Finally Elizabeth took the handkerchief from him, pressed it against her eyes, and then gave him a watery smile. "I'm sorry. I seem to be living up to everything everyone always says about women close to confinement."
Edward's eyes met those of my brother over the top of Elizabeth's head, and Edward cleared his throat. "Why don't Georgiana and I go back to the ball and see if any rumours are circulating about Kitty and Lord Carmichael? If anyone else did see them together, we'll surely soon pick up word of it. And that will help determine what's to be done."
My brother nodded to that. "Thank you."
Kitty must either lead a charmed life--or else Fate was simply sparing Elizabeth worry--because Edward and I didn't hear so much as a whisper about Kitty or Lord Carmichael all the rest of the night.
I even sought out Caroline. Because if anyone knew of any scandalous rumours, I was sure it would be her. And that she wouldn't in the slightest mind repeating them. But she didn't say anything--even when I ventured to remark that Lord Carmichael had left the ball very early.
Finally the ball ended. Edward had found Frank at some point during the night and told him what had happened. And Frank offered to see Elizabeth up to bed while my brother and I bid good-bye to the departing guests. Fitzwilliam asked Edward if he'd come and talk things over with him now that the guests were gone. So Edward kissed me goodnight and went off with him--and I came back to my room. Which was when Kitty interrupted me just as I was writing down what had occurred.
And that was when I did begin to feel genuinely sorry for her. Her face was all splotched and her eyes red and swollen. And she must have tried darkening her lashes for the ball last night, because her tears had made the kohl or whatever it was run in black stripes down her cheeks.
She asked in a tear-clogged voice whether she could come in and talk to me, and then flung herself down onto the cushions of my window seat when I said she might.
"What's going to be done with me?"
She still sounded sullen, but somehow I didn't feel the same impatience I'd felt before.
"I'm not entirely sure," I told her honestly.
"Elizabeth will never let me stay. Not now." Kitty picked disconsolately at a loose thread on one of the cushions. "She's so--" But her voice broke before she could finish. Her face crumpled and she started to cry: great, ugly, tearing sobs. "All I wa-wanted," she finally choked out, "was to change my life like my sis-sisters did. Like Lizzy and Jane. They both made brilliant matches. Jane is married to Mr. Bingley--who is very wealthy indeed. And look at Lizzy. Mistress of a place like this!" She gestured all about her. "And I thought--I thought, why shouldn't I do just as well as they? They're not so very much pr-prettier than me. Why can't I be wealthy and have carriages and jewels and beautiful gowns, too?"
She was still crying, but the words tumbled out faster and faster. "Ever since I can remember, all my mother has talked about is how we girls must all find husbands and marry as soon as we can. Because of my father's estate being entailed away. Do you know what it's like to grow up that way? It's hor-horrid! And it only got worse, not better, when Lizzy and Jane married so well and went away. And Lydia, who was the only one of my sisters who was ever any fun, is married and gone now, too. It's just me and Mary left at home for my mother to parade around and push on any eligible man who sets foot within five miles of the house--never mind if the man is old or ugly or has false teeth and stinking bad breath. John asked me to marry him, and I said yes, just so that my mother would stop and I could finally get away. But do you know what my life will be like if I marry John? Just like my mother's! He has no estate of his own--he's a younger son. What if I have daughters? I'll be left spending all my time scheming to get them married off, pushing them at any rich men who happen to come their way."
Kitty scrubbed furiously at her eyes, then lifted her head. "Maybe Henry--Lord Carmichael--will still offer for me, though. I know he likes me. And he did ask me for my opinion on the upholstery of his new barouche. Don't you think that shows he must have serious intentions? I think it was his way of hinting that I would be riding in the barouche myself a great deal in future."
I looked at her, with the eyelash tint smearing her face, the pretty pink gown she'd worn for the ball looking crumpled and her hair bedraggled as the curls she'd laboured over began to unwind. Maybe I ought to have told her what Lord Carmichael had said of her. Maybe it is crueler to let her have false hope than none at all. But I could not do it, even so.
All I finally said was that it was very late, and she ought to try to get some sleep if she could. And Kitty yawned, scrubbed at her eyes again, nodded and went quite quietly back to her room.
That was last night; I have not seen her yet this morning.
I did see Edward, though. He was alone in the breakfast room when I came down, since Elizabeth was still upstairs in bed and my brother with her. Edward wasn't eating, just standing in front of the window and looking out towards the winter-bare trees.
We didn't speak for a moment, just stood together. And then: "Edward, what are you going to do?" I asked.
Edward slowly shook his head. "I don't know." There was a furrow between his brows. "On the one hand, it's not really any of my business to interfere." He rubbed the space between his eyes. "God, I feel like some gossiping elderly spinster just thinking about it. And yet on the other ... on the other, John Ayres is one of my officers. A friend. What kind of a friend would I be if I let him marry Miss Bennet in ignorance of all this?"
"What kind of man is Captain Ayres if he can't see Kitty's character for what it truly is?"
Edward turned from the window and looked down at me. "You think I ought to say nothing? Communicate nothing to John?" He didn't sound angry or as though he were arguing, only a tired and as though he honestly wanted my opinion.
"I don't know." In a way, it doesn't seem fair that Kitty should suffer no consequences for what she's done. She has treated Captain Ayres appallingly badly these last weeks, even if he knows nothing of it. Besides which, if she had been seen last night by anyone but Edward and me, the scandal would have rebounded not only on her, but on Elizabeth, as well, since Elizabeth is her sister--which I'm sure Kitty didn't even for a moment consider.
But I was sorry for Kitty last night--and I am still, now. I can remember what it was like last year, when my aunt de Bourgh was determined to see me wedded to the suitor of her choice. And I had my brother and Elizabeth both to support me and argue against my being pushed into a match.
I was remembering, too, the last thing Kitty had said to me the night before, just as she left my room--which was to beg me to ask Cook to save some of the pastries from last night's supper for Thomas and Jack. "I completely forgot to bring them up any sweets from supper last night," she said. "And I promised them so faithfully."
"I don't think you should say anything," I finally said to Edward. "Let me speak with Kitty before she leaves. She clearly can't stay here, not with Lord Carmichael still in the neighbourhood, and I'm sure Elizabeth will want her to go. But let her break the engagement to Captain Ayres herself. She can do that without any lasting damage to her reputation in the eyes of the world. And I'm sure I can get her to promise that she'll do it. She doesn't really want to marry him."
Edward looked surprised--and then he let out his breath and relaxed. "You're absolutely right. That's much the best way." He slid one arm around me and pressed a kiss into my temple. "I think I'd better turn into one of those thoroughly cowed husbands who always do everything their wives tell them. You're obviously much better at all this sort of thing than I am."
He was smiling, but the furrow between his brows hadn't entirely smoothed out. "Edward, are you ... all right?" I asked after a moment's hesitation.
"Yes ... no." Edward rubbed his forehead again. "Just a headache, that's all." And then he saw my hand and reached down to lift it in his. He smiled again--a quick, flashing smile. "You're wearing the ring."
I was, of course. The heart-shaped emerald o
f the claddaugh ring flashed deep green fire in the morning light. I tugged Edward's head down and kissed him. That's really why I'm so sorry for Kitty. Because she hasn't found her own Edward--and probably never will, if she keeps on the way she's begun.
"I never took it off last night," I whispered against Edward's lips. "I'm not going to take it off--not ever."
Later ...
Kitty is gone.
I did speak to Kitty her about Captain Ayres, as I promised Edward. I told her that Edward had agreed not to mention anything of Lord Carmichael to John Ayres. But that she really ought to end the engagement.
I felt more than awkward, saying such a thing to her. Because we are the same age, and it isn't in any way my business to dictate to her. But she didn't argue, just nodded and said, "You're right. I know you're right." Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away and swallowed. "I'll write to him as soon as I get back to London. Poor John. He'll be so upset. But he doesn't deserve to be married to me. And I ought to let him know as soon as possible, so that he's spared the trouble of coming to Longbourn to see me when next he gets leave."
By now she'll be well on her way back to her parents' home at Longbourn. Though she departed a little later than was planned. First thing this morning she came to Elizabeth and asked whether she could take Thomas and Jack with her. The boys would be perfectly welcome at Longbourn. And, Kitty said, it had been her responsibility to look after the boys, and it wasn't fair that Elizabeth should have to take them on instead because Kitty herself had misbehaved.
She looked ... not exactly defeated. But at least more subdued and sad than I've ever seen her. Her eyes looked red and swollen, still, and beneath the brim of her travelling bonnet, she'd pulled her hair back into a plain, simple knot without any of the usual curls.
Elizabeth's eyes were red-rimmed as well. And she looked as though she couldn't decide whether to comfort Kitty or shake her. But in the end Elizabeth kissed her cheek and said that of course she could take Thomas and Jack--that they were welcome at Pemberley, but they'd break their hearts missing Kitty after she was gone and would do better with her back at Longbourn.
Friday 30 December 1814
Today was our annual open house for my brother's tenants, and we were busy all day with the families coming to pay the rents and bring apples and hams and other gifts of the season.
I offered to take Elizabeth's place as hostess--she was looking tired, especially after all that had happened with Kitty. But she wouldn't hear of it, and took her place among the proceedings as usual, greeting the tenants and their wives and children and helping Mrs. Reynolds with seeing that the supplies of cakes and spiced wine didn't run out.
Towards the late afternoon, though, I noticed Elizabeth was sitting down on one of the sofas. Her face looked pale and her breathing was a little quicker than usual. I sat down next to her and asked, "Are you--"
Elizabeth stopped me, resting her head against the cushions, her eyes sliding briefly closed. "If you succeed in being the fiftieth person to ask me today whether I think the baby will be coming soon, I will be obliged to murder you." She opened her eyes and smiled. "And that would be a shame, because you happen to be my favourite sister-in-law."
I laughed. "I'm sorry. I suppose it must get very tedious--especially in a group of other mothers like this one, where it seems the natural topic of conversation to everyone who speaks with you. I won't ask. I just thought you looked a little--"
I stopped again, this time because Elizabeth had drawn in a sharp breath, her hands resting on top of the curve of her belly. "Are you all right? Should I call for someone to help?"
Elizabeth shook her head, though. "No, it's nothing. Just a stray pain--and they've been coming for a week now. My sister Jane told me she was just the same, all through the entire last month before baby Amelia was born." Her eyes rested on Fitzwilliam. He was shaking hands with old Mr. Gibbons, who works as a horse trainer on the home farm. "I do hope it means this child is coming sooner rather than later, though."
Saturday 31 December 1814
If this entry is nearly illegible, it's because my hands are shaking almost too badly to write.
Elizabeth's baby really is on its way. Which is good news, of course. It's just I never imagined it happening quite this way. In the middle of a snowstorm, with my brother gone--and with the roads too impassible even to send to Lambton for the midwife.
I must go. I only stopped in my room to change my clothes and to scrawl this down. But I have to get back to Elizabeth.
Sunday 1 January 1815
It's morning, now--and the snow has finally stopped. A pale winter sun is making the icicles outside my window sparkle like crystal. I've just read my entry from yesterday. Which really is as incoherent as I thought. Elizabeth would laugh if she saw it.
A new year today--I had to stop myself from writing '1814' at the top of this page. And a new member of our family.
I'll try to tell--more comprehensibly--just what happened.
Yesterday morning, first thing, my brother's agent came in to ask whether my brother could come out to settle a disagreement between two of the tenant farmers over grazing rights. This particular quarrel stretches back generations. But the sons of the two families who've taken up the feud now are hot-tempered--and I think given to drink, though Herbert, my brother's agent, didn't say that exactly--and the quarrel was threatening to turn ugly.
So my brother said he would come. Though he hesitated to leave Elizabeth. We were all sitting at breakfast, and Fitzwilliam asked how Elizabeth was feeling.
Elizabeth said--as shortly as she's capable of saying anything--that she was perfectly fine and wasn't an invalid. But then she smiled and said apologised for being in such a bad temper. And said that my brother should go and take full advantage of this opportunity to get away from her, if only for the morning.
But then, just as my brother was about to take his leave, Elizabeth followed him to the doorway.
My chair was closest to them, so that l heard Elizabeth say, as she caught my brother's hand, "Darcy? Is there anything wrong?"
I hadn't noticed it until Elizabeth spoke--but my brother did look ... not troubled, exactly. But preoccupied. Or at least tired, as though he'd not been sleeping well.
Fitzwilliam shook his head though. "No, nothing. I'm just wishing I didn't have to ride out in this filthy cold weather to play nursery governess to a couple of overgrown schoolboys, that's all." He glanced at the window, and the skies that looked still more leaden and heavy than the day before. "It looks as though we'll have snow before nightfall, and this particular property is close on five miles' ride from here."
And then, before Elizabeth could answer, Caroline came sweeping into the room.
Frank had been unusually silent up until then. But at Caroline's entrance he sprang up and gave Caroline an engaging grin. "Miss Bingley. May I offer to get you some toast--or some cold ham from the sideboard? Your wish is my command."
I thought Caroline turned a shade paler and she pressed her fingers to her mouth. But then she drew herself up and said, in a frosty tone, "Thank you, but no," turned her back on Frank, and asked where my brother was going.
Fitzwilliam told her about his errand. And Caroline said, "How excessively fortunate! I was just wishing to go into Lambton to the apothecary's to buy some hartshorn. I've not been sleeping well at all, and I was wondering how I was to procure anything for my relief." She gave Darcy a smile. "And now you can take me with you, and leave me off in Lambton on your way."
My brother agreed--there was really very little else he could do. Though before he followed Caroline out the door he stopped and kissed Elizabeth on the mouth. "I should be back by dinner time."
Caroline hadn't so much as glanced in Frank's direction again. But Frank had been watching her all the while; I'd seen him. I think Edward had, too--for I saw him looking at his brother closely and he said, "Miss Bingley doesn't seem entirely enamoured with you, Frank."
I th
ought something crossed Frank's gaze, swift as a shadow. But then he smiled and said, "Hard to credit, isn't it? Still, it's only a matter of time before she succumbs to my sterling character and sparkling charm." Frank pushed back his chair and stood up. "I'll see you all this afternoon," he said. He bowed to Elizabeth and me and said, "I've a mind to ride into Lambton for a while."
Edward went to his room after that, since he said he wanted to write letters as promised on behalf of Mr. Mayberry, the destitute former soldier he met in London. Elizabeth took up some sewing and I sat on the window seat and sketched.
But when Elizabeth had run the needle into her thumb for the third time--I could tell by her exclamations of annoyance--she set the baby's gown she was embroidering aside and said, "Who on earth ever decided that fancy work was an agreeable way to pass the time?"
I looked up from the drawing I was making of Edward as he looked when he arrived at Pemberley, in his red-coated army uniform. "Don't look at me. I loathe sewing."
"At least you do it well, however."
I laughed. "Well, and so do you." Elizabeth does sew beautifully--when she cares to.
Elizabeth sucked a drop of blood from the pad of her thumb. "Not today, apparently." She folded the infant's gown away. "And unless this poor child wants a dress with equal parts bloodstains and embroidery for decoration, I think I'd better give up for now." She rubbed the base of her spine. "My back's been hurting all morning, and I'm just--"
Elizabeth shook her head and then stood up with sudden decision. "Will you go and find Edward and ask him if he'll take us for a ride in the phaeton? Darcy and Caroline"--I thought her voice altered slightly on the words--"will have taken the carriage. But I'd love some fresh air--and it may be our last chance if Darcy is right about the snow."
Pemberley to Waterloo: Georgiana Darcy's Diary, Volume 2 Page 7