This Disconcerting Happiness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Christina Morland

  Though uncertain how Georgiana had reached such a happy conclusion, Elizabeth was only too glad to accept the compliment. She had almost resolved to reach for her sister’s hands and offer a seventh (and, God willing, final) plea to call her Elizabeth when she noticed that she had not wiped all the dust from her fingers. She guessed there was likely dust on her face and dress, as well.

  Laughing at the spectacle she must have made, particularly in front of such a fine young lady, Elizabeth said, “The air is so delightful this morning that I could not resist opening the windows to catch the breeze. Have you been outside yet?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Georgiana, who seemed to forget herself and smile. The effect was so natural and inviting that Elizabeth could almost believe she had imagined the aloof behavior her sister-in-law had exhibited over the past three days.

  “I did not think the reality of the gardens could exceed my memories of them, but the lilies are divine!” Georgiana paused and then said, “Pratt tells me that you were the one to suggest adding them to the south garden.”

  “Lilies were my father’s favorite flower.”

  Georgiana met her gaze. “I am sorry that I never properly expressed my condolences on your loss.”

  Such a heartfelt statement could not be met with anything except true affection, and so this time, Elizabeth did not stop to think when she reached for Georgiana’s hands.

  Though she tensed, Georgiana did not pull away. “I am truly glad you are here, Mrs…”

  Elizabeth smiled at her sister’s indecision. “You may call me whatever you like, so long as you do so with the knowledge that I am truly glad that you are here.”

  And indeed she was, for she had once supposed Georgiana might never be allowed to return to Pemberley. When they had left Matlock House that fateful afternoon in April, Elizabeth had hardly known what to say to her husband, so jumbled were her feelings. His defense of her uncle Gardiner, not to mention herself, had moved her to tears—and yet, the knowledge that he had chosen her over his sister had weighed heavily on her. It had been with great surprise and gratitude that Elizabeth had learned of Georgiana’s decision to come to Pemberley for the summer, despite the earl’s displeasure with his nephew and his inappropriate wife.

  “Then I will call you Lizzy,” said Georgiana. “And would you…would you call me Ana?”

  Elizabeth did not hesitate, though she knew how little pleasure that name gave her husband.

  “I am afraid I have made a very awkward start to our friendship,” said Georgiana, smiling as they sat down together near the piano. “In London, I found it so easy to shed my old habits and play the sophisticated young lady I have always wished to be. Here, though, I am reminded of all the follies of my youth.”

  Elizabeth bit back a smile. For all their differences, Georgiana and her brother shared a propensity for philosophizing, and Elizabeth could not help find charming a girl of sixteen who had decided that her youth was a thing of the past.

  “You must not blame yourself,” said Elizabeth. “You have returned home to find an interloper at Pemberley—not to mention this interloper’s relations, whom you had never before met.”

  Indeed, it had been an awkward moment when Georgiana had arrived with Lord and Lady Grantley. None of them had been expected. Though Darcy had told her of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s letter, neither he nor Elizabeth had any real hope that Georgiana, who must have been suffering dreadfully, would choose to leave the diversions of London early. Elizabeth and Darcy had therefore invited the Gardiner family to stay at Pemberley, thinking Georgiana and the Fitzwilliam family would not find their way to Derbyshire until late June, if at all.

  But Lord and Lady Grantley had decided to return early to Matlock with their newborn babe—a squalling little thing who had apparently been causing such a ruckus that Lady Matlock had encouraged the new parents to take the baby and its wet nurse to the country in advance of the rest of the family so that they might enjoy the last weeks of the Season in peace. As Pemberley was on the way to Matlock, Georgiana had decided to accompany her cousins as far as Derbyshire.

  Elizabeth wondered how Lord Matlock had responded to Georgiana’s decision to leave London early—and how Georgiana herself felt about this decision. Although three days was too short a time to make any strong conclusions, Elizabeth had noted the paradoxical combination of joy and dejection that marked her sister-in-law’s features since her arrival.

  “Oh, no, you cannot be called an interloper, as this is your home now,” Georgiana said with only the slightest break in her voice. “And I have so enjoyed meeting the Gardiners!”

  This Elizabeth could easily believe. Her aunt and uncle possessed that unusual combination of refinement and good humor, which made them the very best of companions. And their children were so full of energy, and yet respectful of their elders, that no one with any heart or spirit could regret meeting them. Their presence had certainly helped smooth over Georgiana’s arrival, for already John, David, and Charlotte (called Lottie by all her family) had decided that Georgiana was one of the kindest and most beautiful women in all the world. She, in turn, had a penchant for making the children feel as if they were human beings rather than pets, which could only endear her to everyone in the party.

  “Nevertheless,” said Elizabeth, “it cannot have been easy to arrive and meet strangers in a place otherwise so familiar to you. It is imperative, therefore, that next time you see a strange, dust-covered woman walking from room to room opening windows, you must tell her to leave your music room in peace!”

  Georgiana laughed and then, looking beyond her at the doorway, said, “You never stood a chance against Lizzy’s charms, did you?”

  Elizabeth turned and saw Darcy come into the room. With him were the Gardiners, who had all risen early to make their way outdoors with Darcy for a fishing lesson.

  “Never,” agreed Darcy, smiling at the pair of them in such a way that Elizabeth wished she might bottle this moment and preserve it for the day Georgiana departed. She knew how much it meant to her husband to have his sister at Pemberley—and how much he dreaded the day she would return to Lord Matlock’s household.

  As the Gardiner children ran to Georgiana and began babbling about streams and trout and meadows full of butterflies, Elizabeth wondered if perhaps Georgiana might remember all the reasons she loved Pemberley, and by extension, her brother; she might choose to remain in spite of all the attractions of London. Then again, Darcy seemed to think that Colonel Fitzwilliam’s rejection had only hardened Georgiana’s desire to be presented at Court.

  “Did you catch any trout, uncle?” Elizabeth asked as that gentleman sat down beside her.

  He laughed. “I caught sight of many trout, and that will have to be enough for this fine morning.”

  “He allowed the David and John to catch them all,” said Margaret Gardiner in a stage whisper to her niece.

  “And what of Lottie?” Elizabeth asked. “Surely she may be just as good a fisherman—or woman—as the rest of you.”

  “It is too barbic!” cried the five-year-old, snuggling against the folds of Georgiana’s dress.

  Elizabeth laughed at her little cousin’s pronunciation of the word Darcy had tried to teach her the day before. He had been reading a newspaper at the breakfast table and muttered “barbaric” when he came across a story on the slave trade in the Atlantic. When Lottie had asked him what he meant, he had launched into a rather long explanation of the history of slavery (thankfully leaving out some of the more gruesome details, but not softening his opinion on the cruelty of the practice). Elizabeth had shot a worried glance at her aunt, fearing that she might have been shocked for her daughter’s sake, if not her own, but Margaret Gardiner had listened with interest. And Lottie—though she could not have understood half what he said—had gazed quietly at him during the entire speech, her eyes wide and her mouth slack. When he brought his monologue to a close, Lottie had shook her curly head and said, “Barbic! Simply barbic!”

&nb
sp; It was her much older and wiser brother John—he who was seven instead of five—who now corrected her. “Barbaric, Lottie, not barbic!”

  The young firebrand crossed her arms. “I do not care. Fishing is barbic!”

  “One cannot be barbaric to fish,” argued David, the oldest Gardiner child at nine. “They are not human.”

  “How would you feel with a big hook in your mouth?” Lottie asked, sticking out her tongue.

  Before a suddenly red-faced David could respond, Elizabeth stood and said, “Oh, dear, I forgot to ask Cook to prepare any hooks for breakfast. I am afraid we have only toast and sausages and porridge—oh, and apricot preserves, I believe. Will that suit?”

  “You will make a fine mother,” murmured Margaret as they made their way to the breakfast parlor. They were at the end of the procession, the children hurrying along first to make sure there was indeed apricot preserves rather than fishhooks on the table.

  Elizabeth flushed, wondering just when she would have the opportunity to practice her skills of diversion on children of her own. With the Grantleys having brought another child into the world, and news from Jane that soon the Bingleys would welcome one of their own, Elizabeth had begun to fear that perhaps there was something amiss. Her failure to conceive was certainly not for lack of trying.

  “You have only been married six months,” Margaret said, squeezing her hand as if Elizabeth had spoken her fears aloud.

  Elizabeth laughed. “Tell me: does your ability to read minds come from having three children, or was this a gift you possessed before becoming a mother?”

  “If I had truly possessed such a gift, I would not have spoken at all. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I remembered having similar fears as a young bride. Given how charming your Mr. Darcy has been with my children, I can only guess you must be eager to have children of your own.”

  “Yes,” admitted Elizabeth. “But it is not only that Darcy is so good with children—though perhaps a lecture on slavery is a bit much for a five-year-old! I must admit that obligation, as much as inclination, causes me to be anxious.”

  “Surely Mr. Darcy has not expressed any displeasure at the current situation!”

  “No, not at all! Indeed, he has never even broached the subject of children. The sense of obligation comes wholly from my own feelings. If I do not produce an heir for Pemberley, I might wonder what of worth I have brought to this union.”

  “Oh, Lizzy. You cannot doubt he loves you. I certainly cannot.”

  Elizabeth stopped, watching the rest of the party enter the breakfast parlor a few yards ahead of them. Georgiana held Lottie’s and John’s hands, and was talking animatedly to David. Mr. Gardiner was already in the breakfast parlor, and Darcy stood behind them all, watching his sister intently.

  “No, there is no doubt he loves me,” Elizabeth said to her aunt, “but I often wonder at what cost to himself.”

  *

  To have the people he loved best in the world gathered at Pemberley could be Darcy’s only definition of true happiness. He knew, of course, that this idyll would end. The Gardiners would leave in a fortnight, and Georgiana—well, she had not set a date for her departure, but she had told him, in that quiet but definite way she had lately adopted, that she would return to London for the upcoming Season.

  They had been walking through the muddy park together on the day after her arrival, and he had been unable to stop himself from broaching the subject of her future. When she had told him of her desire to be presented at Court, he had stopped walking and said, “We will see very little of each other next winter, then.”

  “Will you not come to London?” Her voice had cracked slightly. “I had rather hoped…”

  “Lord Matlock has made it quite clear that Elizabeth and I would not be welcome at the same gatherings as you will be likely to attend.”

  She had frowned. “He was only annoyed at you for not attending Lady Wallingham’s dinner party; he will change his mind.”

  “I will not put Elizabeth—or myself—through another winter such as the one we just experienced.”

  “Of course, you must not inconvenience yourself,” she had replied with a toss of her head.

  “Georgiana—”

  “Well, I shall miss you, but I am so looking forward to all of the balls and dinner parties. Besides, I have to marry someday, yes?” she had added with a careless smile that broke his heart.

  “No, you do not,” he had replied, but she had not been listening; the Gardiner children had run across the lawn, and she had gone eagerly to them, as if their boundless joy might provide her with a little happiness herself.

  They never spoke of Richard’s letter, and Georgiana seemed quite composed whenever a mention of their cousin arose. Still, Darcy could see the tale tell signs of heartbreak—eyes red from tears or lack of sleep or both, long moments of staring into the distance, heavy sighs that came without any obvious cause—and could not help but wonder if her increased determination to make a successful match next season came from a vain hope of erasing all signs of her failed romances with both Wickham and Richard.

  Despite these moments of melancholy, Georgiana seemed generally pleased to be at Pemberley. Although the first few days had been awkward (he had not been unaware of how often she had called Elizabeth “Mrs. Darcy”), Georgiana had become more like the girl he once knew in the company of the Gardiners and even Elizabeth (who had at some point become Lizzy to her). The moment the two siblings found themselves alone together, however, she immediately excused herself, claiming exhaustion, headache, or (worst of all) no particular malady except the clear but unspoken desire to escape his presence.

  The hurt he felt at this treatment could not nullify his joy at seeing her at Pemberley. Even if she could not be the sister he had once known, he loved the young woman she had become—joyful around the children and easy in conversation with the Gardiners. For these reasons, he buried his own pain and welcomed her company, even if she did not welcome his.

  To distract her from her melancholy, he took to arranging all of her favorite activities: they rode the estate together (the only time she allowed herself to be alone with him, for riding required no conversation); he brought out the many props and costumes she had gathered as a child so that now she might direct the Gardiner children in their own theatrical performances; and, after the sun had dried out the muddy grounds, he organized a picnic at the pond she loved so dearly.

  “What an ideal location!” said Mrs. Gardiner as servants laid out the blankets and set up tables of food. Indeed it was: the large oaks and birch trees separating the pond from the drive shaded them against the bright afternoon sun, and the meadow beyond would be a perfect race course for the children.

  “Did you and your brother often take your meals here in summers past, Miss Darcy?” asked Mr. Gardiner.

  “Oh, no, I do not think we ever dined al fresco,” she replied, giving a trilling laugh that reminded Darcy forcefully of their cousin Sophia. “He was too busy with estate matters, and I was not sophisticated enough to suggest such an idea.”

  Darcy smiled. “I had not realized dining outdoors required any degree of sophistication. By this definition, every farmer in the country ought to be the model of high fashion.”

  “Yes, and why should they not be?” said Elizabeth. “Fashion is merely the art of transforming nature into a complicated contrivance. Ask Frank.” She smiled up at the groom who had just finished erecting a large umbrella to protect them from what sunlight the canopy of trees failed to block. “He has spent the last half hour laboring to build our al fresco dining room, when we might simply have contented ourselves with trees and grass.”

  This kind of commentary would once have embarrassed Frank, as well as Darcy. But master and servants alike had grown used to their mistress’s ways, and so the old groom merely smiled. “I suppose you’re right, Ma’am, for I need only a good pickle and block of cheese for my picnics.”

  Elizabeth laughed, and seemed
not to notice Georgiana’s discomfort at this exchange. Bantering between those in the same social circle, much less between mistress and servant, had not been common at Pemberley before Elizabeth’s arrival, and Darcy felt certain it was not a feature of domestic felicity at Matlock House.

  The day was too fine, however, for anyone to remain uncomfortable. Below their umbrella, the Darcys and Gardiners feasted on cold meats and pies, as well as berries that Elizabeth and the children had helped pick, while Frank and the other servants took their fare to the distant shade of the trees. Mrs. Gardiner read to the party, and one of the footmen entertained the servants by performing a series of lilting fiddle tunes. David, John and Lottie then took turns pleading with the adults to join their sprints up and down the grass.

  It was during Darcy’s fifth race (he was now winded enough to allow the children to win without appearing too obvious) that he saw a horse and rider appear on the drive.

  “I have won, I have won!” cried John, running up to him and tugging on his arm. “Did you see, I won!”

  “So you have,” said Elizabeth, who came up beside them and gently pulled John away. “Now, go and have a celebratory lemonade, and bring cups to your siblings, for they look hot and thirsty.”

  As soon as the boy ran off, she followed her husband’s gaze. “Is that not Colonel Fitzwilliam? Were you expecting him?”

  “No, and given his most recent letter, I can only assume that he would have traveled to Pemberley only if he had been compelled to do so.”

  Darcy glanced back at Georgiana, whose flushed countenance told him that she, too, had recognized the rider. If he had supposed her recent disappointment would lead her to be silent and shy, he was mistaken.

  “Richard!” she cried, rushing forward. “Are you well? Your parents and siblings?”

  He dismounted quickly and offered a pained smile and curt bow. “We are all in good health, thank God. No, I come with news for you, Mrs. Darcy.”