Hannah had dressed me to creditable effect many times, and I trusted her. She was, it transpired, quite right. As soon as I entered the drawing room for drinks, my husband treated me to one of his customary stares, his expression blank, and his eyes aflame. He had been speaking with Kitty, who chatted brightly on.
“What a lovely dress, Lizzy! Mama will be beside herself when she sees you in something so fine. And what do you have in your hair. It looks like a necklace. How very clever. I wish I had a maid to dress my hair every day!”
I thanked her and took my husband’s arm into dinner. The evening passed in joy and gaiety, and I can hardly remember an occasion when I was in higher spirits. Jane looked serene and beautiful beside Mr Bingley, and his sisters continued their civil behaviour from the previous evening. In the glow of such a successful supper, Mama quite forgot the horrors of Lady Catherine’s visit, and I even caught Papa casting her an affectionate glance. Mr Darcy forced himself to talk with everyone in the room, even Sir William, who commented loudly and with a wink on my comely appearance. After supper, the furniture in the drawing room was cleared to the walls, and we danced while Charlotte Lucas and I shared piano-playing duties. Fitzwilliam danced with every lady in the room, even Mama and our aunt Philips. I do not believe my family could credit what their eyes were seeing.
Chapter Twenty
We did attend Jane’s wedding, which took place almost exactly one year after our own. By this time, I was again with child, and Fitzwilliam was white with worry the whole time we were away from Pemberley. It took all of my understanding and coaxing strategies, learned in twelve months of being Mrs Darcy, to persuade him to allow me to undertake such a journey. I did persuade him and was glad of it, for it was a joyful day. Jane was as serene and fine as I always imagined she would be on the day she was wed. My babe was showing very slightly, and I stroked its outline under my cloak as I stood in the church.
Kitty wore a beautiful gown and I believe was fussed over enough that her absence from Lydia’s wedding was all forgot. In her finery, she caught the attention of a young cousin of Mr Bingley, who, some weeks after the wedding, returned to stay at Netherfield and began calling at Longbourn with notable frequency. Before long, he asked permission to court Kitty, and they were engaged and married in very little time. As I write this, they are happily settled in Bath and have two children to their credit. As an adult and a mother—and in isolation from Lydia—Kitty has grown so sensible you would hardly know her.
Lydia, after a great deal of fuss, attended Jane’s nuptials on her own. It had initially been assumed that, with her being in Newcastle and out of funds, it would be impossible. Mr Wickham, of course, could not be spared from his regiment. However, Lydia performed histrionics by way of letters to Mama, Jane, and me until I relented and sent her the money for the journey. She settled herself in the front pew without shame and commented on people’s outfits during prayers. For all of the trouble and mortification she has caused us, she is, in the final analysis and in the teeth of misfortune, resolutely herself and is to be given credit for it.
Mary and Mr Collins were also guests and appeared to be rubbing along as well as any two ridiculous people locked into holy matrimony might. A twelve-month later, Mary bore Mr Collins a lovely son, but they have not had further issue. Is it possible, I have wondered to myself, that my sister has denied her husband even his modest demands?
Lady Catherine, we did not see for over a twelve-month since, by the second Easter of our marriage, I was heavy with child, and it was not possible for me to travel. Fitzwilliam would not hear of my suggestion that, for the sake of family harmony, the Rosings party be invited to Pemberley.
“Certainly not, Elizabeth. What if the babe comes early? I will not have Lady Catherine here at a time like that. She is the last person you should be hosting in your condition. It is unthinkable.”
As it was, we visited Rosings the following year with enough of our own servants that we did not need to trouble any in Lady Catherine’s employ. Mr Darcy, it seemed, did not like to think the maid who changed his bed or the boy who polished his boots was reporting his every activity to his aunt. By the time of this visit, Colonel Fitzwilliam had married and attended with his wife, Cassandra, whom I like very much. We have persisted in the “Richard” and “Lizzy” business, and although my husband has never quite grown used to it, he does, I believe, benefit from a bit of teasing. As do we all.
With Lady Catherine, I have never quite achieved easy relations. I still find, this many years later, that she will fix me with a stare that would freeze a river, and if she can get away with cutting me off when I speak, she will. However, these complaints arise but rarely, and I find I can bear them perfectly well.
By contrast, her daughter, Anne, has emerged as a quiet friend to me. It happened on an overcast day in the second week of our second Easter at Rosings, and I was practicing the pianoforte alone when the door squeaked open. “Good morning, Cousin Elizabeth,” said Anne as she walked into the room, touching her handkerchief to her nose and smiling. I knew then that her very address to me was a peace offering. “Would you mind if I joined you? I have some embroidery I would like to work on, and some musical accompaniment would suit me right well.”
“Yes, of course. Miss de— or should I call you ‘Cousin,’ also?”
“I would like it if you would.”
“Thank you.”
After that, it became our practise, while Lady Catherine was with Mr Collins in the morning, that Anne would bring her embroidery to the music room where I would play, sometimes upon her request and sometimes, more testily, in rehearsal for the evening. I never knew her to contradict her mother directly, and she did not become outgoing in her behaviour. She had been silent too long to ever really change. But we did reach a friendly and quietly convivial understanding, and I was glad.
When we have not been visiting relations, we have lived a settled and happy life here at Pemberley. I have continued on my tenant visits and seen many more families multiply on the estate. Fortunately for Mrs Ashby, she has had no more children, and her husband is now fully recovered from his illness.
Hannah is still my lady’s maid and, this spring, turned down a marriage proposal from a local tenant farmer. It was a shock to all who knew her that she would do such a thing. He is a respectable man, and she is a woman not getting any younger and in domestic service. I found myself lobbied by Mrs Reynolds, by Hannah’s married sister, who wrote to me, and even by Fitzwilliam to intercede on the man’s behalf. For myself, I could see their point. As much as I would have missed her if she had married, how could she deny herself an establishment of her own with children and the potential for love? These were the arguments as I presented them to Hannah. Yet, she remained unmoved. She continued to brush out my hair and, straightening herself, fixed my eye in the mirror of my dressing table.
“I know it is hard for others to understand, Mrs Darcy, but I am quite sure it is the right thing. I see what love looks like, and I know I do not love him, and he does not really love me either. People may think me a fool, but there it is.”
“You know love can grow, Hannah. It can grow, sometimes from nothing, over time, but you have to give it time.”
“I know it can grow, madam, but…well, if I may be so bold, I do not think it will grow from nothing. I think the seed needs to be there. I am sure there is no seed between us, and if I say no, he will surely find another woman who can make him happy.”
I chewed over her words. “Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. I do not know, Hannah. None of us can know the future. If you are resolved, then you are resolved, but I hope that you are not taking this step because you do not want to leave Pemberley. We are such good friends, you and I. If you were to leave, I am sure I would not find an equal to replace you, but that must not stop your grasping happiness if it is available. You know, if you were to marry, that you would still c
ome here, you could visit…we would still be friends.”
“That is a very kind thing to say, Mrs Darcy. Thank you.” And with her simple, direct words, the matter was closed. I recalled my own reaction when Mama had ordered me in the garden at Longbourn to marry Mr Collins, and I could not find it in me to censure Hannah’s decision.
Our sister Georgiana has gone from strength to strength. When, in the tail end of that humid summer in town, Fitzwilliam and I told her that Wickham was to marry my sister Lydia, she took the news better than either of us had anticipated. She nodded, exhaled, looked slightly anxious, and said, “Thank you for telling me. Is your sister well, Lizzy? I do hope she is and she, they…I wish them much joy.”
Later, when Fitzwilliam was closeted in his library, she approached me alone and owned to being embarrassed for having ever loved Mr Wickham. I took her sweet face in my palms and entreated her. “Oh, Georgiana! When we are young and foolish, we are young and foolish. We all are, and you were no worse than others have been. We have all thought the wrong thing and been mistaken in our acquaintances. It speaks well of you that you trusted him and saw the best that may have been in him. You must not reproach yourself now. He is married and far away, and you have everything before you.”
She did, as it turned out. For within the twelve-month, Georgiana had been presented at court, and within the eighteen-month, she was married to her first suitor, Lord Avery, whose estate was not fifty miles from Pemberley. When the time for Georgiana’s presentation drew near, I realised there was a matter, long dormant, that had to be addressed. I found Fitzwilliam in his study about his papers and sat in the chair opposite him.
“I know that look, Elizabeth. Am I to have a scolding?” He smiled, teasing me with my own words.
“Of course not, Fitzwilliam; for you, as you know, have done nothing wrong. No, I was just thinking of Georgiana’s coming out and how close it is getting. We only have two more weeks in Derbyshire, and then we shall be off to town. And then only a week to prepare before presenting her and hosting our own ball. There will be so much to do. Mrs Reynolds tells me that Lady Broughton’s housekeeper told her that five hundred sandwiches were eaten at Diana Broughton’s coming out…”
He leaned back in his chair, his lips turned up at the corners, and his eyes on me. “I am sure that is true, Elizabeth, but you have not come here to talk about sandwiches surely—particularly, other people’s sandwiches?”
“No, but I do mean it when I say we shall have so much to do when we get to town. We shall be so busy getting things ready, and there will be little time for conversation…for being together like this—”
“Out with it, Elizabeth! What is this great matter that requires discussion?”
“Well, it is Georgiana. She has gained so in confidence and is obviously going to sparkle in London. She will be exposed to society in a way she never has been before. She will meet people, and she will not have us standing over her. She will meet people, and they will talk… Fitzwilliam, you know what the world is, what gossips people are. If you do not tell her about the Lovelaces, then somebody else will. If you tell her now, she will have a little time to digest it, and you can give her your truth about them. She is eighteen years old, and…well, she may be a married lady inside the year.”
He turned away at this, slightly discomforted by the thought. I had prepared myself with argument upon argument and anticipated what he might say against me. I had imagined raised voices and my having to beg him to be sensible or even threaten to involve Colonel Fitzwilliam. But in the event, it was quite different. After a pause, he turned his body to mine, took my hand, and said, “Yes, Elizabeth. You are quite right, of course. Shall we seek her out now?”
When we found Georgiana with her book in the drawing room, I quietly dismissed Mrs Annesley and let Fitzwilliam do the talking. She was, I believe, very surprised, but she was not angry or resentful either at the history or at having been kept so long in ignorance of it. Her eyes widened a bit when she learned of her three sisters, but she did not seem unduly scandalised, and later, after supper, Georgiana suggested she meet them when we were all in town.
So it was that Alice Woodham had her heart’s desire. After some discussion between Fitzwilliam and me and correspondence with Mrs Lovelace, it was decided that Georgiana’s first engagement upon our arrival in town would be a visit to Queen Anne’s Gate. Mrs Lovelace, Miss Sophia Lovelace, Miss Frances Lovelace, Mrs Woodham, Georgiana, and myself sat about Mrs Lovelace’s parlour and smiled over teacups while Mr Darcy, Mr Woodham and Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom Georgiana specifically requested be present, stood, looking only a little awkward. Mrs Lovelace’s little dog wagged his tail against the hearth. Nothing was spoken of the relations between those present, but everybody knew. It was a kindness to the girls that they be allowed to meet their sister thus, and it was a kindness to Georgiana that she should be in ignorance no longer. I understand that Georgiana, as Lady Avery, has kept up correspondence with both of her adult sisters and discreetly visits with Mrs Woodham when in Derbyshire, as do Fitzwilliam and I.
Our own visits to town have been limited, to our great delight, by the arrival of our two daughters: Anne, who was born in the second summer of our marriage, and Emma, in the fourth. I know Fitzwilliam would like a son, and with four sisters by birth and four by marriage, I am scarce less eager for one myself. As I write this, my belly swells beneath my hand, and so we have every reason to hope.
Author’s Q&A
Q: Since the story is told from Elizabeth’s point of view, I think it would have been interesting to be witness to what Mr Darcy confesses to Mr Bennet at the Netherfield ball. If you were to write a short scene, how might that have gone?
A: It is a downside of telling the story from one person’s point of view, that there are a lot of “holes” in the narrative. Important things happen, but Elizabeth is not there to witness them. Imagining what might have happened in those “holes” is part of the fun of reading and what a lot of fan fiction is about. In this story, the discussion between Mr Darcy and Mr Bennet at Netherfield is one of the most tantalising. My vision goes something like this: Mr Bennet, as we all know, is not one of life’s dancers neither is he a social butterfly. I imagine him standing at the side, maybe telling himself a joke. He hardly knows Mr Darcy and all that he has heard of him is negative. As Darcy approaches, Elizabeth’s father probably thinks that he is after speaking with somebody else. He would be astounded that Darcy is singling him out. As for Darcy himself, we must assume his head to be crowded with emotion. Firstly, his mind is reeling with his good fortune. He can see how things will be, and it is to his liking. In counterpoint to that, he is embarrassed. He is not a man who likes his private life to be public property. He will be ashamed of the need to tell a gentleman that he has been observed compromising his daughter. Is Darcy troubled by Elizabeth’s apparent lack of affection for him? I do not believe he is. He sees she is not in love, but he assumes his love will be powerful enough to carry her along and, in time, she will love him. In this moment, he feels lucky. The dice have fallen exactly right, and he is too arrogant to lose time worrying about how Elizabeth sees things. Darcy is a man of action and an audacious character. If something needs to be done, he just does it. Will he fudge it? Will he say it straight? For privacy, I think he would ask Mr Bennet into a side room, and then he would say simply that Mrs Bennet has observed him alone in a room with Elizabeth in a compromising situation and he is willing to marry her as a result, but to prevent further scandal, it may be best if the whole family removed from the ball. His pride, in my view, would prevent his making an apology. His kindness, in my view, would prevent his casting doubts on Mrs Bennet’s veracity. What about Mr Bennet? I imagine him being speechless for a moment and no doubt very offended. However, for all that, he is a negligent parent during “normal time”; in a crisis, he does know what needs to be done. Mr Darcy is, as we all know, a very commandi
ng character. And so, I do not envisage much argument or even discussion between the two men. In the moment, Mr Bennet will do as Mr Darcy says, and his resentment will be left to develop at leisure.
Q: Elizabeth names her horse “Mrs Wollstonecraft.” What was the significance, and why did she think Darcy enjoyed that?
A: Mary Wollstonecraft was a feminist writer, educationalist and philosopher of the late eighteenth century. She was famous in her lifetime for promoting the education of girls and for her belief that women were not the intellectual inferiors of men. She had a number of unconventional relationships in her life. One way or another, her name was a byword for provocation and scandal. Why did Elizabeth choose this name for the horse that Darcy gives her? Well, I do not see Elizabeth as a dyed in the wool proto-feminist or a revolutionary. But she is well read, contrary, and intellectually bold. In the original, she verbally jousts with Darcy every time she sees him. However, in this story, her ability to directly challenge him is effectively stymied by her early marriage. She would enjoy more freedom than she has. I imagine her giving her horse a provocative name as a minor rebellion against this. However, far from annoying Darcy, he immediately sees the humour. It is redolent of Elizabeth’s spirit, and so he enjoys it. And of course, in this story, Darcy is far less of a stranger to scandal than Elizabeth thinks he is, so maybe he is laughing at that as well.
Suddenly Mrs. Darcy Page 19
