by J P Christy
Hoping to lighten the mood, Jane said, “It is true Mr. Darcy is more amiable than he was in the past, and I believe he has changed because of you, although I cannot guess what sorcery you used. What was your secret?”
With a rueful shake of her head, Elizabeth said, “My secret—our secrets, his and mine—are that he proposed to me at Rosings and that I rudely rejected him! Then I wrote a letter demanding he examine his assumptions about, well, various things.”
“Such as his assumption about my regard for Charles?”
“Yes, I challenged his judgment about you.”
“And what of your assumptions about him?” Jane asked gently. “Are you prepared to examine those?”
“I owe him that,” she agreed. Rising slowly, she said, “You have given me much to consider. Thank you, Jane.”
“You are my passionate, optimistic, clever sister, Lizzy,” Jane said, standing to embrace her. “When you reflect, I know you will be fair-minded in your considerations.”
≈≈≈
The summer twilight had dissolved into darkness by the time Darcy returned to Purvis Lodge. Standing in the foyer, he heard Georgiana playing the pianoforte. Peeking into the drawing room, he saw Fitzwilliam relaxing to the pleasing sounds of a piece by Haydn, his sister’s current favorite. With a sigh, Darcy sat in a chair near the open doorway but out of sight of those in the drawing room. His mood had shifted from an anger born of fear for Georgiana to a fear born of confusion regarding Elizabeth.
What would marriage between us be like? Do we truly have such different ideas of our life together? Darcy considered Caroline Bingley and ladies of her ilk, whose interests were limited to creating an elegant home, a fashionable image, and entertainments to assure their place among their peers.
Then he thought of Lady Fitzwilliam. Aunt Amanda is active in a wide range of matters, both political and social. When Uncle Wesley was ill with severe gout, she assumed control of the estate quite competently. Granted, her sons and I were ready to assist, yet it was she who consulted with the steward about the day-to-day operations, including the removal of the old stable and the construction of the new one.
Darcy’s thoughts turned to Georgiana; she had not expressed an interest in the management of Pemberley, but she was young and—he realized—she had not been offered an opportunity to participate beyond making minor decorating decisions. He saw that once again, he had made assumptions as to what those around him needed and wanted. Georgiana has certainly thrived with the responsibilities she has taken on in Hertfordshire.
Recalling his sister’s words about what he sought in a wife, Darcy reflected on the qualities he had enumerated to her and Fitzwilliam: Intelligent, enjoys reading, has a kind and caring heart, is from a good family, and witty but not too witty. Now he wondered whether this was all he truly wanted. Never once had he considered adding “helpmate” to the list, yet in such capacity, Elizabeth would share his concerns, thereby lessening his burdens. In part, it was her willingness to take action on behalf of others which distinguished her from the ladies who had not captured his heart: her effort to reveal Wickham’s character to his commanding officer, her visits to Longbourn’s tenants, and her sincere interest in the welfare of Anne and Georgiana.
At once, Darcy apprehended that when he pictured married life with Elizabeth, all his imaginings had limited her to the personal sphere: playing the pianoforte for him in the music room, entertaining his guests in the salon, presiding over his dinner parties, and loving him in the master’s suite. He had never considered what her intelligence and liveliness could bring to the public sphere of his life.
Elizabeth’s inquisitive nature will undoubtedly provide me with new viewpoints. And I have no doubt she will also promote my viewpoints when I can persuade her of the rightness of them. At any rate, with her by my side, my life will be richer than it is now … assuming she still consents to marry me. Assuming I have not frightened her away.
Leaning back in the chair, Darcy closed his eyes and let the music soothe him to the depths of his soul. If I send Georgiana to London, I will not have these moments. I have kept myself apart from her too much. I assumed we could not understand each other because she is younger, because she is female, and because I have had to be a parent to her. I have missed much because of these foolish notions.
When Darcy realized the composition was coming to an end, he rose, tugged at his waistcoat to straighten it, and entered the salon. Fitzwilliam grinned at him. “Are you only now returning? Did you get lost?”
“I was enjoying the music from the foyer; I did not wish to interrupt.” Crossing to his sister, he kissed her temple. “Your playing is one of the great joys of my life, Georgiana.”
“Thank you,” she said, blushing, for such specific approval from her brother was rare. Privately, she believed he had only a casual understanding of whom she had grown to be.
Darcy poured himself a brandy before sitting on the sofa. “What will you play next?”
Hesitantly, Georgiana asked, “Are you angry with me about today? I do not believe I did anything wrong, but Christopher and I have talked, and I agree it would be sensible to have a footman accompany me, even when I am with the other ladies.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, dearest. I could not bear it if you came to harm.
For several moments, Georgiana waited anxiously, expecting her brother to place other restrictions on her; when none came, she rose. “I have a ball to help prepare for tomorrow, so I shall go to bed now.”
Darcy felt rather than saw Fitzwilliam’s gaze as he said, “I am certain Mrs. Bingley relies on your excellent taste.” Feeling giddy with relief, Georgiana said her goodnights and hurried upstairs.
Fitzwilliam wondered what influence Elizabeth had had in this matter. Still, his cousin’s demeanor indicated all was not well. “To clarify, you will not send Georgiana away before the ball?”
“No. Such an action would lead to a serious rift, but without any benefit to justify it.”
“And after the ball, will you send her to my parents?”
“Let us see what transpires over the next few days.”
“Fair enough.”
Fitzwilliam poured himself a brandy and, for awhile, the gentlemen savored their drinks in silence. At last, Darcy asked, “Do you think Miss Elizabeth will be happy if she marries me?”
“Have you any reason to believe she will not be?”
“She will be leaving a simpler life where she has freedoms that would not be appropriate to her role as Mrs. Darcy.”
“I am not certain what you mean.”
“She is accustomed to being useful, not merely decorative.”
“Would you want Elizabeth to be ‘merely’ decorative?”
“Of course not. But this is not about what I want; it is about what the ton will countenance.”
“For the moment, let us consider only what you andMiss Elizabeth want.”
“I want to marry her and live happily ever after—for both of us to live happily ever after. I admire her for being useful and active, but I fear she will be censured for her independence.”
“Censured by whom? My dear mother is one of the most useful and active persons I know of either sex. She is also a respected and influential member of the ton. You can depend on her to be your wife’s champion. And do not underestimate Elizabeth’s ability to win people to her.”
“She is rather irresistible,” Darcy said with a sigh.
“At your disposal is a powerful tool—or a weapon, if you prefer—of which you have never made good use. I blame Aunt Catherine for that; you have been so inculcated with notions of what you owe your class, you have overlooked the fact that this door swings both ways. It is high time to consider what society owes to you. With your wealth and reputation, you are in a better position than most to set your own course, and as you are an honorable man, the course you chart will be an honorable one. The people worth knowing will approve of Elizabeth if you demonstrate with your w
ords and deeds she is your choice.”
Darcy took a large swallow of brandy. “It has occurred to me that my dealings with others require more negotiations than I previously thought.”
“Then you have not noticed your behavior of late.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was a negotiation with Anne that resulted in your confrontation with Aunt Catherine. And a negotiation with Bingley that brought you to Hertfordshire. One could even say it was a negotiation with Miss Lydia that led to our attempt to capture Wickham.”
At that unhappy reminder, Darcy groaned. “William Collins is as idiotic a creature as it has ever been my misfortune to know! Where is the divine justice in my being afflicted with Wickham, Collins, Caroline Bingley, and Aunt Catherine?”
Fitzwilliam smiled sadly. “As a soldier, I can tell you that if there is such a thing as divine justice, I have never seen it.”
≈≈≈
Lying in the dark, Elizabeth found herself quietly speaking to Darcy as if he were present, just as she had done months earlier at Hunsford Parsonage. “I let my temper get the better of me again. I should have allowed time for your fears and anger to dissipate. Just as Charles proved to Jane that his regret was sincere and his devotion was real, you have proven your willingness to listen to me—well, to hear my written words. I do love you. If I am to take you as my husband, then I must believe you love me enough to for us to work through our differences.”
≈≈≈
July 18, 1811
On Thursday afternoon after her piano lesson, Anne drifted out to the stables at De Bourgh House. She had fantasized about escaping to Fitzwilliam House on horseback. However, even if she had not been closely watched by the household staff, such a flight would have been impossible; she had never learned to ride, and her beloved phaeton was at Rosings. Still, she found comfort in the company of her mother’s carriage horses.
Michaels, a recent hire at De Bourgh House, was sitting on a stool just inside the open stable door, trying to clean a shoe with a handful of straw. He was the first mulatto Anne had ever met, and she guessed that this man with the intelligent eyes, reserved countenance, and lean form was in his early twenties. Michaels was treated with suspicion by some of the servants, yet Anne felt a kinship with him. Perhaps because he—like me—has no one to confide in. Although she had exchanged only a few words with him, he did not avoid her as some servants did, fearing they would be sacked should Lady Catherine suspect they were more loyal to her daughter than to herself.
When Michaels looked up from his task and saw Anne, he gave her one of his rare smiles. She smiled back and asked, “Is this yet another of your talents, sir?”
“Our Mr. Spicer was not watching where he put his foot, and a horse had been there earlier.”
“Oh, what a pity—I hope the shoe is ruined! No, for then he would likely blame you for an error of his own making. I will find some other unpleasant thing to hope upon him.”
Michaels was surprised. “Why? That is, I know why I don’t like him, but he fawns over Lady Catherine. Does he not show you the same deference?”
“Spicer is my mother’s creature.”
Quietly, he said, “Some say you are a bird in a golden cage.”
“Exactly so. I have no friends here. My relatives do not call, and I suspect they are unaware Mama and I are in town. The servants scarcely speak to me for fear that fire will rain down on their heads.” Anne sighed. “If only I could get a letter to my cousins.”
After a long silence, Michaels asked, “Do you have such a letter to send?”
Anne regarded him with interest. “I could,” she whispered. “Would you post it?”
Michaels shook his head, no. “That’s not one of my duties. But I could put it in, say, a shoe that needed repair. This shoe would be given to Mrs. Peake’s son, Toby, to deliver to a shoemaker. Perhaps Toby or the shoemaker would find the letter and post it with no one being the wiser.”
Scarcely daring to hope, she asked, “Is there a shoe in need of repair?”
Michaels glanced around the stable. Confirming no one was nearby, he grasped the heel of Spicer’s shoe and wrenched it so that it dangled from the sole, attached by only one small nail. “I will take this shoe to Mrs. Peake shortly. Tomorrow, Toby will deliver the order for the larder and run errands for the household.
If you can get a letter to Mrs. Peake tonight or in the morning, she can put it in the shoe and give it to Toby.”
≈≈≈
In her room, Anne eagerly checked the books in her bookcase until she found one containing a blank page at the end. Tearing out the page, she wrote a short letter with a pencil she had found in the back of a drawer in the desk in the library.
That evening when the maid brought Anne’s tea tray to the kitchen, Spicer checked under cup, the saucer, and the napkin for any note which might be secreted there, as this was one of his duties. Finding nothing, he gave the tray to Mrs. Peake and left.
Once she was certain Spicer was gone, the housekeeper looked inside the teapot, which had been emptied of all liquid and carefully dried. Finding a folded paper there, Mrs. Peake pocketed it and strolled out the back door. Seeing Spicer’s broken shoe on the steps leading to the stable yard, she picked it up and exclaimed loudly to no one in particular, “What has happened to this shoe? What a bother! I shall have my Toby take it to be fixed.”
≈≈≈
July 19, 1811
When Anne awoke, she felt more hopeful than she had in days. Upon entering the kitchen, she hesitated near the door. Spicer, who was overseeing the preparation of Lady Catherine’s breakfast tray, said, “You should not be here, Miss De Bourgh. I shall send a maid to see to you.”
“And I would not be here, Mr. Spicer, if I did not have something important to tell Mrs. Peake.” At her declaration, both the butler and the housekeeper looked at her expectantly. Taking a steadying breath, Anne said, “It is about the pound cake. I know it is a costly item, but I would be most appreciative if you would prepare it every day. By the time I finish my breakfast, there will be none left. None left—but I know I will wish to have some with my tea later. Need I discuss the cost with Mama?”
“Allow me to mention it for you,” Spicer said.
Smiling at the butler, Anne said, “This house would not run half so well without you.” She returned to the dining room and took her usual seat at the table, facing a window that gave her a view of the world beyond. Spicer followed a moment later; because Anne was sitting with her back to the sideboard, he was certain she did not see him check under the plate containing the pound cake. No note. I shall tell her ladyship that all is well.
A short time after Anne had quit the dining room, Mrs. Peake entered and studied the dishes on the sideboard. Glancing at the now-empty plate that had held pound cake, she thought, None left,none left. Turning her attention to the right of the plate, she regarded the small serving tray with low feet; this tray contained only a single sausage in a pool of congealed grease. Under the tray, she found a slim paper packet, which she pocketed quickly. Later, in the privacy of her room, she opened the packet.
Mrs. Peake did not know the gold locket she held was the one Anne had given to Mrs. Jenkinson. As with Anne’s letter, the paper wrapped around the locket was torn from a book, and in the margin of the printed page, Anne had written, “I have no money. Sell this to pay for an express messenger.”
≈≈≈
When Bingley mentioned that Jane had invited the Hursts and Caroline to the Netherfield ball, Darcy had mixed feelings. He was ashamed he had allowed Bingley’s sisters to separate their brother from Jane. Still, Darcy wanted them to know he now supported the match wholeheartedly, and he was curious as to their attitudes, particularly Caroline’s, toward the marriage.
There was a rainstorm on the morning before the ball, which precluded any early-morning walks for Darcy and Elizabeth. However, by the time the Hurst’s carriage arrived at Netherfield that afternoon, the July sun was
shining brightly. Jane and Bingley were waiting to greet their guests, who were eager to be in the fresh air.
Emerging from the coach first, Clive Hurst handed out his wife; Louisa Hurst was all smiles as she hurried to greet her brother’s bride. “Mrs. Bingley—Jane—it has been so long since I have seen you!”
“Yes, last January, I believe. Welcome back to Netherfield,” Jane said politely. She knew that Louisa knew that everyone knew the Bingley sisters had snubbed her when she was in London from January until early May, so she regarded her sisters-in-law with an amused air.
Clive handed out Caroline, but when she remained near the coach, he moved past her to greet his hosts. “You are looking very well, Mrs. Bingley, as is Charles here,” he said sincerely. “Clearly, marriage to you agrees with him. I thank you for inviting us.”
“Our pleasure,” Bingley said.
In dramatic tones, Caroline said, “We were quite happy to leave London; it was sweltering.”
“Is this a new fashion in greetings?” Bingley asked coolly.
“Please excuse my manners,” Caroline murmured. “It is nice to see you both again.”
“Welcome, Caroline,” Jane said; turning on her heel, she led the way into the manor.
As Mrs. Pimset was escorting the Hursts to their rooms, Caroline, who was trailing the Hursts, paused on the stairs. “Charles, are not Mr. and Miss Darcy your guests?”
“They were, but they recently leased an estate nearby.”
“Our only guest is my sister Elizabeth,” Jane said sweetly, but her look was a dare.
“Ah, Miss Eliza—how delightful. Is she out walking now?”
“She and Georgiana and our friend Charlotte Collins are decorating the ballroom. Lizzy and Georgiana have become very close.”
