Cousin Emma

by Perpetua Langley

  Or rather, Sir Harry called on Kitty Bennet. If there were any lady that could convince Sir Harry that he was not wanted for his title, it was Kitty.

  Kitty, being a simple sort of girl, showed Sir Harry her sewing and delighted in his approbation. She played for him the one tune she had memorized and blushed at his congratulations. She showed off a decorated fire screen that had been last winter’s project and delivered a pert curtsy when he claimed he’d never seen the like.

  Of all the silly things Kitty Bennet did to entertain Sir Harry, what she did not do was ask him a thing about his family or his estate. There was no fishing to size up his worth, no angling for information on his value. He had been well-used to worldly ladies, set on ruling London society and eyeing him like a butcher considers the worth of a cow. He found himself charmed by a young lady whose delight could be had by admiring a decorated fire screen.

  Kitty Bennet appeared oblivious to the nature of the sought-after catch before her and Sir Harry was enchanted by it. Nobody was surprised at her insensibility, Kitty was a kind-hearted soul, but was in general oblivious.

  As neither Kitty nor Lydia were allowed from the house without the escort of a parent for the foreseeable future, they found themselves in the drawing room far more often than had been their habit. Though Kitty had dreaded the new rules, she found them much more bearable than she had imagined. Sir Harry settled into Netherfield as Bingley’s houseguest and made himself a regular fixture in the Bennet’s drawing room, happily listening to her prattle on about this or that.

  Mrs. Bennet had a moment when she thought she might intervene in what she saw as a budding affection. How might she hurry the thing along or otherwise secure Sir Harry? But in the end, she refrained. She was expert at navigating the waves of attachment and realized that Sir Harry was peculiar and Kitty ought to be left to her own devices.

  After some months had passed, and Mr. Bennet was really beginning to wonder if Sir Harry was to be with them forever, that young gentleman had worked up the courage to propose.

  Kitty had been most agreeable, until it penetrated her mind that she would become a countess. That fact gave her a terrible case of nerves and she swore to Sir Harry that she could not do it. She did not know how to do it. Sir Harry was as charmed as ever and assured Kitty there was not much to do but buy pretty dresses and go to balls and dinners. His very competent staff would handle the rest.

  On further consideration, Kitty did think she could accomplish buying dresses and going to balls and dinners, and so happily assented.

  Mr. Bennet approved the match, though he wondered at Kitty Bennet becoming a countess. He supposed her elevated status would confer protection when she made the many missteps that she no doubt would make. As a countess, Kitty would likely be excused and named delightfully eccentric.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As it would happen, Kitty became a beloved figure everywhere she went. Having no clear picture of her new standing in the world, she was kind to everybody. Young ladies just coming out often sought out Lady Huntingdon should they find themselves confused regarding what was expected of them. Young gentlemen often poured their tortured hearts out to her sympathetic ear. Some of the more sophisticated ladies of London attempted a put down here and there, but as Kitty never understood them, they finally gave it up.

  Even Lady Huntingdon’s servants said there was no hint of condescension about her. They were right, she was rather terrified of them and did not have the first idea of what they did all day, only that it must be very complicated. While Kitty had an understanding of how dinner arrived to table at Longbourn, her new kitchens were so vast and the people so many and the operations they engaged in so various, that she was grateful that a meal ever turned up at all.

  While she would never grasp the workings of her house, Kitty did gain some renown when the events of a certain shooting party were known. The story was often talked of and became part of the family lore.

  Kitty produced four fine sons and indulged them terribly. Fortunately, that indulgence did not have much ill-effect, as they were tender-hearted boys very much like Kitty herself.

  Sir Harry never regretted his choice.

  Shortly after Kitty married, Lydia had proposed a visit to her. This, Mr. Bennet forbid. He could not think of any worse ideas than to let Lydia influence Kitty in her new house or to allow Lydia to be out of his sight. Mrs. Bennet had been very put out about it, as she thought Lydia might land any number of the Lord’s friends.

  Lydia was finally taken in hand by Elizabeth. It took some time to transform her into some semblance of a demure young lady, though the effort was helped along by Darcy’s astounded looks each time Lydia said something untoward at the dinner table.

  While she stayed at Pemberley, Lydia met Mr. Nebisher, an owner of mills in the north. Mr. Nebisher might not have been as dashing as Wickham, but he had a deal more money and promised Lydia she might have a sizable amount of pin money.

  Lydia did not think much on the offer, but rather accepted it after hearing the amount of pin money to be had.

  They eventually married and settled in Manchester, where Lydia formed her own circle of rather less than demure friends. Throwing off the yoke of her family, Lydia sunk back down to her own natural temperament, which was never going to be a credit to anybody.

  While Sir Harry never regretted marrying Kitty, Mr. Nebisher often wished he’d not had the bad luck to encounter Lydia Bennet. She regularly ran through her pin money and demanded more, had not the least interest in running the house and proved to be a disinterested mother. Worse, she involved her husband’s good name in more than one scandal.

  Charlotte and Mr. Claymore settled happily at Tomlin’s Gate in Kent. It was a large and comfortable house and Charlotte was given free rein to arrange things as she liked. She did so, though she found it required more forcefulness than she had ever been in the habit of displaying. Mr. Claymore might agree to any change she wished, but Lady Catherine, often blowing in like a North Sea storm, usually did not. Should a vase be moved from one table to the next, Lady Catherine would note it and give her a decided, and often long and exhaustive, opinion regarding the change.

  Despite her opinions, Lady Catherine did not often get a vase moved back to its original placement as Mr. Claymore and his wife presented a united front.

  Mr. Collins, had he been left to his own devices, would likely have given Mary the same free rein of her house that Charlotte had been given. As it was, he was ruled by his benefactress. Mary and Mr. Collins did not have many arguments, but those that they did have often had to do with Mary attempting to change something Lady Catherine had already settled in her mind.

  Mary, having been somewhat hardened by her treatment at home at Longbourn, was not particularly intimidated by Lady Catherine. There were many an evening in Rosings’ drawing room where Mr. Collins felt himself a little faint over one of his wife’s pronouncements. Over time, Lady Catherine was slowly beaten back by the iron will of Mary Collins. The lady still liked to view herself queen of the neighborhood, but where her clergyman’s wife was concerned, she treaded more carefully than was her usual wont.

  Anne was generally amused by Mary Collins and her firm resolve, and the two became fast friends. Where Mary was energetic, Anne was full of lassitude. Where Mary was full of facts, Anne was full of errands another might do for her. They got on well, however, as Mary did not seek to modify Anne’s way of going on and Anne had not the energy to attempt a modification of Mary’s.

  Anne had, just as she predicted, married Mr. Cresswell. Lady Catherine had been violently opposed, until she finally realized that though her daughter was generally lying about on a sofa, in spirit she was just as intractable as her mother.

  After the Netherfield ball, Caroline stayed on with her brother for a time. However, she grew more arch by the day, finally crossing the bridge into bitterness. The Bennets were, in her opinion, the author of all of her unhappiness. No family in England could have so m
aterially affected her. Her brother’s prospects were dimmed by his engagement to Jane Bennet, her own prospects were dimmed by Elizabeth Bennet somehow capturing Mr. Darcy. And, if that were not enough, just when she’d set her cap on Sir Harry and it seemed so likely something would come of it when he’d pressed Bingley to allow him to stay on at Netherfield, he began calling on Katherine Bennet. Katherine Bennet! Or Kitty, as they ridiculously called her. Kitty, that young, brainless chit, would become a countess. It was enough to make anybody bitter.

  Seeing Sir Harry would not be caught by her, and having to admit Lord Jameson was far too young and far too admiring of Miss Darcy, Caroline had decamped to her aunt in London. As the seasons wore on and no proposals were forthcoming, there descended a desperation over Miss Bingley’s person.

  Of all the things that might happen to her, becoming a spinster would surely be the worst. What was she to do? Live in some house with a lady’s companion, watching the invitations dwindle to nothing? Worse, if she did wish to continue to be included in entertainments, she would have to live with her brother. And Jane Bennet. Even then, she would be resented. She would be included to various dinners, but she would be that tedious person for which a dinner partner must be found. The most she could hope for was pity. No, it was too absurd.

  Finally, Mr. Lalleston had asked for her hand. She had no illusions why—his estate in Devon was mortgaged and in disrepair. If he did not find a hefty infusion of money he would lose it.

  They went on in a cordial fashion, if on the rather cool side of things. Caroline resigned herself to being a leading lady of a neighborhood that made Netherfield’s appear positively urbane. Never in her life had she imagined entertaining farmer’s wives, but there it was.

  Before Caroline had left Netherfield, the Colonel had watched Miss Bingley’s descent to bitterness with a combination of irritation and amusement. If the lady would not wear her intentions on her sleeve and if she might close her mouth more than it was open, she might have found what she sought. The Colonel was of the opinion that one’s fortunes spun on a great universal wheel and, while they might not be changed entirely, they could be helped on by right action.

  His own right action in helping along his fortunes consisted of daily visits to Emily Mallory and her dragon companion Mrs. Nandy. He found Emily very well suited to him and it was not long before he went to Mr. Mallory.

  Mr. Mallory had been delighted—he had worked day and night to see that he could provide his dear Emily a good dowry. He’d felt that money was the only thing that could protect her from the slights that might come from having a clerk as a grandfather. Now, she was to marry the son of an earl! Not an eldest son, mind, but still very grand. As well, in those moments when Mr. Mallory was able to forget he spoke to the son of an earl, he got on very well with the Colonel. Here was a man who took a real interest in estate management!

  If anybody was made unhappy by the engagement of Emily Mallory and Colonel Fitzwilliam, that individual was not to stay unhappy long. Mrs. Nandy, though she knew her charge must marry, had dreaded the day. On that day, she must find new employment and the idea terrified. What if it were to be in an unpleasant house? Or a badly run house? Or filled with six bad-tempered children when she’d become accustomed to one good-tempered child?

  Mrs. Nandy soon discovered, happily, that she was to stay on at Stag Hill. The Colonel, though often irritated with her, had been impressed by her care for Emily. What better lady to care for their own children? As the Colonel was a military man, he congratulated Mrs. Nandy as being anybody’s reliable rearguard.

  She did not know what that meant, but that was of no consequence. The dragon would stay on to oversee the next generation at Stag Hill.

  Georgiana came out to society in the second year of Elizabeth and Darcy’s marriage. Darcy insisted that it be done with a strict eye to protocol—dresses were fitted, calls made, a ball was hosted and endless balls and dinners were attended.

  Elizabeth was certain they were only going through their paces. Georgiana Darcy had fallen in love with Lord Jameson at the Netherfield ball, and he with her. Darcy did not dispute the attachment, but only said that his sister must have her season and meet a variety of people to be certain where her heart lay. It would please him to see his sister a duchess, but it would please him more to know that she had found the same happiness that he had. That had nothing to do with rank and title.

  Prior to Georgiana’s coming out, Elizabeth had been vastly amused to find Lord Jameson in the vicinity wherever they went. If they were in London, he was at his father’s house in Grosvenor Square. If they took the carriage through Hyde Park on a fine afternoon, Lord Jameson was sure to be on his horse somewhere nearby. If they were at Pemberley, Lord Jameson conveniently visited a baron not ten miles away. They had even stumbled upon the lord at Ramsgate, where he visited an old aunt on her summer sojourn.

  As Georgiana was not yet out, Lord Jameson must be satisfied by catching glimpses of her as she passed by or having short conversations on a street or while she sat in a carriage. Many a young man might have grown bored and moved on, but Lord Jameson did not.

  Darcy had become so alarmed at the young man’s constant appearances that he’d asked Georgiana if she were somehow communicating with him. He instantly wished he had not asked, as she dressed him down in no uncertain terms. She had learned her lesson with George Wickham, and Darcy was to know it.

  Mystified as to how Jameson was always turning up, Darcy had gone on to interview his staff. He’d finally discovered that Lord Jameson wrote regularly to a maid in the house, and that was how he knew where they would go. The maid had been all tears and laments that she had done wrong. Darcy could not have agreed with her more.

  Darcy planned to dismiss the maid but was stopped by both his wife and his sister. Nobody should be cruelly treated for having a romantic heart, they claimed. The poor girl had not accepted money for the information, nor had it been offered. The maid had freely given their various locations with Miss Darcy’s happiness in mind. She had been misguided, but she was not bad.

  Darcy found himself overruled, as he often did.

  When Georgiana came out, Lord Jameson was at every ball and dinner she attended. It was no difficult task, as every hostess in London was happy to see the young lord. Darcy watched his sister closely, and finally had to concede that Georgiana had met her match. It was no surprise whatsoever when Lord Jameson presented himself in Darcy’s library and asked for his sister’s hand. He and the Colonel gave it gladly.

  Georgiana and her lord went on joyously together, they being such a happy pair that they were welcomed everywhere. And, though Lord Jameson would become a duke, he viewed Darcy as a wise elder brother and often consulted him on matters of importance. Those consultations were easily arranged, as the two couples were often together.

  Some of the lord’s friends soon became the Darcy’s friends too. Those new friends found the Darcys delightful, as neither appeared particularly awed in the face of a grand title. The Darcys did not name drop or attempt to impress. If they liked a person, they saw them. If they did not, they dropped them, regardless of their station. They did not coddle or flatter, and if one of their acquaintance should hint that they should not be seated at a dinner with persons in trade, such as the Gardiners, they were an acquaintance no more.

  On her first trip to town as a married lady, Elizabeth had held an intimate dinner for the Gardiners. While she had been convinced that Darcy had given up his ideas of rank, she had been anxious about introducing her new husband to her relatives in trade.

  She might not have bothered over her nerves had she foreseen how well they would all get on together. Though they were so vastly different outwardly, Mr. Gardiner and Darcy found themselves kindred spirits. The family often came to Pemberley, the Gardiner children playing older generals to the Darcy army of three boys and two girls, while Mr. Gardiner and Darcy peaceably fished the lake in the mornings.

  After all the Bennet marri
ages had taken place, Mrs. Bennet had never found herself so satisfied. She had married them all off, and very well too. Jane and Elizabeth were rich, Kitty was a countess, and Mary would be the mistress of Longbourn. The only aspect that gave her pause was that things for Lydia had not gone precisely as expected. Mrs. Bennet had always thought Lydia would do so well, the girl was so lively! And yet, it was Lydia who wrote complaining letters and did not seem particularly satisfied with her lot.

  Mrs. Bennet’s most difficult project, the one she’d feared would not turn out well, had turned out very well after all. Mary would someday return to Longbourn and Mrs. Bennet would be able to reside comfortably there for all of her days. Mrs. Bennet remained convinced that she would outlive Mr. Bennet, and so one of her greatest fears had been allayed. Mr. Bennet, having witnessed Mrs. Bennet’s prescience in the matter of marriage, sometimes feared she was right.

  Mrs. Bennet had been surprised to find that, as much as she had worked to get her girls out of the house, once they were out, she became lonely. She devised herself a cure by indulging in scandalous gossip about her neighbors and taking that scandalous gossip on visits to her various daughters. As neither Bingley, nor Darcy, nor Sir Harry, nor Mr. Nebisher, nor even Mr. Collins were ever particularly happy to see her, it was well she had so many daughters to move between. Mr. Bennet often set off by himself for visits, and he was heartily welcomed, particularly by Darcy.

  Wickham was relieved of his commission after racking up an endless amount of gambling debts and bills from tradesmen. Darcy paid the tradesmen’s debts one last time, after being approached by Colonel Forster. Darcy did not pay the gambling debts, and so it was well that Wickham left the neighborhood. There was no end of young gentlemen owed vast amounts of money who would be happy to run him through, should they know where to find him.