Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  “Guilty as charged, Miss Bennet. And I share the guardianship of his sister, Georgiana. Although I often feel she would be better served by an older sister than by two bachelors.”

  “Has she no female company?” Elizabeth asked.

  “She has a companion, Mrs. Annesley, but that fine lady is more than two decades her senior. And our cousin Anne De Bourgh, who rarely leaves Kent, is twenty-six. However, there are no ladies about who are close to Georgiana in age.”

  “Only yesterday, I received a letter from Anne.” Elizabeth added, “After you and Mr. Darcy left Rosings, Anne and Nora—Mrs. Jenkinson—invited me to join them on their drives. I feel as though I made two good friends.”

  Fitzwilliam, who worried about Anne’s isolation in Kent, was happy to hear it. “I am certain your wit and liveliness were a tonic for the ladies.” Looking ahead, he gestured at the small manor in the distance. “Is that Longbourn?”

  “Yes, the Bennets have lived there for generations,” Jane said.

  Elizabeth, who had been struggling with a difficult topic, sighed. “I suppose Mr. Darcy told you a bit about our family.”

  “I seem to recall mention of uncommonly pretty daughters.”

  “And a mother eagerly seeking husbands for said daughters.”

  “Lizzy!” Jane exclaimed in a whisper.

  “Mr. Collins will inherit our family home upon my father’s passing,” Elizabeth said.

  “An unjust circumstance, to be sure,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “You might find that dinner with the Bennets is calmer if Mama is unaware you are an earl’s son,” Elizabeth said.

  “An earl’s second son,” he corrected with a smile. “Surely, this diminishes my appeal. But I see no need to mention my family details unless pressed.”

  “I am thinking only of your comfort,” Elizabeth assured him.

  ≈≈≈

  Fitzwilliam could not deny there was an element of chaos to the Bennet’s household. Yet, he was welcomed warmly and pressed relentlessly to stay for dinner. The meal had just commenced when a loud clap of thunder drowned out the conversation; this was followed by a rainstorm so fierce that Lydia leaped up and ran to the dining room window to look.

  “Daughter, kindly your resume seat,” Mr. Bennet said firmly, “else the gentlemen will think you have never before seen a storm, and they will consider you one of silliest girls in England.”

  “How lucky that we returned from town when we did!” Lydia exclaimed, sitting again.

  “Indeed. Now, if you would pass the colonel the potatoes, I’m sure he will feel his good fortune is complete,” Mr. Bennet said.

  Elizabeth exchanged amused glances with Fitzwilliam, shrugging slightly as if to say, This is us; please judge us gently.

  Ultimately, it was Major Sarton who, over a dessert of baked custard, unwittingly revealed the colonel’s exalted connections. Upon learning of Fitzwilliam’s family, Mrs. Bennet repeated in an awed tone, “Your father is the Earl of Kesteven?”

  “Yes, madam. My elder brother, Robert, is the Kesteven heir.”

  “Is he elder by much?” Mrs. Bennet asked.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Fitzwilliam could see Elizabeth exchanging pained looks with Jane. “Three years, madam. I also have a brother, Henry, who is eleven years my junior.”

  “No sisters, sir?” Kitty asked.

  “I view my lovely young cousin Georgiana Darcy as a sister.”

  “Is she the sister of Mr. Darcy?” Lydia asked.

  “She is,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “He’s a very proud man, your cousin,” Lydia declared.

  “Manners, Lydia, manners!” Elizabeth snapped.

  “Hush, child,” Mr. Bennet said. “The colonel is our guest; we will not insult his cousin.” Then giving Fitzwilliam a wry look, he added, “Unless you give us leave, sir. And even then, we would expect you to insult him first.”

  Fitzwilliam laughed. “It is true Darcy lacks my charm in social situations. At the rather young age of twenty-two, he became responsible for both the largest estate in Derbyshire and the happiness and well-being of a ten-year-old sister. Many people’s livelihoods depend on him. Thus, he is a serious fellow—too serious, at times. Still, he is the best of men.”

  “Was he a serious child?” Mary asked. She believed that one’s character was formed as a baby and would change very little; this was a source of despair regarding Lydia, whom she was sure was incapable of improvement.

  “My cousin has both serious moments and foolish moments.” He glanced at Elizabeth, who was staring absently at her glass of wine. Should I be speaking of Darcy this way? Will you be more forgiving of his arrogance when you know him better?

  When Elizabeth looked up and saw Fitzwilliam watching her, she said, “At Rosings, you mentioned that Mr. Darcy takes prodigious care of his friends.”

  “Well, he tries. Recently, however, he learned that this care he believed himself to be providing was not always welcome or warranted. Lately, he has endeavored to improve himself in terms of his dealings with others.”

  At that moment, the clock struck eight. Glancing out the window, Sarton said, “The rain has stopped, thank Providence. Come along, Oglesby, it is time we were back at camp.”

  Fitzwilliam asked, “Have you an empty cot there? I had not intended to linger so long.”

  Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, “No, sir, Colonel Fitzwilliam! We will not have it! You must spend the night in our guest room. Surely it is more comfortable than a soldier’s cot.”

  Sarton nodded vigorously. “While I have never had the pleasure of staying in the Bennet’s guest room, it is sure to be superior in all respects to any bed you will find at our camp.”

  “There you have it; you must be our guest,” Mrs. Bennet said.

  Fitzwilliam was touched by her offer. “You are too generous, Madam. You have known me but for a few hours, yet you freely offer me the comforts of your home.”

  “You are a friend of Mr. Bingley’s—and the son of an earl. And our Lizzy has praised you as a gentleman.”

  Oh, Mama, do not try to make a match of the colonel and me, Elizabeth prayed silently.

  “He is also cousin to Mr. Darcy,” Lydia muttered as if that were a crime. “We all know how unpleasant that gentleman is.”

  “Lydia, either keep a civil tongue in your head or leave the table,” Mr. Bennet said. She pouted but said no more.

  Fitzwilliam looked from Mrs. Bennet to Mr. Bennet. “I do not wish to put you to trouble.”

  “It is no trouble,” Mr. Bennet said, considering the matter closed.

  “We are happy to offer our hospitality,” Mrs. Bennet assured him.

  Feeling embarrassed to be so welcomed by a family whom he had visited to investigate, he said, “As a soldier, I assure you I have known far greater discomfort than a tent in the rain.”

  If Mary can speak up, so can I, thought Kitty. “No doubt, sir, but at the time, it was your duty. You are not so duty-bound here that you must endure unnecessary discomfort.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kitty. I gratefully accept your kind offer.”

  Sarton nodded at Oglesby. “Come along, sir. The Bennets have given us a fine meal, but they do not have rooms for all of us.”

  14

  “I am excited and fearful—in short, I am a wreck!”

  May 15, 1811

  The next morning, Fitzwilliam arrived at the dining room in time to hear Mrs. Bennet exclaim, “Have compassion for me, Kitty, you cough to play upon my nerves!”

  “I promise you, Mama, I do not,” Kitty said.

  Seeing Fitzwilliam in the doorway, Mrs. Bennet smiled. “Did you have a restful night, sir?”

  “Indeed, I did, madam. The best in recent memory. Your hospitality is exemplary.”

  Mrs. Bennet, who quarreled with no compliments, beamed. “I value your kind words. Should you encounter Mr. Bingley in town, please tell him the Bennets asked after him.”

  “I will, madam.” She gave Fitzwilliam’
s arm a motherly pat and left. Upon seeing Kitty alone at the dining table, he asked, “Am I early or late?”

  Kitty’s irritation with her mother made her uncommonly forthcoming. “Lizzy is likely out walking. Mary is likely praying. Lydia is likely sleeping, and I am not sure what Jane does at this time of the morning. But if you prefer the company of a sensible man, Papa is in his study.”

  “Is that what your father calls himself?”

  “He calls Mary and Lydia and me silly, so I assume he considers himself to be sensible.”

  “And is he?”

  “I am not certain how to answer that,” she said with a laugh which quickly turned into a cough. Abruptly, she put her head under the table and commanded, “Get out! Go to Mama!”

  A large gray tabby strolled out from under the table and into the corridor, exuding an arrogance that implied its exit was a choice, not an eviction. When Fitzwilliam shifted his glance from the cat to Kitty, he found her sipping water to calm her cough.

  Noting his attention, she blushed. “Is there a particular dish you would like for your breakfast? I could speak to our cook.”

  “The offerings here far exceed a soldier’s dreams—and you have scones,” he said appreciatively. After filling his plate, he sat opposite her. “I have not yet greeted you properly; please forgive my manners. Good morning, Miss Kitty.”

  “Good morning to you, Colonel.”

  “Are you well?”

  “I am, sir.” With a sigh, she added, “Pay no mind to my cough. I am not ill, nor do I seek attention. But when Mittens is in the room, my throat feels dry and ticklish.”

  “I understand.” Fitzwilliam’s voice was kind.

  “I tell you this because I do not want you to think I am seeking your attention.” Perhaps it is his friendly countenance that makes me feel so at ease in talking with him, she reflected.

  “Such a thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Truly? With my youngest sister Lydia making such a spectacle of herself? At least until she realized your connection to the Darcys and decided you were the enemy of her ‘dear Wickham.’”

  “May I ask, what do you think of George Wickham?”

  Kitty was so unaccustomed to anyone requesting her opinion that for a moment she simply stared. Finally, she said, “He is pleasant-looking, a quality upon which Lydia places great store.”

  “She may outgrow that.”

  “She may marry the Prince of Wales,” Kitty said, shrugging, “but it is not likely.”

  Do you know how charming you are? he thought. Under his gaze, she blushed and then abruptly coughed. He asked, “Has not your mother noticed your reaction to the cat?”

  “Mittens is the only ‘kitty’ my mother prizes. Thus, I strive to avoid that overindulged feline.” She added, “I speak so plainly to you, sir, because I doubt we shall ever meet again.”

  “One never knows.” If my cousin manages to convince your sister that he is the right husband for her, we may be in company more often than you think.

  “Lizzy warned us about Mr. Wickham. Tell me, sir, is he truly as bad as the rumors say?”

  “I assure you, he is far worse. I cannot divulge details, but he was in every way a scoundrel towards a dear young lady who is about your age. You must not trust him to speak truthfully or to show you the respect a gentleman owes a lady.”

  “If I take your word on this, Lydia will say I am doing so simply to spite her. But sometimes Lydia deserves to be spited.”

  “Well, she is the baby of the family, is she not?”

  “In every sense of the word. It cannot be good for one’s character to always have one’s way.”

  “Indeed not. Adversity gives us the opportunity to become stronger. Conflicts, even small ones, provide the sort of friction that polishes our true nature.”

  “You are a soldier and poet, sir.”

  ≈≈≈

  Entering Longbourn’s stable, Fitzwilliam followed the sound of pleasant whistling. “Hallo?”

  The whistling stopped abruptly. “Good morning, sir,” a voice replied. A moment later, Johnny, Longbourn’s manservant, emerged from a stall; he was a tall, lean man in his early thirties. “Are you here for your horse, Colonel? Laird is a fine animal.”

  “Yes, none better. On his behalf, I thank you for the compliment,” he said, matching the other man’s good cheer. “I shall be leaving within the hour.” As he looked around the stable, which was clean and well-maintained, a thought occurred. “What do you use for de-worming horses?”

  “I’ll show you.” On a shelf over a bin of dried corn, Johnny pointed to two bottles. “I alternate between these treatments, so the worms don’t get too comfortable. One is a recipe from Mr. Bennet’s father, and the other is made by Mr. Phineas, who runs the livery stable in Meryton.”

  Behind these Fitzwilliam spied a dusty bottle of Dr. Nicoll’s tonic. “What about that one?”

  Johnny made a disparaging face. “It came from some cousin of Mr. Bennet’s, but it didn’t smell right. I emptied the bottle but kept it in case the cousin visits.”

  “Is William Collins the cousin?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  “You know him?”

  “I do, but you could not call us friends. Might I take the bottle? After the tonic was used in an army stable, some horses were sickened, so I am trying to find Dr. Nicoll.”

  Johnny gave him the bottle. “Good luck to you, sir. And I’ll bring Laird around directly.”

  ≈≈≈

  Fitzwilliam left for London after exchanging friendly farewells with all the Bennets save Lydia, who stood in sullen silence in the background. His return ride was leisurely, and he spent it in contemplation of the family that had hosted him. He was sufficiently familiar with standards of the ton to understand Darcy’s reticence in aligning himself with the Bennets. Mr. Bennet was intelligent but rather disengaged. Mrs. Bennet was less intelligent and loud; still, she was welcoming, and her generosity counted for some-thing. Then he considered the Bennet daughters one by one.

  Blonde beauties all, except for brown-haired Elizabeth, but each young lady has a distinctive nature. Lydia? She needs to be sent back to the schoolroom; she truly is a child in a woman’s form. Kitty? Young, but she has potential. Mary? Too plain in her style and too pious for society’s tastes. Jane? She is gracious—and a beauty; if she takes Bingley back, he is a lucky man.

  As for Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam was certain that with a fashion-able wardrobe and some guidance in the ways of London’s elite, she would find acceptance among all who did not view her as competition. Still, he wondered whether his cousin’s proposal had been motivated—at least in part—by a desire to avoid marrying Anne. Darcy had admired Elizabeth, albeit reluctantly; however, he clearly had not understood the lady, and while this was not unusual for those who fancied themselves in love, it did not bode well for a successful marriage. The colonel wondered, Darcy has acted to remedy some of the faults Elizabeth mentioned, but is he improving himself for Elizabeth’s sake or his own?

  ≈≈≈

  The knock on the door of Mr. Bennet’s study was louder than it would have been a month ago. “Come in, Kitty,” he called. After Jane left for London last January, the household had been more rampageous than usual, for no one else had the eldest daughter’s talent for calming Mrs. Bennet. Then in March, when Elizabeth made a six-week visit to Rosings, her father complained that she had taken the last bit of good sense from Longbourn. Recently, however, he and Kitty had become close when she began joining him in his study to avoid Lydia.

  “I’ve brought tea,” she said, balancing a tray on one arm as she let herself into the room.

  “Next time, just say ‘tea’ loudly, and I will open the door for you.” Mr. Bennet pushed aside some papers on his desk to make room for the tray. “When we farewelled Colonel Fitzwilliam this morning, do you think he noted Lydia’s Friday face?”

  “I should be very surprised if he did not. But as a soldier, he has confronted worse sights, and as
a gentleman, he would not mention her rudeness.” Kitty handed her father his tea.

  “I am sure you have the right of it, my girl. By the bye, your book is there on the footstool.”

  Kitty regarded it with a frown. “I find I have little interest in ancient Greece, Papa. I wish I could find something which would capture my attention and give me an activity at the same time.”

  “Well, I have a small volume on raising chickens, but perhaps what you need is .…” He rose and searched the bookcase behind his desk. When he found a large volume with no title, he offered it to Kitty, who gave him the book on Greece in exchange.

  Opening the volume, Kitty found sketches of outdoor scenes on the first few pages, but the rest were blank. “Who did these?”

  “I did when I was at university. Drawing, I discovered, calmed my mind. Although I had no training—and no intention of doing more than giving myself a distraction from my studies—I quite enjoyed it. I also found that when one looks at something for the purpose of drawing it, one sees it quite differently.”

  Kitty examined the sketches; when she looked at her father again, she saw his hands were resting on a carved wood box. When Mr. Bennet knew he had her attention, he pushed the box toward her. Upon opening it, she found sticks of sawn graphite wrapped in string, a rubber, and some slim sticks of charcoal. “That is everything you need to begin drawing, although there is a new device, well, new this century, from a company called Koh-i-Noor. It is a pencil with a lead formed of graphite and clay. You may wish to write your Uncle Gardiner to obtain one for you. I am sorry I cannot provide you with either it or a drawing master.”

  “I have my hands; I have my sight. I shall teach myself,” Kitty said excitedly.

  “Good girl. I suggest you begin by accustoming yourself to the drawing utensils and the rubber. It is a crumbly little thing, but it will remove all but the darkest marks.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  Mr. Bennet took his penknife out of his desk drawer. “So, give me my old sketchbook for a moment.” Kitty did so, and he neatly cut out the pages with his drawings, but when he moved to put them in the fireplace, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.