Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  “Ah, you still play that little game from your childhood, do you?” she said, laughing.

  “When we were at Rosings, Darcy proposed, and the lady—her name is Elizabeth Bennet—said ‘no.’ But at a ball last Friday, she and Darcy became betrothed. And remind me to tell you and Father about an attempt to compromise Miss Bennet and myself with the assistance of skittish goat. Miss Bennet’s father, a gentleman, has a small estate in Hertfordshire.”

  “A small estate and a family name unfamiliar to me. Are the Bennets well off?”

  “Not especially.”

  “A young woman without a title or a fortune rejected Darcy’s proposal—intriguing. I look forward to meeting her. But about Anne; you say she and Catherine are in town?”

  “According to a letter smuggled out of De Bourgh House.”

  “Christopher, first you arrive without notice; next you tell me Darcy is engaged; and now you say Catherine and Anne are in town and that Anne needs rescuing. Quite a few surprises from someone who wandered in scarcely ten minutes ago.”

  “So you have not heard from either of the ladies?”

  “Not a word. As you know, your aunt and I are not close. But London in summer? Perhaps Catherine does not know we are in town. Your father and I are only here because of some fuss with a neighbor—well, never mind. It is not important.”

  “Aunt Catherine is determined to marry off Anne, whether Anne wishes it or not.” Producing the letters from his cousin and her companion, the colonel offered them to his mother.

  Lady Fitzwilliam frowned. “This page is torn from a book! Anne does sound desperate … and for her companion to be abruptly dismissed. What do you wish to do, Christopher?”

  “Remove Anne from Aunt Catherine’s grasp.”

  She regarded him from under a raised brow. “How?”

  “I was hoping you would join me on a visit to De Bourgh House—just a casual call so I can see the situation for myself.”

  “I have an appointment with my modiste tomorrow morning, but we can go afterward—say one o’clock? Although this could be nothing more than a mother-daughter dispute, one can read between the lines, and the story there is a rather unsettling one.”

  “If we agree we need to act on Anne’s behalf, will you invite the ladies to dine on Thursday? Anne will be easier to rescue if she is in our territory.”

  Smiling at his choice of words, Lady Fitzwilliam looked around her elegantly decorated sitting room. “Ah, yes, our territory. You do realize tomorrow is Tuesday, which makes for short notice for an invitation. Catherine might decline.”

  “Say ‘no’ to you? Father says he has never seen you take ‘no’ for an answer when you did not wish to.”

  “Where will you take Anne after this rescue?”

  “Hertfordshire. Darcy has leased a place, and Georgiana is there as well.”

  Lady Fitzwilliam re-read the letters. “I am glad Anne is willing to make this break. I didn’t think she had such boldness in her.”

  “It seems she took impertinence lessons from Darcy’s fiancée.”

  “Now I am even more eager to meet this young miss.” Lady Fitzwilliam studied her son’s face for a moment. “Something else is on your mind.”

  “I have another request. It involves Lady Penelope.”

  “I was wondering when you would mention her.”

  “Lord Trelawney and his wife are still in Cornwall, but Lady Penelope and her youngest brothers —twins—should be in London for awhile. Might you invite them to dine on Thursday, too? We could imply to Lady Catherine the twins are husband material.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that having Lady Penelope join us for dinner is part of your plan to rescue Anne?”

  “Exactly. Precisely,” Fitzwilliam kissed her cheek. “You are the best of mothers.”

  She laughed. “Please change for dinner. And wash, sir, you smell of horse.”

  At the doorway, Fitzwilliam paused, having finally made a decision about a matter he had been reluctant to voice. “Mother, once this situation with Anne is resolved, I should like to discuss the dower property in the Hebrides you once offered to me.”

  Lady Fitzwilliam’s satisfied smile lasted only an instant before it was replaced by an expression that could almost be described as “disinterested.” Picking up her newspaper again, she said, “I am happy to discuss any topic you wish.”

  38

  “There is plenty of time to disappoint each other after you are married!”

  July 23, 1811

  Upon arriving at De Bourgh House, Fitzwilliam was relieved to see the door knocker was on display. “They are accepting visitors,” he said, handing his mother out of the coach.

  “If one wishes to have suitors call, one must accept visitors.” Lady Fitzwilliam tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “By the bye, I did send a dinner invitation to Trelawney Hall. Perhaps an answer will be waiting when we return home.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Moving with soldierly bearing, the colonel led her to the door.

  “Are there any topics we should either introduce or avoid?”

  “No. We are simply here to get the lay of the land.”

  “No hand-to-hand combat? No charging the battlements? Excellent. These shoes are only suitable for a fair-weather stroll.”

  When the butler opened the door, a look of surprise flashed across this face before he managed to school his countenance into a neutral expression. “Hello, Spicer,” Fitzwilliam said, gently pushing past him with his mother still holding his arm.

  “Lady Fitzwilliam, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” Spicer bowed. “I shall see if her ladyship is in.”

  “Or dear Anne, if you please. It has been far too long since I have seen my niece.”

  Spicer acknowledged Lady Fitzwilliam’s request with a nod and started up the ornate staircase. Glancing upwards, the Colonel caught a glimpse of Lady Catherine quickly stepping out of view. Loudly he called, “Aunt Catherine, how fortunate you are home!”

  Reluctantly, her ladyship stepped forward again. “Amanda, Christopher, good day.”

  From elsewhere upstairs, there was the sound of a door banging open and footsteps running toward them. A moment later, Anne appeared at the top of the stairs, looking very relieved. “Christopher, how wonderful! And you have brought my favorite aunt!” she said breathlessly. Hurrying down the stairs, she added over her shoulder, “Mama, shall we have tea in the small parlor? It has such a lovely view of the garden.” As she embraced her aunt, she whispered, “Thank you, thank you!”

  Next, Anne embraced the colonel, who murmured in her ear, “Mrs. Jenkinson is well.”

  “Bless you!” she whispered and tightened her embrace.

  Spicer looked at Lady Catherine, who nodded, resigned to spending a half-hour with her sister-in-law and nephew. “Come along, Anne,” she said as she led the way. “Kindly do not be so demonstrative in future. It is not seemly.”

  As Anne prepared cups of tea for all, Lady Catherine said, “Unfortunately, Amanda, we do not have much time for family visits. Anne is expecting suitors, you see.”

  “Ah, how exciting! You are looking well, Catherine. And, Anne, you look,” Lady Fitzwilliam hesitated for the merest instant as she took in her niece’s tired face and tense expression, “quite lovely in that dress. Apricot suits you, dear.”

  “Thank you,” Anne murmured.

  “I did not know until recently you were in town. Your trips to London are so rare, I would have welcomed you with a party.”

  “How did you hear of our presence?” Lady Catherine asked.

  Meeting his mother’s eyes, Fitzwilliam held his breath. If she knows I told you, she’ll suspect Anne managed to send a letter.

  “Christopher, I showed you the mention of the De Bourghs in the society column, did I not?” Turning to her sister-in-law, she said, “Of course, you will be mentioned in the newspapers and by mutual friends, Catherine. Your estate is Rosings!”

  “Anne and I have been very busy,�
�� Lady Catherine said before adding the contradiction, “London is positively moribund this time of year.” Glaring at her nephew, she said, “I suppose you told your mother that Darcy broke his engagement with Anne.”

  “I did.”

  Lady Catherine said, “Wretched man!”

  Is she describing Darcy or me? Fitzwilliam wondered.

  Lady Catherine continued. “Simply put, Anne wasted too much time waiting for Darcy to come up to scratch. She needs to marry and produce an heir, else the estate will go to my late husband’s cousins. We looked for a suitable match in Bath, but no one worthy of note was there, so we came to London. You know how I detest this city, but everything I do, I do for Anne.”

  “I am certain Mrs. Jenkinson is a great help to you. Where is she?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  “She is visiting family. Nothing more to be said about it,” Lady Catherine replied tersely. With a sly smile, she added, “Your son, Amanda, has a disturbing fondness for ladies from lower social orders, such as Mrs. Jenkinson. For the sake of the family’s reputation, I urge you to counsel him.”

  Fitzwilliam ended the ensuing awkward silence. “Mother knows everyone worth knowing, Aunt Catherine; she could suggest some suitable candidates for Anne’s consideration.”

  “Since our arrival, we have been to numerous social events. I, too, know everyone worth knowing,” Lady Catherine said, raising her chin as if answering a challenge.

  Setting aside his teacup, Fitzwilliam stood and offered Anne his hand. “You said this room overlooks a garden. Show me what is so special about it.” Gratefully, she grasped his hand, and they moved to the window at the far side of the room.

  Lady Fitzwilliam said, “As you do not live in town, Catherine, your information may not be as current as mine. You are family; we are happy to help Anne find an appropriate match.”

  “What sort of help do you have in mind?” Lady Catherine’s tone implied that such assistance would be of dubious value.

  “Let me offer you my modiste; you were unhappy with yours when you last visited.”

  Fitzwilliam could hear his mother distracting Lady Catherine with talk of fashions and a bit of name-dropping. To Anne, he said quietly, “You look terrible. And I say that as a concerned friend, not a rude cousin.”

  “Mother is always angry. And when I confronted her about sending Nora away, she drugged me, and I slept for a full day!” Anne’s eyes were bright with tears. “At dinners, she pushes me into other people’s conversations—it is most embarrassing. Then after each social event, she berates me, telling me what I must do differently, do better. I have never been so wretched!”

  After a quick glance at his mother and aunt, Fitzwilliam gave a loud laugh. Raising his voice, he said, “I swear I do not see the similarities between this and the garden at Rosings.” Leaning close, he whispered, “Your mother keeps glancing at us.”

  Forcing a smile, Anne spoke louder. “Do you not notice the congruence of the colors?”

  “No, but then I am never at Rosings at this time of year.”

  Turning to Lady Catherine, Fitzwilliam asked, “Do you know Lord Trelawney? His brothers are dining with us on Thursday. Anne might enjoy meeting them.” Well, I hope they are coming.

  “No second sons for my daughter!”

  “Mama, in Bath, you encouraged me to practice my social. Even second sons have friends who are first-born sons.”

  Lady Catherine gave her daughter a sour look. “Well, we may be available to come to dinner. I will check my social calendar.”

  “I can think of nothing pleasanter than a dinner with the Fitzwilliams. You have always said, ‘family first’; is that not why we can rely on Christopher’s and Darcy’s visits?” Anne pressed.

  “Catherine, when did you last see Wesley?” Lady Fitzwilliam asked. “It is just you and your brother now.”

  In a resigned voice, Lady Catherine said, “We look forward to dining with you on Thursday night, Amanda.”

  ≈≈≈

  In Hertfordshire, the Laidlaw family was relaxing at the table after the evening meal when Mr. Laidlaw asked Ainsworth to bring in the cows and the goat from the pasture. “No, Owen,” his wife said firmly. “I need Allen here, and you need a walk!”

  Mr. Laidlaw chuckled. “Do I? Fine. I will fetch them myself.”

  After his uncle left, Ainsworth looked expectantly at his aunt. “How can I help?”

  Mrs. Laidlaw slapped his arm lightly. “Let your uncle do some work. You’ll not be with us always, and Owen is getting lazy.”

  “Are you tired of me, Aunt Tessa?”

  “Not a bit. You have been a blessing for us all. The children adore you, and you have made yourself some fancy friends.”

  “The Bennets and their company treat me as one of them.”

  “Of course! You are a gentleman’s son, and a respectable man besides! But had you met Mr. Darcy when he visited last year, he would not have given you the time of day.”

  “So I have heard. What changed him, do you think?”

  “Mr. Bingley, perhaps, although he has also changed for the better. And I can’t disregard the influence of Miss Elizabeth; she was known for giving Mr. Darcy a set-down in her particular way, and now she’s going to marry him.”

  After a pause, Ainsworth asked, “Aunt, what do you think of Miss Mary?”

  She smiled. “Oh, no, sir. What do you think of Miss Mary?”

  “I like her.”

  “Do you really?” his aunt asked dryly.

  “But I’ve no parsonage, no home, and nothing to offer her.”

  “Still, you would like to marry her.”

  “I would, but what if, while I’m searching for a parsonage, some other fellow comes along and courts her? And what if she accepts him because I never told her how I feel?”

  Although Mrs. Laidlaw thought this was unlikely, she asked, “What is the harm in telling Miss Mary of your interest? That way, if she doesn’t feel the same, you’ll learn it now. But if she shares your sentiments, then should another fellow come along, she won’t rush to say ‘yes’ because she fears he is her only choice.”

  “Excellent advice, Aunt Tessa!”

  “If you were of a mood to walk to Longbourn this evening, you could ask if they can spare some, um, dried chamomile … for tea, you know.”

  Grinning, Ainsworth stood. “It won’t be dark for awhile. I am happy to get that for you.”

  ≈≈≈

  Less than an hour later, Ainsworth returned, without the chamomile or his grin. “It seems I have upset Miss Mary.”

  “How? You didn’t say something silly, did you?”

  “I was telling her why I admired her, but with each word, she seemed more uncomfortable. Finally, she ran into the house.”

  Mrs. Laidlaw patted his hand. “I have never heard the Bennets be fulsome in their praise of Mary. Mayhap your compliments surprised her. Do not worry. Give her a day or two to think about what you said. I’ve no doubt she will come ‘round to see you.”

  ≈≈≈

  July 24, 1811

  Mary Bennet looked thoroughly miserable when she visited Netherfield early the next morning. Elizabeth knew her sister’s situation was dire when Mary agreed to take a walk while she discussed her troubles, for Mary preferred to have conversations over tea. As they strolled along the well-worn path through the grove of beech trees behind Netherfield’s stables, Elizabeth waited for her sister to find her voice.

  Finally, Mary wailed, “Mr. Ainsworth thinks I am nice!”

  “But you are nice.”

  “No, I am not! I practice the pianoforte so that I may drown out Mama’s and Lydia’s incessant prattle. I perform in public for my vanity, not for anyone’s pleasure. I take excessive pride in my knowledge of Scripture. And I judge everyone—all the time! Oh, Lizzy, I am not who Mr. Ainsworth thinks I am!”

  Elizabeth hugged her. “Oh, sister, if only you knew!”

  “Knew what?”

  “Of the people in your acquaintance
who have lately realized their characters are not what they thought. Know that I include myself in this lot—and have you noticed our very own Jane tends to speak her mind more than she used to?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Whereas I am learning to accept that my first impressions of others may be wrong. Such as my opinion of Mr. Wickham, who was far worse than I imagined, while Mr. Darcy is far better.”

  Mary wiped tears from her cheeks. “In fairness to your first opinion, Mr. Darcy has improved noticeably.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “He agrees he has changed; I agree he has improved. Now, Sister, as for Mr. Ainsworth, what is your wish?”

  “I wish to marry him.” Mary felt a rush of relief at finally speaking the words aloud. “And I hope he never learns that I am not who he believes me to be, although I truly wish to be nicer, more cheerful, more forgiving.”

  “Perhaps you have a more cheerful and forgiving nature than you know. Believe that the good Mr. Ainsworth sees is in you.”

  “How?”

  “I have come to think our behavior is often a habit we have adopted. We can change if we want to. Thus, when I notice I am forming a fast opinion of someone, I simply remind myself that first impressions are never the whole truth. By bearing this in mind, I am becoming better at sketching character.”

  “So, you do not think I should tell Mr. Ainsworth that I am not who he thinks I am?”

  “Heavens, no! There is plenty of time to disappoint each other after you are married!”

  Mary giggled, but then she recalled her behavior of the previous day. “Oh, what must he think of me? When he was praising me yesterday evening, Lizzy, I ran away.”

  “Talk to him—be impertinent, if you must.” Although if I were in your situation, I would probably write him a letter.

  “I shall! I shall talk to him today!” As Mary hugged Elizabeth, she said, “I nearly forgot—Sunday is your birthday. It is your last birthday as a single lady and the first day of your majority!”

  “So it is. I suppose I should do something special to mark the occasion. I shall have to think about it. And you, Mary, must think about what you want to tell Mr. Ainsworth.”