely surprised to see her father, Mr. Thomas Bennet, arrive unannounced, for he delighted in coming to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected. As familiar as he was with the house, he had made his way straight to the library where she suspected he would remain for the better part of his visit.
Having refreshed themselves after their journey and now brightly attired in a rainbow of soft colors, Mrs. Fanny Bennet, Mary, who was next in age after Elizabeth, and Kitty, who was next to Mary, joined the Darcys, the Bingleys, and the Gardiners in the parlor. An amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favorite with all her nieces, Mrs. Gardiner was immediately surrounded by Kitty and Mary: the former impatient to hear all there was to hear about the newest fashions, and the latter eager to learn which books she ought to read next. Mrs. Bennet contented herself with a steady stream of questions on the topic of who would be attending Elizabeth’s grand dinner party. How many of the guests are gentlemen? Are any of them single? Are they rich?
Such conversation, it seemed, was the order of the day and Elizabeth began to consider that her family’s being there was not the worst thing that could happen. Indeed, it was rather nice to see the faces of so many of the people whom she loved in one place, sitting and talking, enjoying one another’s company. She even supposed that perhaps she ought to have invited them. It had been far too long since they had all been together—not since her nuptials. Who was to say when next they would see each other again. No sooner had she accustomed herself to this notion than the butler, Mr. Thurman, entered the room.
The tall, austere man cleared his throat. “Mrs. Lydia Wickham,” he announced. In a flash, Elizabeth’s youngest sister swept into the parlor. A quiet hush overtook everyone assembled about. Mary, who had moved to sit off by herself in a corner, looked up from her book long enough to nod a less than enthusiastic greeting to her sister. Lydia’s own exuberance earned the highest admiration of the sister who was next to her in age. Kitty, a pretty, brown-haired young lady with bright eyes and a quizzical smile, giggled with excitement.
Mrs. Bennet’s joy in seeing her favorite daughter for the first time since shortly after the latter had married was beyond expression, and her spirits were immediately heightened. She was never quite as lively as she was when in company with her youngest. The merry matriarch sprang to her feet and tore across the room.
“Oh, Lydia, my dear, it is such a happy surprise to see you! Turn around and let me have a look at you!”
Lydia was a stout, well-grown young woman with a fine complexion and friendly countenance. A favorite with her mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early age, she had high animal spirits and a sort of natural self-consequence that had only been encouraged by the fact that, although the youngest, she had been the first of the five Bennet daughters to be married. The particulars of how said marriage came to be never concerned her. Relishing in her mother’s unabashed adoration, Lydia spun herself around in a proud manner.
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands to her chest. “I can easily surmise that your dashing husband is taking prodigious care of you.” Winking, she added, “You were very clever in landing such a handsome man. No doubt he spoils you exceedingly were one to judge by your elegant dress and your fine jewels.”
The proud matriarch was not alone in noticing Lydia’s lavish attire. Elizabeth could not help silently noting her sister’s extravagance as well. During the past months, such relief as it was in her power to afford, by the practice of thrifty economy in her own private expenses, she frequently sent to the Wickhams. It had always been evident to her that such an income as theirs, under the direction of two people so excessive in their wants and heedless of the future, must be insufficient to their support. Her benevolence aside, she decided it was best not to judge her sister on the basis of this one factor alone. Who is to say this is not the only such dress my sister owns?
“Just imagine; you are happily married to an officer! There was a time when I should have loved to have married an officer, but then I met your father and there was the end of that dream.” She looked around the room. “Where is our dear Wickham? Pray you did not travel all this way alone, child! Where is your excellent husband?”
“Oh, Mama! I assure you that my Wickham and I did indeed travel to Derbyshire together. He is in Lambton—that dreadful little town. When last I saw him, he was settling into a dreary little room in a tiny little inn. Oh, if only you could have seen the place, then you would have known in an instant that it is no place for the sister of one of the richest men in all of Derbyshire. I told the innkeeper as much, and I insisted he must give us the finest rooms in the establishment, but he would not hear of it. Oh, Mama, you will never guess what he did. Well, I will tell you what he did and save you the trouble.”
“Do tell, my dear,” cried Mrs. Bennet when she could.
“I told him that if he fails to heed my demands that we shall take our patronage elsewhere and he said that he could not and, what’s more, he would not even if he could—complaining of having been ill-used by my dear Wickham in the past, but that was ages ago.”
“My dear Lydia, why did Wickham not come with you to stay at Pemberley? No doubt there is ample room.”
Darcy had heard enough. “George Wickham is not welcome at Pemberley,” he said in a tone that invited no further discussion on the matter.
Not easily put off by the absence of an invitation as evidenced by her even being at Pemberley, Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, “Not welcome at Pemberley! Why, I have never heard of such a thing.” She looked away from the master of the house and turned her aggrieved gaze to the mistress. “When is it ever proper to exclude one’s own family from one’s home? Why, I should never dream of turning family away. Did I not welcome that horrible Mr. Collins and his scheming wife, the former Miss Charlotte Lucas, at Longbourn? We all know I took no pleasure in doing so, but family is family. We are not allowed the privilege of picking and choosing those whom we like best.”
“Those are my sentiments exactly, Mama,” cried Lydia. “However, I am not angry and neither is my Wickham. In fact, he told me to be sure to give his best wishes to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy and most especially to Miss Georgiana.” Lydia threw a casual glance about the room, dismissing everyone she knew until her eyes landed on someone whose acquaintance she had not made. She sashayed over to where Georgiana was standing and curtseyed. “You must be Miss Darcy. My Wickham said you were a comely creature. No doubt my sisters have told you all about me and how I was the first Bennet daughter to marry. I am quite eager to further our acquaintance, for I am certain you and I have much in common.”
The discomfort that Miss Darcy felt in the wake of all the talk of Wickham was plain for her brother to see. Having more than her fair share of elegance, the accomplished young woman could do no more than smile awkwardly at Lydia’s unseemliness while saying nothing in response.
Darcy h
ad really had enough by now and, rather than continue to expose himself to such flagrant lack of decorum, he left the room with not even a by your leave.
Chapter 2
He never liked Mrs. Wickham. He fought against cursing himself for providing the means of that silly girl boasting of having such an appellation. His sentiments toward Mrs. Bennet were scarcely better. Their relationship had been marred with contention from the start. Darcy shuddered in recollection of some of the nasty exchanges between them during his first visit to Hertfordshire with his friend Bingley.
His thoughts immediately wandered to the day he arrived at Longbourn after he spoke to Mr. Bennet of his wish to marry Elizabeth. The next day, Mrs. Bennet’s behavior toward him had been decidedly different—marked with awe and approbation.
Their mutual endeavors at civility during Darcy’s subsequent visits to Longbourn aside, he could not say he would ever do anything more than tolerate his mother-in-law. True, her decided admiration toward him was always on display when she had nothing better to do with her time and no one to give her cause to lament her fondest complaints. However, there were too many times when she would be vulgar. Her sister from Meryton, Mrs. Philips, always brought out the worst in her and so did her youngest daughter, he now recalled.
The next couple of days – Heaven forbid, weeks – will surely test my patience.
He suffered a pang of empathy for what his sister Georgiana must have suffered what with Lydia’s constant mentioning of that vile husband of hers. He made a mental note to speak with her. Pemberley now being Georgiana’s home, her attachment with Elizabeth was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. Lydia may be his wife’s sister, but he would be damned if he allowed that silly girl to injure Georgiana. If Lydia’s being at Pemberley is a source of discomfort for my sister then Lydia must leave.
