He looks earnestly into my eyes, and his soften. “I thought I did hope, Georgiana,” he says quietly. “She would not give her promise to Lady Catherine never to marry me; if she had decided totally against me, she would have issued what Lady Catherine asked for.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask, smiling.
“I will join Bingley again at Netherfield, as I had planned. I will leave on Monday and be in Longbourn by Tuesday morning. From there, I cannot say what I will do. It depends upon Miss Elizabeth.”
I smile and happily kiss his cheek, leaving him to prepare for his journey and extracting a promise for a letter with any news as soon as it occurs.
On Friday, after much patient waiting on my part, I receive a letter from my dear brother, dated the previous Wednesday.
My dear Georgiana:
At last, today I am able to write to you. I have every hope that this missive finds you quite well, studying, and entertaining Mr. Pritchard.
I have visited Longbourn, and as I know you are anxious to read all I will write about the ladies living therein—and one in particular—I shall delay no longer in relating their conditions to you.
Miss Mary Bennet, who looks much like her father, is a quiet young lady to be sure, though I think you might like her. I have observed that she shares your love of music—or at least your determination to play it. She is very studious, and reads a great deal, though I think she might benefit from some variation of topic.
Miss Catherine Bennet is a pretty young girl, closer in age to yourself than Miss Mary. I think you would like her, as well. Her sisters call her Kitty. She is petite, blonde, and with a very interested mind, much improved, I think, by the marriage of her sister.
And now, dear sister, you shall hear of the one Bennet about whom you must be the most curious—
My heart races at the anticipation that I might hear good news relating to Miss Elizabeth; I jump up and smile.
Miss Jane Bennet—
Oh! That teasing man! He will be punished.
—is, according to her mother, quite the prettiest of all her daughters—no mean feat, I assure you, for she has five of them. Bingley must agree with her; I must not. But I am sure you shall like Jane very much, and I have fixed it so that you and Mrs. Annesley may travel to Netherfield to meet her, some two weeks before the wedding, and stay through a month, and perhaps you might like it better to stay at Longbourn after the wedding. It is not a very large house, but I am assured that there would be room for you—Mrs. Bennet has a few guest rooms, which might be used by the Gardiners; however, if that be the case, Miss Bennet’s room will no longer be in use, and Mrs. Annesley could stay there. You, of course, would stay in Miss Elizabeth’s room. She will be traveling to London, and as I am going with her, there will be no need for the Bennets to accommodate me.
I pause. I go over my brother’s cryptic lines to be sure of what I have read. There is only one reason—one reason which supposes proper behavior—that my brother would travel with Miss Bennet to London, quite by themselves, and that would be that they were married.
Oh! Married!
I jump up again, smiling, and I read on:
I am sorry, my dear girl, that you are not with me at such a time as this. I should very much like to share my joy with you. I could not help teasing you—Miss Elizabeth’s tendencies to do so must be contagious. As you are likely the sole member of my family very much pleased by my choice, your support will be missed when I receive replies from my uncle and aunt.
“Miss Darcy,” interrupts Mrs. Annesley, “what has your brother to say that has gotten you so excited?”
I spin around. “Oh! It is such wonderful news. My brother is getting married!”
She declares her joy at this information. “To whom shall he be wed? I hope not to his cousin,” she teases, knowing the answer full well. “She must be a great lady to have secured his affection.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” I reply, impatiently reading through the rest of my letter. When I am done, I put it in my lap. “She is from Hertfordshire. She visited us in Derbyshire this August, when we were there with Mr. Bingley and his sisters.”
“I remember Miss Bennet and her aunt and uncle,” replies my good companion. “More particularly I recall the way Miss Bingley glared at her.”
“Miss Bingley will not take this news well,” I say, wondering whether I should laugh or be concerned. Her hopes were all in vain from the very start, after all...but nonetheless, I think she might be hurt.
“Everything happens for a reason, Miss Darcy,” says Mrs. Annesley. “This might be an eye-opening experience for Miss Bingley. Perhaps she might learn that the charms she possesses, which she assumed would attract your brother, have no real merit.”
I think it more likely that she will learn to be bitter, but keep my opinion to myself. “But my brother is a particular kind of man,” I say cautiously. “Don’t you agree? He is not like other men. I am sure I have not met any quite so generous or kind, or genuine and artless.”
Mrs. Annesley laughs at me. “Georgiana, dear, he is your brother. Of course you think so well of him. And I might remind you that you are not yet out, and the list of young men with whom you are acquainted can be counted out on one hand and half are your own relations.”
I smile and turn pink—she is right, of course. “But you must at least agree that a full quarter of them are rakes,” I counter.
She laughs again. “Yes, a full quarter.” She shakes her head and gazes at me, and I can see a little affection in her eyes. “One man, Georgiana. One man. Do not give him another thought; he is not worth it.”
I smile at her. “No, he is not.” I look back at my happy letter. “Married!” I shake it in the air. “Not to Putrid Anne. Not to Caroline the Peacock. To someone he loves.” I sit and read it again, and sigh when I am done. Mrs. Annesley is laughing at me still.
It is Friday. The morning is bright and cold and I rise to put on my new blue silk gown. My expectations for another letter from Fitzwilliam are high; it has been nearly two weeks since his last arrived.
There will be no letter today, however, for the gentleman himself is standing there as I walk into the breakfast room. And with such a smile! He holds out his hands; I take them.
“Fitzwilliam?” I smile. He kisses my forehead, but does not speak for a moment. To encourage his affection, I rest my head on his shoulder.
I feel his firm stance soften; he holds me close. “I am so happy,” he whispers. “Dear sister, I have not been this happy.”
This admission brings tears to my eyes. He rubs my back and I pull away to look at him. His eyes are wet, but he is not embarrassed. “Everything is settled?” I ask, smiling as I squeeze his hands.
“Yes,” he replies. “We are to be married alongside Bingley and Miss Bennet at the end of November. If you like it, you will come to Netherfield in a few weeks’ time—”
“Fitzwilliam, I do not care about your plans for me,” I reply. “I will do and be whatever or where ever you wish; you have only need to say. But I do want to hear all about it.” I pull him toward the table and sit him down at his place. Then I fire off questions—What did you say? How did you ask? Where were you? How did you come so quickly to an understanding?
He laughs—something which my brother has not done in quite some time. “Dear girl, these are questions best asked of Miss Bennet herself. Why do you not write her?”
“Would she wish it of me?” I ask, a little astonished.
“Silly question,” he replies. “When I left her she asked me to bring you this.” He pulls a piece of paper from his breast pocket and hands it to me. I read what she has written in flowing hand:
My dear Miss Darcy,
Today I send your brother home to you quite unwillingly. Though I know he goes to a lady he very much adores I cannot help but be a little jealous and hope for his safe and speedy return. Mr. Darcy assures me that you will come to Netherfield to stay for a fortnight before the wedd
ing. I hope you will allow me to introduce you to my sisters Mary and Kitty, who are about your age, and I should like to spend much time with you myself.
Miss Darcy, I hope with all my heart that you approve of your brother’s choice and that I shall meet every expectation you have in a sister. Please write to me, if you like, and I look forward to seeing you very soon at Longbourn.
Very truly yours,
Elizabeth Bennet
About a month later, after I have written to Miss Bennet and she back to me, and my brother and I have called upon her and her aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street while she was in London, and she repaid the visit, we are on our way to Longbourn. We traveled this morning first to Netherfield and stayed there only long enough to change horses and clothes. As we pull into the drive, I see Miss Bennet’s home, and note the way that Fitzwilliam smiles and relaxes, as though what lies inside the stone walls is the key to all his happiness.
Longbourn House, I judge, is little more than half the size of Netherfield Park; however, there is a kind-looking older gentleman standing out front, ready to greet us, who I assume is Mr. Bennet.
My brother hands me down and introduces me to Elizabeth’s father. “I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Darcy,” he says to me. “Your brother speaks very highly, and very often, of you.”
“Your daughter speaks the same way of you, sir,” I reply with cheeks ablaze.
Mr. Bennet smirks and tosses a glance in the direction of the house. “You are very welcome, Miss Darcy.” I nod quietly and smile as he turns to my brother to welcome him. We then go into the house, as it is rather cold outside. There, Miss Elizabeth Bennet greets me warmly and I am able to sit between my brother and his fiancée in the Bennets’ drawing room.
“I hope your journey into Hertfordshire went well,” she begins.
“It did,” I confirm, without much else to say. “Thank you.”
“When did you arrive at Netherfield?”
A little embarrassed by my eagerness to see Miss Bennet again, I hesitate to answer. Fitzwilliam encourages my response with a kind look. “Little more than an hour ago,” I say.
Elizabeth smiles. “I hope your brother did not rush you, for I should have to punish him if he did. Really, Mr. Darcy, you ought to know by now never to rush a young lady.”
I am a little struck dumb by her playful teasing, even though it is good-natured. As I look to my brother, however, I see no offense, just a look on his face that I have not seen before. I do not know what it is, but I am certain he is not displeased. Still I feel I must defend him.
“It was rather the reverse, Miss Bennet. Please do not scold him. It is I who did the rushing.”
“It is true, Miss Bennet,” replies my brother, who embarrasses me by continuing, “I rather suspect she had some encouragement from a visitor to her chamber at Netherfield.”
Elizabeth smiles gleefully. “And how is Miss Bingley today?”
I cannot help but return her smile. “I thought she said she had a headache,” I reply.
“I dare say she does,” says Elizabeth quickly. “Mrs. Bennet is visiting Netherfield with Jane and Kitty.”
I want to laugh but am not entirely certain whether it should be appropriate in the presence of Mrs. Bennet’s husband. I sneak a glance at him. He is smirking, and from this, there is only one thing that I can conclude.
The Bennets are going to take some getting used to.
The next four weeks are a whirlwind. I cry at my brother’s wedding and vastly enjoy my time with Kitty Bennet. The time spent with her is like none I have ever spent. I have never had the benefit of a friend my own age. When my brother and new sister arrive at Longbourn to collect me on their way to Pemberley from London, they are both glowing, refuse to stay long, and promise to invite Kitty to Pemberley in a few months. We promise to write faithfully when we part and Mr. Bennet kisses my hand affectionately.
When we reach Derbyshire, my brother announces that the Beresfords will be coming to visit us the next week, to meet the new Mrs. Darcy. It is quiet at Pemberley until that day, and then a mass of activity takes place to welcome the Beresfords.
Mr. James Beresford and his wife Camille have brought their three sons. Henry, of course, is the eldest; David, the middle son, is lately engaged; and George is the youngest, no more than fifteen.
I am more than pleased to see Mr. Henry Beresford again, and during the evening on which they arrive, he does not leave my side. There is not much to know about me, but Mr. Beresford talks about his family, which by my measure, is large. Beyond those he has brought with him, he has a grandfather still living, and aunts, uncles, and cousins too numerous to recall. Since David will be married in little more than a month, he muses that soon enough he will be able to add sister to the list.
“Elizabeth, of course, is my only sister,” I say, “though she herself has four of them.”
“Mrs. Darcy, you mean?” he asks, looking in her direction. “She is a lovely woman, and it is clear your brother is happy. You must be pleased with his choice.”
“Very much,” I say. “Though I am the only one of my family who has always been so.”
Mr. Beresford laughs—a delightful sound, low and gentle and melodic. I smile and look down and know I am blushing like an idiot. “It is unfortunate that we cannot always choose our relatives,” he says.
“Yes,” I agree. “But Fitzwilliam has done very well, I think, in choosing my sister. I only hope I can do so well for him.”
Mr. Beresford smiles at me but says nothing. Later in the evening we converse with his two brothers, who are very cheerful young men. Elizabeth smiles at me several times—an affectionate, proud smile that she has, no doubt, adopted from my brother. Fitzwilliam also glances my way on a few occasions during the course of the evening, and also has his protective eye trained on his friend Mr. Beresford, who occasionally looks his way with an amused expression on his face.
I finally retire to my rooms to prepare for bed, but am too excited to sleep. I knock on Elizabeth’s chamber door. She is not in bed yet, and invites me in.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening, Georgiana?” she asks me while brushing her hair.
I giggle a little. “I think it is obvious that I did.”
“Yes,” she laughs. “And I think Mr. Henry Beresford did, as well. Tell me, did you like his brothers?”
“Oh, they were very kind,” I say, but I am not thinking about David or George. Only the eldest son of that family is in my thoughts. I sigh, flopping down on Elizabeth’s chaise. “I will not be able to sleep tonight.”
“The Beresfords will be here all week,” she replies. “You will see Mr. Beresford tomorrow. Do not be too anxious.”
“I could have talked with him all night long,” I reply, not really listening to Elizabeth.
“I think the feeling is mutual, Georgiana.” Elizabeth looks at me, her expression serious. “But do take care, my dear sister. I know what you are thinking—when I was your age I had the same thought about a young man or two.”
“You must not say that, Elizabeth,” I tell her, feeling chirpy. “You have only ever had eyes for my brother; admit it.”
“I will not!” she declares with a laugh. “I hate to break your heart, but my feelings for your brother when I first met him were much different than they are now.”
“Oh, do be serious, Lizzy,” I say, admonishing her a little. “I know you have not always got on as well as you ought to have, but you must have liked him from the very beginning.”
Elizabeth laughs again, to my astonishment. “Absolutely not! And why should we have got on from the start? There is no reason to always be agreeing with your brother, you know. What would vex him, then?”
Elizabeth’s chin is turned up and she is grinning, and I suspect she has had more wine than she ought to have had. I smile back at her. “Do you mean to tell me you did not like him?”
“No, no, no,” she says, waving her hand. “I disliked him. A lot. I even promised
my father that I would never dance with him.”
“But why?” I ask, folding my legs up into my chest and wrapping my arms around them.
“He slighted me, you know,” my sister states, raising her eyebrow and shaking her hairbrush at me. “I am quite surprised you did not have this story from my mother when you stayed at Longbourn after our wedding.” And she then begins to detail my brother’s first foray into Hertfordshire society.
“But he is not like that,” I tell her, as if she needs to know it. “It is only he is uncomfortable around strangers. And,” I admit, almost holding my breath, “at that time he did tend to be a little proud.”
“A little, Georgiana?” laughs Elizabeth, getting up to finish brushing her hair. I blush and bite my lip. I am so happy that he met her, and though I would wish to at this moment, I cannot even begin to express myself, so I remain silent. She sighs as she sits down at her dressing table, and continues her tale. “And then, you know, Mr. Wickham came into the neighborhood and filled my head with lies that I found all too easy to believe, for more reasons than one.”
I become somber for a moment. “Lies roll easily off Mr. Wickham’s tongue,” I say slowly. And then I realize exactly what Elizabeth has just told me. “You believed his lies?”
“Yes.” Then she turns around and looks me in the eye, her face so serious that I would think her suddenly sober if she were not flailing the hairbrush again. “He came into town dressed handsomely in a red coat and a charming smile and had all of Meryton swooning at his very presence. And when the subject of Mr. Darcy came up between us, he wasted no time in informing me—and later, everyone else—that he had been very ill-used by your brother; that he was denied a living willed him by your father.” She turns around and pulls the brush slowly through her hair again. “And I believed every word he said—so much so that I laid the accusations at Fitzwilliam’s door when we met in Kent.”
I am a little shocked. If someone as intelligent and sensible as Elizabeth could be fooled by Wickham, then perhaps I am not quite so silly as I had thought. As if she can sense my thoughts, Elizabeth sets down her brush and moves to sit next to me. “He did the same thing to you that he did to me, with the same objective—revenge upon your brother. He saw in you a young girl in need of attention and affection and that is what he gave to you, with the intention of taking your fortune in return. Had you not been shy or modest he would have found something else in you to exploit.” She focuses on braiding her hair for a moment, and when she has tied the ribbon around the end of her braid she turns back to me. “I was mortified to know the truth, but at least, dear Georgiana, I did not lose my heart to him.”
The Road to Pemberley Page 30
