To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  Dear Lady Catherine, I am writing you upon the particular request of my wife who has encouraged me to invite you to wait upon us at Pemberley. You and I are both of forthright character so I will not disguise that I extend this invitation with some reluctance as I remain deeply offended by the letter you sent on the occasion of my marriage. Mrs. Darcy has prevailed upon me, nevertheless, to seek reconciliation. She is of the conviction that Pemberley and Rosings Park should not remain estranged because of words expressed in anger and disappointment, however unjustly applied. Whilst I cannot boast the same lack of resentment, I acknowledge her wisdom and admire her generosity.

  In honour of my mother’s memory I must be the one to seek a return to our formerly good relations. My hope is that you will receive this application with all the sincerity and expectation with which it is sent. Let us leave our past grievances behind us and restore the goodwill that has long subsisted between us. Both you and my cousin will be welcomed at Pemberley graciously and warmly at your convenience.

  Yours etc., Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Elizabeth put down the letter and looked at her husband. He was watching her with an unreadable expression. “Must you make it all my doing?”

  “If you wish for a reconciliation it cannot be on false pretences. She must be mindful that if she is welcomed at Pemberley it is only because you have sanctioned it.”

  “I do wish it.”

  “Then I shall post the letter, but be forewarned that if she comes, she will likely be, if not uncivil, unrepentant.”

  “Then I shall apply that exceptional character you have in the past claimed that I possess,” she replied wryly.

  “You are a remarkable woman, Elizabeth.”

  “I will not be so foolish as to counter so prodigious a misapprehension,” she laughed, as she stood up. “Will you join Georgiana and me now? We have been practicing a delightful piece together. I am sure you will be charmed. Georgiana has been kind enough to not disparage my playing as I struggle through my infinitely easier portion. Sometimes I do wonder, having raised such a truly accomplished, diligent young lady, that you should have married a woman whose only accomplishment is to be a very great walker!”

  Darcy laughed lightly as he sat back in his chair and gazed at her, his face awash with an expression of gentle affection.

  “What is it, Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth inquired softly.

  He rose and came to her side, pressed her hands warmly within his own. “Such glad news you have given me today.” They smiled at one another, rejoicing in what she had termed the sweet hope between them.

  Chapter 23

  Arrears of Civility

  With temperatures rising and summer fast approaching, Mrs. Reynolds set the staff to cleaning and preparing the rooms of the house used only in the summer months.

  It had been many years since Mrs. Reynolds could recall such a cheerful spring at Pemberley as the season coming now fast to a close. She had long hoped that when the master at last married he would settle into his life at Pemberley and not be so frequently from home. It had seemed to her particularly unfortunate that such a fine house should lay empty for half the year as it had since the death of the elder Mr. Darcy. Happily, the family had returned from London for Easter with no intention of leaving Pemberley for the foreseeable future. Indeed, Mr. Darcy was more active within the neighbourhood than he had ever yet been; visits between the family and some of their Derbyshire neighbours were exchanged, if not frequently, certainly with regularity; Mrs. Darcy had established the habit of occasionally going into the village of Lampton to the delight and appreciation of all the village shopkeepers who had long lamented the family’s disinterest in the same—it was a habit that did much to win the esteem of the neighbourhood. The tranquil occupation of the house had been interrupted only by the arrival of Mr. Bennet, who surprised his daughter with an unexpected visit just as the May flowers began to bloom.

  As Mrs. Reynolds inspected the yellow drawing room, now ready to be opened for the summer months, she saw through the window Mr. and Mrs. Darcy returning from one of their long walks together. She could not repress a smile. She had known Mr. Darcy since he was only four years old and could not prevent feeling his happiness was as if her own. And then, he had married such a good-humoured young lady who had no desire to materially alter the running of the household for the mere sake of marking her authority. Mrs. Reynolds was an industrious woman, and nothing could give her as much satisfaction as a busy house well run. This summer would give her ample opportunity for such satisfaction for the house would be filled with visitors and would be a bustle of activity as it had not been in many years. When Mr. and Mrs. Darcy entered the house she was pleased to report that all was prepared for the arrival of the Bingley party on the morrow.

  Elizabeth was filled with happy anticipation to welcome her sisters to Pemberley. Whilst Jane was equally eager to see the place of which she had heard so much, the same could not be said of Kitty.

  When Mr. Bennet had returned from his visit to Pemberley—filled with unmitigated approval of all he had seen and experienced—he had informed Kitty that she was to accompany the Bingley party to Pemberley and was to stay in Derbyshire through the summer months. She was not as enthusiastic as one might expect from a young lady of nineteen who was bored and restless at home. She heard the news as if it were a punishment more than a promise. She did not like her sister’s husband and felt humbled by his sister’s accomplishments; she would have much rather dallied away the summer months with her friend Maria Lucas. To add further exasperation, Miss Caroline Bingley was to accompany them and she would be required to suffer that lady’s disdain in the confines of a carriage for the duration of what would certainly feel like an interminable journey from Hertfordshire to Derbyshire.

  On the evening before the Bingley party was to depart for Pemberley they were gathered together at Netherfield. Miss Bingley was contemptuous of the entire company, but she had learnt since her brother’s marriage to ameliorate her disgust. She had been mortified by Mr. Darcy’s marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but not sufficiently so as to be careless of her interests. She had no intention of losing the privilege of visiting Pemberley. She would take the good counsel of her sister Louisa and take refuge in civility. As she thought with both regret and pleasure of the refinement that was awaiting her in Derbyshire, she listened with particular abhorrence and dismay as Mrs. Bennet and Kitty discussed the upcoming weeks Kitty was to spend at Pemberley.

  “I know Mr. Darcy is not so charming as Bingley and Wickham, Kitty,” Mrs. Bennet was declaring. “But such rich gentlemen are not required to be charming and your sister seems to like him well enough. Mr. Bennet certainly returned from his visit to Pemberley surprisingly enthusiastic. I am sure you will find amusements; Mr. Darcy is so rich, nothing can be wanting, I am sure.”

  “One would think, Mama,” Kitty replied. “Yet I never had such a dreary time as when I dined at their home in London. Lizzy is so high and mighty now she is Mrs. Darcy and he is such a stern, disagreeable gentleman! How can Lizzy like him? For all his ten thousand pounds a year and his Pemberley I would not have him.”

  Miss Bingley listened in complete bewilderment. She had heard similar disparagements of Mr. Darcy’s character before from the ladies of Longbourn, but on this occasion she could not restrain herself. “By God!” she intoned at last with sincerity. “Are you truly so lost to all discernment, Miss Bennet? It is incomprehensible that you cannot appreciate what kind of marriage your sister has made, what kind of gentleman she has for a husband.”

  “Lizzy married a rich man,” Kitty replied petulantly. “So did Jane. Your brother is all amiability; the same cannot be said for Mr. Darcy. Always stalking about with such a superior air! Netherfield is hardly something to be ashamed of and I am sure Pemberley is not so very much better.”

  “Netherfield is nothing to Pemberley,” Miss Bingley responded in ire. She could not comprehend that the positio
n she had so coveted could be so unappreciated, that the gentleman she continued to admire as the perfect exemplar of gentlemanly elegance could be so casually besmirched. Such ignorance only reinforced what an unfortunate marriage her brother had made. Indeed, she would have never acquiesced to sharing the long journey north with this insufferably stupid girl if not for the promise of a visit to Pemberley.

  “I am sure it is very fine,” Kitty had responded sarcastically, entirely incredulous and thinking Miss Bingley simply condescending to her, as was her wont.

  Now that Kitty found herself standing in the grand entrance hall of Pemberley, a high, soaring ceiling above her painted in bright colours and depicting whirling figures in a dance she could not comprehend, she was struck for the first time by her wilful ignorance. She had certainly never stepped foot before into a place like this and she felt small, insignificant and profoundly chastened. Her surprise increased as they passed through the halls of the house to what would be her room for the duration of her stay at Pemberley. The room was more than twice as large as that she had shared with Lydia at Longbourn. She might not possess the finest taste, but as her mother’s daughter, Kitty could certainly recognize expense, and this room, like everything she had seen, was expensive, from the rug, to the furniture, to the bed linens, to the wall hangings, and she could not fathom sleeping in so fine a room, living in so fine a house.

  “Lord, Lizzy!” she exclaimed inelegantly, flopping onto the bed. Before she could say more and mortify them both, Elizabeth excused the maid who was busy unpacking Kitty’s trunk.

  “I hope you will be comfortable, Kitty,” Elizabeth said as the maid closed the door behind her.

  Kitty laughed. “Comfortable? Ten thousand pounds a year is more than I imagined. I thought Mama silly when she declared Mr. Darcy so much richer than Bingley. How stupid I was! Why Lizzy, now I understand why you married such a gentleman.”

  “I married Mr. Darcy for the same reason Jane married Bingley.”

  “Did you?” she responded sceptically. “Back home we all remember that Wickham was a favourite for ever so long and Mr. Darcy was the object of your vocal dislike. But I suppose that can all be overlooked for all this.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and composed herself before responding. Kitty was to be at Pemberley through Michaelmas. It would not be helpful to begin with arguments. “Kitty,” she replied evenly. “Do you not recognize how offensive your characterization is? Do you think so little of me?”

  “Why Lizzy, I meant only, that, well, I am not sure,” she stumbled inelegantly.

  Elizabeth understood that her sister was not a mean-spirited young lady. She had simply been left too much to her own devices, had not been well educated. Kitty had no natural sense of delicacy or moderation; she was like their mother with all her innocent vulgarity. However, unlike their mother and Lydia, she was also easily influenced, and this summer was an opportunity to bring more beneficial influences to bear on her character and manner.

  Elizabeth walked across the room and sat on the window seat, looked out a moment on the lovely summer day. She would not allow her sister to mar her happiness. She spoke quietly, but firmly.

  “You will think what you will, Kitty, but you are not to speak in such terms whilst in this house. You will neither disrespect my marriage or my husband. What is more, I would ask you to refrain from speaking of George Wickham. He is not well regarded in this house or in this neighbourhood.”

  Kitty did not respond, turned away half annoyed and half ashamed. She was feeling very out of place and felt she hardly knew this strict, smartly-dressed woman in front of her as her good-humoured sister Lizzy.

  “Kitty, I want you to be happy whilst you are here,” Elizabeth added more warmly.

  “I am not as slow to understand as everyone thinks me, Lizzy. You do not care if I am happy; you care that I behave well, that I not embarrass you in front of your fastidious husband. If I am not good enough why did you invite me? I should much rather be with Lydia in any case, she still has fun though she is married.”

  Elizabeth’s patience was spent and she rose from the seat and spoke to Kitty with firmness. “Papa will never approve you going to Lydia. You must abandon that idea entirely. It is past time you begin to understand that her behaviour with Wickham was a disgrace, not a wonderfully amusing lark. She nearly ruined us all, Kitty. Do you truly not comprehend this?”

  “It all ended well enough.”

  “Only because others, at great personal sacrifice that neither deserved, ensured that it would. George Wickham would not have married Lydia had he not been coerced into so doing. Are you so lost to common sense that you can look at the circumstances of Lydia’s marriage without mortification?”

  “Mama seems perfectly content and praises Wickham continually,” Kitty replied defiantly.

  “I do not wish to speak of this any further. It serves no purpose.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a few minutes, Kitty toying nervously with the drapes as she stared out the window to the vast park.

  “Lydia’s manner of enjoying life is not the only one. You need not be reckless and vulgar to find joy and pleasure, Kitty.”

  Kitty continued in stubborn silence and Elizabeth began to feel herself too much a scold. It was not a manner likely to persuade her petulant sister. “You will enjoy yourself at Pemberley, I am sure. Well,” she added at last, irritated by Kitty’s continued silence. “I will leave you to get settled.”

  After Elizabeth departed Kitty sat down on the window seat and stared out at the grounds before her. She was not a young lady generally moved by nature, but she could not be unaffected by such beauty. Indeed, she conceded that Miss Bingley had not been wrong to assert that Netherfield was nothing to Pemberley. Yet for all that she was displeased with everything around her, Kitty could not understand why she was being so irritable and unpleasant to her sister, except that she felt aggrieved that everyone seemed to be expecting that she would be an embarrassment, that she would not know how to comport herself in so grand a house with any credit. Her father had certainly been unusually strong in admonitions before her departure. The recognition of this grievance, however, did not inspire her to rectify her comportment, it only made her more surly and sulky.

  Soon Jane and Bingley knocked on her door. They had all agreed to convene in the drawing room for refreshments after everyone had an opportunity to restore themselves from the travel.

  “We have come to escort you, Kitty,” Bingley said cheerfully. “You will never find your way back to the drawing room from this part of the house on your own. I visited Pemberley at least three times before I knew my way about the place. But do not fret, soon enough it is just another house, if rather a large one,” he joked.

  Kitty felt immediately reassured. Bingley had the rare ability to make anyone feel at ease under any circumstances. Lizzy may have the richer husband, Kitty thought, but Jane’s is by far the more amiable. The ungenerous thought satisfied her pique and she was able to join the group with tolerably good humour.

  Down the hallway from Kitty, Miss Bingley was equally displeased, if for entirely different motives. She stared at her reflection in the glass and did not attempt in the privacy of the room to disguise her discontent. For a moment she let the corners of her mouth fall and her perfectly erect posture droop. She recalled visiting Pemberley for the first time and determining that this was the place of which she would be mistress; that the master of the estate should be elegant and handsome and motherless only added to the attraction of the place. Now she was here again and he was married to another—to such an unworthy, unfashionable country girl—the reality was deeply humiliating. Her own prejudices aside, she recognized that there were still many benefits to the connection and she would not jeopardize her standing. She composed herself, straightened her back, raised her chin and lifted her lips into an insincere half-smile before making her way down to join the others.

  As she walked towards the drawing room she passed
the sitting room that had long been reserved for the mistress of the house. She recalled when she had been visiting the prior summer and Mr. Darcy had so unexpectedly abandoned his guests and gone into London on mysterious business. In his absence she had felt emboldened. Imagining herself the mistress she had ventured into the room, not surprised to find it old fashioned and a little dreary from disuse. She had sat at the writing table where there had been no fresh writing implements and imagined herself composing a letter to the great Lady Richmond and inviting her to spend a fortnight at Pemberley.

  She paused now and turned back. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and entered. The room before her was entirely altered. Where it had been dark and dreary, it was now all light and grace. Freshly painted in a delicate pale green and newly furnished, all was arranged in such a manner that it seemed to bring the outdoors into the very room. The entire effect was welcoming and intimate.

  Miss Bingley did not hesitate to examine the objects of the room. On the writing table where she had sat and idly dreamed of writing letters to Mr. Darcy’s noble relations, she saw now a collection of beautiful peacock feathered pens and fine stationery. Above the desk hung a portrait in charcoal of Mr. Darcy; she recognized the hand as Georgiana’s, but did not recognize the expression she had captured as one she had ever seen grace Mr. Darcy’s countenance. She continued her perusal of the room, smelled the large bouquet of peonies upon a table, lifted a book sitting atop the same and glanced at the title. On another table sat a handsome inlaid music box; she opened it and listened briefly before snapping it shut again. She ran her hand over an elegant clock on the mantel, a curious marble bird, admired the gilded mirror above. She was surprised that Elizabeth Bennet should have so much refinement, for the room had clearly a feminine hand and was not the work of a man.