A Season Lost

by Sophie Turner

  Either recognising this himself, or conscious of his wife’s critical gaze, Matthew saved himself by continuing “ – could not have left Portsmouth, now that she – she is relegated to harbour duty. May she ever grace Portsmouth harbour.”

  “Indeed, may she ever do so,” said Lord Amherst, raising his glass. “To Victory, to her greatest commander, Admiral Lord Nelson, and to Commodore Sir Matthew Stanton.”

  Georgiana smiled amusedly, to see her husband blush to make part of such a trio. He seconded it quickly with a toast to Lord Amherst, who would not make Britain prostrate herself to any country, and this was very well received. The Stantons were then encouraged to play one of their duets, and performed a very creditable rendition of the London Bach’s Piano Concerto in G Major. Matthew then stood to return to the table, encouraging his wife to play them a solo piece.

  By now, decanters of port and brandy had replaced those of wine, and judging her audience had little patience for Clementi, Scarlatti, or even an Italian love song, Georgiana gave herself a few moments to pick out the song that had become quite familiar to her, although she had never played it, and then to launch into Heart of Oak. She was allowed to sing solo until she reached the refrain, but then her entirely appreciative audience sang with her:

  Heart of oak, are our ships

  Heart of oak, are our men

  We always are ready

  Steady, boys, steady

  We’ll fight and we’ll conquer

  Again and again

  She played on through the second verse and was once again joined by the men in the great cabin. Still more, she could hear the refrain echoed on the forecastle by the ship’s seamen, in a far more raucous tone. Georgiana had played better, undoubtedly, than this unaffected picking out of a simple melody, but never had her playing met with this sort of hearty, patriotic enthusiasm. Thoroughly applauded when she rose from the bench, she once again found herself the recipient of many appreciative gazes, and was glad she was wearing her green silk gown, which felt not quite so provocative as the red.

  When finally they retired that evening, what had begun as refreshments in the cabin having shifted to a dinner, improvised by Hawke and Cook – a dinner that had left everyone, save Lady Stanton, who had largely kept to lemonade and tea, rather in his cups – Commodore Stanton gave his wife another very thorough, very passionate kiss. They were both still dressed, but the kiss indicated what he wished for, once Hawke and Moll had done their work. Georgiana, however, found herself distracted by the presence of a strange lump which pressed against her in their embrace, determined it had come from his clothing, not hers, and ran her fingers over its source beneath his uniform jacket, asking if it was his purse, although it seemed rather more substantial than what Georgiana had tucked beneath her stays some weeks ago.

  Matthew gave her a perplexed frown, slipped his hand beneath his jacket, and retrieved a silk pouch bulging with something, although that something did not appear to be coin. “Oh! I had entirely forgotten these,” he said, handing the bag over to her. “They are for you.”

  Georgiana opened it and gaped. It was filled with pearls, dark, exotic and apparently perfect pearls; she retrieved a few and held them up to the sleeping cabin’s lantern, awed by the voluptuous shine of them. Matthew gave no details as to when they had been acquired – apparently sometime when he had been wearing his best uniform jacket, but whether this was in Canton, Lewchew, or even as far back as Batavia could not be told. All that was certain was that at some time, he had seen them, thought of his wife, either purchased or traded for them, and then showing that absence of mind he sometimes possessed for anything not nautical in nature, had tucked them away in an inner pocket within his uniform jacket, forgetting them until now.

  Georgiana immediately forgave him his absent-mindedness, thanked him with every passionate delight for such a quantity of entirely unique pearls, which should be more than enough for a necklace and earrings once they could be entrusted to Hadley’s, and commenced returning his kiss in a manner that showed her love, fondness, and gratitude. A quarter-hour later, Commodore Stanton emerged from his sleeping cabin only long enough to dismiss Kelly and Hawke, informing them their services would not be needed on this evening.

  Chapter 16

  It had been more than a fortnight, and Anne still awaited a response from Mr. Smith. This was not due to the lack of opportunity to give it, for he had called twice at Pemberley and was now dining for the second time since Anne’s offer. Yet he did not seek her out specifically for conversation as he had used to do, although he was often giving her plaintive glances. It was clear to her that he had not made his decision, and the wait was beginning to bear a toll on Anne.

  She had returned to more frequent trips to Matlock, to take the waters, but they could do little to aid in health that suffered due to wavering on the edge of a broken heart. She could sense Elizabeth and Marguerite were doing what they could to raise her spirits, but there was little they could do to separate Anne from her worries. Soon, Anne would lose even their attempts, for the Fitzwilliams were to return to their home in Lynn, following Elizabeth’s departure to Clareborne with the Bingleys. Anne was beginning to feel she had overstayed her own welcome, but no-one had given so much as a hint regarding her return to Rosings, and so she would stay on.

  On this evening, Anne was conversing with Elizabeth and Marguerite, waiting for the gentlemen to come through from the dining-room. She missed the days when she had felt such eager anticipation at the sight of Mr. Smith, when she had known he would come to single her out and speak with her. Sometimes she even wished she had not declared herself, so they could have gone on as they were before, yet Anne knew she could not remain hidden away at Pemberley forever.

  The gentlemen were coming through: she could hear her cousin Edward, first, laughing boisterously over something, and then he entered with some of the other gentlemen, followed by Fitzwilliam, who had a much more sober mien, and eventually Mr. Smith. The latter man caught that her gaze was on him, took a step toward the opposite side of the drawing-room from which Anne sat, and then seemed to change his mind. On his approach, Elizabeth and Marguerite vacated their seats, both giving Anne hopeful looks. This left the chair beside Anne empty, and Mr. Smith seated himself there. Anne’s heart pounded. Had he made his decision? And if so, what did the sympathetic look upon his countenance indicate it would be?

  He took up her hand and bowed his head. “Miss de Bourgh.”

  Anne’s eyes filled with tears, and she fought with all the strength she possessed to keep them from becoming more substantial, for she felt certain he was going to refuse her. She became aware that the rest of the party had been encouraged into the music-room, where it sounded as though Miss Houlton had been asked to play, and found herself grateful that at least it would happen with some semblance of privacy.

  “Miss de Bourgh – I apologise – I did not mean to alarm you,” he said, still grasping her hand. “I – I have not made my decision, yet. I hope you will allow me a little more time.”

  “Yes – yes – of course,” said Anne, barely choking back a sob of relief. “If you require more time, please take it. However, I hope you will recall that I am not what one would consider young.”

  “I understand.”

  “Is that what concerns you? Do you hesitate over my ability to bear a child?” Anne asked. “It concerns me, too, and I cannot make any promises that I should ever be able to do so. I hope my health will continue to improve, but if it does not, I would think it too great a risk. I would understand if that was your objection – I had not been thinking of it, when I made my – my proposal to you.”

  “No, that is not it. My objections are only the ones I voiced to you. If we were to marry, then a child would only be something we pursued if we both felt your health capable of bearing it, and even then, I would wish to be cautious.”

  Anne’s eyes filled with tears again. “Why can you not see it?” she asked, bitterly. “Why can you not
see that I could search the remainder of my life and never find a man so suited for me as you are? Why must you leave me to spend my life alone?”

  She could not remain in the drawing-room any longer – she was far too distraught for company. Without another word to him, Anne fled past him and out of the room, sobbing as she gained the stairs to her bed-chamber; there was nothing she could do now but retire. She had hoped he might follow after her, but he did not.

  +++

  The easiest good-bye, for Elizabeth, was with the Fitzwilliams. It was not that she wished to see them go, but her time with them had been simple and delightful, and she could part from Marguerite and Edward with warm wishes to see them again, and happiness to see the couple still so in love. Of the others she experienced, taking her leave of Anne was perhaps the most difficult. She had spoken to Anne, following her cousin’s precipitate retreat from the drawing-room during the last dinner – thankfully, it was easy enough for the assembled company to be convinced that she had taken ill, and not been involved in some sort of lovers’ quarrel – and learned that while Anne had not yet received a no, she feared she would soon. Elizabeth was glad at least that her husband knew of the situation with Smith, but while he might be kind and sympathetic, his assistance could not be the same as that rendered by a female relation.

  Then, of course, there was her own family that she must be parted from, even if just for a short while. She had said a tearful good-bye to her sons just before coming out to the drive; they had been made a little distraught by the tearfulness of their mama but had recovered soon enough, upon being returned to the floor and their toys. James crawled readily toward those toys, while George still preferred to wabble, and Elizabeth could not but leave them with a worried frown.

  Her parting from Darcy was no easier, for while he had seemed better, of late – carrying Powell’s hope that this new way of shoeing Kingfisher should bring about an improvement – there was still plenty to trouble him, and she worried that without her there to soothe him and lighten his moods, he might grow worse. She held him tightly in the drive, and as he knew well her reluctance in being parted from him, he said, “It is only two hours. I may ride over whenever I wish. Indeed, I might do so every day. The Bingleys will grow tired of your persistent gentleman caller.”

  She laughed, and appreciated that he was endeavouring to tease her, to lighten her mood. “Two hours is a bit too far for you to come there every day, particularly in this rain.”

  “Perhaps, but I believe I shall still make at least one visit, and you may return whenever you are ready. Powell and Alfred will remain there with the chaise and horses. Say the word and you will be whisked back to Pemberley.”

  “Oh, whisked back to Pemberley, how well that sounds, and I have not even left,” she said. “You will – you will look after Anne, will you not? I fear she is going to suffer a disappointment while I am gone.”

  “I shall, of course, although I do not understand why she should. In some ways, Smith’s reticence speaks well of him – many men would have leapt at the opportunity to gain Rosings – yet I suspect he feels it dishonourable to do so by marriage.” Darcy said, looking contemplative. “I shall do more than look after Anne – I shall speak to him.”

  “My love, if you would, I believe it would be of much benefit towards a resolution in the matter. It is very good of you.”

  “Then leave with your mind easy on that, at least, for I shall. Now you must depart, for I suspect we are beginning to try the patience of even the Bingleys.”

  “Yes, I suspect we are,” said Elizabeth, in a tone of great emotion, before she climbed the steps into the carriage.

  Chapter 17

  Elizabeth was amazed at the transformation Clareborne had undergone. She had known the house only from the early inspection she had made with Jane, when it had been damp, and in poor repair. The house now showed itself as best it could, and although there were certain defects of its placement within the grounds, its natural layout, and its style that could not be overcome, the amount of labour given to it by its inhabitants had affected great improvements.

  These improvements Elizabeth had exclaimed over, upon her arrival here with all of the Bingleys. Bess had claimed her mother’s attention as soon as she escaped the carriage she had been riding in with Mrs. Padgett, and so Elizabeth took Amelia from Jane so that Bess could be led into her new home by her mother. They took the children up to the nursery: it had been Jane’s priority, in planning to occupy the house, and it was dry and warm, if a bit lacking in decoration, save the new hobby-horse and square pianoforte that had been installed in advance. Bess, upon seeing these instruments of delight, squealed in happiness and then seemed torn over which to choose. She was led by her mother to the hobby-horse – it seemed even Jane, after two hours in a carriage, did not quite have the patience to be immediately serenaded by her daughter.

  Amelia began fussing, and once Bess was settled upon the horse, Jane took her younger daughter behind a dressing-screen to nurse her. Elizabeth then found herself strangely unneeded. Mrs. Padgett had gone to stand beside Bess, supervising her ride on the hobby-horse, and there were no twins here to demand their mother’s attention. She wandered out into the hall, therefore, and began to make an exploration of the rest of the house.

  The drawing-room and dining-room were dry and freshly painted, albeit plain. When Charles found her looking about them and led her to see her bedchamber, it was in a similar state, and Elizabeth presumed the master’s and mistress’s apartments were also thus. It was a satisfactory beginning, one the Bingleys could now fill with their own choice of decor, and it was so satisfactory that Elizabeth wondered whether the Bingleys would ever get around to completing the new house, despite the work that had already gone into it.

  When Jane came down to the drawing-room, it became clear she was going to see to the decoration of the house – and its management – with vigour. Elizabeth was treated to a very fine dinner that evening, and in the drawing-room following, Jane produced a series of catalogues, querying her companions as to what furnishings should go best in those rooms they occupied.

  She was the same the next day, and although it was Jane who had recently given birth, Elizabeth felt herself the more exhausted of the sisters, to be following after her elder sister as she met with her housekeeper, carried her catalogues about the house and made further plans, and ceased her activities to go to the nursery whenever she was summoned for Amelia’s needs. This busyness seemed to have transformed Jane even more than the transformation the house had undergone, and Elizabeth was glad of it, even as she felt herself an unnecessary shadow. Occasionally, when her sister had an idle moment, Elizabeth could catch a glimpse of the agitation that had so thoroughly entrapped Jane while at Pemberley, but such glimpses were few.

  Watching her sister, Elizabeth wondered at herself. The notion of becoming mistress of Pemberley had held a certain appeal to her, but it was less for holding such a position and managing such a household, and more for the possession of such grounds, such a library, and most of all, a master with such exquisite taste. Household management was, to her, a necessary part of her role, but not a deeply wished-for part, and once Elizabeth had established her authority within the house, she had come to lean heavily and happily on the capable expertise of Mrs. Reynolds. Elizabeth wondered what made such a difference between her and women like Jane or Charlotte Collins, who found their roles as mistresses of their households so very important, and wondered for the first time if she was more like her father than she had realised. Like him, she required no responsibilities to keep herself occupied – that could come readily enough in a book, a pleasant walk, an intelligent conversation (thankfully readily had with her husband), or time with her children. Unlike him, however, Elizabeth was resolved that she would never neglect her duties, even if they were not central to her identity.

  For those women she knew who needed this role and had found it, she felt this realisation of herself helped her understand
them better. She was glad Jane could invest so much time in her household – time that could not, then, be spent in recalling Amelia’s birth – and she sympathised with Charlotte, who had attached herself to such a man for a household and then lost it all with his death. She could only hope Charlotte would regain what she had desired, as Lady Avery, and with greater permanence and more affection than she had known before. Towards Jane, she felt a greater sympathy, and a fondness for Mr. Davies and his rallying of the people living under Clareborne’s roof to set the house to rights.

  Jane did not seem to need her, yet there was something Elizabeth needed from Jane, or rather her daughter. For without the twins to suckle them the previous evening and that morning, Elizabeth’s breasts had grown painfully engorged with milk. She had thought herself well-prepared for this – Mrs. Nichols, who was now only needed as a wet-nurse during the night, had told her of the manner in which her breasts could be emptied of their milk. Elizabeth’s endeavours with this in the early morning had not met with the expected success, however, and she was concerned that if left unchecked, the engorgement of her breasts would see her summoning her carriage in the midst of the night so that she could return home, where James and George could give her relief.

  Elizabeth spent the morning trying to determine how to broach this, and when she and Jane were sitting in the drawing-room just after the noon hour – Jane paging through her catalogues, and Elizabeth staring at a book she could hardly make progress on, so sharp was the pain in her breasts – a maid entered and said Miss Amelia had need of her mother, and Elizabeth finally spoke of her own need.

  “Jane – Jane – please, wait.”

  “What is it, Lizzy?

  “Would you, would you mind if I nursed her? It has been nearly a day since I have done so for the boys, and, well – things grow rather painful.”