Lizzy had always been a bit different than Jane. She had her head in the clouds. She had ideas of the things that she loved and dreamed of. Mr. Darcy, though wealthy and quite respectable, may not have been the sort of gallant husband that Elizabeth had longed for. Jane only hoped it would all go well.
Perhaps Elizabeth’s next letter would be full of more happiness. Jane could only hope.
“Can I read the letter from Lizzy now?” Lydia asked.
“Oh, certainly.” Jane handed the letter over. She, her sister, and Mrs. Gardiner were together in the sitting room that morning. Breakfast had passed long ago. Mrs. Gardiner had just come back from looking in on the children in the nursery.
A servant entered. “A Colonel Fitzwilliam has come to call.”
Lydia dropped the letter she was holding. “Gad, that’s Mr. Darcy’s cousin.”
“Yes, Elizabeth wrote to me of him,” said Jane, chewing on her lip.
“What could he be doing here, in Cheapside?” said Lydia.
“Don’t call it that,” Jane admonished.
“It is all right,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “We are used to it.” She turned to the servant. “Send Colonel Fitzwilliam in.”
“Use to it or not,” said Jane, “it is no good to be rude, Lydia.”
Lydia tossed her head. “Oh, you always think I am rude, no matter what, Jane.”
The Colonel appeared in the doorway soon after, and Jane found her breath catching in her throat. Dear, what was wrong with her? She never reacted to handsome men in that way. Even when she had met Mr. Bingley, she had not acted that way. But then her feelings for Mr. Bingley had come upon her not because of his looks but because of his society.
Not that there had been anything wrong with Mr. Bingley’s looks. He was a very handsome man.
It was only that the colonel, well, he was so tall and broad-shouldered and dashing in his uniform. He had a shock of sandy-colored hair and smiling green eyes, and he seemed to fill the entire room.
Jane looked away from him at once, frightened that she was blushing.
Mrs. Gardiner smiled at him. “What a surprise to see you, sir.”
“Ah, your husband did not mention that I would call?” said the colonel. “I did go to him at his place of business the other day, so that all would be right and proper.”
“No, he is quite busy. He said not a word,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “Pray, have a seat. I understand that we have Mr. Darcy in common as a friend.”
“Well, he is a relative of mine,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “And I must say it is not enjoyable always being in his company, for how is one to even be seen when he around? I am happy your sister has taken him out of the running. It will give the rest of us poor sods a chance with the ladies.”
“Lizzy is lucky,” said Lydia, smiling at the colonel.
“Forgive me,” said the colonel. “This is all so dreadfully irregular. We must somehow conduct introductions, mustn’t we? You all know who I am.”
Mrs. Gardiner introduced the Bennet sisters, and Jane introduced Mrs. Gardiner.
“There,” said the colonel. “We are squared away, then. Mr. Darcy has sent me to look in on you. Shall I tell him that you are well?”
“Oh, indeed,” said Lydia, with a coquettish smile.
Jane cleared her throat. “We are as well as can be expected, given the state of things.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Fitzwilliam. “The sickness that overtook your part of the country is a wretched, wretched business. I am quite sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” said Jane.
“Yes, thank you,” said Lydia. “We are very sad here, in need of cheering up, as a matter of fact.”
“Lydia,” admonished Jane. “We are in mourning. One does not attempt to be cheered during the mourning period. It is a period to, well, grieve.”
“I know about mourning,” Lydia said pertly. “It’s only that it’s not often that we get a visitor like Colonel Fitzwilliam here.”
“Yes, you honor us with your presence, sir,” said Jane.
“The honor is all mine, I assure you,” said Fitzwilliam, and he turned a rather dazzling white-toothed smile on her.
Again, she found it a struggle to breathe. What was it about this man? Certainly, he was attractive, but what was that in the grand scheme of things? She knew nothing of this man except what Lizzy had written of him. He was the younger son of an earl, and Lizzy had found him quite agreeable, but he was, of course, never going to marry a girl with no means, for he was used to a certain lifestyle, but would inherit none of its comforts.
Lydia might save all her hair tosses, Jane thought dryly.
And then she looked back up and found the colonel gazing at her.
“I have heard tales of the eldest Miss Bennet’s beauty,” said the colonel and his voice had grown quiet. “They do not do you justice, I’m afraid.”
Jane flushed quickly and deeply. She felt flustered. “Oh, you are too kind, sir.”
Lydia sniffed.
The colonel turned to her. “Of course, you are a family of beauties. Both Miss Elizabeth and the young Miss Lydia are quite lovely as well.”
“I am not that young,” said Lydia, lifting her chin to him.
“I have a niece about your age,” said Fitzwilliam. “When I look at you, I think of her.”
Lydia made a disgusted face.
Jane was completely out of sorts. She was still recovering from her violent reaction to the colonel’s compliment, and she was admiring how skillfully and politely he had let Lydia know that her attentions to him were for naught.
Of course, any attentions Jane might pay to him were for naught too. Why wasn’t he discouraging those?
He was looking at her again. “I daresay I mean to call on you regularly. I must do my duty to Mr. Darcy, after all.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” said Jane quietly. “One must be loyal to one’s family first and foremost.”
“Quite,” said Fitzwilliam. “And it will not be a hardship to see you frequently, I must say, Miss Bennet.”
She flushed again.
“We would enjoy your company, of course,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
He stayed and talked for a half an hour about all manner of trivial subjects, such as the sorts of birds he saw out his window in London and whether it would hurt them to feed them leftover bits of cakes. All the while, he kept smiling at Jane, and Jane kept feeling as though she was being swept away.
She kept up with him, commenting on his ridiculous thoughts on birds, and she wasn’t sure why. Her natural inclination was to be demure and soft-spoken. She usually would allow others to converse. But when it came to Colonel Fitzwilliam, something drove her to engage him.
When he finally left, Mrs. Gardiner made some inquiries after him.
Jane explained his station in life, and that he would be looking for a wife with money.
“Well,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “I should say that he is a horrible flirt, then.”
“Horrible,” agreed Jane, though she didn’t find anything about him horrible at all.
CHAPTER SIX
Elizabeth found herself standing outside of Pemberley next to Mr. Darcy, with Georgiana on her other side, and all the servants lined up with them as well, much as they had been on the day of her arrival. They were awaiting Lady Catherine, and Elizabeth was not looking forward to seeing the woman, who had not been particularly approving toward Elizabeth the last time she had seen her.
She could only expect that Lady Catherine was not pleased with Darcy’s choice in a wife, and that she had traveled out here to express her displeasure. Elizabeth did not know if she could bear the censure of the woman just now. She had not enjoyed it in Kent. It would be worse now, with no one to confide in. At least at Rosings, she’d had Charlotte.
Lady Catherine climbed out of her carriage, flanked by her daughter Miss de Bourgh. Elizabeth hadn’t had much chance to converse with Miss de Bourgh, who had been mostly quiet and subdued before. No
w, Miss de Bourgh stopped to look at some flowers which were growing by the side of the drive. She stroked them, her lips moving as if she was talking to herself.
“Anne!” bellowed Lady Catherine, clapping her hands at her daughter.
Seemingly unperturbed by such an address, Miss de Bourgh straightened and moved unhurriedly to join her mother.
Lady Catherine planted herself in front of Mr. Darcy. “Darcy,” she said in a severe voice.
“Aunt Catherine, you are most welcome here,” Darcy said stiffly. He hadn’t seemed overly pleased when he’d told them that Lady Catherine was coming to visit.
But then, he never seemed overly pleased. Though he had claimed that bringing her with him to Pemberley would give them time to spend time together and to know one another, the truth was that Elizabeth never saw Mr. Darcy except at dinner, and then sometimes later in the sitting room.
No one much spoke during dinner. Mr. Darcy was characteristically silent. Georgiana spent a lot of time looking at him, as if she wished to speak to him but was frightened. And Georgiana’s governess Miss Thackerey, who was younger than Elizabeth, sometimes did pipe up with something that she and Georgiana were reading or studying, but Mr. Darcy usually gave one-word answers and then Miss Thackerey quieted.
Miss Thackerey spoke at length to Elizabeth after dinner, when the women were alone, but mostly about books that the two of them had both read. Truly, Miss Thackerey was the brightest spot of Pemberley thus far.
“Yes, thank you,” said Lady Catherine. “Dearest Georgiana, my darling.”
“Hello, Aunt Catherine,” Georgiana whispered to the ground.
Elizabeth could see Miss Thackerey flinch. She had been working with Georgiana on greeting people with her full voice. They had even practiced in the sitting room the night before. But Georgiana did not seem quite capable of it yet, even with someone she had likely known her entire life.
Lady Catherine and her daughter were shown to their rooms and Elizabeth did not see them again until dinner.
She steeled herself for the attack, then. She had gone so far as to have Martha dress her in her best gown and spend extra time on curling her hair. It felt like putting on armor for battle.
But Lady Catherine only spoke about trivialities during dinner. She commented on everything in the house—the paintings, the couches, the tables—and found fault with it all.
Only when Mr. Darcy told her tightly that the silver they were eating with had been his mother’s favorite did she quiet at all.
Then, for a time, it was silent.
“I say,” spoke up Miss de Bourgh suddenly, “how difficult do you think it would be to get on the roof? I think stars must be quite lovely here. At Rosings, on our roof, there are trees everywhere, but here it’s quite clear.”
“Anne,” said Lady Catherine. “Ladies do not climb onto roofs.”
“Oh, they don’t? Pity.” Miss de Bourgh set down her fork dejectedly.
The rest of dinner passed without incident.
After dinner, in the sitting room, Elizabeth was certain that Lady Catherine would pounce on her, but instead, she only asked for Georgiana to play on the pianoforte, which Georgiana did. Georgiana was obviously quite skilled at the piano, but she was nervous at having such an audience, and her fingers were shaking. She kept making small mistakes here and there, sounding sour notes.
Lady Catherine did not seem to notice. She sat up straight and tall, chin up, listening as if she was savoring the opera.
When Darcy appeared, though, Lady Catherine stood up. “Sit down, Darcy,” she instructed him.
Darcy hesitated, as if he was contemplating any way that he might refuse his aunt. But apparently coming up with no good excuses, he did sit.
“We must talk of this impending marriage,” said Lady Catherine.
“Oh?” said Darcy. “What is there to say?”
“Well, it is an impossibility,” said Lady Catherine. “You are betrothed to Anne.”
Miss de Bourgh looked up at this. “Oh, but Mama, I had asked you quite specifically if I could not go unicorn hunting before I was to be wed.”
“Quiet Anne,” said Lady Catherine.
Unicorn hunting? Elizabeth gave the girl an odd look. Perhaps there were reasons that Miss de Bourgh was not encouraged to speak. Was she truly all there?
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “When I was a boy, and Anne was a baby, I understood that you and my mother occasionally spoke of—”
“We have planned it, yes, since your infancy.”
“Well, I am nearly ten years older than Anne, so—”
“Listen, you are already betrothed. That is the end of it. You cannot become betrothed to another.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She knew that in grand families like Darcy’s, such childhood betrothals were not uncommon.
“There was never any agreement written up,” said Darcy. “Nothing was ever formally decided. I’m sorry, madam, but I think you have assumed too much about your plans with your sister.”
“Your mother wished it,” insisted Lady Catherine.
“My mother told me that she chiefly wished that I would be happy,” said Darcy.
“And you don’t think Anne would make you happy?” said Lady Catherine.
Darcy looked at her. He cleared his throat.
“It’s all right, cousin,” said Miss de Bourgh, smiling at him. “You would not make me happy either. I think I should only be satisfied with a man with very light yellow hair, like spun sunlight.”
“Anne!” snapped Lady Catherine. “I have told you more than once that it is better if you are seen and not heard.”
“I thought that was only at home at Rosings, Mama.”
“No,” said Lady Catherine. “It is everywhere. Now, cease your prattling.” She turned back to Darcy. “Anne is, perhaps, still a bit childlike and imaginative, but she will grow out of it and then you shall be wed.”
“No, we shall not,” said Mr. Darcy. “I am engaged to Miss Bennet. And I shall not hear a word against her. She has been through too much already. You have heard of what happened to her family in Hertfordshire, I daresay. There is no reason to add to her suffering by bringing up any of her inferior circumstances.”
Inferior circumstances? Oh, he could not resist, could he not? Elizabeth gazed at her fiance. In truth, she should not have expected otherwise.
“Well, if you are aware of her inappropriateness as your bride,” said Lady Catherine, “then why, pray tell, have you asked for her hand? Was there some circumstance that forced you into it?”
“No, I was not forced.” Darcy’s voice had become severe. “I do so because I choose to. And I have warned you that there will be no more conversation on this subject. If you traveled all the way here only to attempt to break up my engagement, then I am afraid you have made the journey in vain. Please, madam.”
“I don’t think the engagement should have been made in the first place,” said Lady Catherine.
“Aunt Catherine!” And now Darcy was on his feet. “Leave off this subject immediately, or myself, my fiancee, and Georgiana will all quit the sitting room at once.”
“Oh, dear, so melodramatic,” said Lady Catherine. She got to her feet as well. “There is no need for that, nephew. Why, Anne and I shall retire.”
“Already, Mama?” said Anne.
“Come!” Lady Catherine clapped at her, and Anne got up and followed her out of the room.
When they were gone, Darcy massaged the bridge of his nose. “I am dreadfully sorry for the behavior of my aunt, Miss Bennet. It is inexcusable.”
“I am all right, sir,” said Elizabeth. “Thank you.” She was grateful that he had stood up for her. But she rather wondered if it weren’t because he did not wish to be reminded that he was tying himself to her—an unconnected country miss. He had said that she haunted him. Perhaps he had proposed to her in a fit of madness. She studied his face. Did he regret it now? Was that why he had been so vehement in his insistence that Lady
Catherine leave the matter?
Oh, perhaps she was being hard on him. Perhaps, he was only being a gentleman, defending her honor and the like. She should be grateful to him. It seemed that she was often grateful to Mr. Darcy.
And yet, she still felt as if there was so much about him she did not know.
* * *
Jane stirred to wakefulness, some noise having roused her. She sat up in bed, and that was when she realized the bed was empty. Lydia was not there. She was relieved for a moment, still sleepy. Lydia was given to stealing all the covers, and Jane did not enjoy sharing her bed at all. She missed Elizabeth, who was a much more pleasant bedfellow.
But then the sleep left her, and she became alarmed. Where had Lydia gone? Jane pushed aside the blankets and got out of bed. She pulled on a bed jacket and hurried out of the bedroom, looking for any sign of her sister.
However, in the hallway, there was none.
Jane moved swiftly and silently through the hallway, opening a few of the doors to peer inside. Lydia was not in the morning room. She was not in the nursery. She was not in the library.
Jane padded down the stairs, and here she discovered Lydia, in the lobby, right at the front door.
Jane gasped at the sight of her sister. Lydia was dressed in a blue frock with a feathered mask over her face.
At the gasp, Lydia turned. “Oh, Jane, what are you doing? I thought you sound asleep.”
“The better question is what are you doing? What are you wearing?”
“I’m a bluebird,” said Lydia, touching the mask. “Do you like it? It’s not much of a costume, truly, but it was the best that I could do under the circumstances. I do find masquerade balls to be so exciting, don’t you?”
“Why are we speaking of masquerades?”
“Well, I should think it obvious. I am going to a masquerade.”
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