“Sensible?” Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, who (despite being confounded by the turn of the conversation) could not help but smile. “It is precisely because of Mr. Gardiner’s sense and understanding,” continued Darcy, “that I would break my engagement with him for no one—not even the Prince Regent himself.”
Lord Matlock’s face fluctuated so rapidly between an unhealthy shade of white and an even unhealthier shade of purple that Elizabeth, had she not been in a state of shock herself, might have felt sorry for the man.
“Now,” Darcy said, “we do indeed have other business to attend to today, so if you will excuse us?”
He offered a bow, and Elizabeth curtsied, though rather in the way one breathes after having taken a fall—involuntarily and irregularly. They were halfway to the door when Georgiana rushed over to them and grabbed at her brother’s arm.
He turned and looked down at his sister.
“Fitzwilliam, please understand…”
“I do understand.” Gently, he removed his arm from her grasp. “You must be allowed to make your own choices, and so must I. Do enjoy the ball tonight—Georgiana.”
With that, Elizabeth found herself ushered out of Matlock House, the click of the closing door behind them somehow louder than all the din of London.
Chapter Twenty-One
York: Monday, April 27
Darcy,
As we are both busy men, I will forgo the usual pleasantries that begin so many letters. I am only too happy to take George Wickham under my care. Even if I did not already enjoy transforming cads into gentlemen; even if you had not offered more than twice the usual amount for a commission; and, even if the near certainty of resumed hostilities on the Continent did not require me to expand my crop of officers, regardless of their characters—even if all these circumstances had been otherwise, still I would have been only too grateful to repay in some small fashion the kindness you showed my wife and daughter last winter by hosting them at Pemberley and escorting them personally to the wilds of the North so that I might see them.
I will write to Wickham posthaste and will, as you have asked, keep your name out of this business. He will think only that I have heard of his skills and want him under my command. A man with this kind of temperament will no doubt believe such flattery. That he may one day come to realize I enjoy whipping officers into shape—well, that is a joke you and I will share.
With sincere friendship,
General Andrew Burnett
*
Longbourn: Wednesday, April 29
My Dear Cousin,
You see by my salutation that I have, as befitting a former vicar and current master of a place you once called home, quite forgiven the wrongs you have done me in the past. My path to forgiveness was most speedily forged by my dear wife’s pleas on your behalf. Your most recent letter, in which you showed some little humility and a moral rectitude previously lacking, gave me reason to hope that you may one day deserve Mrs. Collins’s goodwill. I can only suppose your improved character is the result of having lately been in contact with the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, for she improves the lives of all she encounters.
Your inquires into the health of Mrs. Collins was all that is good and appropriate, but one portion of your letter troubled me, and I feel it necessary, as your cousin and moral guardian, to explain to you the error of your ways: you ought not discuss your husband’s past dealings, particularly those of a financial nature. It is a behavior most lacking in feminine virtue. That you would write to me of your husband’s generosity to Mr. Wickham after old Mr. Darcy's death is perhaps forgivable, but you must not in the future share such information with those unconnected with your esteemed family.
That being said, I do think it imperative for others in Meryton to understand that Mr. Darcy is a most upstanding man (as befits the nephew of the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh), and that the story Mr. Wickham has spread is a false one. I do believe, as Master of Longbourn, it is acceptable for me to use my standing to make certain that others are not mistaken in their beliefs regarding Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham.
When I showed your letter to Mrs. Collins, she explained to me that ladies are occasionally bothered by concerns they cannot understand, and the surest method of removing these inappropriate anxieties is to humor them. Though I am not a man to condone gossip, I felt it my duty—to Mr. Darcy and to the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh—to speak to the gentlemen I have come to know in Hertfordshire. It seems that Mr. Wickham has not made as many friends in town as he might have hoped, having spent far beyond his means, and the other gentleman of the town are most ready to believe that this degenerate officer has used Mr. Darcy most ill.
I suppose your next letter will be full of gratitude and praises, and though such a letter would be proof of your continued improvement, I must beg you not to send such thanks, for the actions I undertake are executed with no thought to myself; they are motivated only by my duty to God and the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Your most humble and loyal servant,
Wm. Collins of Longbourn Estate
*
Meryton: Friday, May 1
Dear Mr. Darcy,
I received your later dated April 25 with much surprise and alarm. I must admit that I was inclined to doubt your accusations; your unwillingness to name the lady in question gave me little confidence in your claims, which would so greatly destroy the hopes of my daughter. Yet upon further reflection, and upon investigating more thoroughly Mr. Wickham’s behavior in Meryton, I have learned that he has frequented establishments hardly in keeping with good character. His debts are also of concern, and I begin to suspect his interest in my daughter may be more mercenary than sincere. I share this information with you as a means of expressing my gratitude for your correspondence, and with hopes that I may one day thank you in person, should you return to Meryton with your friend Bingley.
With deepest gratitude,
Thomas King
*
Grosvenor Square: Sunday, May 3
Darcy,
It is a great shame that you chose not to attend Lady Wallingham’s dinner party Tuesday last. I would have been willing to overlook the great many disadvantages your wife brings to our family and would have promoted her, if for no other reason than I owe her a token of my regard after her rescue of little Charles. By distancing yourself from our esteemed family, you certainly do not harm me, but you do your wife and your sister a great disservice. Your obstinance always was one of your worst qualities, and certainly not a quality your dear mother ever possessed.
Given Mrs. Darcy’s connections—not only the tradesman uncle, but a younger sister, who I hear has been associating with the very man who might have brought tragedy upon our own family—you ought to be grateful that I would be seen anywhere with her, and particularly in the home of so respectable a family as the Wallinghams.
As much as I might prefer to keep Ana as far removed as possible from such associations as you would now promote within your own household, I have decided to allow Ana to visit Pemberley, if only because I can see how much she desires it, and as you know, I am a man who puts his family’s happiness before his own.
Once she is presented at court next Season, however, Ana must limit contact with your wife if she is to have any chance of securing her own happiness. This point I have made quite clear to her, and I believe she understands. Of course I would not be so cruel as to forbid her a visit to you at Pemberley every so often, but in town, I do not think it will do for her to be seen with Mrs. Darcy. This might not have been the case, had you brought your wife to dinner with the Wallinghams. I feel certain Mrs. Darcy would have amused the families in our circle; your wife has a certain charm about her that our friends would have condescended to recognize. Of course, you would have had to cut ties with her family, but you have made quite clear your preference for her tradesman uncle over your own mother’s brother.
Alas, you have acted again
st your interests, and hers, and therefore can expect to see little of your sister next Season. I am certain that you, upon greater reflection and upon discussing the matter with Ana herself, will come to see matters as I do, and will no doubt regret your own course of action. Let it only be said that I am a forgiving man and may consider putting forth some effort in future years to recognize you and your wife, if you should see the error of your ways.
Lest you think I have written only to scold you, allow me close this letter by hoping you and your wife are in good health. You may tell Mrs. Darcy that little Charles has quite recovered from his near accident and that I will not soon forget her good deed.
Your uncle,
The Right Honorable Charles Fitzwilliam, The Earl of Matlock
*
Purvis Lodge: Sunday, May 10
Dearest Lizzy,
I write to you with shocking news: Mr. Wickham has left Meryton! No one knows the cause of his departure, certainly not Miss King, who had expected him to offer marriage any day now. Of course, we all knew she was far too ugly to tempt him, but then she does have such a large dowry that poor officers like Wickham may be forgiven for considering such a distasteful scheme. Mary has looked over my shoulder and read this letter, and insists that I be more charitable to Miss King, but I will not because I say Miss King does not deserve my kindness. She quite pretends she is better than us, even though she has so many freckles and so little taste in reading. (She refuses to read The Mysteries of Udolpho!)
I wish I could tell you more about Mr. Wickham. I only know that Lydia spends most of her day in our bedroom. I suppose she is crying; she so rarely allows me entrance, even though it was my room before it was hers, that I cannot be sure what she does there. The only time I have a moment’s peace is when she goes to visit Aunt Philips, which is often enough. I should like to join her, for at least in Meryton I may hear some interesting news, but Lydia throws a fit if I attempt to accompany her. Wretched girl! And Mama is so unfair; she always allows Lydia her own way.
Do send me another letter about London. Life here is so very dull!
Your affectionate sister,
Kitty
*
Bennet Lodge: Wednesday, May 13
Dear Lizzy,
I am most anxious for our poor Lydia. You have no doubt heard from Kitty of Mr. Wickham’s shocking departure. Though Lydia does not say so, I am sure the recent turn of events has quite broken her heart. She spends most of her days in her room or with your Aunt Philips. Lydia is such a thoughtful girl, and must want to absent herself so as to spare us her pain. Did you know Mr. Wickham was meant to marry Miss King in a matter of months (a piece of news dreadful enough to poor Lydia)? And this, after he had danced three sets with Lydia at the assembly in April! Only, it seems Miss King’s father lately received a letter accusing Mr. Wickham of using a young lady in a most shocking manner. The particulars have not been shared with us. I myself wish it to be otherwise, but whatever the truth, Mr. Wickham has resigned his position in the militia and left Meryton with hardly an adieu to any of his friends. Mr. Philips tells me that he has also left behind many debts. Oh, what a shame! Yet, I always did think something untrustworthy about the man.
If you were to invite Lydia to town, I am most certain you might revive her spirits. Do consider your mother’s suggestion, or at least send her a new bonnet from one of those London milliners to cheer her.
Your loving mother,
F.B.
*
St. James’s Street: Thursday, May 28
Fitz,
I have stared at this blank sheet of paper for quite some time, attempting to compose a letter both polite and frank. As I do not think such a combination of qualities is possible, at least not from so poor a correspondent as myself, allow me to offer apologies at the outset for a letter that may cause some distress.
I think you must have seen, when we walked from Hyde Park to Matlock House last month, something of your sister’s affections for me. I certainly have not been blind to them, though God only knows I wish I had not excited such feelings in her. You must know how dearly I love your sister—but as a cousin, ward, and friend. She is to me, and will always be, that darling child I have had the great pleasure of seeing grow to adulthood. Though there are gentlemen who are quite willing to marry their cousins (particularly those with dispositions as sweet and dowries as large as Georgiana’s), I do not suppose I could ever be one of them. My fraternal affections for her would never be dislodged in favor of the sentiments required for the kind of marriage I one day hope to have—one, I suppose, quite like your own.
I spent much of the winter hoping that Georgi might come to understand the true nature of my affections for her, but my own actions have undermined these efforts, for I have been often in company with her. My goal with these visits has always being to promote her general happiness, nothing more. After a summer that brought only misery to her, I had hoped to lift her spirits. Instead, I have reopened a wound, and for that I am profoundly sorry.
You may guess that I am writing because the situation forces me to do so. I would never share such painful thoughts if I might keep them to myself, but when I saw how Georgi’s hopes for something more than fraternal affection grew, I took it upon myself to explain to her how I felt with a frankness I wish I could have avoided. Though she composed herself with all the grace and understanding we have come to expect of her, I could see how much my words pained her. As a beloved brother—and perhaps the only one of her family to understand how deep her affections can run—you will help her recover. This, I know. Indeed, she ought to have been with you after Ramsgate, and I can only curse myself for giving my father reason to remove Georgiana from your custody.
I have encouraged Georgi to return to Pemberley as soon as she is able, and I can only hope she will heed my advice, despite how little she must think of me now. I informed her that I intended to write you, and she has begged me to reconsider. But you know all too well how little I can keep these kinds of matters—particularly as they regard Georgiana—to myself. Though I cannot in good conscience offer your sister the kind of marriage she deserves, I can at least pledge to her my honest and steadfast loyalty.
Fitz, can you ever forgive me for the pain I have caused you and Georgiana both?
R.F.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was the kind of morning that necessitated wide-open windows, which is why Elizabeth traveled from room to room of Pemberley, lifting the sashes until the early June breeze swirled around her. The servants knew their mistress well enough by now to understand it was no use protesting that they should be the ones opening the windows.
Georgiana Darcy, however, knew little of her sister-in-law’s eccentricities, and so could not be blamed for her gasp of surprise—even if that gasp did so startle Elizabeth that she spun around before properly latching the window in place.
“Oh, hello!” Elizabeth smiled brightly at Georgiana, who hovered in the doorway of the music room as if not quite certain whether to enter or depart.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Darcy. I did not mean to disturb you.”
Elizabeth bit back words she had spoken at least half a dozen times since Georgiana’s arrival: “Do call me Elizabeth—or Lizzy, if you prefer!” It seemed she either did not prefer, or was still too uncomfortable in Elizabeth’s presence to allow for that familiarity. Although Georgiana had also given Elizabeth leave to use her Christian name, this invitation had been issued begrudgingly, and only after Elizabeth had made her own request. As a result, Elizabeth was also unable to bring herself to call Darcy’s sister Georgiana—or Ana, whichever she preferred—and therefore spent entire conversations thinking of clever ways to address Miss Darcy without calling her anything at all.
“I rather think I am the one disturbing you,” Elizabeth noted with a smile.
Georgiana backed out of the room. “Not at all, Mrs. Darcy. I will return at a later time.”
“No, please! Do not let me keep you f
rom your piano—”
Elizabeth stopped suddenly; an ominous rattle of glass made her turn back to the window just as the sash came crashing down against the sill.
“Bother!” she muttered, throwing all her weight into pushing the sash back into place. She managed to lift it an inch or two before it came sliding down again; she only just managed to remove her fingers before this second collision.
“Well,” she said, turning to Georgiana and brushing the dust from her hands, “I suppose I will have to allow at least one window to remain closed this morning. I will content myself with the knowledge that the glass, at least, was not broken.”
“Or your fingers!” cried Georgiana. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh, no, not at all.”
“Should I call a servant to open the window for you, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Goodness, no. If Mr. Manning were to discover what I was doing, he would be quite distressed.”
“The butler?” Georgiana’s tone was incredulous. “I am certain he would not mind.”
“Oh, you do not know how much I have vexed Manning these past few weeks. He is too good, of course, to show his disapproval in any substantial way, but he has taken to clearing his throat whenever I make an unreasonable request. There has been enough throat-clearing of late that I am tempted to give him a lozenge and tell him to take a day for rest. Now, please, you must stay and play the pianoforte. I will leave. I came only to open the window, but you can see that gravity has decided against me.”
Georgiana opened and closed her mouth several times, and then, after what appeared to be a painful moment of biting her lip, she released a breathy laugh. “I can see why my brother loves you so.”
This Disconcerting Happiness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 36
