The Pemberley Affair

by Charity McColl

  “It was Georgiana’s wish that we invite him,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “She’s a mere girl. Why should you pay heed to her wishes when they are clearly ill-advised?”

  They were inside the house: Lady Catherine, her brow furrowed with indignation; Mr. Collins, attempting to balance some boxes that Lady Catherine had not entrusted to the footmen who were delivering her luggage; and Charlotte, somehow appearing tranquil despite the goings-on.

  Elizabeth vowed that, one way or another, she would find a way to have a private conversation with Charlotte without the intrusion of Lady Catherine or the advice of Mr. Collins. She realized, as the guests were taken to their rooms, that Charlotte was the model for a marriage of obligation rather than affection. She would have wished better for Charlotte. She would not willingly see Tommy sacrificed for the sake of feeble notions of propriety.

  “Where is Georgiana?” Lady Catherine demanded later that night when they gathered in the dining room.

  Georgiana, pleading a headache, had begged permission to have a tray in her room. Knowing that the headache was more than likely caused by the unwelcome prospect of sharing a meal with her aunt, Elizabeth had agreed. Tommy had immediately said that she had a headache too. Elizabeth suggested that the girls ease their aching heads by spending the evening together and she would pass their regrets to Lady Catherine.

  “Headache!” Lady Catherine was dismissive. “Young people have no stamina,” she said. “It’s lack of exercise. The Season is ruinous to young girls: a lot of late nights and dancing and sleeping in. Of course they have headaches.”

  “No doubt,” Fitzwilliam said, serving his aunt from the platter of salmon in front of him. “But Georgiana has benefitted from the Season. She has had a busy time but has enjoyed herself.”

  “Fortune hunters: she’ll have to be on the lookout for them. I hope she realizes that not every young man who expresses his regard may be considered as a candidate for a husband.”

  Fitzwilliam paused, the platter of salmon in hand. “You may be sure,” he said, “that I have been attentive to the gentlemen who have shown an interest in Georgiana. Elizabeth has made it her mission this summer to accompany them to the social engagements to which they have been invited.”

  “What about that girl? The daughter of the actress? She was seen in the company of that disinherited Cavendish boy with no chaperone present.”

  “Tommy is a respectable girl,” Elizabeth said firmly. “I have no doubt about her character.”

  “She is the daughter of an actress. She has been seen, sans chaperone, with a young man, himself cast off from a respected family. I have instructed Mr. Collins to bring along several of his sermons on the subject of preserving one’s reputation. I shall give a copy to the daughter of the actress when I see her. Perhaps she shall be moved by the counsel of those wiser than she.”

  Elizabeth steadfastly kept her gaze averted from that of Mr. Collins, who was preening under the praise of Lady Catherine. “That was most thoughtful of you, Lady Catherine,” she said noncommittally.

  “Yes, well, one must do what one must and the daughter of an actress has very likely lacked introduction to the benefits of edifying spiritual guidance.”

  “She has not been on the stage in some time,” Elizabeth observed.

  “What?”

  “Lady Descartes. She has not been on the stage since before Tommy was born, and Tommy is sixteen years old.”

  “She was an actress, was she not?”

  “She was.”

  Lady Catherine exhibited impatience. “My point, exactly. She was an actress. And what sort of a name is Tommy for a girl?”

  “She was christened Thomasina. Tommy is a name of affection.”

  “Absurd. I don’t approve of abbreviating names.”

  “She will answer to Lady Thomasina when addressed,” Fitzwilliam assured. “More wine, Aunt?”

  “One glass of wine at supper is sufficient.”

  “For you, perhaps,” Fitzwilliam said. “I will have a second glass.”

  Lady Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but something in her nephew’s visage must have caused her to revise her thoughts, because she chose instead to criticize the seasoning on the salmon. “Simple food, I say,” she instructed. “Too many spices are bad for the digestion. I’ve sent Mrs. Collins recipes from my own kitchen so that she can prepare meals which are beneficial to the palate and the digestion.”

  “Most beneficial,” agreed Mr. Collins. “We’ve grown quite fond of the simpler meals, have we not, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte made a sound of assent. Elizabeth decided that she would ask Mrs. Reynolds to add one rich dish to every menu, if only to provide Charlotte with respite from what was no doubt a very bland table at her home.

  Lady Catherine declined the opportunity to gather in the drawing room after supper. They were all tired, she said, speaking for the Collinses, and would retire to their rooms so that they could awaken refreshed on the morrow. Perhaps by then, Georgiana would have recovered from her headache and would be able to benefit from a bit of advice from her aunt.

  “I think that, by tomorrow, we shall all have headaches,” Fitzwilliam said when he and Elizabeth were alone in their bedchamber.

  “Poor Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, beginning to brush out her hair. “She is so serene; if I had to endure those endless lectures, I cannot imagine how I would react, but I am sure that I would not be able to hold my tongue with such fortitude as Charlotte does.”

  “Let me,” Fitzwilliam said, taking the brush from her hands.

  “I daresay that your aunt has very worthy advice on what ill fortune befalls husbands who brush their wives’ hair.”

  “I do not imagine that my uncle was ever inspired to do so,” he replied, pulling the brush through her long, thick, dark hair.

  “Perhaps you have diagnosed the problem,” Elizabeth offered, closing her eyes with pleasure.

  “He would only do it incorrectly,” Fitzwilliam answered. “No doubt there is one and only one manner of hair brushing which must be followed, and it’s quite likely that he would employ the wrong strokes.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Collins should write a sermon on the subject,” she said, giggling.

  Fitzwilliam joined her in laughter. Elizabeth felt her own confidence surge, thanks to the unequivocal affirmation that Fitzwilliam had offered, both publicly and privately, that his aunt had no choice but to understand he did not regret his choice of wife.

  She hoped that she would be able to justify his confidence in her. The gathering of people at Pemberley threatened to challenge all of her tact and patience before a resolution for Tommy’s romance and Lady Catherine’s interference could be found.

  Surprising News

  Lady Catherine proposed a brisk walk the next morning after breakfast. Fitzwilliam declined, pleading business. Elizabeth assented to join Lady Catherine, Charlotte, and Mr. Collins on a stroll across the grounds. Eventually, the pairings altered and Elizabeth walked beside Charlotte while Lady Catherine commandeered Mr. Collins to discuss topics for upcoming sermons.

  “Are you happy, Charlotte?” Elizabeth asked quietly.

  Charlotte smiled. “We come to terms, Lizzie, with what we must. Mr. Collins is kind. There are many husbands who are not. He does not gamble, nor drink to excess, and he is fortunate to have secured the patronage of Lady Catherine.”

  “I could not bear to think of you unhappy.”

  “I am not unhappy,” Charlotte assured her. “And you? You seem to be in excellent spirits.”

  “I am. This has been an unusual summer. You have heard of our charge, Tommy, who is staying with us in London for the Season?”

  “I have heard of little else,” Charlotte admitted. “I have not met her, but Lady Catherine has given the impression that Lady Thomasina is a girl engulfed in scandal and that she has inherited a cloud of infamy from her mother.”

  “Lady Descartes has long since left the stage. She is a devoted wife
and mother. She wants her daughter, who is not coy or flirtatious, to be introduced to Society, so that she has some experience of the young men she will be encountering when she is ready for marriage. I gather that they live in simplicity in the country and Tommy prefers an active life to one circumscribed by social constraints. Not because she is rebellious, however; she is not.”

  “This attachment to Lord Edgerton’s son, then, is sanctioned?”

  “I told her to write to Lady Descartes before we left London. It will be for her mother and father to decide how the matter should be handled. But Mr. Cavendish is not at all the rake one would envision a disinherited son to be. He is very earnest, and his devotion to Tommy is as genuine as her loyalty to him. They are of course very young, but I wonder if we do them a disservice by discounting the strength of their affections because of their age.”

  “It will be easier when we see the two of them together. I think you are very brave to have invited Mr. Cavendish.”

  “I believe that Georgiana was the source of that inspiration. She and Tommy have become true friends.”

  “When does he arrive?”

  “This afternoon, I believe. He had obligations with the students he is tutoring.”

  “A tutor?”

  “He has been obliged to make his own way in the world since his father cast him off. I think it to his credit that he has persevered.”

  “No doubt,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “It is rather unusual, however. But if he is intent on marrying Lady Thomasina, they will have to accept their reduced financial circumstances, which are not prohibitive to marriage but are, nonetheless, an impediment.”

  “Unless Lord Edgerton changes his mind.”

  “If Lady Catherine’s assessment is correct, His Lordship is disinclined to change his mind. Perhaps you should invite Lord and Lady Edgerton to Pemberley,” Charlotte teased. “With such a volatile gathering under one roof, there’s no telling what might come of it.”

  Which was very much the opinion of her sister Jane, when she and Charles arrived and had dined with the family. Mr. Cavendish had sent his apologies for the necessity of arriving on the morrow, as his tutoring duties were not yet discharged. Lady Catherine frowned and offered the opinion that tutors and poets would do better to accept social invitations when they were offered, so that they may at least be confident of a meal. Lady Thomasina’s eyes flashed, but Jane, ever the diplomat, intervened with an observation on the poetry of Mr. Wordsworth. As no one could dispute the validity of writing poetry about the English countryside, the conversation moved along smoothly.

  But later that night, as Jane and Elizabeth were in the latter’s bedroom, while Charles and Fitzwilliam conversed in the library, Jane referred to the discussion.

  “I doubt that Lady Catherine will be restrained,” she noted.

  “I do not think that she realizes how incendiary her comments are,” Elizabeth said, “but I do not think she would refrain from voicing them in any case. Mr. Cavendish is a very polite fellow and will not rise to her bait, I believe, but Tommy is faithful and she may speak.”

  “She would be wiser not to do so,” Jane said. “She is a young girl and her opinion, in the eyes of Lady Catherine, does not signify. Do you really favor the match between the two?”

  “They are young,” Elizabeth conceded. “And so innocent of life. But I truly believe that they are destined to be together, if such a word is not too metaphysical. They see each other as no one else does: Mr. Cavendish sees Tommy as a belle; Tommy sees him as a great and gifted poet. In their eyes, the other shines. It’s not such a bad perspective for two people who are not likely to find their mate in Society.”

  “We two have been so lucky that I can only wish the same for others,” Jane agreed. “If you believe they are intended to be together, then I will do anything you ask me to, in order to help play Cupid.”

  “Cupid has already been at work,” Elizabeth said wryly. “We must now find a way to prevent the harpy from striking.”

  Mr. Cavendish arrived early the next morning, his usual reticence unaccountably cast aside for what Elizabeth could only describe as high spirits, which she put down to his anticipation of seeing Tommy again. Tommy asked Georgiana to take them on a tour of Pemberley, to which task Georgiana eagerly agreed. Mr. Cavendish begged leave to catch up to them; first, he said, he had to speak with his hostess.

  Elizabeth put aside her needlework, mystified by this development.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” he began, sitting down on the sofa on the opposite end of her needlework, “Lady Descartes begs me to let you know that she plans to come to Pemberley as soon as she can arrange matters.”

  “Caroline is coming here?”

  “Yes. She apologizes for being so peremptory, since she has not been invited, but—”

  “Of course she is welcome,” Elizabeth interrupted. “But how do you know this?”

  Mr. Cavendish looked both emboldened and embarrassed. “I could not come here without having made my intentions clear to Lady Thomasina’s mother!” he declared, his fair skin suffused with emotion. “I asked for permission to court Tommy, and I was quite candid about my situation. But Tommy had written to her mother, on your advice, and Lady Descartes was already acquainted with our plight.”

  “Is she sympathetic?”

  “She has given me permission, if Tommy wishes it, and of course she does, for me to call upon Tommy as a suitor. Lady Descartes feels, and I concur, that Tommy is too young to consider marriage at this date, and I have nothing to offer her except undying devotion. But I have not yet told Tommy of her mother’s blessing. I intend to do that before very long.”

  “Yes, no doubt she will be overjoyed to learn that you have pleased her mother. What about Lord Descartes?”

  “Doing better, from what Her Ladyship told me. I have not met him yet, but Lady Descartes assured me that she will acquaint her husband with my suit. As it turns out, my grandfather and Lord Descartes served together in the Royal Dragoons.”

  “Indeed. Now you must go off and join the tour of Pemberley. I am delighted at your news, Mr. Cavendish. I shall count on your good manners tonight at supper. Lady Catherine can be outspoken and occasionally insensitive in her speech. Please pay her no mind.”

  “I would not dream of being ill-mannered to my hostess’ guest,” he said gallantly.

  “I count upon you, Mr. Cavendish,” Elizabeth returned. But after he left, her mind began to ponder why Caroline wanted to come to Pemberley. It was not merely to see her daughter. She could have summoned her home, if that were the case.

  “What do you anticipate?” Fitzwilliam asked with some alarm after she had told her husband her thoughts. Lady Catherine had been invited to dine with members of the local gentry, the Cadogans, and she had managed to have Mr. Collins and Charlotte included in the invitation. “I should have thought my aunt would want to be here tonight so that she could nibble on Tommy and Mr. Cavendish. I cannot fathom how the Cadogans managed to—” He broke off, his gaze catching his wife’s innocent mien. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

  “I thought that you would prefer an evening of domestic harmony,” Elizabeth said. “Mrs. Cadogan was more than happy to comply, declaring herself delighted to entertain your mother’s sister.”

  “Mrs. Cadogan is a veritable saint.”

  “She is certainly a very convenient neighbor. Did you know that she is acquainted with Lady Edgerton? They came out in the same year. Is that not remarkable? They are still quite close and in frequent contact with one another.”

  Fitzwilliam stared. “Elizabeth . . . what are you plotting?”

  “Nothing at all,” she assured him. “Do you not think it wise to be aware of whether one’s neighbors in the county are known to one another?”

  “You know entirely too much,” he said. Then he kissed her. “You have made life quite unpredictable. I cannot guess how tomorrow will turn out, but I have no doubt that you have hatched any number of plots. We shall see what
becomes of them.”

  The Stage is Set

  “Please show them in,” Elizabeth said when the butler entered the drawing room to tell her that Lord and Lady Descartes had sent their card and wished to call.

  They were in the drawing room. Georgiana was playing the piano. Lady Catherine was poised to pounce upon Mr. Cavendish, but could not because he was seated at Fitzwilliam’s side. Tommy made a very fetching picture as she turned the pages of music for her friend, and if Mr. Cavendish was rather more engrossed in Tommy’s page-turning than in Georgiana’s playing, there was no harm done. Elizabeth, with Jane and Charlotte on either side, concentrated on the music, steadfastly refusing to allow her husband’s intent stare to draw her attention.

  The drawing room door opened. Elizabeth’s eyes widened. There was Lady Descartes, dressed as if she were a dowager from the end of the previous century. She was wearing a simple gray and black dress which, while it was not unattractive, made her appear formidable with its severe cut and lack of frill. Her hair was elaborately arranged in intricate rolls around her head. It was a style which, at a guess, had not been seen in a generation. At her side, Lord Descartes, a trifle pale but standing on his own, was attired appropriately. Somehow, the difference in their ages was less apparent, thanks to Caroline’s wardrobe.

  Elizabeth suspected that her friend was playing a role. She decided to comply. “Lord and Lady Descartes,” she greeted them. “Welcome to Pemberley.”

  “My dear Mrs. Darcy,” Caroline intoned in a deep voice which, during her theatre days, no doubt reached the farthest row of seats without difficulty. “Are you aware that you are harboring a cad?”

  If anyone were not paying attention before, her comment drew all eyes. Lady Catherine’s gaze traveled from Caroline to Mr. Cavendish with a predatory stare.

  “Of course you did not know, but I entrusted my only child to your care, and how have you repaid me?’ Caroline pressed one hand against her heart, as if stricken. “You have allowed her to fall under the spell of a veritable Don Juan. He has pitilessly ensnared her young heart.”