by Jessie Lewis
She received this information in silence, her lips pinched and her brow creased. Fitzwilliam thought he might as well take advantage of her rare quiescence. “As to her being struck, the officer in question was violently drunk and attacked her in the street. She can scarcely be blamed.”
“Of course she can! What was she doing anywhere near a drunkard in the first place?”
“Attempting to defend Darcy’s good name, I understand.” He rather liked being able to surprise his aunt this often. “She is not the coquette you believe her to be. Indeed, you do Darcy a grave injustice in continuing to think ill of her.”
“Do I? Regardless of whether those reports are true, her descent, her connections, her vast unsuitability cannot be denied. It will not be long until it is widely known how poorly she has adapted to Pemberley. When he is ridiculed in every corner of the world by every person who knows him, Darcy will regret marrying her. It cannot go otherwise.”
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I know not what nonsense has been passed your way, but I assure you, Darcy has nothing but praise for Elizabeth’s endeavours at Pemberley. Doubtless, she has lessons to learn, but she is a perfectly capable, clever woman. There is no reason to doubt she will learn all she needs to with time. And you cannot but think Darcy will be a positive influence on her.”
Her ladyship faltered slightly but quickly arrived at another objection. “What of the visits of her uncle and aunt from the city?”
“I daresay the walls of Pemberley will not crumble,” Mrs. Sinclair said, hobbling up to join them. “Unlike your walls, which seem to be crumbling of their own accord without any such provocation.”
“Oh, take her away, Fitzwilliam!” Lady Catherine wheezed.
He thought that an excellent idea and duly did as he was bid. A backwards glance, indeed several more glances over the remainder of the day, revealed an uncommonly pensive Lady Catherine intently observing a certain gentleman and his new wife.
***
Friday, 9 October 1812: Hertfordshire
“It is absurd,” Caroline said, following her brother into the room and closing the door behind her. “This is the sixth day in succession she has remained in her rooms.”
“Yes, I am aware,” he replied wearily, dropping into a chair.
She walked behind the opposing one and leant over it with both hands on the back, glaring at him. “You cannot allow it to continue. The servants are beginning to talk.”
Charles’s head fell back, and he stared at the ceiling. “Let Jane stay in her room for as long as she pleases. I have no wish to see her.”
“What you wish is neither here nor there. You must put it right! Is it not enough that you married so far beneath you? Must you satisfy everybody’s contempt by allowing it to be known the marriage is falling apart before the first twelvemonth is out?”
He only sighed.
“Charles!” She slapped the back of the chair. His head whipped upright. “What efforts have you made to persuade her to come down? Have you even spoken to her since she locked herself away?”
“No.”
For a moment, Caroline squeezed her eyes shut in vexation, repressing the urge to hurl something at him. “Never did I think the day would come that I should be defending Jane’s character to you, but for heaven’s sake, she is not a monster! You cannot mean to ignore her indefinitely.”
He sat up, all indignation. “She slapped her sister!”
“And? Never was there a woman more in need of a slap! I should rather give her a medal.”
“Caroline!” Her brother launched himself to his feet, though he appeared unsure what to do next and merely stood frowning uselessly.
“Oh, Caroline nothing. When will you overcome this ridiculous fascination with Eliza Darcy?”
“I am not fascinated!” he cried with more than enough affront to convince her of quite the opposite. “I require no romantic inclinations to persuade me that slapping one’s sister, a guest in one’s house and the wife of one’s husband’s oldest friend, is a reprehensible thing to do!”
“It was an impolitic thing to do certainly, but she was distressed. Would you punish her forever and ruin all our reputations over one instance of passion? I should have thought you would be pleased to discover she had some!”
“What had she to be distressed about?”
Caroline regarded him incredulously. How he had reached three-and-twenty unscathed with such a gaping want of penetration, she would never know.
“Well, let us consider. Could it be that her delightful mother announced to the entire family that she was with child when she was not? Or that her sister then tactfully informed her that she is? Or simply that, in general, she is cursed with the most lamentable relations in the kingdom?”
Her brother abruptly lost all colour from his countenance and slumped heavily back into his chair. “Lizzy is with child?”
She threw her hands in the air. “Lord save us! It ought to be nothing to you if she is!”
“It is nothing to me—except a surprise. Darcy did not mention it.”
“For which we must all be thankful, for if you had swooned in this manner before him, he would certainly have wished to know why!”
“How do you know of this?” he enquired weakly.
“As I said, the servants are talking, and they will continue to do so for as long as you give them cause. Pray, end this stupid quarrel before it becomes a scandal.”
“And how do you suggest I do that when she will not see me?”
“I thought you said you had not attempted to speak to her?”
“I went to her twice before she and Lizzy argued—on Saturday evening after her family left and again on Sunday morning. Both times, I was refused admittance. She will not see me.”
Caroline peered at her brother very closely. “Why not? What have you done? I sincerely hope I shall not hear of any more maids being dismissed without reason.”
He jumped slightly and looked at her wide-eyed, though whether in affront or alarm she could not be sure.
“I have not done anything!”
“Then why is she displeased with you?”
“Would that I knew! Perhaps if what you say is true, it is because she is not yet with child.”
“Then for heaven’s sake get one on her!”
He pouted. “It is not that simple.”
She clenched her teeth. Throwing something at him was becoming more and more of a temptation. “I have heard it is.”
“That was not my meaning!” he cried, colouring deeply. “I meant—blast it, Caroline, I do not know that I wish to…to—we are not even speaking!”
“I know! For six whole days, I have had to look out of the window to discover what the weather is doing.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, never mind it. Would that you only cease blaming her for one trifling little spat and make your peace before you become the laughing stock of the world.”
“You are quite alone in thinking this a trifling concern, Caroline.”
“In this house, I am generally alone in thinking, but do surprise me.”
“Darcy has excluded Jane from all his houses.”
Caroline’s heart lurched into her mouth. “What? Why on earth would he do that? What is it to him if his wife has words with her sister? Imagine if Mr. Hurst banished me from Farley House every time I squabbled with Louisa!”
“Yes, well, as Darcy himself informed me, one does not slap the mistress of Pemberley and remain welcome there.”
Caroline stared at him for a moment then threw her arms in the air. “Tremendous! I do not believe I could conceive of a better way to ensure we become social pariahs, except perhaps if we were to contract leprosy and begin moulting limbs on the dance floor at Almack’s.”
H
er brother opened his mouth to speak, but since it was exceedingly unlikely he meant to say anything of value, she shouted over him. “Debarred from Pemberley! Have you any idea how low we shall sink in the eyes of the world if this is discovered? Remedy this! Before anybody learns of it!” She spun on her heel to leave but turned back when he called her name. “What is it?”
“Is the staff talking about anything else?” He looked excessively conscious.
“Why? Is there something else for them to talk about?”
“No, I was only—no, nothing. Would that I had listened to you and never come back to Hertfordshire!” He dropped his head into his hands—which was fortunate, for it meant it was marginally better guarded when, in the next moment, a pin cushion, replete with a full contingent of pins, was violently flung at it.
***
Sunday, 11 October 1812: Kent
Elizabeth’s week at Rosings had never promised to—and had certainly not—delivered any significant improvement in relations, but neither had it been without its small advancements. With Mrs. Montgomery, she had formed the beginnings of a tentative understanding that, with a good deal of time and an even greater measure of patience, might eventually become something approaching a delicate sort of friendship. Darcy and Mr. Montgomery were steadily rekindling the familiarity they had enjoyed before one went abroad, and Elizabeth could not but be pleased to have gained such an amiable, steady gentleman for a cousin.
Lady Catherine still looked on her with the utmost disdain, but she had mostly given over casting aspersions about her abilities in favour of not speaking to her at all and observing her with disconcerting application. Darcy was convinced it was to find fault. Elizabeth was more hopeful, choosing to believe she was searching for something of which to approve, though if she had met with any success, she had not yet admitted it.
Elizabeth and Darcy’s happiness only increased. Every day was punctuated with blissful private moments, shared jokes, and all manner of discussions from edifying to teasing. Of Master Jonathan they had both grown very fond, delighting in his sweet antics whenever he was brought down from the nursery and secretly anticipating the time when their child might play with his or her new cousin.
Thus, though Elizabeth was not sorry to be leaving on the morrow, neither was she sorry to have come, which was a better frame of mind than that with which she had departed Netherfield a week earlier.
“You are very quiet,” Charlotte said as they emerged arm in arm from the church. “Nothing is amiss, I hope?”
“No, I was only thinking of everything that has happened this week—well, and since I was here in April, really. I have endured the worst and best moments of my life in these few short months. I never dreamt my life should end up so…altered. Oh, do not look so worried. I am the happiest creature alive, but I cannot deny it is overwhelming at times.”
“I am not surprised you feel that way. Every woman experiences some change when she marries, but rarely so vast or challenging an adjustment as yours. You are bearing it with remarkable fortitude though.” She patted Elizabeth’s arm. “You endure his family’s incivility with far more forbearance than they deserve. I should hate to see you lose heart now.”
“No fear of that,” Elizabeth replied with a grin. She lowered her voice as they joined the back of the crowd of people milling about in front of the lychgate. “My heart is well and truly bound to my husband’s and in no danger of being lost.”
Charlotte smirked. “Forever the romantic.” Her teasing had not the chance to gain pace, for a young girl directly in front of them—about Lydia’s age and with a similar grasp of propriety—drew their attention with a barely whispered exclamation.
“Did you see her? Even paler and more miserable than usual!”
“Aye, very ill indeed!” her equally indiscreet companion replied.
“Who was the gentleman with whom she was sitting?”
“Her husband, Mr. Montgomery.”
“I thought she was supposed to marry Mr. Darcy?”
The second girl giggled. “Peter heard Mr. Darcy lost a wager to Mr. Montgomery and was obliged to give up his claim to Rosings Park to settle the debt.”
“He cannot have been very distressed, for who would wish to marry that cross, sickly thing anyway? Perhaps it was Mr. Montgomery who lost the wager, and he was obliged to marry Miss de Bourgh in Mr. Darcy’s stead!”
“It is unlikely,” Elizabeth said, unable to hold her tongue any longer, “since neither the house nor the lady was theirs to wager. Mrs. Montgomery is a sensible woman from a distinguished family. She is quite at liberty to choose her own husband. She ought to be celebrated for having chosen to take on a little boy in need of a mother. I should wager he cares not one whit for the paleness of her countenance.”
The two girls turned to face her and looked caught between astonishment, shame, and indignation. Just as Elizabeth thought the latter might triumph and cause a scene, Charlotte hastened to say, “Miss Webb, Miss Emily, allow me to introduce my very good friend, Mrs. Darcy.”
Both girls abruptly took on a pallor not dissimilar to the object of their earlier ridicule, curtsied, giggled, and ran away. With a rueful smile at her friend, Elizabeth set off again through the throng of villagers to where her party’s various equipages waited in the lane.
“You are not distressed by their idle talk, I hope,” Charlotte said quietly.
“On the contrary, I am comforted to discover my sisters are not the only thoughtless girls in England.”
The approach of the rest of the de Bourgh party prompted a hasty but heartfelt adieu between the ladies. They were both reunited with their husbands whilst Fitzwilliam and Mr. Montgomery gallantly handed the other ladies up into their respective carriages.
“Wait!” Lady Catherine demanded. Her ladyship fixed Elizabeth with a steely glare. “Mrs. Darcy will ride with me.”
Thus, after a quick re-shuffling of passengers between carriages, Elizabeth found herself travelling the short distance back to Rosings alone with Lady Catherine, rather than enjoying a final stroll back through the park as she and Darcy had planned. Her ladyship said nothing for the first several minutes. Elizabeth waited, wondering whether it was more likely that she meant to bestow a surprise blessing or take advantage of one last opportunity to abuse her. A hoarse intake of breath presaged what transpired to be the latter.
“Let me be very clear, Mrs. Darcy, I shall never approve of you. You are of absolutely no importance in the world. You are impertinent, you are appallingly liberal in your thinking, and you have, against every appeal to common decency and reason, put my nephew in an unpardonably tenuous position in society.” She looked away for a moment, coughing slightly as she peered out of the window. Eventually she looked back. “I do concede, however, that I may have underestimated your character.”
Had there been no sides to the carriage, Elizabeth might have fallen from her seat.
Lady Catherine nodded brusquely as though satisfied with her astonishment. “Were you aware I was behind you when you were speaking to Mrs. Collins just now?”
“Why, no, ma’am.”
“I did not think so. You might still have spoken that frankly regardless, but she certainly would not have. You were discussing your situation.”
“Aye, a little.”
“You spoke with more modesty than I have heard you admit to before. I am relieved to have heard it. You ought to be overwhelmed.”
Elizabeth frowned warily. “I am not sure I—”
“Because no matter how strenuously you deny it, you were not born to this sphere, and you cannot have been prepared for this degree of responsibility. Complacency would be disastrous.”
“I assure you, I have never been complacent ab—”
“But you act as though you are! Your behaviour shows nothing but an unjust assuredness of your
success and an equal indifference to your failures.” She paused and took a deep, rattling breath, continuing in a far calmer tone. “I am relieved to discover you are without such conceit, after all. Modesty, where there is real inferiority of mind and situation, modesty will be always under good regulation.”
Elizabeth stared at her. “That may be so, but I think you credit me with too much. When I said I was overwhelmed, I was referring to the rapidity and magnitude of changes to my situation. I did not mean to imply I was suffering from any peculiar feelings of trepidation or inadequacy.”
Lady Catherine’s eyebrows rose, and she gave a huff of displeasure that immediately dissolved into coughs. Elizabeth waited for her spasms to pass then calmly but firmly pressed her point. “I am far from complacent, but I am assured of my resolve to be the very best wife to my husband I can be, and as long as he is satisfied with my efforts, so shall I be.”
“Mrs. Darcy, I invited you to ride with me with the particular purpose of acknowledging that I may have been ungenerous in my assessment of your character. Am I to be repaid for my condescension with ingratitude and defiance?”
“I am certainly not ungrateful, and I hope my endeavour to be honest will not be taken as defiance. But nothing would be gained by my accepting your approbation for modesty I do not possess. You would only be disappointed the first time I behaved otherwise, and that would pain Darcy all over again. Far better that you accept me as I am.”
Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes at her and did not reply for an uncomfortably long time. “I am able to count on one hand the individuals who are unafraid to speak plainly to me. You are among them. I abhor impertinence, but honesty and fortitude are qualities of which I can approve. I expect that is why Darcy admires you. Growing up with me as almost his closest relative has taught him to esteem strong women. You, no doubt, remind him of me.” There was no response to that, but as usual, her ladyship required none. “You also spoke in defence of my daughter.”