Pretty, vivacious, and addicted to fun, Miranda had soon found herself able to get her own way at Oakleigh as well, for her cousin Jude had never known such a delightful friendship as he now found with his young visitor. Indeed, he had had no close contact with any young girl for many years. Miranda was particularly appealing, and he had made every effort to please her. Amiable and easygoing, Jude had acceded to her every request, maintaining by this means a blissful relationship, which in the case of two emotionally naïve and innocent young persons had led almost inevitably to the mutual perception that they were in love.
Whether by accident or design, neither had revealed their feelings to anyone else, and Emily, troubled and busy with dealing with her husband’s ill health, had not noticed anything unusual was afoot. Miranda would arrive often quite early in the morning, escorted by a manservant, and would return at night accompanied by Jude. Emily neither saw nor suspected that there was any harm in it, and indeed there was not, unless it could be argued that the romantic illusions of youth were the source of evil.
The idyllic episode had ended with the return from Europe of Miranda’s parents, who had been outraged to discover that their daughter had been spending a good part of the Summer at Oakleigh in the company of Jude Courtney, whose lack of style and savoir faire, in their opinion, ill qualified him to be a companion to their daughter.
Rose Gardiner had made no secret of her indignation, first venting her wrath upon her parents before declaring that Miranda’s visits to Oakleigh Manor would cease forthwith. She had, however, not taken account of her daughter’s inclinations. Self-willed and spoilt through the Summer by a high degree of indulgence and plenty of pleasant fun, Miranda had been in no mood to be compliant. Aggrieved that she was to be denied what had become a very flattering and agreeable arrangement, in which she called the tune and young Jude Courtney always obliged, she had refused absolutely to obey her mother. When her father had been applied to by his wife for support in the matter, Miranda had sulked, refused to eat or speak, and retired to her room, leaving Robert Gardiner looking particularly ineffective and foolish.
When at last she had been confronted by her mother, Miranda had declared that she was in love with Jude Courtney and wished to marry him, thereby causing even greater uproar in the household.
Turning upon her husband, Rose had demanded to know if he intended to let their daughter throw herself away on the youngest son of a poor clergyman, who had no profession or status, having chosen to work on the farm instead of acquiring an education.
“Just think on the prospect,” she had said. “Miranda will be the wife of a labouring farmer, who spends all his spare time wandering around the villages in that ridiculous hat and boots, doling out charity to the indigent and lazy. Doubtless, he will expect her to accompany him, to visit their cottages, comfort their wives, and coddle their children, too.”
Robert, to his credit, had tried to persuade his wife that it was quite likely that nothing at all would come of it, because both young persons may well change their minds, but Rose would have none of it.
“I shall certainly hope to change Miranda’s mind, but I doubt that the Courtneys will wish to do the same with Jude. They are probably encouraging him in this, seeing a chance of improving his prospects by marrying a girl with Miranda’s family connections. I’m afraid there is nothing for it, you must visit the Courtneys and make it clear that you will not give your permission for Miranda to marry their son, and since she is only sixteen, that will be the end of the matter. Meanwhile, I shall take Miranda to London and perhaps to Paris, so she can see what she will be missing if she persists with this ridiculous notion.”
Robert’s reluctance to do as she asked, knowing that Dr Courtney was gravely ill, had been worn down by the assiduous efforts of his wife, who had been joined by her mother, Lady Rosamund Fitzwilliam. Finally, he had given in and had visited Oakleigh Manor one Sunday morning to deliver the verdict of Miranda’s family on Jude’s first romance.
Despite his bumbling efforts to justify his intervention, neither Jude nor Emily had been convinced, and both had been left in no doubt of the tawdry reasons behind it. They never saw Miranda again.
Young Jude, bereft and humiliated, had confided only in his mother and sister Jessica, but had found later that the Fitzwilliams had spread the good news among their general acquaintance that Miranda had been saved from an imprudent alliance.
Throwing himself into his work on the farm and the charity work he did among the poor Irish families in the village, Jude had attempted to put the experience behind him. He had expressed no bitterness against Miranda or her parents, but Emily had found it very difficult to forgive them for the hurt they had inflicted upon her son.
“I do not suggest that Jude and Miranda would have been happy together—I seriously doubt that they would, and I am sure they would have come to that realization themselves before long and it is unlikely they would ever have married. But Rose and Robert were quite brutal in the way they proceeded, and it has hurt Jude very deeply,” she had said to Jessica, which explained to some degree Emily’s response to Jude’s latest proposition.
“It is possible that Mama believes Jude has a better chance of happiness with a girl like Teresa Mancini. She is quite pretty, though not as beautiful as Miranda, with the additional virtue of not belonging to a family whose snobbery surpasses their compassion,” said Jessica.
“And do you believe that this same snobbery, with which we are all familiar, will not now be marshaled against them? Is it likely that Robert and Rose, when they discover that Teresa Mancini is to be mistress of Oakleigh manor, will rest content?” asked Julian.
Neither Jessica nor Elizabeth could answer his question, but Elizabeth did remark upon the delicious irony of Rose and Robert realizing that Miranda, had she been permitted to marry Jude Courtney, would have certainly been the next mistress of Oakleigh Manor.
“The Fitzwilliams will be furious. They have always believed Oakleigh should have been theirs. My poor aunt Gardiner has been much maligned for having left the place to Emily rather than Robert. Well, they will have missed out again and will have no one to blame but themselves. Oh, I do believe there is at least some satisfaction to be had in that prospect. Do you not agree?” she asked with a mischievous chuckle.
Jessica and Julian had to laugh, and Mr Darcy, who had just come back into the room with a letter in his hand, had heard the last of their conversation and answered her question. “I certainly agree, and I always knew you would find a good reason to support the match, Lizzie,” and before she could protest, he added quickly, “Now, do you suppose we could reach agreement on a much simpler matter? Who is to organise the first cricket match this year? I have had a letter from the club at Ripley suggesting a date for the first encounter between our teams. Darcy Gardiner is captain of our team, and Bingley is not as well as he should be. I feel it would not be fair to call on them. Julian, can we count on you?”
To the very great satisfaction of his parents, Julian Darcy rose, held out his hand for the letter, and said, “Certainly, sir, I should be delighted.”
Chapter Two
The news of Jude Courtney’s engagement to Teresa Mancini drew comment aplenty from around the district. Some, especially those who knew the young couple, were pleased, predicting they would be happy because they were both of an amiable and kindly disposition. Darcy Gardiner and his wife, Kate, had expressed their delight at the news. They had long hoped to see young Jude, whose devotion to his mother was well known, happily wed, and believed sincerely that by marrying Teresa, he was making certain of his future happiness.
“Unlike many other young women of her age, she is far less likely to be disappointed by the simplicity of Jude’s life and is therefore more likely to make him happy,” Kate had remarked, and her husband, who had known young Jude Courtney since childhood, had to agree.
“She is also a careful and intelligent young woman and so will assist actively in his management of t
he farm,” he had added, sentiments he had previously conveyed to his mother with conviction.
Cassandra and Richard, who had been at first too surprised by Jude’s announcement to comment, other than to wish him well, had gradually come to an understanding of the situation, particularly in view of Emily’s obvious pleasure.
“I believe that my sister has known for some time of my nephew’s attachment to Miss Mancini,” Richard Gardiner had said to his wife as they prepared for bed. “She has shown no surprise at all and seems so thoroughly accepting of the match, I cannot believe she was ignorant of it.”
Cassy had responded that Mrs Courtney was probably in the best position to see what was happening, and if she thought it was to Jude’s advantage, it was quite likely that she may have approved and even encouraged the match.
“In fact, Darcy and Kate believe that Emily is so pleased because she knows that Teresa Mancini will help Jude manage the estate well and resist the devious plans of your uncle Robert and his wife Rose. Darcy is certain that when Emily is no more they will try again to obtain some part of Oakleigh Manor, and they say Teresa will not let them win.”
Others, who knew them not at all, were unconcerned, seeing only a young couple who wished to spend their lives together. Jude, a shy but good-natured fellow, was well liked, and Teresa’s open, pleasing nature had won her many friends.
But there were those who, with the least justification, expressed the strongest opinions. Among this last group were the family of Robert and Rose Gardiner and Jude’s own sister, Elizabeth Harwood. In a letter to her mother, Eliza had pointed out what she considered to be the intractable problems created for her and her husband by Jude’s impending marriage to an “Italian flower farmer’s daughter.”
Dearest Mama,
Can you not see that this will be a subject for gossip and ridicule among those in our social circle, who will know full well that we may never be able to invite my brother and his wife to our home or introduce them into polite society in London? Mr Harwood is afraid that many of his business connections will be genuinely uncomfortable meeting them and wonders how they will get on without the kind of social intercourse that will be denied them.
Mr Harwood feels that you should perhaps have alerted us when you became aware of what was afoot, and maybe we could have persuaded my brother to reconsider what is plainly an unsuitable connection for all of our family. It does seem that Jude does not comprehend that he has a duty to us all.
Emily’s reply to her eldest daughter was cogent and to the point. She wrote:
I think, dear Eliza, that your brother is as entitled to make his own choice of a partner as you were. None of us urged you to change your mind when your decision to marry Mr Harwood took you quite out of our lives to London.
Since then, your visits and letters have been few and far between, but your father and I have never complained. The young woman Jude has chosen is closer to me than you have been in all the years since you married Mr Harwood, and your brother has demonstrated his dutiful nature by the exemplary manner in which he has applied himself to the work on the farm and helped me with your father’s parish duties.
When I had only Jude to help me during the long months of Mr Courtney’s illness, I came to value his goodness and loyalty. Since I have been ill, I have had the benefit also of Teresa’s kindliness and affection. If, as his widowed mother, I can say that, I doubt that you or any other person could credibly accuse him of not comprehending his duty to his family.
As to their lacking the benefits of what you call “polite society,” dear Eliza, if they are happy here, then what need will they have of polite society in London? For my part, I long to see them wed and happily settled at Oakleigh very soon…
Emily did not wish to put Eliza down, but was determined not to leave any possible impression that she agreed with her on the matter of Jude’s marriage.
From her elder son William, to whom Emily had written, there had been no reply. No doubt his concern was far more for his orchestra giving a series of concerts around the USA, thought Emily, who, though she never expressed it in words and would probably have denied it if asked, was rather disappointed in William’s silence.
She wondered why he, a distinguished and accomplished musician, seemed to have lost connection with his family except on the rare occasions when he visited her at Oakleigh. When he had attended his father’s funeral, he had seemed genuinely concerned about his mother’s well-being and had expressed his desire to be of assistance to her. Since then, however, there had been only occasional letters. It was a matter that had disturbed both Mr and Mrs Darcy, and though Emily was accustomed to his long absences, it had troubled Jessica greatly.
“I cannot believe that my brother William has not found the time to visit since Papa’s funeral. Mama must be hurt; I can see it in her eyes, though she will say nothing against him,” she complained to her husband.
Julian knew how deeply she cared and tried to reassure her that William was probably very busy with his concert tours, but he knew even as he said it that Jessica was unlikely to be comforted. Her elder brother’s odd behaviour caused her great distress.
Julian wished he could discover why William had become so distant from his family. A somewhat private and shy person himself, he found it impossible to approach his brother-in-law and ask for an explanation.
Frustrated, he decided to ask his nephew Darcy Gardiner to undertake an investigation to ascertain the reason William Courtney seemed disconnected from his family, in particular his ailing mother to whom he owed so much.
“Jessica is very unhappy, and I should like to be able to give her some credible reason for William’s conduct. I am sure there must be some perfectly normal explanation,” he had said and then added almost as an afterthought, “At least, I hope so. I cannot think of anything that should cause him to act so strangely. He has, as far as I am aware, no financial worries and, being single, cannot be troubled by the usual concerns that beset a family man. I must admit, Darcy, I cannot make him out at all.”
While Julian had not wished to inquire too closely into the life of his brother-in-law, he had often wondered why William, who had been the brightest of the Courtney children and in whom his parents had invested so much of their hopes, had so rarely returned to their home to share with them his success.
It was a conundrum to which he had found no answer. He hoped that Darcy, who was well known for his tenacious pursuit of answers to problems, would have more success.
“I should prefer that you keep this matter to yourself, Darcy,” he had advised. “It would not do for Jessica or Mrs Courtney to become aware of our concern.”
Darcy Gardiner, whose discretion and integrity could never have been questioned, assured Julian that no one need know. “Fortuitously, we are going up to London for some weeks, during which time I shall do my very best to discover what it is that keeps William so occupied that he has no time to visit his mother,” he said.
Then in an attempt to reassure Julian, he added, “There is likely to be a simple explanation, which, when we know what it is, will seem so obvious, we would feel foolish at having missed it.”
Julian nodded and hoped he was right. However, unlike young Darcy, Julian suffered from a streak of pessimism, which made him uneasy. He was not at all sure the explanation would be a simple one, which everyone would accept.
* * *
Later in the week, Mrs Darcy, anxious about Emily’s health and keen to reassure herself that her cousin was being well cared for, travelled to Oakleigh manor, taking with her a basket of produce from the kitchen gardens and amply stocked pantry at Pemberley House.
Despite the sunshine, there was a persistent chill in the air, and Elizabeth was relieved to find Emily in the sitting room, which was always the warmest and brightest of the rooms in the house. It had been Mrs Gardiner’s favourite room, looking out as it did on the sunniest corner of the garden with all her favourite roses. Elizabeth felt the tears sting her eyes
as thoughts of her dear aunt crowded into her mind. She missed her and her uncle Gardiner terribly; their wise counsel no less than their sense of fun had lightened their lives for many years.
As she went to greet Emily, she was determined to be cheerful. Her cousin looked pale but reasonably well, and as they embraced, she smiled and said, “Lizzie, my dear cousin, it is too long since you have been here. I do hope you have come ready to stay to dinner? We have so much to talk about.”
Elizabeth was taken aback. “Dinner? Oh no, Emily, I could not put you to the trouble. I wanted very much to see you and spend some time with you, but I must be back at Pemberley for dinner or they will wonder what has become of me and Mr Darcy will despatch the servants to find me. He is increasingly unhappy about letting me travel alone, even though I have assured him that I am perfectly able to look after myself and James is a scrupulously careful driver,” she explained.
Emily laughed. “I can well believe it. Mr Darcy was always very particular about such things. Whenever Caroline and I visited you at Pemberley, he would insist that we were always escorted home by at least one trusted servant. I remember, Lizzie, that you used to joke about it when we first came to Derbyshire. I recall you saying that it was a trait he had in common with his formidable aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
They laughed together, then, as once again the bittersweet memories of youth intruded upon them.
“Indeed I do remember it. I often teased him about it, but to no avail; he would insist that it was simply good common sense not to have young women travelling around the countryside alone,” Elizabeth recalled.
Then, changing her tone, Emily spoke more seriously, “You are indeed fortunate, Lizzie, and so were we all when you married Mr Darcy. Mama used to say that she was once, for a little while, afraid that you were enamoured of Mr Wickham, of whom she had a rather poor opinion, but then Fate had decreed otherwise, and when Mr Darcy reappeared on the scene, Mama was certain he was the very man for you.”
Legacy of Pemberley (The Pemberley Chronicles; Pride and Prejudice Sequel Series) Page 3