by Beth Poppet
“I am in the midst of planning the menu for our Christmas dinner. I’ve done it for our little household a dozen times or more with Jane, but I confess, the scale of what Pemberley and its inhabitants will require is intimidating. I have no wish to overwhelm the cook, but neither do I wish to underwhelm our guests. Might you have any suggestions?”
Her petition for Georgiana’s advice had quite the opposite effect that she had hoped for. Georgiana’s face turned a ghastly white and she stammered out that she had no idea at all about such matters. “I never asked Mama to show me how, and when she died Fitzwilliam said there was no reason for me to be burdened with such responsibilities. He has yet to teach me much of anything regarding management of the household.
“Oh, dear,” she bemoaned, “I’m afraid I’m terribly ignorant. I know what some of our favourite dishes look like, but I wouldn’t begin to know how to put it down on paper for Cook to use. Of course, it only makes sense that someone would have to see to that, I suppose it has only ever been Fitzwilliam.”
“Who sees to it when your brother is away?”
“I… don’t know,” she admitted, looking more ashamed by the moment. “Cook never seems to require any special directions. She knows exactly what we like and keeps to the same rotation of dinners. I wonder that Fitzwilliam never thought to teach me sooner,” she murmured, crestfallen.
“Dear girl,” Elizabeth soothed, taking her hand comfortingly, “This is the sort of thing one usually learns from a mother, and as you lost your own too soon, no one can blame you for being ignorant in this area. As for your brother, he likely still thinks of you as a very young girl and has trouble imagining the day when you might oversee a household of your own.”
“Still, I think he might have shown me how to draw up a menu,” she fretted.
“Well, your new sister shall help you with that, never you fear,” Elizabeth promised. “And I shall have a word with Mr Darcy about it, as well.”
Her husband seemed to sense that he was being spoken of and sent Elizabeth a questioning glance. She returned it with a look of wilful challenge, and he held her gaze a moment more than was entirely necessary.
Georgiana noticed their exchange and despite it being no more than a look from across the room, something in its nature caused her blush to deepen. It was not the first time her brother’s admiration for Elizabeth was so evidenced by his silent yet open expression, despite his reserved nature.
When the moment had passed, Georgiana surprised herself by proposing a dance, forcing Mary to play a less technical tune, and giving Elizabeth a rare opportunity to dance with her husband if he should chuse to participate.
Fond as Elizabeth was of dancing, and infectious as Kitty’s joy was over attending balls given at Pemberley without fear of her favourite frock or gloves being stolen by Lydia, Elizabeth was not certain she could maintain such bustling, admiring, and being admired forever. Of the several balls hosted at their estate, Colonel Fitzwilliam was able to attend two—the first being Georgiana’s debut—and they persuaded him to stay with them until duty must call him elsewhere.
Mrs Bennet was excessively delighted by the colonel’s gentlemanly ways and was soon back to her mortifying conduct, loudly voicing her growing expectations for him and Kitty to make a match of it after he danced with her first of all the ladies in the room. But catching the danger early enough, Elizabeth was able to divert her attentions to the son of another lord who was only second born and therefore undoubtedly wealthier given his birth place. Georgiana was openly thankful to her new sister for her expertise in navigating such situations with tact and made a point to tell her so when they had a moment alone between dances.
“I am glad you stepped in and distracted your mama away from Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said, cheeks still aglow from watching him dance, “I’m sure he would not have found it as mortifying as I would. I fear I feel things too keenly, even for the sake of others. But it was so kind of you to rescue him.”
“I do not know that I have done any good after all,” Elizabeth admitted. “My mother may cause greater embarrassment if she manages to be introduced to Mr Lockhart and insults him with her openly expressed dreams for his future.”
“Oh, but it was so beautifully done, and so clever how you managed it without her being aware of your redirection.” Georgiana glanced down at her gloved hands and turned a little emerald ring until it was perfectly centred on her finger. “All I can do in such situations is turn bright red and go hot in the face while I wait for someone else to speak again. I think of all sorts of clever things when I’m alone in the quiet, but in the moment of need I’m always struck dumb.”
“But you have other virtues that I am entirely lacking in,” Elizabeth said encouragingly. “I do not consider myself a very thoughtless creature, and yet I know I often speak from biting wit rather than compassion. Along with my cleverness comes a great deal of trouble,” she warned, though smiling to remember a certain past interview. “It nearly prevented your brother and me from coming to our understanding, you know.”
“I do! Well… a very little of it,” Georgiana was most eager to be included in such intimate conversations as Elizabeth’s courtship with her brother but was too reserved to press. “But you are not unkind,” she said decidedly. “I think even the sharper things you say are from a place of consideration. I have heard you say some shocking things to Caroline, but it is always after she has baited you first or said something very discourteous about your family.”
“Georgiana, I will treasure your dear assessment of my character above anyone else’s, save perhaps Jane’s,” Elizabeth beamed. “Though it only proves my own statement that you are a better soul than I.”
“Oh, no,” she blushed in denial.
Colonel Fitzwilliam came upon them in that instant, wondering where his favourites had retreated. “I thought the worst must have happened, and you had both procured double sprained ankles from dancing and hosting,” he cried. “Yet here you are, chattering away during a ball. This is highly distressing, ladies.” He made a great show of suffering over their absence. “I’m especially disappointed in you, Mrs Darcy. You should be urging Georgiana to come closer to the floor and find her next partner as Darcy cannot see to it that she participates in every dance.”
The ladies shared looks of amusement, but it was Elizabeth who answered him. “His one consolation in hosting our own balls, I’m sure. There is no expectation for him to dance when there is mostly family about, and you see I have taken care of all my guests as a thoughtful wife should, so there is no need to chide me, Colonel. Not one lady is without a partner, not even my sister, Mary!”
“Not one but Georgiana,” he corrected.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. “When we moved to this side of the room, all the desirable partners were engaged. I felt it my duty to keep her in conversation until you might rescue her from such a plight as a double twisted ankle from a clumsy gentleman.”
Georgiana laughed and Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled heartily. “In that case, you have done your duty most admirably, and all is forgiven.
“Georgiana?” he asked, holding out his hand for the next dance.
They went on, sharing all the smiles that two people glad to be in one another’s company should, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to observe her husband, and father at the card tables for the hour or so that her guests would be employed in the dance. Even Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley had found partners worthy of their interaction, and with her mama safely occupied with a plate of fruit and a cup of punch, Elizabeth could rest on her laurels of accomplishment and see to it that her husband’s opponents were properly flustered by remarks she would make in his favour. She remembered a time when Caroline Bingley attempted a similar ploy, but she never had much success. Indeed, her little jokes and snubs did more to aggravate than anything else.
Mr Bingley’s sisters were both much the same as they had always been. Mr Darcy’s marriage to Elizabeth had not elevated her i
n their eyes but only soured them further against her, though not to the point of refusing the finer effects of the Darcys hospitality. They appeared for mealtimes and appointed balls, speaking to and mingling with those of their same lofty sphere. This sphere did not include Elizabeth, and besides the necessary civilities of addressing the hostess now and then with pretend gratitude, they did their utmost to keep entirely to different parts of the house than Mrs Darcy and especially her relations. She was a little surprised they stayed at all if the company was so distasteful to them but could well understand the irresistible pull of Pemberley and all it had to offer.
Jane, they treated as a leper now that she was widowed with a mewling infant. They behaved as if loss and children were something catching, and they could prevent becoming as she was by avoiding her company as well, except to make snide implications regarding the unfortunate lack of a significant dower. They were so eager to keep out of her way that neither of them seemed aware of how unchanged their brother was in his enjoyment of Jane’s company and indeed, how often he sought it out. Mr Bingley had ample excuses to do so as he was unable to dance and often stole away to the partitioned room where Mrs Collins might sit during the balls as she was still not permitted to be in society. There, they could hear the strains of music and the joviality of those beyond, but neither seemed able to do more than nod their greeting and sit in a companionable silence until Jane would excuse herself, nearly always for the nursery.
Mr Bingley soon made it his business to learn precisely where the nursery was and grew an inexplicable fondness for the small library nearest it. Here, he claimed, was the best view of the stables where he could watch all his equestrian friends and fondly remember his riding days. In truth, it was most often where Jane would sit and do her needlework or come to evaluate the children’s literature kept there in preparation for when Henry was old enough to care for such things.
The first time Jane came upon him there, he had been waiting several hours spent in various haphazard doings and putting his mind to what he would say upon her entrance into the room. He did not want to appear as if he’d been occupying the library for the sole purpose of meeting her there, but none of the silly nothings he set himself to do seemed very natural either.
When at last that soft tread announced her coming, he was the one flustered and blushing as he rose from the chair, despite the element of surprise being his.
“Hullo!” he called, “Um, ‘good afternoon, Mrs Collins,’ is what I should have said. I was… looking for a book.” He held up the open one in hand as evidence of his intentions.
“I’m sorry you could not find something suitable in any of the larger libraries,” she tried haltingly. She had no wish to appear unwelcoming but could not be certain that he would be glad for her intrusion.
“I’m not at all sorry!” some of the natural openness returned to his face. “That is, this room is charming! And most of the books in Darcy’s beloved collection are remarkably dry.”
“Your Child’s Garden of Virtues is wrong side up for reading,” she gently pointed out, suppressing a smile.
“Ah.” He winced bemusedly. “Would you believe me if I said I was teaching myself to read up-side-down?”
“If you said it was true, I would believe it,” Jane cautioned, but not too severely. “You have always been most open and frank.”
“That’s just the thing,” he frowned, sighing a little. “I’m not certain… how to be that anymore. Doesn’t come so easily, now. Not that wilful deception is suddenly attractive to me, of course,” a touch of humour laced his words. “But I don’t know how thoroughly honest I should be with… well, certain people that I regard highly. I’m forever hanging in the balance between looking utterly pitiable and not telling the truth about myself. I do hate for others to worry over me.”
“I can certainly understand that.”
“Did you know,” he said with perfect frankness, “I was engaged once?”
“I had heard of it, yes,” she answered softly, eyes downcast.
Misunderstanding her quieter tone, he hastily apologised. “Forgive me, that’s nothing like losing a husband, I know. Stupid of me to bring it up. I’m not sure why I did.” He shook his head, emphasising his own displeasure in himself. “The rotten thing is… I’m even more sorry to have lost the full use of my leg rather than the lady. That’s a dreadful thing to confess, isn’t it?”
Something in his query caused Jane to draw in a sharp breath. “No,” she answered, voice trembling. “Not if you did not love the lady. Or if she did not love you.”
“Precisely!” He nodded eagerly. “I did not love the lady. She was a lovely girl, and I’m sure any man would be glad to marry her. Any other man, that is. But I did not mean to press my suit with her. Caroline may have helped some rumours along that there was to be an engagement, and when she said it was obvious to the whole ton that I had intentions of that nature, well… I could hardly bolt and leave her alone to wonder why. And perhaps I did imagine we could make a fine couple. But now… Well, I’m rather glad I fell off that bloody horse and her father forbade the marriage.” He seemed to realise how much he’d spoken without pause and added sourly, “I’m sure you think very poorly of me, now.”
“Indeed, I do not!” Jane protested, moving a step closer to him without thought. “Although I do wonder why you confess so much to me.”
“Do you truly?” His fingers twitched to reach out to her, but he reigned them in and squeezed them into a tight fist. “Mrs Collins, I… No, forgive me. I would not speak so openly except that there was once a time that I spoke too late. Now I fear I speak too soon…”
A moment of pain passed over his features, and Jane worried that his leg was the reason, but did not know how to ask delicately.
“Please do forgive me!” he exclaimed before she could think of any proper query, “Your grief must be very great, and I am only a bumbling fool.”
“No,” she insisted with feeling, “I am glad to know the whole nature of your courtship, and I do not think any less of you for having told me, I promise.”
The pained scowl softened some, but even in his smile there was a reserved sorrow lurking behind it. “And… how are you?” he asked. When her features betrayed a dislike of having to answer, he quickly altered his question. “How is your fine little boy?”
This brightened her some, and though there was little excitement to share in the day to day of a new infant that was safe to speak of, Jane managed to relate all his smiles, and sounds, and the progress in having more waking than sleeping hours during the day as if they were the most enchanting thing in the world, and Mr Bingley believed her entirely.
When the nursemaid brought a wakeful Henry to Jane, Mr Bingley had a difficult time of not leaping to assist in holding the child. Jane could sense his eagerness and asked if he would like to see the babe. His response was an overwhelming assent, and the hours before suppertime were spent in the happy pursuit of enticing smiles out of Jane’s son and reading to him from A Child’s Garden of Virtues that had previously been set aside.
Chapter Five
Christmas was a far more familial affair than the larger gatherings leading up to it, though Pemberley was by no means emptied of her guests. The Gardiners and their children came in time for the traditional observances, and the youngest of them were a welcome addition to the nursery, lifting Jane’s spirits and increasing Bingley’s delight considerably. There were now frolics and games to be had, most of which involved a certain gentleman’s cane, giving Mr Bingley a sense of pride in his injuries and his walking instrument’s presence as only the awe-struck gambols of young people can bestow. Mrs Gardiner was profuse with thanks for his forbearance with her plucky brood while he assured her that it was her children whom he was thankful for and the joy they brought to a limping gent who would otherwise feel quite useless and underfoot.
Mrs Gardiner was no fool and took advantage of every opportunity to remind Jane of his virtues whenever they we
re in private conversation.
“How sweet he is with the children,” she remarked in her quiet way while Jane saw to Henry’s sustenance. Mrs Gardiner’s little ones were taking their midday rest, and she was of the inclination to see her own children to bed, despite the trustworthiness of Mrs Sawyer.
“Aunt,” Jane replied in just as hushed a tone, “I am well aware of Mr Bingley’s good qualities. I have not forgotten his kindness, nor his admirable nature since we were first introduced.” She let her head droop, pretending it was to better position her suckling lad. “I am, however, still in mourning for a husband gone, and even were I not, I have no reason to expect Mr Bingley would wish to take on a poor widow with an infant son.”
“Have you not?” her aunt pried. “Are his constant attentions and the delighted smiles thrown your way not proof enough of his interest?”
“He has certainly been most attentive and courteous, just as he always has been,” Jane admitted. “But the fact that he is forced to be confined to one area of the house proves nothing regarding his intentions. It is best not to ascribe romantic feeling to his perfectly rational behaviour.”
Mrs Gardiner finished tucking the cover around her youngest, left a kiss on her forehead, and took the seat by Jane. Her expression betrayed complete disbelief towards her niece’s dismissal. “If he chose to spend his waking hours in the rooms where Miss Darcy gives concerts, or your sister makes the liveliest conversation, or even in one of the larger libraries, I might be inclined to believe you a little. But that is not so,” she chided, smiling. “He comes here and to the smallest library, where there is little amusement besides refereeing childish romps, and no gain for a gentleman of his standing apart from your smiles and approval.
“Jane, my dear,” she continued when her niece gave no audible answer, “do not allow yourself to feel guilt over the strange way Providence has been dictated. You were a good wife to Mr Collins, and God will not be displeased with you for pursuing your future happiness with Mr Bingley.” Jane appeared as if she meant to protest, but her aunt met this look with an authoritative one of her own and pressed, “Does not Saint Paul urge young widows to remarry?”