The Women of Pemberley

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Her brother seemed a little downcast as she went on, “Now, what I wish to ask you, my dear brother, is how confident are you of your own feelings? Are you certain of your intentions?”

  At this, he brightened considerably. He reassured her in no uncertain terms that he knew his mind; indeed, he had carried the knowledge within him since Sophie’s wedding when he had seen Josie after almost a year away at Cambridge and discovered that the rather awkward, young girl had been transformed into an attractive, intelligent young woman with a mind of her own. “We spent some time together during the weeks that followed, and I have been bewitched by her ever since. I admit I have been a bit of a coward about confessing it, but I have no doubt at all about my feelings now. She is the brightest, most engaging young woman, I know. I love her, Cassy.”

  Cassandra rose and embraced her brother warmly. “You poor thing, you do not deserve this. Go and see her, Julian, and ask her, and once she has said yes, then ask her father.”

  Julian left soon afterwards, having thanked his sister for her advice. Returning that evening to the Tates’ place at Matlock, he expected to find the family at home and hoped for an opportunity to speak with Josie alone. To his great disappointment, he found the parlour full of Anthony Tate’s business friends, who had been invited to celebrate his acquisition of another provincial journal. Josie, far from being available to listen to an ardent proposal, was virtually run off her feet assisting Mrs Tate with arrangements for the evening. Like her mother Charlotte, Rebecca Tate was a practical woman who insisted on her daughter learning to manage a household, whatever other interests or aspirations she might have.

  While Julian was made welcome, he could never find the time or the opportunity to say more than a few words to the young lady he had come to woo. At the very end of the evening, when it was time to leave, he did get a moment during which he thought perhaps he could at least indicate his intentions and receive some hint of her response. As they waited in the sitting room for the hall to be clear of guests waiting for their vehicles, Julian reminded Josie that he would be back at Pemberley for Christmas. “I hope we can meet again, soon,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light.

  Josie smiled, but she was clearly not concentrating. “Oh yes, indeed,” she said, but then added, “I do wish I could go to London and work there. All Papa’s friends say it is where you have to be if you want to get anything into the big metropolitan papers. Mr Drummond, that’s him over there with the big moustache, who has shares in the newspapers in Manchester and London, laughed when I told him I wanted to write for the metropolitan press. ‘What would you write, my dear?’ he said,” and Josie mimicked his gruff throaty voice, “‘they don’t print recipes for jam or fairy stories, you know.’ Recipes for jam indeed, hateful man!” She was furious and so was Julian, though he could see the funny side of it, but did not dare let her know.

  “Have no fear, Josie. One of these days, Mr Drummond will have to eat his words when one of your pieces appears in The Times!”

  “Oh, I do hope so, Julian. I would give anything to live and work in London,” she said wistfully. “There is something interesting happening in London all the time. There would be hundreds of things to write about.”

  Julian agreed, but before he could say anything more, he was called out into the hall. The carriage from Pemberley was at the door. It was time to leave. He smiled and kissed her hand and had to race out and into his carriage to escape the gusts of wind and rain that had started to blow in from the north. The last he saw of Josie was her unhappy face through a rain- swept window. It had not been a very satisfactory evening.

  Later that night, Josie wrote in her diary:

  I wonder what brought Julian Darcy here this evening. I felt he had come with something particular on his mind. Perhaps he wanted to talk about my piece on the mine disaster; I do not know. He did not expect to see all Papa’s business friends here, that was quite obvious. He was most discomfited. We spoke very little to each other all evening, except right at the end, when I told him about horrid Mr Drummond telling me the London dailies don’t print recipes and fairy stories. Beastly, insufferable man. Julian was about to laugh, I know he was, but he saw my face and thought better of it. He promised that one day Mr D would eat his words! I would like that more than anything.

  I do wish I knew what it was Julian came for. Perhaps I should not have chattered on so and he might have told me. It is very vexing indeed not to know, but there it is, there’s nothing I can do about it now. I shall have to wait until Christmas to find out.

  A postscript was added on the following day:

  Mama is convinced that Julian Darcy came last evening either to propose to me or to see Papa and ask his permission to do so!

  Mama must be dreaming. Julian, propose to me? Me, Mistress of Pemberley? Hardly! I told Mama that Julian had never given any indication that he was in the least interested in me in a romantic sort of way. He has been friendly and fun to dance with and talk to, and he was kind enough to say nice things about my writing, but no romance. I know he is passionate about science and talks incessantly about the need for more people to use scientific methods in agriculture. Boring? Maybe, maybe not. But definitely not romantic!

  A few days later, Cassandra received a letter from her brother, confessing that he had failed miserably in the task she had set him:

  My dear Cassy,

  You will be ashamed of me, I am sure, but there was nothing I could do. Having left you, I returned home and, as soon as I was able, presented myself, suitably attired, to ask Josie if she would marry me prior to applying to her father for his blessing.

  Alas, absolutely nothing was accomplished. Why, you ask? Well, I arrived, to discover the house bursting at the seams with the gentlemen who own and manage the provincial newspapers—Mr Tate’s business associates.

  Both Mr and Mrs Tate made me most welcome and, despite my protestations, insisted that I stay to dinner; but, sadly, there were acres of table between me and Josie. At no time did we get more than a few minutes together, and never were we alone.

  Just as I was preparing to leave, I did get a few minutes with her, but all she wanted was to chatter on about her ambition to live and work in London. I cannot believe that a single thought of being married to me and living at Pemberley has ever entered her head.

  I am pinning my hopes on the Christmas festivities at Pemberley, which I know the Tates will attend. I shall have to try again then.

  I need not ask you, I know, even as I do, to keep this matter to yourself. I would not wish to trouble Mama until there is something worth telling.

  Thank you again, my dear sister, and God bless you.

  Your loving brother,

  Julian.

  Christmas brought more disappointment for young Mr Darcy. Having settled on courting Miss Tate during the festive season when they would surely meet frequently, he was devastated to find that Josie was compelled to spend most of the time between Christmas day and the New Year in bed with an appalling attack of quinsy, which her mother declared had caused the poor girl’s throat to become so sore and painful she could not speak, and was permitted to eat nothing but soft jellies and junket.

  Twice, Julian called, once with his mother, but on neither occasion were they able to see the patient, who was said to be asleep. They left flowers and fruit and two books, which Julian had bought for her in Cambridge, in one of which he had inscribed what he hoped was an affectionate message, wishing her a speedy recovery.

  Early in the New Year, when he had almost given up hope of seeing her at all, a note arrived from Josie.

  Dear Julian, she wrote:

  I do apologise for not writing earlier to thank you and Mrs Darcy for the kind gifts you brought me when I was ill. The flowers cheered up my sickroom very well. I am sorry I was too sick to see you on both occasions.

  Thank you most of all for the charming
collection of vignettes; they have kept me entertained while I struggled to recover from this vile affliction.

  Thank you also for The Pickwick Papers, exactly what I needed at this time. I do so love Mr. Dickens. How does he conjure up all those delightful characters?

  Your kind inscription was much appreciated too. I awoke this morning feeling very much better and the sun is out as well. Mama and Dr Gardiner have both declared that I am now fit to see and be seen, so if you are still free to call, I shall be most happy to see you.

  Yours very sincerely,

  Josie Tate.

  Julian could not recall when he had last been quite so excited at the prospect of seeing anyone, much less a young woman he had known all his life. He was dressed and out of the house so swiftly, there was barely enough time to tell his mother where he was going.

  When he reached the Tates’ place, he was most gratified to find no other carriages or horses in sight and hoped fervently that this meant there were no other visitors within. The servant who opened the door left him sitting in the parlour until Mrs Tate could be found, and only then was he taken upstairs to an informal sitting room, where Josie sat in front of a welcoming fire. The weather outside was quite cold, despite the sun being out, but the room was comfortably warm.

  Apologising for not bringing more flowers because he had come as soon as he had received her note, he was soon reassured that no apologies were called for. Josie declared she was very glad of his company after what had been, for her, an exceedingly dull festive season.

  Looking pale, but claiming to be feeling much better, she urged him to give her all the news. “Do tell me what exciting things have been happening in London.”

  Poor Julian, having come directly from Cambridge and spent most of the last three weeks in Derbyshire, had very little news from London. He did, however, have news of her aunt Amelia-Jane and her husband Jonathan Bingley, who had recently moved to their new residence at Rosings Park in Kent, where Jonathan—who had retired from the House of Commons—had been entrusted by Lady Catherine de Bourgh with the management of her estate. Julian had called on them before returning to Pemberley at Christmas. “I could not believe how much formality was maintained, even in the absence of Her Ladyship, who has moved with her invalid daughter to live out her retirement in Bath. Everyone carries on as if she were still in residence!” he declared, and Josie, who had always found the stiffness of Rosings rather ridiculous, was most amused.

  “It is no wonder that my grandmother prefers to live at Longbourn. She must have grown tired of all that bowing and scraping,” she said, and Julian agreed. He had heard his mother speak of the patience with which her friend Charlotte Collins had borne the interference of Lady Catherine over many years. While Elizabeth had found it diverting to relate, she knew it would have been intolerable to live with.

  Having exhausted that topic, they returned to the books, which Josie said again and again had brought her so much cheer and comfort when she was ill. Julian offered to read to her, and she was especially fascinated by his ability to render the Dickensian prose to perfection. They talked more of books and travel, especially of places to visit in Europe—where he had been the previous year and she was very keen to see—and the hours passed so agreeably that they hardly noticed the time.

  When Julian decided it was time to leave, fearing that Josie was getting overtired, she begged him to return soon. It was a promise he had no difficulty making and one he would keep with pleasure.

  After a fortnight, during which Julian visited Josie almost every day and found that on each successive occasion, his enjoyment of her company increased upon the last; he felt sufficiently emboldened to bring up the matter that had lain hidden in his heart. Having decided upon a course of action, he arrived at the house on an unusually mild morning to find that Josie had come downstairs and was dressed as if to go out.

  Since she had not mentioned any such plan, he took his cue from her attire and asked if she felt strong enough to take a ride in his carriage, seeing it was a fine morning. She declared that she was but had to be wrapped up warmly before she was permitted to leave the house, with Mrs Tate urging care and caution at every turn. When at last they drove away, Josie was delighted. “I have not been out of the house since Christmas; this is exactly what I needed above anything.”

  They drove on until they reached the outskirts of the town and turned down a lane that led to a piece of woodland on the edge of the Pemberley estate. Josie, encouraged by the mild weather, decided she wanted to get out and walk.

  Julian was not sure this was a good idea, but Josie insisted. They alighted and walked but a short while, but it became clear that she was in no state to persevere far on foot. On a piece of rising ground, sheltered by an old yew tree, stood a gazebo, which had been specially designed for Lady Anne Darcy. “My grandmother used to come up here to enjoy the view across the river and read poetry. She used to write poetry, as well; Papa says there is a collection of her notebooks in the library at Pemberley,” said Julian as he helped Josie up the path and into the mock classical edifice.

  Josie did not need to be persuaded that she ought to rest awhile. Gratefully, she accepted his arm as he supported her, and as he did, Julian had decided that he had to speak now, as another such opportunity might never present itself.

  Her face was flushed with the exercise, but her gloved hands were still cold. Julian kept hold of them as she sat down on the old stone seat and spoke simply but with great sincerity. “Josie, if you have not already guessed, then you must let me tell you how dear you are to me and how very happy you will make me if you consent to marry me. Dearest Josie, will you, please?”

  Her face, small and rather pale from being ill, became suffused with a blush as she gazed at him wide-eyed, plainly astonished by his words. Quite clearly, she had had no expectation of his proposal and took a few minutes to respond. “Julian, I did not know—no, I must not pretend; I did know you were fond of me. I knew you were my friend, but to marry me?” She seemed genuinely perplexed.

  “Of course, why not?” he asked, equally confused by her response. “Is it such a preposterous suggestion?”

  She shook her head, keen not to hurt his feelings. “No, of course not, but can you see me as the Mistress of Pemberley?”

  “Josie, why ever not?” He was outraged. “In any event, that would be years and years away; my father is perfectly fit and well. I would not inherit Pemberley for many years. You would just be my wife, plain Mrs Julian Darcy,” he said, adding with a degree of apprehension, “Josie, do you not like Pemberley?”

  “Of course, I do,” she said, knowing how much Pemberley meant to him. “It is a splendid place—how could anyone think otherwise? But Julian, that is not the point. I am grateful indeed and honoured by your proposal, but there are so many other things I want to do; I want to write, as you know, and be published by a serious publisher; to do that I must go to London. I cannot spend the rest of my days here and then feel that I had never made a real effort to achieve anything.”

  Julian asked gravely, “Josie, are you saying that you cannot, could not ever, love me enough to marry me?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Julian, that is not what I am saying at all. Of course I could love you and marry you, but can you not see that I will never be happy just being your wife, being Mistress of Pemberley one day, if I have achieved nothing in my own right? I would probably regret it for the rest of my life, and that would certainly make us both miserable. It isn’t that I cannot love you—indeed, I am sure I already love you,” she said, and as she spoke, her words tumbling out spontaneously, Julian was overwhelmed by a strange confusion of feelings.

  What did she mean? Was she rejecting him, while saying she loved him?

  When he spoke, his voice was anxious and uncertain. “Josie, then, you are not rejecting me altogether?”

  She was contrite. “Dear Julian, you
do not deserve this. I must be totally honest with you. I would love to be your wife. I am sure we will be happy together, but I need some time to be myself first. Will you let me have that time?”

  “Of course, Josie, my dear, you can have all the time you want. I still have a year at Cambridge to complete. If your father agrees, we could be engaged and wait a year before we…”

  She interrupted gently, “No, Julian, we cannot become engaged now—that will involve us in all the fuss that goes with it, and then my mother will never permit me to go to London. I must be free to write, and I won’t be if we are engaged. But, I will make you a promise that at the end of a year, if we both feel the same as we do now, then yes, we shall become engaged.”

  Her smile belied the seriousness of her words and gave him cause for hope. When she had finished, he took her hands in his and said very simply, “I love you, Josie. Of course you can be free to do whatever you choose. I want you to succeed, too, and I shall do all I can to help.”

  Suddenly, impulsively, she leaned forward to kiss him, after which neither seemed to have any doubts about their feelings. Presently, she pulled away and, settling herself down, said, “There, do you believe me, now?”

  He nodded, still holding her hand. “May I ask your father’s permission?” Julian, conscious of his duty, was anxious to do the right thing.

  At first she said no, pointing out that it would make her mother unduly concerned and might prevent her going to London.

  “I have a plan to go to London and stay with my Aunt Beatrice, Papa’s elder sister, who has a great old house near Regent’s Park. I know she lets rooms to ladies, and I think I could work comfortably there. I shall ask father’s permission to go as soon as I am recovered from this wretched illness and can travel.”