by J P Christy
But I cannot simply tell him “I am better than you think I am, despite what you saw and heard to the contrary.” I want him to think about his behavior and to understand how his words and attitude shaped my response. Yet would I not be confessing that, in essence, he controlled my reaction to him? No, that is not at all what I want to say!
In her thoughts, she began to speak to him as if he were present. Mr. Darcy, how can an educated man who has lived in the world have so little awareness of the feelings of others? Is there no one in your life who is willing to challenge your misguided beliefs? If there is not, I pity you.
The idea of feeling pity for Darcy was so unexpected that Elizabeth began speaking her imaginary conversation aloud. “Were you and I ever to be friends,” and at that thought an unladylike snort escaped her, “I would challenge you in every conversation until you became the superior man you think you are. I would ask questions you have never bothered to consider. And if you gave my words the consideration they deserve, you would be ashamed of your narrow-mindedness! This rare sense of shame could be the beginning of a better Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Sitting back in her chair, she thought about what she had just said. “Impertinence, impertinence, thy name is Elizabeth Bennet,” she murmured, and with a fierce sense of purpose, she took up her pen and began to write.
≈≈≈
At Darcy House in London, Georgiana Darcy was contemplating her appearance in a large mirror set in a carved oak frame when her companion, Mrs. Annesley, appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. A genteel, pleasant-looking woman in her late forties, she held a white muslin gown in each hand. “My dear, your maid brought me these and said they were for my daughter.”
Turning to face Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana said, “Only if you think she would like them. I do not wish to force my fashion taste on anyone. However, as they are scarcely worn, I thought perhaps she could make them into something for her baby. Your daughter is very near her time, is she not?”
“My Rebecca will be delighted with these; the embroidery is exquisite! It is two months before her baby is due, so she has time to create something lovely. You are very kind to think of her.”
“Next week, the modiste will bring my new summer dresses, and as I am certain I have more gowns than any young lady needs, I am happy for your daughter to have those.” After a pause, Georgiana asked, “Mrs. Annesley, do I look different to you? Different from when you joined the household last September?”
“You are a bit taller, I believe. However, I do not think you are asking about externals.”
“Brother should arrive from Rosings tomorrow—unless he changes his travel dates again. You do not think he extended his visit to Aunt Catherine because he wishes to avoid me, do you? We did argue just before he left for Kent, you know.”
Draping both muslin gowns over one arm, Mrs. Annesley crossed to Georgiana and placed her free arm affectionately around the young lady’s shoulders. “I scarcely think that having different opinions about the colors of a few summer dresses constitutes an argument. Mr. Darcy is conservative in his appearance; thus, he encourages you to wear pastels, as they are traditional colors for lady of your years.”
“Or a little girl,” Georgiana said, sighing. “I fear Brother believes that if some scoundrel like George Wickham to appear before me today, I would faint in fear!”
“Nonsense! Should any scurrilous rogue be so foolish as to importune you, you would send him on his way. You were most cruelly deceived by a heartless bounder; the very thought of his behavior outrages me! No, my dear, you will not be fooled twice. It has been my pleasure to watch you grow in confidence and maturity.”
This spirited declaration from Georgiana’s usually sedate companion brought a grateful smile. “I feel I have matured; you see I have matured, but what does Brother see? To him, I am a fragile creature whose regrettable choice put her under the power of his worst enemy.”
“You will be seventeen in a few months. The unfortunate incident with that rogue Wickham lasted but a few weeks out of all of your years. No breath of scandal sullies your reputation. But as for how Mr. Darcy perceives you, you must own that you have concealed some of your adult abilities from him.”
“What do you mean?”
“You allow your brother to believe his meals are prepared according to menus devised by Cook and the housekeeper and myself. He has no idea of your participation, or that you bear the primary responsibility for various other household decisions.”
Blushing slightly, Georgiana nodded. “I have feared disappointing him, yet I now realize I have put you in the position to be blamed if he is displeased with my choices! I am sorry.”
“My shoulders are broad enough to bear the criticisms if Mr. Darcy is unhappy with his dinner. But by avoiding the risk of censure from your brother, you also deny yourself his likely praise. If you will but allow him to know you better, you will find that your shoulders are broad enough to bear both his disapprobation and his approbation. Fear is a burden; know that you may set it down at any moment you choose. When you show your brother your strength, he will stop seeing you as fragile.”
For a long moment, Georgiana stared at Mrs. Annesley, struggling to imagine her life without so many fears. “I … I suppose.”
“Ah, I see in your eyes that you doubt my wisdom. Do you truly believe Mr. Darcy would cease to love you if you erred?”
“No.”
“Did he not prove at Ramsgate his affection for you is constant? Do you not trust him?”
“I do trust him.”
“Then show him who you are. You may surprise him, but you will not disappoint him. Please, dear girl, reflect upon my words.”
Georgiana’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “I will.”
≈≈≈
That afternoon, Elizabeth took another walk through Rosings’ park, mentally reviewing what she had written. Clambering over a large branch that had fallen across the path, she told the broken limb in a fierce mutter, “I am under no obligation to give him my letter. Were it known that I, an unmarried lady, had written a letter to an unmarried gentleman, my reputation—heretofore unimpeachable—would be at risk. But how could my authorship be discovered?”
That question brought Elizabeth to a standstill in the middle of the path. She closed her eyes, and pictured what she had written. She had signed her letter “A Lady”; she did not live in Kent, nor did those whom she mentioned in her letter except ….
With a sigh, she murmured, “Oh dear, I did mention Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, and her daughter. And there were references to Miss Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and George Wickham. Oh dear, oh dear! Those could be revealing clues in the right—or the wrong—hands.” After a moment, she turned her steps toward the parsonage. “I must remove those references.”
As to the likelihood that Darcy would show the letter to anyone, Elizabeth chuckled at the thought. A man as proud as he, a man who noticeably cringed when he was teased, would never share her critical words with anyone. “If he bothers to read what I have written, I shall consider it a miracle on the order of loaves and fishes,” she declared. How has his life been up to now that he clings so fiercely to his sense of superiority? Did he have an excessively strict father? Was there some unfortunate hazing incident during his school days?
“What is it, sir, that has made you so dismissive of others?” she mused aloud. “Having met Lady Catherine, I can easily believe it is a family trait.” She wondered whether Miss Darcy was equally arrogant. Wickham had said she was: a once happy child who had become a proud young lady, turning away from the steward’s son who had devoted hours to her entertainment.
Elizabeth gave a disdainful sniff, thinking, Well, I do not like Miss Darcy. But an inner voice reminded, In truth, we cannot claim to know her. Nor do we truly know Mr. Wickham beyond the charming manners he has shown to Hertfordshire.
She sighed at her self-rebuke. In her letter, she had demanded of Darcy’s justice that he read what she had
written. Yet she had also promised to give careful consideration to the criticisms of Wickham that Darcy made during his disastrous proposal.
Although Elizabeth was undecided as to whether she would ultimately show Darcy her letter, she was certain that if she did, her unsigned missive would have no effect on either of their lives. Still, she keenly felt the need to account for the manner of her rejection; thus, upon returning to the parsonage, she rewrote her letter to the master of Pemberley.
≈≈≈
It was late afternoon when Mrs. Jenkinson showed Darcy and Fitzwilliam into Anne’s parlor. The chairs the ladies had occupied during their morning tea had been moved near a small sofa, and Anne gestured at them. “Please sit, cousins.”
Fitzwilliam sat and immediately reached for the decanter on the table between the chairs and the sofa. “Who is for brandy?”
As Darcy sat, he asked, “Four glasses? Is someone joining us?”
Mrs. Jenkinson, who was looking in the hallway to confirm no one had seen the gentlemen enter, closed the door and sat beside Anne on the sofa. Anne patted her companion’s hand gently. “Nora, of course.”
Studying the pale woman sitting opposite him, Darcy saw nothing remarkable in her; her dark brown hair was parted in the middle and pulled into braids coiled above her ears, and there was a guarded quality to the blue eyes under her slim, straight brows. In all the time that she has been Anne’s companion—four years? five?—I have scarcely spoken to her.
As Fitzwilliam handed glasses to the ladies, he said, “How have you been, Mrs. Jenkinson? I apologize for my neglect of you. I have been occupied by a drainage issue in the pastures.”
“Think nothing of it, sir. Although I have missed our backgammon games, I know your duty to Rosings comes first,” she said, accepting the brandy.
This lady plays backgammon with Fitz? Why have I not known this? Darcy wondered.
Fitzwilliam asked, “A glass for you, Darcy?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“We should savor this,” he said, filling the remaining glasses. “We dare not drink again until after the … what do we call this?”
“Battle,” suggested Anne.
“I prefer ‘conversation,’” Darcy said stiffly. “Taking a combative tone with Lady Catherine is likely to work against us.”
“Because her ladyship is so renowned for her reasonableness and her willingness to embrace opinions contrary to her own?” Mrs. Jenkinson teased in a quiet voice.
Anne and Fitzwilliam laughed, but Darcy was offended. You are her employee and fortunate to have a position in a fine home! How dare you speak of her that way? However, his cousins’ amusement made him realize they did not share his opinion; thus, he merely raised an eyebrow.
“Anne,” Fitzwilliam said, “tell us why you and Darcy should not be lawfully wed.”
“First, neither of us wants to marry the other.” After Darcy nodded, she looked at him expectantly. “It is your turn to name a reason.”
Clearing his throat, Darcy said, “Second, indelicate though the topic may be, I need an heir for Pemberley. And you … a baby … well, I understand your doctors have said .…”
“Of course, the only way to know whether I could produce an heir would be for me to try.”
“But as several doctors have suggested you might not survive childbirth, it is a risk you must never take,” Mrs. Jenkinson said.
“Agreed,” Fitzwilliam said. “What else might we say?”
“Do you know why this match is important to her ladyship?” Mrs. Jenkinson asked. “Specifically, why this match?”
“I assumed it was to keep her wealth within the family,” Fitzwilliam said with a shrug.
“I assumed Mama felt it would be easier to control me if I married a relative,” Anne said.
“I assumed it was because she wanted a claim to Pemberley,” Darcy said.
“While I grant you that Pemberley is larger than Rosings, I would not say your estate is more desirable than mine,” Anne scolded. “Although I suppose this is our pride speaking.”
More about my pride, Darcy thought, recalling Elizabeth’s accusations. Does everyone see me thus?
Anne explained to her companion, “Darcy’s mother was Mama’s younger sister—her only sister—and Mama insists Darcy and I have a peculiar kind of engagement. She swears our marriage was planned when he and I were in our cradles,” she said, imitating her mother’s manner of speech. “Never mind that Darcy, is two years my senior.”
“Darcy, do you recall this to be your mother’s wish?” Fitzwilliam asked.
Even after all these years, Darcy felt sad when he remembered his last conversations with his beloved mother as her health was failing. He slumped slightly in his chair and placed a hand on his forehead, shading his eyes so that the others could not see them. “Mother said she would love us and watch over us all the days of our lives, and she told me to take special care of Georgiana. I was barely fourteen then, and my sister was not yet three. It would have been foolish for Mother talk to me of my marriage in some distant future.”
Gentle fingers nudged the hand in which Darcy held his brandy. Looking up, he saw Mrs. Jenkinson holding the decanter. “May I pour you a bit more, sir?” The compassion in her eyes and the kind smile with which she encouraged him lessened the tightness he felt in his throat; he nodded gratefully and held out his glass to her.
Fitzwilliam felt in his waistcoat pocket and produced a coin, which he slapped down on the table. “So, Anne, Darcy—which of you will introduce the topic during dinner tonight?” Seeing his cousins exchange alarmed looks, he laughed. “Right. Then I suggest we toss a coin.”
4
“Be not alarmed, sir, on receiving this letter.”
Lady Catherine De Bourgh was a tall, large woman with strongly marked features that might once have been handsome. Whatever she said was spoken in an authoritative tone, marking her self-importance; she was the queen of her estate in Kent, and woe to any who did not acknowledge her as such. From her place at the head of the dinner table that evening, her ladyship regarded her family members with suspicion; clearly, something was afoot.
As usual, Anne sat at her right hand and Darcy at her left; Fitzwilliam sat beside Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson sat beside Darcy. After the second remove, Lady Catherine said, “None of you seems to have much appetite—but for you, Christopher, who eat as if you have no guarantee of a next meal.”
“I learned that on the battlefield, Aunt,” Fitzwilliam said.
Disregarding his remark, she turned to her other nephew. “No doubt, Darcy, you share Anne’s sorrow over your pending separation. Are you certain you wish to leave tomorrow? Stay a bit longer. Anne has become quite proficient in handling her new phaeton. I’m sure you would enjoy having her drive you around the estate.”
“Aunt Catherine, Fitz and I know Rosings very well after all these years. I doubt there is any part of the estate I have not seen. Furthermore ….” Darcy paused to take a swallow of wine.
“Furthermore?” his aunt prodded.
“I have plans in London,” he said, speaking more quickly than was his custom. “I have decided to marry; thus, I will attend as many balls, dinner parties, and soirees as I can to identify a woman who suits me in temperament and taste. Anne does not wish to marry me, nor I her. We are agreed on this.”
“I do not understand,” Lady Catherine looked at him in sincere confusion. “What do you mean you do not wish to marry Anne?”
Darcy gave Anne a stern look that demanded, Say something! She breathed a soft sigh and said in a quiet voice, “Darcy is correct, Mama. We agree that we are insufficiently compatible.”
“I do not know what that means,” Lady Catherine persisted. “You are woman; he is a man; both of you are English and from fine families. What more evidence of compatibility do you need?”
“I feel fondness and respect for Anne, but I do not love her as I would wish to love a wife.”
“My feelings for Darcy are no less b
ut no more than he has for me,” Anne said, pleased to discover a growing sense of confidence as the discussion progressed.
“What do your feelings matter? Truly, I cannot make sense of either of you!” For a tense moment, Lady Catherine glared first at Darcy, then at Anne, and then at Darcy again. “Do not force me to explain the options available to those of our station who perhaps require … company … beyond that which their respective spouses can or are willing to provide.” While Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and Anne stared at her ladyship in surprise, Mrs. Jenkinson gazed at her plate, struggling to suppress a smile.
Fitzwilliam asked, “Why is it so important to you for Anne and Darcy to marry?”
“How dare you question me, Christopher!”
“Then, as one of the objects of your obsession, Aunt, I wish to know why our union is important to you,” Darcy said. “If this was a particular wish of my mother’s, she did not say so.”
“You have all united against me,” Lady Catherine said, looking around the table. When her glance fell upon Mrs. Jenkinson, a fresh wave of anger surged through her. That they should have this conversation in front of my employee! (Although a footman was also present, her ladyship felt no embarrassment about him; he was merely a helpful piece of furniture.)
“Mama, it is time to let go of this wish,” Anne said.
Fitzwilliam said, “Aunt, you have done what you could in promoting the marriage, but your plan depended on others. If Anne and Darcy are bound neither by honor nor inclination to marry, why will you not accept that?”
Ignoring him, Lady Catherine said, “Mrs. Jenkinson, surely you do not enjoy being subjected to such private matters. We would take no offense if you excused yourself.”
“Mama, she has not finished her meal!”
“I suggest a tray in your room, madam, assuming this nonsense has not ruined your appetite as it has ruined mine.”
“I thank you for your consideration, my lady. I believe I shall retire to my room.” When Mrs. Jenkinson rose, the footman stepped forward to take her plate. “I shall carry it myself,” she said, her expression pleasant. “Good evening, all.”
