Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

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by J P Christy


  That possibility pushed Darcy past his reluctance. Before joining Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley for breakfast, he left a sealed letter addressed to Colonel Forster in the mail tray.

  ≈≈≈

  That same morning at Rosings, a light rain kept the ladies from taking a ride in Anne’s phaeton, which they had done every day that week. Instead, a servant arrived at the parsonage with an invitation for Elizabeth to practice the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s sitting room.

  “You must go,” Mr. Collins said firmly. “For at least today, you must show your appreciation to Lady Catherine for offering you the opportunity to improve your playing.”

  “Of course,” Elizabeth said, knowing full well the invitation was from Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson. “I assure you my time at Rosings has given me much to appreciate.” For example, as annoying as my mother can be, she pales in comparison to

  Lady Catherine.

  “I will be accompanying her ladyship to Tunbridge Wells today, and we will likely be gone for some time. Thus, you need not worry that your music will bother anyone.”

  “Thank you for putting my mind at ease,” Elizabeth said dryly.

  ≈≈≈

  At Rosings, the second-best pianoforte was in the small sitting room attached to Mrs. Jenkinson’s bedroom. There, Anne and her companion were listening appreciatively to Elizabeth’s playing when a servant interrupted to ask how many would be present for nuncheon.

  “Shall we have a cold collation here, Nora?” Anne looked to Mrs. Jenkinson, who nodded. “Three—no, five. Please send a message to Mrs. Collins inviting her and Maria to join us.”

  It was a merry gathering for several pleasant hours; the ladies ate and drank and enjoyed lively conversation, and no one mentioned Mr. Collins or Lady Catherine. Perhaps it was the company. Perhaps it was the glasses of wine and brandy (the good bottle from the billiards room) but whatever the reason, Anne was inspired to do something she had never done before: play music in company. The pieces she chose were simple, but she performed them well, and Elizabeth knew that with the right master, Anne’s technique would improve quickly.

  Applauding, Charlotte said, “Lady Catherine said you did not play —I am all astonishment!”

  “Your music was quite wonderful!” Maria enthused.

  Anne glanced at Mrs. Jenkinson, who gave her an encouraging nod. “I was six when I had my first music lesson. But eight years later, shortly after my father passed, I became ill with a terrible cough, and I did not regain my health for several months. Mama sent away my masters for drawing and music and Italian; she said I was not strong enough for the strain of practicing and studying. For awhile, I continued to play, but Mama was always so critical that I stopped.”

  “You have not played since you were fourteen?” Elizabeth said, amazed.

  “No, but Nora has,” Anne said, her eyes twinkling.

  “It is our deception,” Mrs. Jenkinson admitted with a laugh. “Since I joined the household, Anne practices in my sitting room, but she has told Lady Catherine that I am the pianist she hears.”

  “You do not play?” Maria asked.

  “I read music well enough to turn the pages, but I do not play.”

  “Promise you will keep our secret,” Anne said.

  “Of course,” Charlotte said and raised her teacup. “A toast to necessary fictions.”

  ≈≈≈

  Charlotte and Maria were the first to leave, as the former wished to speak with her cook about Mr. Collins’s dinner. By the time Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson walked Elizabeth to the parsonage, shafts of sunlight were piercing the gray clouds. “Anne, do you know a Mr. George Wickham?” Elizabeth asked; it was a question that had been much in her thoughts.

  Anne gasped. “That bounder! Are you acquainted with him?”

  “Slightly,” Elizabeth admitted. “He is with the militia currently quartered in Meryton.”

  “Does Darcy know? Or Christopher? Both would be happy to give him a well-deserved and long over-due thrashing!”

  Mrs. Jenkinson lightly bumped her shoulder against Anne’s. “Why have you never mentioned this interesting rogue?”

  “Wickham is as attractive in externals as he is monstrous in his character.”

  “What is his connection to the Darcys and the Fitzwilliams?” Mrs. Jenkinson asked.

  Thrilled to have interesting gossip to share, Anne told the story with relish. “George Wickham is the son of a man—a very good man—who was the steward at Pemberley. Darcy’s father was George’s godfather, but I must assume my uncle saw only the charming side of his godson. Had he been aware of the seductions, gambling losses, and other misdeeds, Uncle Darcy would never have suggested giving George the living at the parsonage in a village near Pemberley.”

  “The living at Kympton was not a bequest?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Oh, you’ve heard George’s lament of the ‘Darcy Disappointment’? He loudly bemoans his missed opportunity for a parson’s living, but he is even less suited to the church than Mr. Collins, if I may say so.”

  “Did Mr. Wickham take orders?” Elizabeth asked.

  “He did not. In fact, although George received a gentleman’s education at Cambridge, courtesy of my uncle, he did not complete his studies for the church. Instead, after the deaths of both his own father and Darcy’s—those gentlemen died within a few months of each other—George said he wished to study the law, and he asked Darcy to give him money for it in lieu of the living at Kympton. I do not know the exact sum, but Christopher said it was several thousand pounds.”

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to gasp. “Several thousand pounds?”

  “And Christopher says George frittered the money away in but a few years.” Anne lowered her voice as if she feared being overheard. “Also, while I do not know the particulars, I heard that last summer George attempted to elope with an innocent young lady and, apparently, Darcy stopped it and rescued the young miss.”

  “Were Wickham and the lady in love?” Mrs. Jenkinson asked.

  “The girl was infatuated with George, and George was infatuated with her not-insignificant fortune.” Addressing Elizabeth, Anne concluded, “So unless Wickham has had a conversion to rival that of St. Paul’s on the road to Damascus, I would encourage you and yours to avoid the fellow.”

  It seems, Mr. Darcy, I owe you a little prayer of thanks, Elizabeth thought.

  8

  "Your secret shall be my secret."

  May 2, 1811

  On Thursday afternoon, Georgiana eagerly opened her latest letter from Anne De Bourgh.

  Dear Georgiana, I am learning from Miss Elizabeth Bennet to be impertinent, and my dear Nora says I am a quick study. During these lessons — atteDuring Elizabeth’s lessons — attended only by Nora and myself — we discuss the nature of impertinence and some techniques for mitigating its sting so that we are not called out to a duel. Apparently, a gentle tone, an arch expression, and a bit of wit are essential. Yet it was Nora who made these observations for, as Elizabeth said, ‘I cannot hear myself as others do.’ Elizabeth says she also learns from our discussions, as she had never thought to analyze her habit of making such comments. Indeed, she believes it is less of a habit than a quirk of her character. For me, impertinence is a way to express a sort of independence that we ladies are not encouraged to feel, much less desire. When I respond to a situation with a tease, I feel less like a little field mouse and more like a, well, perhaps not a cat — not yet — but a larger mouse, perhaps a vole. For the first time since Papa died, I have begun to have a voice, albeit a whispery one, whereas before, I only dared to have thoughts. Has your brother told you about our Disengagement Dinner? Mama is still determined that I must marry; however, I am happy the weight of this farce has been lifted from me, and I daresay Darcy feels the same. Affectionately, your cousin AdB

  ≈≈≈

  On Thursday night in the west end of London, Darcy arrived at his club, Brooks, to find Fitzwilliam chatting with two other soldiers. Tipping his hat, h
e greeted the men. “Good evening, gentlemen. And to you, as well, Fitz.”

  “Do you make a distinction, sir?” asked the eldest soldier, grinning at the banter.

  “Darcy, allow me to present Captain Fairfax and his youngest brother, Private Fairfax. The Captain and I served in Spain. Gentlemen, my cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

  “Happy to make your acquaintance, sirs,” Darcy said.

  “The pleasure is ours, Mr. Darcy,” Captain Fairfax said. “When my brother and I had the good fortune to encounter the colonel tonight, we hoped he would dine with us. My brother here is about to join his first regiment, and I know he would benefit from the colonel’s wisdom.”

  “Darcy and I will be discussing a family matter over dinner, but I would be happy to join you later.”

  “Excellent. Do you still frequent the Mute Ploughboy?”

  “I do, sir. Shall I meet you there in two hours’ time?”

  The captain nodded and said, “You are most welcome to join us, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” Fitzwilliam spoke for Darcy. “He’s not nearly as entertaining as I am.”

  As Darcy watched the soldiers depart, the colonel approached the door of Brooks. Noting that his cousin was not beside him, he asked, “We are still having dinner here, aren’t we?”

  “What? Of course.” Darcy followed him into the club and waited until they were seated at a quiet table in the back of the dining room before asking, “Now, what is this family matter you wanted to discuss, Fitz?”

  “Family matter? Oh, I said that so the Fairfaxes would not expect an invitation to join us.”

  “If you don’t like them, why are you meeting them later?”

  “I do like Captain Fairfax. I do not know his brother, but I expect I will like him, too.”

  “So what was the reason for your evasion?”

  Fitzwilliam sighed. “On the occasions I have introduced you to my fellow soldiers, you were ill at ease and spoke very little.”

  “I meant no disrespect.” In Darcy’s thoughts, Elizabeth’s voice mocked: Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education and who has lived in the world is ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers?

  “Yet some of my comrades felt slighted by your demeanor.”

  “Your world is so different from mine. The danger and—”

  “And the boredom and the politics. Speaking of which, Father arrived from Nottinghamshire yesterday, and when I mentioned I was meeting you for dinner, he asked me to encourage you again to consider involving yourself in politics.”

  “Assure my uncle I will think about that as much as I ever have,” Darcy said dryly, for Fitzwilliam was well aware of his disinterest.

  “So, I have now done my filial duty. Dinner then. I hear there is a new chef.”

  “A moment, please. At Rosings, you and Eliz—Miss Elizabeth teased me about not being one for conversation.”

  “As understatements go, that is the finest example I have heard in weeks.” So, you are still thinking about her letter. Good!

  “Honor demands that I acknowledge my habitual reserve, and lately I have realized my taciturn nature has not served me well nor enhanced my comfort. Indeed, in social situations I often find myself brooding on my inability to, well, socialize. But this week, I have made an effort to talk more with those around me, and I believe I am improving.”

  “This is about more than making conversation, Darcy. It is about what you see when you look at people, at my fellow soldiers, for example.”

  “I am not certain I understand you.”

  “You see their rank and their station; I see their service. Thus, I do not make a habit of introducing you to my brothers in arms.”

  Darcy nodded slowly as the realization dawned. “It is not to spare me their company; it is to spare them mine.” Although Fitzwilliam neither spoke nor nodded, Darcy knew he agreed. “I hope you know, Fitz, that had I not been born a first son charged with managing Pemberley, I would have been in uniform, shoulder to shoulder with you.”

  “I know.”

  “Thus, will you allow me to join you and your comrades at the Mute Ploughboy, which I sincerely hope is a tavern?”

  “It is, and you will be expected to buy at least one round of drinks.”

  “Happy to do it,” Darcy said, and he meant it. In recent days, he had realized how few of his acquaintances were true friends and how often his social activities were associated with business or sporting events. This discovery had fostered in him a desire to be more in the world and to be more at ease in the world.

  ≈≈≈

  May 3, 1811

  On the day before Elizabeth and Maria were to depart, the Collinses and their guests were invited to tea at Rosings. As usual, Lady Catherine dominated the conversation with questions and comments about the particulars of the ladies’ journey. She also told them to mention her name at the posting inn when they changed horses at Bromley. “When the proprietor knows of your connection to me, he will see to your comfort most attentively.”

  After Elizabeth and Maria offered their thanks, Collins added, “Your kind concern for my dear sister-in-law and my cousin is greatly appreciated.” He carried on in this vein for some while, so no one else took the trouble to add to the conversation.

  Following a lengthy lecture as to the best method of packing gowns, Lady Catherine ended the tea party and sent the Hunsford party off to apply her good advice, leaving Mrs. Jenkinson and Anne to see the guests out.

  ≈≈≈

  As Elizabeth packed her trunk, she reflected on the surprising events of the past weeks. While Mr. Darcy’s proposal loomed large in that accounting, so did her outings with Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson; their conversations had not only been enjoyable, they had given her a clearer sense of herself. She was pleased the ladies wished to maintain the friendship through letters. How much more pleasant they are than the Bingley sisters, whose claim to an elevated social standing is nothing to that of either Anne, an earl’s granddaughter, or Nora, a gentleman’s daughter.

  Elizabeth had also enjoyed her time with Charlotte, although she felt melancholy about leaving her friend to the society of the odious Mr. Collins. Still, while Charlotte had said she regretted her visitors’ imminent departure, she gave no indication that she regretted her marriage.

  As if conjured by thought, Charlotte knocked lightly on the open door. “May I come in?”

  “Of course. I am nearly done. How is Maria progressing?”

  Charlotte entered and sat on the bed. “As we speak, she is repacking her gowns, convinced she has not heeded Lady Catherine’s dictates with sufficient diligence.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Not for a moment do I believe her ladyship has ever packed a gown. Nor would I wish to be the maid over whose shoulder she stands, offering corrections.”

  “We are fortunate indeed that such is not our lot.”

  “This visit has made quite an impression on Maria; your little sister has matured. While Lady Catherine’s influence on everyone in her orbit cannot be underestimated,” Elizabeth joked, “I think watching you manage your household with such competence and kindness has had the most effect on Maria’s demeanor. May I send Lydia to you so you can work your magic? My youngest sister continues to be a trial.”

  Charlotte laughed and shook her head “no.” After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Lizzy, I have a secret I wish to share, but I must ask you not to repeat it to anyone.”

  Intrigued, Elizabeth promised, “My word of honor, your secret shall be my secret.”

  Charlotte closed the door and leaned against it. “I believe I am with child.”

  “Oh happy news, dear friend!” Elizabeth hugged her.

  “If all is well, Baby Collins will grace our home in autumn.”

  “Have you told Mr. Collins?”

  “I shall wait until he is in a fussy mood and then announce it to surprise him.”

  “Will he not suspect when he notices you are increasing?”

&nbs
p; “My husband is not the most observant of men; however, he does tend to be in a fussy mood rather often, so I shall give him the news soon enough. I confess, though, I am not eager for the attentions and advice of Lady Catherine when she learns of my condition. I also wish to wait before telling my family. I feel a private joy that I am not ready to share, save with you.”

  Hesitantly, Elizabeth asked, “You are content here, aren’t you?” She could not bring herself to use the word “happy.” Quickly, she added, “You know I do not wish to pry.”

  Charlotte gave her friend an understanding smile. “Yes, I am content. I will leave you to your packing. If you need anything, just ask; you will find me in the garden.”

  ≈≈≈

  In the late afternoon sun, Charlotte strolled through the rows of flowers, herbs, and berry bushes, delighting in the colors and scents. As the wife of William Collins, she had found satisfaction beyond anything she had experienced as an unmarried woman in her parents’ home. Her contentment, however, had little to do with her husband. Instead, she felt proud of her efforts to make a comfortable home and grateful for the friendly acceptance of the parishioners. She also felt secure about her future, which would ultimately include her becoming mistress of Longbourn. She did not wish Mr. Bennet ill; indeed, she knew she would share some of Elizabeth’s pain at Mr. Bennet’s passing. Still, the thought of being mistress of a small estate was a dream she savored.

  A few months ago, there had been but one significant worry to trouble Charlotte: that she was not yet with child. Ordinarily, her failure to conceive so early in her marriage would not have been a concern. However, shortly after her wedding, she learned that if she did not bear a son, then upon the death of her husband, Longbourn would pass to her husband’s brother, Donald, and Charlotte would be without a home. Now, however, if all went well with her pregnancy, the danger was lessened; for even if her first child was a girl, the birth of one healthy baby boded well for the births of subsequent babies.

 

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