“If you decide to court Elizabeth Bennet, you must learn to love her that much, for nothing less is her due.” As the cousins conversed from their shrubbery cover, Darcy’s gaze never left Elizabeth until she disappeared into the woodland. “It is to be hoped that I shall recover, Alex, but I have not yet. I would not for the world have you make the choice you just hazarded I make.”
“Let me know when you are recovered, Darcy. It will make my decision easier.”
Darcy evidenced a tight smile, but the colonel knew he had struck a frayed nerve.
“You will be the first to know.” Darcy wheeled his horse around and trotted towards the Rosings stables.
Fitzwilliam watched his cousin’s affronted back. Yet you would have me make such a choice, Darcy…If I win her love, I drive you away, for I do not believe for a moment that you could bear it. You do not see that the question you denigrate is the very one you ask of me.
He turned half around to watch as Elizabeth wandered back into the far grove. Yes, a beautiful lady, lively, able in her pursuits, pleasing in conversation…It would be a splendid thing to bed her if she were in love. Plenty spirited with the right partner. But am I that man? Can I make myself love Elizabeth Bennet as Darcy loves her? Could one woman be the love of one’s life for two men at the same time?
He could not at present answer the questions. His own indecision frustrated him, and he chose to continue his ride.
As Darcy entered Rosings to seek the comfort of its library, his aunt beset him yet again.
“The search of the house is complete, Nephew.”
“I am glad of it, madam. We have borne these absurdities long enough. Perhaps Georgiana and I may now make plans to return to London. My dealings with Mr. Steventon may be managed by the mails. It is an easy distance to return if Alexander—”
“Not so hasty, if you please. Your actions are not above suspicion.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “I have done naught but ride, play billiards, and attend you. How are these actions suspicious?”
“I have the pleasure of the fierce loyalty of my servants. Everything is reported to me.” Lady Catherine drew herself up, causing the black ostrich feathers in her grey satin turban to flutter into her eyes. She blinked rapidly.
Darcy lowered his eyes and coughed into his hand to hide a smirk. What has she to accuse me of now? “Information for which you pay them handsomely if shillings be the measure of loyalty…” he muttered.
Lady Catherine would not be distracted. “After your departure a fortnight ago, the chambermaids reported a vast number of broken quills and nibs, paper ash in the grate even though you had not requested a fire be lit, and that you had the ink replenished twice in the night. What am I to make of this?”
Darcy was plunged by her description into the hours of his composition of the most fraught, difficult, and important letter he had ever written. Fearing he would blush, Darcy made to appear angry. “As I said at the time… a most pressing matter of business arose. It required some delicacy and finesse in the response. More than this does not concern you. Or do you require recompense for the ink?” After a curt bow, Darcy stepped around his aunt.
“No one leaves this house until Anne’s diaries are found,” came the dictate from his aunt as he strode away.
Darcy was best pleased, knowing the journals were safe with Charlotte Collins.
25 March 1812
My male cousins are well, if not happily, settled here, and Mama dotes on them excessively. She chases them out of the billiard room if they tarry too long and generally makes them flee at her approach, for which she castigates me. If I were more amusing, she says—if I wore my gowns cut lower in the mode of fashion… I chuckle to myself. My bosom is increasing before the rest of me, and there would indeed be something for my cousins to notice had I any wish to attract either of them.
Speaking of bosomy attractions, Alex seems to be finding sanctuary from my mother in the drawing room at the Hunsford vicarage. I did ask him last night whether he found Miss Elizabeth a pleasant and lively girl, as I think they would take delight in each other. His reply was quick and affirmative: if only she had some little fortune. Both Darcy and I are aware that Alex is more frugal than is generally known, and more than once, I have heard him complain that Darcy, as heir of Pemberley, may marry at his whim. Not that Darcy is given to whims, far from it.
Still, I do not entirely comprehend the military mind of Cousin Alex. What I can learn lurking outside the door of the billiard room makes me think the man has never been in love and is certainly no romantic. He enjoys women in the usual male way, and he gets on well with them in society, but I do not detect any inclination to profound ardency. Alex’s heart will not be easily touched.
Whereas I now think Darcy, if he allows himself, will be utterly devoted. Joyless and dour but utterly devoted. I do wonder why he does not get himself to Hunsford with Alex since I understand he was often in company with EB in the autumn. Perhaps he does not find her as pleasing a diversion as Alex does, but I cannot account for his behaviour.
The Hunsford party will join us for dinner on Easter, and I shall be able to observe everyone at close quarters. I would warn EB if I see she is forming an attachment to Alex. And perhaps Darcy will reveal why he is avoiding her, for I think her charming and bold. Oh! Perhaps she stands up to him in the same manner she behaves to Mama, and he does not like to be challenged. That must explain it.
I am of a mind to travel to the lawyer tomorrow. It is some folly of mind due to my delicate condition, I am sure, but I want to make certain all of my affairs are in order. But now Mrs. J arrives with my chamomile. —A de B
Chapter 8
The Wrong Hands
14 August 1811
It is not to be believed. Had I not heard the announcement myself, I would never ever have known my mother could sink so low. She has named William Collins as the vicar for Hunsford. I would have wagered the de Bourgh turquoise and diamond diadem that she would have chosen the more scholarly James Leigh. Mr. Leigh is two and thirty, from a fine old family, married with two children, and seemed well spoken when I was in his company for his interview with Mama. He is a Cambridge man, as I recall.
But, alas not.
A dinner was given today for the local dignitaries (such as they are) and the verger of the church, who will not be replaced (without regard to the flagrant embezzlement he seems to think part of the emolument of his office) since he has my mother’s support, and Collins will not thwart her. They all came to stare at this repulsive and shabby fellow. Never ever, ever have I heard anyone lavish such praise and flattery upon her, yet I do believe the misbegotten creature to be utterly sincere. He is young, stupid, lacking all self-awareness, wholly without fashion, and sings his own praises behind a guise of humble servitude. He cannot reason, which renders him incapable of guile, at least any that cannot be seen through. His countless vain little niceties are, I presume, the product of much study, and if he tells me again that my ill health has robbed the court of its finest jewel, I shall run mad. No…I have not the energy for that, but I do think I could manage an oyster fork in his throat. His repellent Adam’s apple makes a fine large target. Yes, that I would happily do.
He is unmarried. Mama will have him marry, and together these two jackdaws have mentioned something about Mr. Collins being cousin and heir to an entailed estate currently populated by a healthy incumbent, his wife, and five daughters, some or all of marriageable age. There is some plot afoot to send him off thither, to which I heartily subscribe. Let him visit his Hertfordshire cousins as often as may be. Tonight I am a disgruntled —A de B
Wednesday, 15 April 1812
Rosings
After the unpleasant exchange with Darcy and a hurried meeting with her housekeeper, Lady Catherine sighed. The execrable Mr. Steventon had sent a note requesting Miss Elizabeth Bennet be allowed im
mediate access to the de Bourgh jewels, but she was not inclined to entertain the nefarious Miss Bennet so soon. By what means did the creature lure Anne into such a paroxysm of generosity? Lady Catherine was perplexed, and understanding the mind of her daughter was not possible without the recovery of Anne’s diaries. She could only seek the righting of the situation. That the de Bourgh jewels should be sold to provide dowries for an upstart family of hoydens in Hertfordshire was truly repulsive.
There was nothing to be done about monies granted Charlotte Collins and the Jenkinson woman, and her nephew Alexander might prove difficult, but about Elizabeth Bennet…ah, now in that she might exert some control whilst there was still time. The young hussy could come on the morrow to see her ill-gotten gains. Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes. Yes, they could take tea together as the jewels were displayed for their new owner in Anne’s chambers. It would be of no consequence whether the rugs were further soiled. The rooms must be done-up again in any case.
Lady Catherine was furious and rendered distracted by her daughter’s will. She had already that morning sent several sheets of instruction to her attorney in London, the highly regarded Mr. Phawcett. Once matters were settled with Elizabeth Bennet to Lady Catherine’s satisfaction, she would hither to London and press her points home in her own Last Will and Testament.
The Hunsford vicarage
Elizabeth closed the 1811 volume of Anne de Bourgh’s journals and watched her friend Charlotte still musing over the next book. Although Elizabeth had read a few of the entries, and others had been read to her, she had not yet taken the time to give 1812 the study her curiosity demanded.
“Charlotte, do I dare take that volume to my bedchamber this evening, do you think? I fear I have nearly memorised the first book.”
Charlotte looked at her evenly. There was nothing for it but to tell Elizabeth the truth or something near it. “I know Mrs. Jenkinson intended us both to read all of Anne’s thoughts, but she cannot have known what is contained here.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “My maidenly sensibilities have withstood the loss of her virtue, you know.” She chuckled. “It was what my Aunt Phillips had warned us it would be, do you recall?”
Charlotte had to join in her friend’s amusement.
“I cannot think there would be anything more alarming,” Elizabeth coaxed.
“I am afraid there is, Lizzy.” Charlotte could not help but blush as she remembered reading about the last couplings of Anne and her Mr. C, as she had called Wickham.
Elizabeth weighed Charlotte’s embarrassed countenance. Given that Charlotte was a married woman of some months, what could possibly be contained in Anne’s tales that was worse than had been already described? “Charlotte?”
“No, Lizzy. It would not be proper.”
“Charlotte! I do not wish to be vexed, but I fear I might become so if you persist.”
The two friends had decided in a previous conversation that the confined life of Anne de Bourgh—wholly occupied, thwarted, and subjugated by her mother—had adversely affected the thinking of what might have been, in other circumstances, a very fine mind. Elizabeth was wild to know what more could be said of the unpleasantness Anne had endured to get herself with child.
“I shall bear all your wrath, Lizzy, but you will not move me in this.” Charlotte held the black leather binding to her breast. “I shall put it in my Oakley. Mr. Collins would never dare venture into my dressing room.”
Elizabeth stared after her friend as Charlotte quit the parlour and disappeared down the hall to the servants’ stairway. She counted her thoughts off on her fingers, making an inventory of all she had already read in the second journal. One: Anne mentions Darcy’s change in demeanour with the passing years; two: her joy at learning she is with child; three: more ludicrous behaviour from her mother; four: the to-doings over Easter; five: Anne’s view of the consequences of my ignoble refusal of Mr. Darcy’s addresses—as much as she had surmised; and six: her surprising study of me… There is nothing in the whole of it that is more objectionable than any other part. What could Charlotte possibly oppose my reading?
Charlotte returned with an air of self-satisfaction.
“What of her dreams at Christmas?” Elizabeth asked. “I suppose that was disturbing enough for anyone…”
“There is at least one more entry in January that I have read,” Charlotte admitted. “More…more vividly wrought.”
“And thus more distressing.” Elizabeth reached for her friend’s hand. “Dear Charlotte… you need not bear reading that alone.”
“The dreams are not the only thing, Lizzy.” Charlotte squeezed the gentle hand before releasing it. “You must trust me in this.” She huffed and shook her shoulders to banish what was scandalous. “An express came from the Gardiners?”
Elizabeth was instantly wreathed in smiles. “Jane will be here tomorrow afternoon, perhaps as early as two o’clock. Shall we invite Miss Darcy to join us for tea? I know we are supposed to be in mourning, but perhaps Lady Catherine need not hear of it.”
The change of subject brought much relief to Charlotte, and they were soon occupied writing an invitation. Their attention was thus claimed until it was nearly time to dress for dinner when the maid-of-all-work, Nell, brought a card addressed to Elizabeth.
“Ah…” mused its recipient with a raised brow. “I am to call in the morning upon Lady Catherine. She politely bids me arrive after breakfast to view the de Bourgh jewels. Odd we did not hear the bell.”
“It is Wednesday when Albertine, Lady Catherine’s maid, takes dinner here with her brother Donald, our footman.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “She is the sister of Donald, the proud Yorkshireman? You mean Lady Catherine’s French maid is faux française?” The two women laughed.
Charlotte explained, “They compare gossip and line their pockets by telling the sinister secrets of the Hunsford vicarage to our esteemed patroness. Albertine will spend the night, for they chatter away quite late. I do not like that Nell must share her little bed, but I often entertain myself by planting some bit of mischief in the tidings carried back to Rosings.”
“But Charlotte! It is revolting that you are spied upon…” Elizabeth lowered her voice to a hiss rather than be overheard. “And all this time I have been here?”
Charlotte laughed and shrugged. “We have behaved notoriously the entire time!”
Thursday, 16 April 1812
Rosings
Lady Catherine was all graciousness when Elizabeth arrived with Mr. Collins the next morning, even complimenting her for again wearing the grey shot silk that had been sent to the vicarage for her use at the funeral gathering. Her ladyship’s new mourning gowns had finally arrived, and she looked less constrained than in the past week. Her air was decidedly not that of a woman who had lost her only child. It was as though she wished to be cheerful and obliging in all things, but Elizabeth could not imagine why. Lady Catherine’s disapprobation had been plain enough at the reading of the will.
Did she parade a grief she did not feel only when the situation required it? Elizabeth wondered. The very idea of such unmotherly sentiments necessitated that she suppress a shiver.
“You will excuse us, Mr. Collins,” said her ladyship. “I shall return to you shortly. I have some fixed ideas for your Sunday service regarding the generosity one owes to one’s family. Think on this whilst Miss Bennet and I are upstairs.”
“I serve at your beneficent and munificent pleasure, your ladyship. Indeed, for your counsel and inspiration, I would wait unto…”
With a rustle of black bombazine and pompadour taffeta, Lady Catherine rose to lead Elizabeth from the room without knowing to what ends Mr. Collins would await her return.
When the ladies were gone, Mr. Collins’s favoured footman stepped into the room in much distress.
“’Tis a sad thing,
Vicar, right sad. We lost the new stable boy last night. He took sick all of the sudden-like. His people are from Headcorn, so’s we’ll be buryin’ him here.”
“How very sad. Such a loss for her ladyship. And his age?” There was not much money to be made in holding services for the poor, and they insisted on having the women of the family present, which was always a trial. It was difficult to concentrate on the service when there was an abundance of whimpering and weeping.
“He were about fifteen years, ’tis said. Didn’t have his full growth yet.”
It occurred to Mr. Collins that, since the boy was under the employment of Rosings, the estate steward would see all fees were paid for a modest ceremony. He brightened. “When the lad’s family arrives, send them to wait upon me. I shall do everything I can.”
The footman was pleased, and he withdrew.
Lady Catherine climbed the marble central staircase in great state. It was her intention that Elizabeth Bennet have every opportunity to take in the many luxurious details of the house, details the young lady was not likely to see again.
“There you see my dear Sir Lewis. Such a loving husband and devoted father. Anne mourned him dearly. There is a smaller portrait in my room, of course, and one in Anne’s.” Lady Catherine waved a bejewelled hand at the oversized painting of a rather slender gentleman of undistinguished visage. “He took such great pains with the building of this house. Anything I requested was added. No cost was too great. We were married three years before we were blessed with Anne. It was very gratifying to her mother and father that she could enter the world in a perfect home.”
Elizabeth merely raised her brows and minded her footing on the shining marble.
They turned to the right at the first landing. “You will apprehend the family wing is not intended for guests to see, and we are more humble in our appointments.” Again, the hand waved to indicate the sumptuous tapestries lining the walls.
A Will of Iron Page 8