Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  ≈≈≈

  It was late afternoon before Mary felt ready to see Ainsworth again. In the small basket on her arm, she carried a muslin bag of dried chamomile and a cherry tart. This was the third tart she had made that day (under Hill’s guidance), but it was the first she deemed sufficiently appealing for her mission.

  At the Laidlaw farm, Mary found the lady of the house sitting on the porch in a rocking chair, mending socks in the bright sunlight. When Mary said she wished to speak to Mr. Ainsworth, his aunt nodded at the path leading to the pasture through a grove of hornbeam, ash, and oaks. “Allen is cutting wood for mending the fence. Look for him there.”

  Mary turned toward the path but remembered the muslin bag. “Your chamomile.”

  “What, dear? Oh, yes, the chamomile. Thank you.” Mrs. Laidlaw accepted the bag.

  “I forgot to give it to Mr. Ainsworth yesterday. I hope you were not inconvenienced.”

  “Not at all.” As Mary walked away, Mrs. Laidlaw murmured, “It is nice to be right.”

  ≈≈≈

  At the edge of the pasture, Ainsworth was sorting thick branches for repairing the stack fence. Seeing him now, Mary blushed, feeling ill-prepared for the conversation she hoped to have; then she reminded herself to be proudly impertinent. Loudly she called, “Good day, sir.”

  At the sound of her voice, he turned warily. “Good day.”

  “I have brought you a cherry tart made by my own hands.”

  She feels as nervous as I do, he realized, and the thought calmed him. “Do you bake, Miss Mary? And you, a gentleman’s daughter.” Wiping his hands on his breeches, he crossed to her.

  “It is a new skill, Mr. Ainsworth, and I have found great satisfaction in it.” She held out the paper-wrapped tart to him.

  Recognizing it as an attempt at reconciliation, he accepted it. “I am honored to receive this.”

  “It is both a gift and an apology, sir.”

  “An apology? For what?”

  “For running away. No one has ever spoken to me with such approval. I felt unworthy and did not know how to behave.”

  “I am saddened, Miss Mary, that you have not been regarded with the respect you deserve!”

  Be bold! she exhorted herself. “Your kind estimation of my good qualities has made me want to be the lady you say I am.”

  Ainsworth gave her with a loving smile. “I believe personal transformations are best facilitated by daily reminders. It would be my privilege to remind you on a daily basis.” She looked at him, scarcely believing his implication. He added, “I shall ask only for a courtship, as my future is unsettled. I have yet to find a parsonage, so I can scarcely expect you to give me your hand.”

  “A courtship. I would like that.”

  Ainsworth took a bite of the pastry and declared truthfully, “It is the best cherry tart I have ever eaten.” He offered it to Mary so she could take a bite. “After we finish this, shall we walk to Longbourn? I wish to speak to your father.”

  ≈≈≈

  On Thursday evening, Lady Penelope and her brothers Gryffyn and Hedrek were warmly welcomed by Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam and their sons Christopher and Henry. The latter was the most scholarly of the three Fitzwilliam scions; at age twenty, Henry was only two years younger than the twins. As for Gryffyn and Hedrek, they were amiable, confident men, eager to show their maturity. Thus, while most in the party were strangers to each other, all were disposed to be friendly company.

  Within a very short time of the Trelawneys’ arrival, the colonel drew Lady Penelope away, ostensibly to admire a painting over the fireplace. Lady Fitzwilliam gave the pair an approving glance and then claimed the attention of the other guests by guiding the conversation with the skill of a consummate hostess. Thank heaven Catherine and Anne aren’t here yet! she thought.

  This was the first time Fitzwilliam had been in Lady Penelope’s company since their exchange of letters, so there was a hint of shyness in him. “It is above two months since we met. You look well, madam. And how is your progress at Trelawney Hall?”

  “Fortunately, Cadan’s butler, Quince, returned to London with the twins and me, so my part in readying the nursery has been limited to making decisions about fabrics and colors. Quince is a near-magical being who ensures our decisions are carried out. Are you still with your friends in Hertfordshire?”

  “I am.” Although I would rather be with you.

  “And what is your progress as an investigator and a cupid?”

  “Quite good. Today, I submitted my report to the army about the poisonous horse tonic. Also, Mr. Bingley has married his lady love, and my cousin Darcy has been accepted by his lady love. Of course, I take full credit for all of these excellent outcomes.”

  “You are a man of many talents.” I have missed you.

  “Will your family stay in Cornwall much longer?”

  “Most likely until October. Gwen’s baby is due in September or so, and I have promised to remain until the birth. Thus, if the preparations at Trelawney Hall continue on schedule, we shall leave for Cornwall within a fortnight.”

  “I pray all will be well for your brother’s family. Will you … do you plan to live with them for the foreseeable future?” He lowered his voice, “Or will you be searching for a vessel to serve Master Penn’s ambitions as a privateer?”

  Lady Penelope blushed and looked away. “I have a confession, sir. I recall very little of the first letter Master Penn sent you.”

  Fitzwilliam touched her arm lightly so that she would face him again, which she did. He said, “Someday, I will show it to you, as it is one of my dearest possessions. There is not a word, not a syllable in it that merits embarrassment, I assure you. Truly, it was thoroughly charming.”

  Taking a steadying breath, Lady Penelope met Fitzwilliam’s gaze and introduced a new topic. “Over the past months, I have become an Englishwoman again. I did not realize how ‘Spanish’ I had become from my time in Salamanca. When you kindly delivered me to Trelawney Hall a year ago—”

  “Nearly a year. It was the twenty-first of August.”

  Lady Penelope was pleased he had noted the date. “I was still mourning the loss of Salvador then, but lately I have felt a renewed interest in the future, in my future.” After a pause, she said, “I look forward to having a husband and a home again. Need I say my preference is for the right husband and the right home?”

  “No such qualification is necessary.”

  “I assume you are still in the army,” she said softly.

  “Yes, for now. But I am investigating other prospects so that I can offer a lady—need I say the right lady?—a home worthy of her. I look forward to the day when I trade my regimentals for the somewhat duller coat of a gentleman farmer.” He held her gaze, and there was no mistaking the hopes of either of them.

  Lady Penelope gave him an arch look. “How can it be that the son of an English earl must investigate prospects for himself?”

  “Alas—a second son. However, my mother once offered me her dower property, a small estate in the Hebrides, the rock-strewn highlands of northern Scotland.”

  “And you declined?”

  “Are you familiar with the Hebrides and the clouds of biting midges? Consider the difficulties of taking my wife to the theater!”

  “Have I never told you my mother was Scottish and that I received a university education of sorts, unofficially, of course, at the University of Glasgow.”

  “Oh, well, Glasgow is nice,” Fitzwilliam said, chastened.

  “I believe a man’s character and temperament are of more consequence than his properties or his profession. Still, having been widowed by the fortunes of war, I do not wish to suffer such a tragedy again.”

  “Perfectly understandable.”

  “As well you know, I left Spain with only a portmanteau. However, do not think of me as a penniless widow. When my husband and I sent Renata to England, Salvador saw to it that she carried both her dowry and other funds besides. He was more aware than
I of the danger surrounding us.”

  “While I did not doubt Lord Trelawney would take care of you, I am happy you have some independence in this matter.”

  “Salvador and I were compañeros, building a life together, sharing not only respect and love but also the material things we each brought to our marriage.”

  “Compañeros … partners,” he murmured the translation.

  “When I marry again, I expect my new husband and I will also be compañeros.” Lady Penelope’s gaze was intense. Do you understand what I am saying, Christopher? That I will share what I have with you so we can be together?

  Fitzwilliam did not comprehend her meaning, but before he could reflect upon it, Samuels announced the arrival of Lady Catherine De Bourgh and Miss Anne De Bourgh. Automatically, Lady Penelope turned to look at the newcomers, and the colonel leaned near and asked quietly, “May I tell you a secret?”

  “What is your secret?” she whispered, wondering, Is this about us and your plans to leave the army?

  “Tomorrow, I will rescue my cousin Anne from a gorgon.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Sir?”

  “Forgive me, but I have used the presence of your brothers to induce my terrible aunt to bring her daughter here. And I have used my desperate cousin as an excuse to see you.”

  Ah, he does not understand what I meant; well, we will discuss this again when he has resolved this family matter. With a small smile, Lady Penelope said, “Very strategic, Colonel.”

  Well before the end of dinner—an awkward affair—Lady Penelope realized Fitzwilliam’s description of Lady Catherine as a gorgon was not an exaggeration. At times, her ladyship spoke as if Anne were not present, laying out her ambitions for her daughter. Yet with her next breath, she would criticize Anne for some minor matter. When she declared that her daughter would not receive Rosings until she had the right husband to oversee the estate, Anne, looking weary and anxious, made no response.

  Soon, the other guests were trying to guide the conversation on Anne’s behalf; they asked her opinions of her time in London, and they attempted to distract Lady Catherine from her criticisms. Lady Fitzwilliam led discussions of fashion and humorous gossip. Lady Penelope asked Anne to recommend some authors, as she wished to take some books back to Cornwall. However, when Gryffyn and Hedrek entertained Anne with stories of their childhood, Lady Catherine interrupted, declaring that her daughter would only marry a first-born son with a title and an estate.

  The twins, neither of whom was interested in courting Anne, exchanged surprised looks at this. It was Henry Fitzwilliam who broke the stunned silence with a self-deprecating remark about being a younger son, and although the resulting laughter was a bit forced, it lightened the mood.

  When the dessert course was served, the colonel said he had recently acquired a fine bottle of port, which would be the perfect complement to the baked apple pudding and nougat almond cake. Excusing himself for a moment, he returned with a tray of glasses, and insisted that everyone have a drink.

  By the time Lady Catherine finished her port, she was nodding sleepily in her chair, in danger of planting her forehead into her half-eaten dish of apple pudding. Thus, it was left to two footmen and a maid to assist her to a bedroom in the guest wing.

  Lady Penelope glanced at her own glass of port—now half empty—and then looked a question at Fitzwilliam. With a reassuring smile, he raised his glass to her.

  A short while later, when Anne asked to be excused, Lady Fitzwilliam said in kindly tones, “Certainly, my dear; you look quite done in. There is a bedroom prepared for you in the family wing. If you need anything, the servants will provide it.”

  Anne, reluctant to make a spectacle of herself by enfolding her aunt in a grateful embrace, curtsied deeply. “You have my sincerest thanks for your good care of me, my lady.”

  Fitzwilliam escorted Anne to the main staircase and kissed her cheek. “I shall see you early in the morning, Cousin.”

  “You have given me hope,” she said in quiet yet fervent tones.

  Fitzwilliam returned to the dining room in time to hear his father say, “I see no reason for separating the sexes, given that the one guest who is a stickler for such formalities is now snoring in a bed upstairs.”

  Lady Fitzwilliam rose. “We shall have coffee in the drawing room.”

  Before Lady Penelope could follow her hostess out, Fitzwilliam asked, “Do you mind, Father, if I take a moment to offer Lady Penelope the choice of something from our library?”

  “Borrow anything you like, dear lady,” Lord Fitzwilliam said. Then he added quietly, “If your taste is for the philosophy of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, feel free to keep the book. Of late, Henry has bored me with far too many discussions of the fellow’s work.”

  ≈≈≈

  Fitzwilliam had offered Lady Penelope her choice of a book from the family library because he was genuinely interested in making himself useful, preferably in a comparatively private setting. And if an intimate moment happens to blossom between us, I will consider myself a fortunate man.

  As the colonel perused the titles on the nearest shelf, Lady Penelope placed her hand on his arm and asked, “Is there some manner in which my brothers or I could assist you in rescuing Anne from her current circumstances?”

  Fitzwilliam had not expected her offer, but it did not surprise him. “I thank you, my lady. I believe my strategy is sound, but should events not transpire as planned, Anne and I may seek sanctuary at Trelawney Hall.” When he returned his attention to the books, she did not remove her hand; instead, she gently squeezed his arm. Upon facing her again, he found himself the happy recipient of a tentative kiss on his lips. Within a heartbeat, they were embracing, sharing intoxicating kisses.

  A short while later when the sound of approaching footsteps registered in Fitzwilliam’s awareness, it occurred to him that the steps were slower—and certainly louder—than one might expect from an experienced servant. Thus, he and Lady Penelope had sufficient warning to separate with a modicum of grace. Still, there was little grace in his movements when he jerked a book at random off a shelf and pushed it at her. She barely managed to grasp it before turning to face the open door of the library.

  Lady Fitzwilliam stood in the shadowy corridor. “My husband said Christopher wanted to lend you a book from the library. Have you found something here that interests you, madam?”

  Hearing the amusement in her hostess’s voice, Lady Penelope relaxed. “I have, thank you.”

  With a mischievous smile, Lady Fitzwilliam entered the room and held out her hand. Warily, Lady Penelope gave her the book, for she had not yet noted the title. “‘The Anabasis’ by Xenophon, and in the original language,” Lady Fitzwilliam read. “I did not realize you read Greek.”

  “I chose—” Fitzwilliam began, but Lady Penelope interrupted.

  “I read Greek, Latin, and Spanish. My father was viscount, but it was at the insistence of my mother—the child of a successful wool merchant in Glasgow who was knighted for service to his country—that my siblings and I learned classical languages. We were also taught mathematics, philosophy, literature, and history,” Lady Penelope said with friendly impudence.

  In approving tones, Lady Fitzwilliam said, “Your mother is a wise woman.” Returning the volume to her guest, she asked, “You chose this book, Christopher? What is it about?”

  “Yes, ‘The Anabasis’ … ah, it is a first-hand telling of life in a mercenary army in ancient Greece.” After a pause, he added, “Perhaps, Lady Penelope would prefer something less martial.”

  Handing the book to Fitzwilliam, Lady Penelope addressed her hostess, “With your permission, my lady, I would prefer to borrow a volume after I have had more time to peruse your collection.”

  “Of course, my dear. Shall we return to the drawing room?” Lady Fitzwilliam led the way down the corridor while Fitzwilliam and Lady Penelope followed at a short distance. No doubt they kissed. Was it their first kiss, I wonder?

  Much l
ater, well after midnight, Fitzwilliam scolded himself for his inability to fall asleep, well aware that a servant would wake him at dawn. But he could not keep his thoughts from the exquisite sensation of Lady Penelope’s lips. Each kiss had felt like a declaration of her desire, a promise of profound and loving intimacy.

  39

  “I will not see my years of hard work destroyed!”

  July 26, 1811

  By half-past seven in the morning, the Anne and Fitzwilliam were in a hired hackney coach, with Laird tethered to the back. If the colonel had had his way, they would have driven directly to Darcy House, changed to a carriage there, and traveled on to Hertfordshire. Anne, however, convinced him this was the best time for her to collect her clothing and those items no lady should ever be without. He agreed that if she promised not to speak in detail of those lady’s items, he would risk the delay.

  “Be certain you collect your most necessary things,” he said. “We must be gone in half an hour’s time; else we risk some loyal servant of your mother’s getting word to her.”

  At De Bourgh house, Anne was humbled by the welcome she received from the servants. While the colonel and one footman made certain no one left the premises to alert Lady Catherine, who was known to have dined at Fitzwilliam House, the maids helped Anne pack. One maid seemed to speak for all when she said, “We are glad for you, miss. Her ladyship treated you wrong.”

  As several grooms and footmen loaded Anne’s trunks onto the coach, only Spicer attempted to interfere, and he was quickly constrained. This gave a footman and a maid the opportunity they had long desired to search the butler’s quarters, where they found a cache of pilfered items, including Anne’s coin purse and her small journal.

  “Look, here’s the statue old Nevins was accused of taking, which got him sacked!” exclaimed the maid. The news of their finds spread rapidly to the other servants.

  Anne’s trunks were nearly all loaded on the carriage when Fitzwilliam reminded his cousin they must leave. Walking arm in arm with Mrs. Peake to the coach, Anne said, “I thank you so very much for helping me, and please give Toby my thanks, as well.”