by Rowland Jann
Miss Bingley was not exactly sanguine about Elizabeth’s marriage to Mr. Darcy, however, though she kept her objections to herself. Her attempts to show Mr. Darcy her qualifications had peaked during the ball her brother had held at Netherfield, and as she had not been able to induce Mr. Darcy to even glance in her direction, she had taken the hint to look elsewhere for a husband.
“I could not have imagined that Miss Bingley would be so pleasant,” said Elizabeth to her husband, the first time the Bingleys—in the company of Miss Bingley—visited Pemberley after the Darcys’ marriage. “Given what you have told me of her behavior during past visits, I might have thought she would attempt to give me instruction.”
“No doubt it would have been given in her usual condescending tones,” muttered Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth laughed. “If I did not know the truth of your words, I might have accused you of unkindness.”
“It is well, then, that you are such an intelligent woman.” Mr. Darcy grinned. “I do have it on good authority that Bingley spoke with his sister at length about what he expected of her behavior while she is here. Of course, I must also attribute it to her desire to maintain a connection with us.”
“That I do not doubt. I am quite certain that Miss Bingley’s sense of what is best for her own self-interest is highly developed!”
“She also has a suitor.”
Elizabeth looked at her husband with interest. “Jane did not mention anything of a suitor.”
“It is not settled. The man has been visiting, and to hear Bingley speak of it, he seems to be impressed with her.”
“Then maybe they will make a match. I am certain Mr. Bingley wishes to have her disposed of in marriage.”
It was no surprise when six months later, a letter arrived from Mr. Bingley advising them of his sister’s engagement. The Darcys were not quite intimate with the new couple—though one of Mr. Powell’s inducements in marrying Miss Bingley was undoubtedly a connection with the Darcys of Pemberley—but when they did meet, they were both impressed with Mr. Powell’s amiable manner. Even more impressive was how he restrained from attempting to make what was, after all, a tenuous connection to be more than it was.
The true surprise, however, was provided by Kitty and Colonel Fitzwilliam when, one day almost three years after the Darcy’s marriage, they announced their own engagement. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been on the continent fighting in the final battle at Waterloo against the French tyrant, and when he returned to England, he had immediately repaired to Longbourn, where he had sought Kitty out and after a whirlwind courtship, asked her to marry him.
“I do not know why you should be so surprised,” said he. The colonel—now simply Mr. Fitzwilliam—had journeyed to Pemberley to tell them the news in person. “Every time I have seen her since your marriage, she has grown and matured, and I have found myself more entranced by her.”
Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy could not help but look at each other in surprise. “I had never thought your interest was so deep,” said Elizabeth.
“Kitty knew,” replied he. “And she is all I cared about.”
“What did my father say?” asked Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy’s cousin turned to her, and he put a finger to the side of his nose and said: “He asked me why it took me so long.”
Elizabeth could only laugh. “That is my father.”
Though Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy could only consider them to be an odd pairing, neither was inclined to anything other than wishing the couple every happiness. And it appeared that they were happy. The estate Mr. Fitzwilliam inherited was not so large and prosperous as Pemberley, but it was not insignificant either, and it proved to be more than sufficient for the Fitzwilliams’ needs. It was also in the north, not far from the Darcys, which allowed the three sisters ready access to each other.
The one sister who was not happy for Kitty’s good fortune was the youngest of them all. Lydia had long been accustomed to being the center of attention, the one to whom men looked before they ever considered her elder sister. It was selfish and childish and so very quintessentially Lydia, but the girl bitterly railed against the colonel’s seeming defection, and for time she attempted to make Kitty's life miserable.
Eventually, however, she was brought to heel when Mr. Bennet threatened to forbid her from coming out in London and send her to a school, which would have been humiliating for her at the age of eighteen. When she did come out, along with Georgiana Darcy under the watchful eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, she soon realized there was much fun to be had, and Kitty was forgotten. In time, both girls managed to make good marriages commensurate to their positions in life.
That left Mary at Longbourn, and though she was not fond of sitting with her mother, it seemed like she settled into life as the last remaining daughter with few regrets. She stayed that way until reaching the age of seven and twenty, when she met a barrister, a friend of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam, and decided she could not live without him. “I never intended to marry, you know,” said Mary some years later.
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth. The sisters had never been truly close—Mary had never been close with any of her sisters—but their relationship had strengthened over the years, as she and her husband were often in the company of the Darcys and Fitzwilliams, both in town and at their estates.
“You had the same example of marriage as I,” replied Mary. “While it prompted in you a determination to marry for love, in me it sparked nothing less than a resolve to never marry.”
“Mr. Hardwick certainly changed that,” observed Elizabeth, delighted when Mary’s eyes lost their focus. “And your children are beautiful.”
“It is more than I could ever have hoped,” replied Mary. “I am not so inflexible as to be unable to change my positions, Lizzy.”
“No, you are not,” said Elizabeth, drawing her younger sister into an embrace. “But you must own that your change of heart is largely due to your husband’s tenacity in altering your beliefs.”
“I am well aware of that.”
Thus, with Mary’s marriage, Mrs. Bennet’s long-held dream of seeing all her daughters married became a reality. That accomplished, she turned to her other passion—gossip—and happily spent her days in close conference with her sister Phillips or Lady Lucas, when she was not visiting the homes of her daughters. Thankfully, Mrs. Bennet was not a good traveler, and such visits were far less common than they might have been. Her daughters all loved her, but she remained invariably silly and nervous, and a little of her society went a long way.
Of Mr. Darcy’s family, most were inclined to accept his marriage, choosing to see the felicity which existed between them, rather than the lack of fortune and connections possessed by the new Mrs. Darcy. The exception to this rule was, of course, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The lady remained offended by Mr. Darcy’s choice, and for a time all contact between them was severed.
“I would not have you think me undutiful,” said Mr. Darcy to his wife one day not long after their marriage, “but being denied Lady Catherine’s society is more of a relief than anything else.”
“I cannot argue with you, Husband,” replied his wife. “The lady did not acquit herself at Longbourn well enough for me to wish for her company.
This all changed two years after the Darcy’s marriage. After stewing about the matter for some time, Lady Catherine got it into her head to make a fabulous match for her daughter, thereby showing Mr. Darcy exactly what he had given up by marrying his little adventuress of a wife.
Her schemes all fell through when Miss de Bourgh informed her, in no uncertain terms, that she had no intention of marrying anyone, least of all a suitor someone else chose for her. To hear Miss de Bourgh tell it, there was quite a quarrel concerning the matter, but Miss de Bourgh held firm, and not even all of Lady Catherine’s threats to disown her daughter had any effect. It took the earl’s intervention in the matter to settle the situation. Anne, having been sickly all her life, had no desire
to cut the time she had available by risking childbirth. When she understood her daughter’s motivations, Lady Catherine subsided, though not with any grace.
It was after they had settled into something resembling harmony that the subject of the Darcys was raised between them. And Lady Catherine, after her daughter pressed her for some months, approached the Darcys with offers of reconciliation. Mr. Darcy was initially hesitant, but he relented, and thereafter, Lady Catherine was an occasional visitor at Pemberley. She remained imperious and intent upon dispensing her advice to all within range of her voice, but Elizabeth decided philosophically that there was no harm in her and welcomed her whenever she came. Her departure was often late and long-wished for, of course, but such was the price of family harmony.
Of Mr. Collins, there is little to say. He married a young lady of the parish over which he presided, and though she seemed a pleasant young miss, Elizabeth was forced to assume she was not sensible, as anyone who married the man could hardly be so. He remained at Hunsford for many years waiting to come into his inheritance, and it was not long before even Lady Catherine grew tired of his servility. But a living once given is given for life, and the lady, with her own brand of unusual philosophy, decided to focus on the fact that forcing him to leave would deprive his wife and children of a home, and that she would not do.
“How wonderful it is to have one’s house to oneself,” said Elizabeth to her husband one fine morning after Lady Catherine left Pemberley.
“I have noticed that you often say that when my aunt has left,” replied her husband. “But it seems to me that you rarely say it when our other guests depart.”
“One cannot be an angel all the time. The best of us have our disagreeable moments, after all.”
“On the contrary,” said Mr. Darcy, taking his wife’s hand and leading her back into the house, “my experience at Longbourn taught me differently. I could never consider you anything but an angel.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him. “Even when I argue with you?”
“Even then.” The smile he turned on her was positively wicked. “There is more than one kind of angel, dearest.”
The sound of their laughter followed them into the house, and all who heard it were uplifted by it. An angel truly had resided at Longbourn. She had come to Pemberley, and those at the estate were all touched by her. But none more so than Pemberley’s master.
The End
Please enjoy the following excerpt from the upcoming novel On Tides of Fate, book three of the Earth and Sky trilogy.
Wisteria was much as Terrace remembered. She was heavyset, though not quite overweight, with the brown hair and eyes of her people, and though her younger sister was delicate and slender, Wisteria was rather like a battering ram in comparison. She was not unattractive, but Terrace knew many men would be put off by her plainer features and the contemptuous curl of her lips. If, indeed, they had not already been put off by her domineering manner and poisonous tongue. With some interest, Terrace noted a few pockmarked scars on Wisteria’s face, including one—quite deep—just under her left eye. Terrace wondered whether she had been in a battle of some kind.
There were a number of noble men and women standing by in the room, gazing on Terrace, as though wondering what she would do. Wisteria held her hand out to a nearby servant, who placed a goblet in her hand, backing away deferentially, almost genuflecting before the woman.
Terrace watched this scene with shock. Groundbreathers had never required such strong obeisance from their subjects. Most of those who lived in the castle were Groundbreathers themselves, descended from the same people who had originally been blessed by Terrain. Tillman’s requirements for respect had been almost perfunctory in nature, though Sequoia had always been more stringent. But even that imperious woman, who Terrace knew to be a good person at heart, had not acted the way her oldest daughter did. The girl almost seemed to think that she was Terrain himself.
“Welcome, Aunt,” Wisteria said, her contemptuous amusement not hidden when she paused to drink deeply from the goblet that had been provided to her. “To what do I owe the honor of this unannounced visit?”
“I am sure you understand exactly why I am here, Wisteria. I wish to know what happened to my brother, and I want to know what you have done with River.”
Wisteria cocked her head to the side. “You were informed, were you not?”
“I was. But I would hear it from you nonetheless.”
Wisteria shrugged. “It is as you were told. There was an attempt to take over the castle, and my father was an unfortunate casualty.”
“You speak of him as if he was nothing more than a Groundwalker,” Terrace spat. “He was king of our people!”
“You had best moderate your tone,” the chamberlain said. “Your niece is to be addressed with the respect she deserves and referred to as ‘Your Majesty.’“
“I changed her soiled linens when she was a child and swatted her bottom when she misbehaved,” Terrace snapped. “You had best mind your manners, or my niece will need a new toady to do her bidding.”
The man stiffened at the insult, but Terrace’s glare must have been fierce enough that he knew better than to speak any further. The sullen glare he directed at her, however, informed Terrace that she had made an enemy. But she did not fear what a man who kissed her niece’s feet could do, and she turned her stony gaze back on Wisteria.
“Well, Wisteria?” Terrace prompted. “I am waiting for your answer.”
“I do not make light of my father’s death,” Wisteria responded. “I mourn his passing as much as anyone, but as I am the eldest and the leadership of our people must be maintained, I have put my personal feelings aside for the good of the people and so that I might act in obedience to Terrain.”
Terrace glared at her niece. Wisteria had rarely been obedient to anyone, and Terrace had always thought her devotion to the earth god to be little more than superficial.
“Where is River?” Terrace asked, deciding a different tack was required. “Where are Sequoia and Tierra?”
Watching for Wisteria’s reaction as she was, Terrace was not surprised when an expression of almost insane revulsion crossed the young woman’s face. Wisteria had always hated Tierra with an antipathy so deep that Terrace suspected Wisteria would not shed a tear if Tierra fell over dead.
“My mother disappeared in the chaos,” Wisteria replied, though her short tone indicated her patience was being exhausted. “As for River and Tierra, they are safe at present. That is all you need to know.”
“River is my daughter, and I demand—”
“You are in a position to demand nothing!”
Aunt and niece glared at each other, neither giving an inch. Wisteria stared with cold eyes, her gaze almost seeming to bore through Terrace as though she were not even there. Belatedly, Terrace realized that this woman now held absolute power over the castle and its surrounding environs. These strange Iron Swords guaranteed that.
Wisteria would not be loved by her people. She did not have the ability to inspire such loyalty. Rather, she would rule by fear and her implacable will. Judging by the atmosphere in the throne room, she had already made a start down that path.
It was time to take greater care. Terrace could not do anything from the inside of a cell, and Wisteria would have no compunction about incarcerating her own aunt if her displeasure grew too great.
“I am merely concerned over my daughter,” Terrace said. Her attempt at a conciliatory tone was likely an abject failure, but Terrace thought Wisteria would care more about outward respect than inner feelings.
“I know you are concerned,” Wisteria replied, her grating attempt at a soothing tone nearly causing Terrace to grimace, “but at present, you must trust me. River will be returned to you, and I promise you she has not been harmed.”
Terrace did not miss how Wisteria did not even attempt to mollify her concerning the fate of Tierra. “And when will that be?”
Again, Wisteria’s composure cracked, though she controlled her tone. “That is yet to be determined. I will keep you informed of her status. At present, I believe it would be best to return to your home.”
Though it galled Terrace to be forced to retreat in such a manner, there was nothing more to be done. “Very well. But I must insist you inform me the moment there is any news.”
Terrace inclined her head in farewell and turned to leave, but she was arrested by the sound of Wisteria’s voice.
“Aunt, I am afraid I must ask you to remember that my father is dead . . . and I am now the queen. My father’s reign was marred by laxness, not only in the manner in which his subjects were allowed to behave, but also in . . . other matters that he championed before his death. I have restored the order of our kingdom now. I require all my subjects to behave properly, as our god would require it. I will not hesitate to enforce my dictates. Am I understood?”
Once again, Wisteria and Terrace stared at each other, Terrace searching for any hint of weakness. If there was any, it was well-hidden, for Wisteria’s expression was unreadable. It appeared Tillman was correct after all. He had often mentioned his concerns over the fitness of his daughter to rule when he passed away, and Terrace could see nothing before her but the realization of those fears. Wisteria was not to be trifled with, and if she were not stopped, then she had the potential to become the worst despot in the history of their people.
“Perfectly,” Terrace replied.
“Excellent! Then we shall see each other anon. Changes are coming, Aunt, and we must do our part to bring about our god’s designs.”
Terrace nodded and turned to leave the room, her retinue trailing behind her. She did not understand what Wisteria meant concerning Terrain, but she feared it nonetheless. It was at times like this that she wished Heath was still with her. He had always known what to do, and he had possessed an instinctual ability to read others and determine their motivations with a single glance. Terrace missed him; she had loved and cherished him, and theirs had been a marriage of the hearts.