Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  “It’s true, Mama,” Kitty said, standing beside Mary. “She made Georgiana cry!”

  “You are my family. You should not take her side against me!”

  Mr. Bennet, newly returned from his Netherfield excursion, entered the parlor in time to hear Kitty’s accusation and Lydia’s reply. “Here now, what’s going on?”

  “Lydia has disgraced us all yet again!” Mary exclaimed.

  “I did not! I merely asked—”

  “You as good as called Georgiana a liar when she spoke of Wickham’s character,” Kitty said.

  “And you made her cry!” Mary emphasized Kitty’s remark.

  “She was being unfair to Wickham! He has told everyone how proud she is, just like her brother who insulted our Lizzy. In a way, I was defending Lizzy,” Lydia insisted, ignoring Mary’s sound of disgust.

  “Georgiana has been all kindness to everyone!” Kitty said.

  “She has played duets with me,” Mary said.

  “She shared her fashion books, which you read cover to cover,” Kitty reminded.

  Joining Kitty and Mary, Mr. Bennet scowled at Lydia. “Miss Darcy has shown how a true lady behaves, and she has done so without calling attention to your deficiencies.”

  Mrs. Bennet, hearing to her husband speak in praise of Miss Darcy, scrutinized her youngest child. Would anyone speak even half so well of Lydia?

  “Papa, I was simply joking with her. Miss Darcy takes herself much too seriously.”

  Mr. Bennet said, “You have gone too far, my girl. There will be consequences.”

  “I hope Lydia’s behavior does not taint Mr. Bingley’s affection for Jane,” Kitty said.

  At that, Mrs. Bennet was galvanized into action. “Girls, we will all write apologies to Miss Darcy, myself included, for I do not want her to think I reared my daughters to be rude.”

  “Lizzy suggested that, too,” Mary said.

  Although Mrs. Bennet was annoyed not to get full credit for the idea, she told herself, The important thing is to avoid giving Mr. Bingley a reason to distance himself from Jane. She told her daughters, “We will write our notes immediately, so when the carriage returns for your sisters, our apologies can be delivered.”

  Preparing the apologies required nearly thirty minutes for Lydia had to produce three versions before Mrs. Bennet deemed her effort acceptable. Afterward, Kitty convinced her mother to allow her to deliver the notes by saying, “Sending them with a servant would be impersonal.”

  ≈≈≈

  After Mr. Bennet had returned to Longbourn, Bingley consulted with his steward while Darcy and Fitzwilliam, feeling restive, raced to Oakham Mount. Thus, the cousins returned to the manor just as the Bennet’s carriage arrived. When Kitty emerged, the men exchanged puzzled looks. Fitzwilliam gave Laird’s reins to a waiting groom and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Kitty. Were you not at tea with your sisters?”

  Darcy joined the colonel. “Miss Kitty, I hope you are well.”

  “Oh, sirs, before I take these apologies to Miss Georgiana, allow me to express my regret for Lydia’s behavior. My family is mortified, and Lydia is no longer out in society.”

  “Is Georgiana all right?” Darcy asked. “Where is she?”

  “She was crying when Mary and I took Lydia home. Lizzy and Jane stayed with her. Perhaps they are still in the drawing room.”

  With Fitzwilliam and Kitty close behind, Darcy ran into the house, prepared to console his sister. Instead, he found her sitting on the sofa between Elizabeth and Jane, and all were laughing. Upon seeing Georgiana with these young ladies who welcomed her as their friend, Darcy felt a renewed sense of gratitude for the eldest Bennet daughters. When Fitzwilliam entered a moment later, he paused beside Darcy, for both were reluctant to intrude upon the charming scene.

  Kitty hurried past the men and put the notes in Georgiana’s lap. “These are our apologies for Lydia’s behavior.”

  Puzzled, Georgiana asked, “Four?”

  “Mary, Lydia, Mama, and myself.” When Kitty surprised Georgiana with a gentle hug, she stiffened at the unexpectedness of it but then quickly returned the embrace.

  “Is all well, Georgiana?” Darcy asked quietly.

  “All is well, Brother.”

  “We have stayed longer than guests should,” Elizabeth said.

  “You are such pleasant company; I am loath for you to leave,” Georgiana said.

  Kitty promised, “We will call again soon, without Lydia, of course; she will not be out in society until she can behave herself.”

  Georgiana tucked the notes into her pocket and stood. “I shall show you to your carriage.” Walking arm in arm with Jane, she led the way out of the drawing room. Elizabeth started to follow but paused to glance at Darcy. He was speaking quietly to Kitty, who curtsied; he responded with a smile and a bow.

  When Kitty joined her, she linked arms, and they exited the drawing room. Leaning close, Elizabeth whispered, “Well?”

  “Mr. Darcy thanked me for my good care of his sister. From what I have seen of him and the colonel, I am sorry we do not have a brother. I wish there was a place where we could trade Lydia for a brother of our own.”

  ≈≈≈

  Later that afternoon at Netherfield, an express letter arrived from Corporal Tinkler advising Fitzwilliam that a peddler in Clapham Junction was said to have sold Dr. Nicoll’s tonic. After telling his cousins and his host he had army business to attend to, the colonel departed.

  At Longbourn that evening, Mrs. Bennet advised her family that Sunday’s dinner for the Netherfield party would consist of two courses, rather than the usual one, and Elizabeth wondered if this was a gesture of apology to Georgiana.

  ≈≈≈

  It had been a tedious journey from London to Cornwall. So as not to be too taxing for Lady Trelawney and her young children, they traveled slowly, spending their nights in the homes of friends. The first carriage conveyed Lord Cadan Trelawney and his wife, Gwen, who were apparently having a prolonged disagreement; this resulted in his lordship riding with the coachman for part of the trip. The second carriage conveyed the three Trelawney children and their nursemaids. In the third were Lady Penelope; her daughter, Renata; the girl’s governess; and her ladyship’s maid. The fourth and fifth carriages held various staff, and at the end of this parade was a sturdy wagon bearing the luggage.

  Twins Gryffyn and Hedrek, the youngest brothers of Lord Trelawney and Lady Penelope, rode horseback for most of the journey, but on several afternoons, lashing rains forced them to seek shelter in one of the carriages. Still, Lady Penelope envied her brothers their liberty; more than once she wished she and Renata could experience the freedom she had felt when traveling with Fitzwilliam from Spain to England.

  Upon reaching Castle Fal after a fierce rain, Lady Penelope found the place to be very different from how she remembered it. When she was a child, the castle seemed a vast, magical place protecting the Trelawneys from the pirates and invaders described in family folklore. Now, despite the rainbow arching over the castle’s two stone towers, she saw a grim, gray, three-hundred-year-old structure that offered more history than comforts.

  Renata followed her mother out of the carriage and looked around the courtyard with wide eyes, for this was her first visit. Lady Penelope studied her daughter’s face. “What do you think, querida niña—my darling girl?”

  A frown wrinkled the girl’s brow. “Is this where you grew up?”

  “I spent summers here until I was the age you are now.”

  “It is so different from our home in Salamanca.”

  The thought of those airy rooms, which opened onto to a sunny atrium with its fountain and cascades of bright purple bougainvillea brought a lump to Lady Penelope’s throat. “I will tell you something, but please do not mention it to the others. I miss our home,” she whispered.

  “And Papa.”

  “Sí, and your Papa.” Lady Penelope did miss Salvador—his humor, his kindness, the interests they shared—but over the past se
veral months, her aching grief for her late husband had slipped away like a cloak that no longer fit. Now she felt hopeful about her future, and several times she found herself thinking, Renata would like Christopher Fitzwilliam.

  “How long will we stay here, Mama?”

  Pulling the girl into a gentle embrace, she kissed the top of her thick auburn hair. “After your Aunt Gwen has her baby, we shall return to London. But while we are here, I will ask the twins to teach you to sail a small boat in the river.”

  “I would like that.” Suddenly, the three young Trelawney children swarmed around them, chattering like parrots. Renata regarded them affectionately. “My little cousins want to explore, Mama. May I go with them?”

  “Of course. I shall see you later.” She placed another light kiss on Renata’s hair before releasing her. “Gryffyn, Hedrek, will you accompany the children?”

  The twins, amiable young men in their early twenties, readily agreed, happy to have a purpose after the long journey. However, Trelawney caught Hedrek’s arm. “Little brother, do not terrify the young ones with ghost stories, or you and Gryffyn will have the dubious privilege of sleeping on the cold stone floor in their room to keep away their nightmares.”

  “In other words, Cadan, we must not do to your children what you did to us,” Hedrek said with a laugh.

  “Exactly.” Trelawney watched as the children and Renata hurried after their young uncles up a wide stone staircase.

  Lady Penelope watched at her daughter fondly. What a wonderful sister she would be. I would like to give her siblings while she is still young enough to be their friend—and while I am still young enough to bear a healthy child … I hope.

  Trelawney glanced at his sister. “You’ve not been here in years, Penelope.”

  “Half my life. Was the trip from London always so dreary, or am I getting old?”

  “Yes, and yes.”

  Laughing, she looked around. “Where is Gwen?”

  He nodded at an archway. “In the garden, very thankful to be out of the carriage. You know better than anyone that she has not felt well. She frets.” He shrugged self-consciously. “I suppose I fret, too. Gwen says you calm her worries, and so you calm mine.”

  “Renata and I will remain until Gwen delivers a healthy baby.”

  “Bless you, dear Sister!” He pulled her into a relieved embrace.

  ≈≈≈

  After some three weeks in Bath, the Rosings party had settled into a routine, now that their wardrobes were improved and their presence was known throughout the local society. “See and be seen!” Lady Catherine had commanded. Thus, on Monday and Thursday nights, Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson attended balls, and at least two days per week, they strolled around the Pump Room and forced themselves to drink a small glass of the sulfurous water.

  Initially, Lady Catherine had accompanied her daughter on all outings, but now she was content to have Mrs. Jenkinson escort Anne. “So many people, yet so few worth knowing! Exhausting!” her ladyship complained. So, for at least a part of each day, Anne and her companion were free to visit favorite places and renew friendships not sanctioned by her ladyship.

  At private gatherings such as dinners, card parties, and picnics, both Lady Catherine and Mrs. Jenkinson accompanied Anne. After her ladyship decided which guests merited attention and which were to be given as little consequence as possible, she would dispatch Mrs. Jenkinson to separate Anne from anyone she deemed unsuitable. Unlike Mr. Stafford, these gentlemen tended to be limited in their interests; thus, Mrs. Jenkinson was grateful that her status as a companion deterred them from turning their attention to her. Neither expecting nor wanting a proposal, she was concerned for her friend and wondered what Lady Catherine might do if Anne was not betrothed by year’s end.

  ≈≈≈

  June 9, 1811

  “I should very much like to see Hertfordshire on horseback,” Georgiana said as she walked with Elizabeth after Sunday services.

  “Ah, well, Jane is the horsewoman in the Bennet family.”

  “Do you not ride?”

  “I know how to ride but find little pleasure in it; I am a walker. And, as you have no doubt noticed, Longbourn does not boast a fine stable.”

  “When you visit Pemberley, you will be able to see much more of it if you are on horseback,” Darcy said, joining the ladies.

  “Will I be visiting Pemberley?” Elizabeth asked shyly.

  “I hope so,” Georgiana said eagerly.

  “As do I,” Darcy said.

  “When I meet a horse who enjoys walking as much as I do, I may take up riding, but only on such a creature.”

  ≈≈≈

  As the Darcys rode back to Netherfield, Georgiana asked, “Do you think Elizabeth would get on well with Molly?”

  “Our Molly at Darcy House? That’s a very good idea.”

  “When Elizabeth visits Pemberley, as I am determined she must, we must show our home at its best.”

  “I agree. I shall send for Molly.”

  Hesitantly, Georgiana introduced a topic that had been much in her thoughts. “Brother, I know we came here to help Mr. Bingley court Jane, but I suspect you are here for other reasons, as well. Clearly, you like Elizabeth, but I cannot discern your intentions. Do you plan to court her?”

  “Do you speak as a friend who wishes to ease my burdens?” he teased.

  “I am speaking as a sister who wishes to promote your suit—a sister who hopes Elizabeth will join our family.”

  “A few months ago, I thought I loved her. Looking back, I see that I was merely infatuated because Elizabeth is so different from the ladies of the ton. Now, I know I love her.”

  “When will you tell her?”

  “I love her,” Darcy repeated, enjoying the sound. “But until I am certain she regards me as more than a friend, I won’t reveal myself. I hesitate for all our sakes, as I do not want Elizabeth to be uneasy in our company if she does not share my feelings.”

  ≈≈≈

  Sunday dinner with the Bennets was a feast of all the best of summer’s bounty—and it was a pleasantly calm evening. Mrs. Bennet showed that she deserved her reputation for setting a fine table; Mr. Bennet troubled himself to converse with his guests; and no one mentioned Lydia, who took dinner on a tray in her room. So that the table would have an even number without the colonel, Mrs. Bennet invited Ainsworth, who was very pleased to spend the evening with Mary in this congenial setting.

  ≈≈≈

  Late on Sunday night in Cornwall, Castle Fal was, at long last, quiet. The day had been a trial for everyone as the Trelawneys settled in. Sulky words had been uttered from breakfast through dinner as various family members realized they had left behind some favorite item or that they could not obtain something which could have been gotten with ease in London.

  Although Castle Fal was well-maintained, it had received few improvements over the past century. Lady Penelope’s room in the north tower provided a beautiful view of the River Fal when the sun was out. However, the walls, which were more than four feet thick, were always cool and often damp to the touch, and the musty, wet-stone smell was pervasive.

  “Estar silencioso como una tumba—as silent as a tomb,” her ladyship muttered, wondering if she alone was still awake. Tonight, she was regretting having promised to remain until Gwen gave birth. Was it scarcely twenty-four hours ago that I made such a vow to Cadan? There is such restlessness in me!

  Wearing a heavy cotton nightgown, a dressing gown, and a dark plaid woolen shawl that had been a gift from her mother many years ago, Lady Penelope sat in her bed and savored a glass of port. This was not her first drink of spirits for the evening; she had drunk several glasses of wine with dinner. Nor was this her first glass from the bottle of port she kept in her trunk. With the first pour, she had felt relaxed; then as she drank her second glass, she slipped into a brown study, reflecting on her life.

  When Lady Penelope and her husband sent Renata to live with the Trelawneys, Salvador had arranged for h
is daughter to bring not only her own dowry but significantly more gold besides. He assured his wife, “We have enough wealth in Salamanca to live comfortably. And with the uncertainty of war, it is wise to have resources in two countries.” Thus, although their home and all their possessions in Spain had been destroyed by the French, Lady Penelope and her daughter still had more than enough funds to support themselves. Raising her glass in toast, she murmured, “Bless you for your foresight, Salvador, my darling.”

  By her third glass of port, her ladyship found herself speculating on her future. She did not wish to live in either a city as busy as London or region as rural as Cornwall. The only other places she knew well were central Spain and southern Scotland; the former was too dangerous, and the latter was too cold.

  As Lady Penelope filled her glass for the fourth time (something she had never done before), she found herself wondering where Fitzwilliam would choose to live. He was often in her thoughts. Tonight, in the golden glow of the fireplace, which was the only light in the room, she considered Christopher Fitzwilliam the man—the kindred spirit—rather than Colonel Fitzwilliam, her comrade in flight.

  I suspect I am in my cups, although it is difficult to measure one’s own sobriety. If I were a man, would I feel this … ? Oh, heavens, how do I feel? I am certain to stumble if I were to try to walk. But what is in my heart? I feel sad—oh goodness, am I in the throes—

  Lady Penelope paused to suppress a small belch; then she resumed her musings. The throes of self-pity? If I were a man, would I feel self-pity? No, this will not do! I have choices … although Master Penn would have more choices. He could do anything. He could write a letter to a gentleman—as an equal! Where is my travel desk?

  ≈≈≈

  June 10, 1811

  It was nearly noon when Lady Penelope, having dispensed with her stays and wearing her most comfortable morning dress, carefully made her way to the breakfast room. There she found Lady Trelawney sitting at the dining table, poring over pages of lists and notes. Upon noticing her sister-in-law, she rose quickly, her pregnant belly bumping against the table. “Penelope, are you ill? Goodness, I thought you had breakfasted and gone for a walk. As you see, the sideboard has been cleared.”