by Massey, Beth
“You are right, Papa. It is wrong for me to speak bad about Grandmama.” Bethany tried to look sorry. She waited a few seconds, and then put on a serious face and said, “Papa, I have another thing to ask you.” This time Bethany seemed hesitant to proceed. “Umm… Lewis and I… We want you to find a wife. Maybe you could look for one at Mr Bingley’s.”
Bethany set her jaw as she continued. “We do not want Miss Bingley … She seems to want to be your wife, but we do not think she would do.”
“You are looking for something in a mother? What do you require?”
“Lewis and I have talked about this. We call it the perfect mother game.” Bethany screwed up her face as she made sure she did not leave out any of their wishes. “We want a mother who can tell stories… with scary voices… like you. We need a third witch for Macbeth… When I interviewed Miss Bingley, she did not even seem to know about the witches in Macbeth… and seemed mad that I wanted her to be a witch.”
Darcy’s jaw dropped. “You ‘interviewed’ Miss Bingley? How do you even know that word or what it means?”
“Hmmm… I heard you say that word when you were getting a new friend for Aunt Georgie. I just asked Miss Bingley things. She did not know why.”
This time Darcy could not keep from laughing. “So tell me, Baby Duck, what other accomplishments are you and Lewis looking for in a mother?”
“Well, she has to be a good walker and every time I asked Miss Bingley to walk with Lewis and me, she said, “No.”
“Baby Duck, Miss Bingley is a fine walker, but did not want to walk with you and Lewis. She does not seem to be overly fond of children.”
Bethany looked quizzically at her father, and then her face broke into a grin. “Then I guess she would not be a good mother.”
“You are right, I do not think Miss Bingley would make a good mother, or a good wife. What other things would you like?”
Bethany smiled at her father and said, “We want a mother that smells good… And Lewis wants one that sings. She should make you smile and laugh. Then you would be sooo handsome.”
Bethany squared her shoulders. “Do you think, Papa, when I turn five, you could stop calling me ‘Baby Duck?’ I will be almost grown up, and should not be called by any name with baby in it…” Her father’s face looked troubled at her request. When he did not answer her, she continued. “Why did you ever start calling me that silly name? Did I look like a duck?”
Fitzwilliam Darcy smiled at his daughter. “No, but when you were a new born, your first hair was light, and looked just like the down on baby ducks.” He knew neither he nor Anne had been the first to call her by that name. That honour went to the young woman who gave birth to Bethany. The image of her singing that beautiful Irish rebel song, kissing Bethany’s fingers and saying she would always love her Baby Duck flashed through his mind.
Her papa seemed to be lost remembering the past. To Bethany, he often seemed to go somewhere else. She said, “Papa, pay attention! Will you look for a wife?”
“Bethany, I am always looking, but I rarely see anything that pleases me. What do you and Lewis want your perfect mother to look like?”
“We talked about it, and felt that you should choose; but we both hoped she might look like…” Bethany pointed to the portrait of a young woman reading hanging opposite his desk.
The painting by the French artist Fragonard, had been brought to his attention by Mr Jarvis as a painting Mr Darcy might like to add to his collection. He was immediately drawn to it. This portrait, unlike Romney’s studies of Miranda, reminded him of the pleasant time he had spent with Bethany’s mother waiting for the birth of his daughter. He planned to give the painting to Bethany when she was older… Of course, he would not reveal the reason. In the meantime, he kept the painting in his study. “What do you and Lewis like about the way she looks?”
“She looks soft. Lewis says he would like to cuddle with her. Lewis loooves to cuddle. Papa, did you cuddle with your mother when you were a little boy?”
“Yes, when she read me a story.” Darcy knew that it was the young woman’s bosom that looked soft, and he thought how much he agreed with his son. “Lewis is correct… that is a very important requirement.”
“Papa did you cuddle with my mama?”
Without thinking, Darcy who was momentarily struck with guilt by her question, answered truthfully. “Oh no, I assure you, I never did.” Bethany’s crestfallen look caused him to realize his error. “I am sorry, Baby Duck. I misspoke… of course I cuddled with your mama. I loved her very much.” He had always hated disguise of any sort; but the circumstances of Bethany’s birth required him to always be on guard, lest the truth come out.
Most nights Elizabeth struggled to sleep. The refreshing numbness of slumber was ever elusive. Per her father’s remedy to Lizzy, the child, she did everything to exhaust herself; but in the end, it was only her body and not her mind that succumbed. She walked the fields with Little John, visited tenants with Mary, gathered flowers and herbs for Jane, and walked to Meryton for supplies for anyone who needed something.
Regardless of how busy her days were, at night her mind raced with unwelcome thoughts. She feared the nightmares that sometimes followed her submission to sleep. Over the years, they had lessened, but still happened often enough to be a cause for anxiety each night as her head found the pillow. Elizabeth wished she could divulge her secrets and unburden her troubled soul… She was tired of being fearful of exposure, and she was tired of being tired.
She was in the habit of getting up before dawn and walking to Oakham Mount with Caliban as soon as there was enough light to navigate. Five years earlier when she had first returned to Longbourn, she began the practice. Her family had questioned the propriety of a woman walking alone before dawn. She had faced her father’s attempt to prohibit her morning rambles calmly—telling him she was compelled by some unknown force and would not be able to obey his demands. He silently questioned her sanity, but did not feel he wanted to lock her in her room at night. The addition of Caliban had made him less anxious, but he wished she would confide in him what had happened to make her so restless. He asked his brother-in-law several times if he could explain Lizzy’s change, and on each occasion Mr Gardiner claimed nothing untoward had happened that he knew about. Though bothered by his daughter’s metamorphosis, Mr Bennet decided it was easier to indulge the idiosyncrasies she had developed during her lost year.
Mrs Hill had instructed the cook to always have a crockery jug of tea ready for Lizzy to take along. It was wrapped tightly in a towel to preserve its warmth, and packed in a basket with a mug and a blanket. When she got to Oakham Mount, her routine was always the same; she would watch the sun rise over the meadow, sip her tea and consult with her dog about her plans for the day. Sometimes she would play the tin whistle Jamie had given her, but lately as Mary and Kitty prepared for their futures as wives and mothers—her thoughts increasingly drifted toward regret and even anger at her interrupted life. She was long past tears and knew it was wrong to question God’s wisdom, but she could not shake the unwanted thoughts that increasingly intruded. She knew there were many harsh things that happened—women died in childbirth, babies were still born, infants often lived only a short time, and people even died unexpectedly from trifling colds—still she wondered at the cruelty of her particular punishment. Why had she been violated by a man ten times her importance? But, most often lately she rebelled at society’s rules that had forced her to give up the only baby she would ever have—a child who would have been her joy.
As the sun rose higher in the autumn sky, she chastised herself for maudlin meanderings and decided it was time to look to the future she had been dealt. How could she and John find new buyers for their bricks? Should she encourage Jane to make scented soaps? Her mind quickly turned—much as her mother’s often did—to her sisters’ marital prospects. Kitty’s dowry would be Elizabeth’s share in the brick works, the land around and the house—she and John had purchased t
ogether. Mary would inherit Longbourn as the wife of Mr Collins. As long as Mr Bennet was able to increase the estate’s annual income, that would satisfy any need for a monetary settlement at the time of her marriage. That meant larger dowries for Jane and Lydia
Lydia was still very young, and would not be marrying for several years. She would only officially come out at the next assembly; and Elizabeth was certain she would have time to add to her dowry. Her unclehad put some of her funds into Cartwright’s power looms, and the rapid mechanization of the textile trade had the potential for making Lizzy a wealthy woman.
The youngest Bennet daughter’s fondness for officers caused her some concern; but Charlotte was around the militia camp to look out for both their sisters. Since Kitty had become attached to John Reynolds, Maria Lucas had become Lydia’s constant companion.
The concern she felt most keenly for any of her sisters was Jane’s reluctance to express her feelings. The oldest Miss Bennet still feared opening her heart again and being abandoned a third time. Lizzy spent much of their time together encouraging her sister; but she had not become less reticent in the past five years. Elizabeth could not imagine how any man could resist her sister’s ethereal beauty and serene goodness. The only stumbling block to her being chosen was the lack of an adequate dowry. Every year since she had returned to Hertfordshire, she had increased the amount. Currently with Mary and Kitty’s situation, she believed she could afford ten thousand pounds. Still, she was hesitant to proclaim the amount to Meryton society.
The sun was well over the horizon, and she should be returning to have breakfast with her father. As she gathered her things, she saw two men riding hard across the meadow below. They were both young men, she was certain. One was taller than the other and there was something familiar about him. His body was almost prone on his mount in the interest of speed. A black coat covered his broad shoulders, the tails flapping in the wind, and on his head he wore a tall beaver hat. The speed with which they both rode made her apprehensive. They slowed as they neared to her position. She knew not why; but she waved as they drew even. They pulled up their horses, looked at her, and waved back.
Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy saw a woman on the rise above. She was too far away to make out her features—though Darcy was certain she was young. As she stood there, he was reminded of the painting his acquaintance, Edward Barrett had of his deceased sister. Thomas Lawrence had painted her when she was but twelve years old, and a year later, she had died from consumption. Pinkie, as her family had called her, was depicted on a moor with the wind blowing her gown and untied bonnet ribbons. The young woman on the mount above also had her bonnet ribbons untied, and her hair was loose about her shoulders. Unlike the painting, she was not in a light summer gown, but dressed for October. Pink and white were replaced by shades of russet, amber and mauve. The palate offset her cascading curls in the autumn light to perfection. If Lawrence could see her standing there, Darcy was certain he would consider doing a series of paintings of young women depicting summer, autumn, winter and spring. He would love a painting depicting the vision presented by this young woman.
Darcy pulled his horse up to get a better view, and Bingley followed his lead. As they looked at her, the young woman, breaking all the rules of propriety waved at them. Without thinking, they both returned her greeting. At that, the young woman called to a huge dog that fell in at her side. Together, they turned and walked down the hill and out of sight.
Bingley smiled broadly at his dour friend and said, “See Darcy, the inhabitants of this country are uncommonly friendly.”
The power of her image dissipated. Darcy did not speak, but cynically concluded that young women in this neighbourhood were uncommonly and improperly friendly to young men… if there was even the remotest possibility of marriage.
Elizabeth knew she had just witnessed the evidence that Netherfield Park was let at last—and to a young unmarried man. Becky had written to expect Mr Bingley to arrive in the neighbourhood shortly after Michaelmas. Lizzy could not imagine what had prompted her to wave. With any luck, by the time she met the new tenant of the neighbouring estate, she would be long gone from his memory—and her act should not jeopardize his opinion of her sister. Would he be the one for Jane, or would he break her heart? There were two men… Which one had leased Netherfield, and who was the other?
25 MORE GREAT EXPECTATIONS
Lydia Bennet smiled at her reflection. She pinched her cheeks as her stomach quivered with excitement. Tonight’s assembly would be her first time fully out in society. As usual, her father and Elizabeth would not be attending. She wished they would reconsider, as it would make this momentous milestone so much more auspicious to have her entire family with her.
Papa had stopped going to assemblies with Jane and Mrs Bennet when Elizabeth came home from Derbyshire. She had returned an heiress—determined never to wed. Why would a young woman not want to marry? Lydia changed the position of a red silk rose in her hair as she considered the wonders of becoming married —the most delicious part would surely be choosing the wedding clothes. On her day to shine, she would wear the most beautiful gown—no bonnet for her. It would be summer and she would wear a crown of real white roses. Her husband would wear his scarlet coat; and all her family and neighbours would admire her as the loveliest bride Meryton had ever seen. Lydia scraped her teeth across her full lips to heighten their natural crimson colour. As her finger tip soothed away the sting, she wondered what it would feel like to be kissed.
The youngest of the five Bennet daughters was very proud of being the tallest—not just the tallest at fifteen, but the tallest. Lydia was a striking combination of the darkest hair and the lightest eyes of her sisters. They all shared an abundance of curls, but Lydia’s was a unique glossy ebony hue, and the pale blue of her eyes was offset by dark brows and long silky lashes. Though barely fifteen, she looked older than Kitty, who had turned sixteen more than three months earlier. As she admired her upswept locks, she recalled that her sister Elizabeth had looked like a child at her age. Lydia’s mature looks and pleasing stout figure caused her to be noticed by the young officers of the militia during her frequent trips to Meryton. She revelled in their admiration.
As Lydia had anticipated her first assembly, she had queried Lizzy as to why she did not want to attend balls. It was an attempt to persuade her to make an appearance at her big night, but her sister had been quite adamant. “It is a waste to make myself available for dancing with men if I have no intention of ever marrying. Besides, this is your night to shine, sweet sister. The oddity of my being there would cause people to talk about me instead of you.” Lydia had readily agreed after hearing Elizabeth’s wise words. But still, she would not even dance at a neighbour’s house party. There were times it seemed her sister disliked men, but her observations told her that was not true. Elizabeth’s affection for John Reynolds was obvious; even if it was also evident she loved him as a brother.
There was definitely a mystery about Lizzy. She had returned from Derbyshire changed and one of the most striking alterations was that she was determined to play advisor to her sisters. Though at first sceptical of her reasons, both her parents had eventually embraced and sometimes even augmented their daughter’s mission. Her father had even been moved to begin taking an active role in moulding his daughters—to ensure they were equipped to handle the ‘vagaries of life’ as he put it. Her mother, once she was persuaded by Lizzy that she and her sisters would be secure upon Mr Bennet’s demise, had even become a bit less frantic in her quest to marry them off. Lydia laughed as she recalled the tense days and the particularly grand exhibition of her mother’s famous nerves before she had finally agreed to allow Lizzy to forgo assemblies and balls.
When only Jane was out, the four remaining Bennet sisters had a party at home on the nights of the assemblies. Lizzy or Mary would play, and they would practice dancing. Sometimes Mr Bennet would participate and dance with his daughters. When the eldest Miss Bennet returned home, the
y always met in her room for a description of the participants and their attire. The conundrum for Lydia was that for five years, Elizabeth appeared to be a mixture of a wistful desire to participate, offset by some unfathomable fear.
Mary had finally joined Jane and Mrs Bennet in attendance. Mr Bennet had been able to persuade his wife to allow Mary one additional year before coming out; but shortly after her sixteenth birthday, her mother insisted she begin to attend with Jane. Kitty had followed a year later. Unlike Mary, she enjoyed dancing with many of the young men of the neighbourhood, but her mother and older sisters noticed that she always danced with John Reynolds twice.
Now it was Lydia’s turn. She had been allowed to purchase a new gown for the occasion. Kitty had drawn a design to her specification, and she had arrived at the local modiste’s with a firm vision in place. The bodice was white and the skirt was red with a shiny gold sash defining the waist. Her goal was to look exquisite while dancing with an officer in a scarlet coat. Her sisters had to agree, the dress was perfect, and she looked lovely. Jane loaned her a pair of red slippers, and Lizzy retrieved a red cloak with a hood she had not worn for years.
Propriety and the need to protect one’s reputation—as well as how to tell if a man was serious about pursuing an attachment were often the subject of the sisters’ late night discussions. Mary had encouraged her younger sisters to enjoy themselves when their time came to be out, but to be very careful in getting to know strangers. Lizzy would often reiterate her sister’s advice and encourage them to use Mary’s human balance sheet. Most importantly, she warned them to never rely on first impressions. Jane expressed her opinion of the goodness of most acquaintances, but also encouraged her sisters to be wary of giving their hearts away too easily. At almost every discussion, Lizzy felt the need to state that once out, they should never allow themselves to be alone with strangers… including women. To Lydia, Elizabeth and Jane both seemed overly cautious—but of different aspects of the path to matrimony. As she checked her appearance one last time, Lydia decided what was most important was the closeness the sisters shared and their ability to rely on each other for advice, encouragement and borrowing clothes.