by Kate Bedlow
And then there was Mrs. Hurst.
Charles and Caroline’s eldest sister Louisa was perfection at the instrument. No one who had ever heard her play had ever heard anyone else play better.
At the moment it was Mary at the instrument, practicing her scales. Elizabeth moved on, down to the empty parlor. The house was full, but there was no one to talk to! She found the salon empty too, but through the glass wall she saw her mother outside on the veranda—not alone.
Commodore Harrington stood behind Mama, adjusting her shawl, a lovely article which he had presented to her at Christmastime to replace the one stolen and ruined by the White Ghost, what the ladies of Meryton had named his niece’s irrepressible dog.
My dear Eliza, at present Pemberley seems to be the hothouse, and romance is in bloom. She recalled Charlotte’s words to her the night before. If one betrothal fails, I am in no doubt we shall hear of another.
The commodore’s gesture was quite tender—almost intimate—and Elizabeth would not be shocked if next he bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek.
I wonder… with Papa gone all these years, does Mama still think of herself as a married woman?
If, heaven forbid, Fitzwilliam should die…
Unbearable to consider! The marriage ceremony spoke of until death us do part, but Elizabeth knew to the depths of her soul that the Grim Reaper possessed no such powers of separation. Her bond with Fitzwilliam was something eternal. Their love simply existed. Like gravity, or the blue of the sky, winter’s chill, or flowers in spring. Everybody should be so happy!
Without question, she knew her parents had never felt that kind of love for each other. But from the commodore’s expression, Elizabeth believed that Cupid’s next arrow was destined to find Fanny Gardiner Bennet’s heart.
She caught her breath. She had been mistaken! The commodore did not kiss Mama’s cheek. Nor her hand. No, he turned her to face him, enfolded her in his arms, and bestowed a kiss, both tender and lusty, full on her lips. Even more shocking, Mama’s arms traveled up his arms to his neck, and she pulled him closer before she let him go. He took half a step back and kissed both her gloved hands. Then, quite abruptly, he turned and headed for the salon!
Elizabeth jumped behind a potted fern, full aware she was being ridiculous. The commodore entered through the French door not ten feet away, and if he saw her in her hiding place, he made no sign of it. She waited until he was gone, then hurried out to her mother, who stood at the limestone half wall, staring out at the snow-covered world.
Wordlessly, Elizabeth put her arm around her mama’s waist and leaned against her shoulder. Of all the Bennet women, Elizabeth was the only one shorter than Mrs. Bennet. “Dear Mama,” was all she said.
“You heard then?”
“I saw.” But what she had seen could mean only one thing. “Will you accept him?”
“Oh, I suppose so. Eventually.” Mama smiled mischievously. “I married Mr. Bennet when I was but sixteen, you know. All my life, with the exception of these past few years, I have been either somebody’s daughter or somebody’s wife.”
“And mama to many somebodies.”
“That most importantly, my dear. You girls have been my joy.”
Four years ago, even three, Elizabeth would have found that statement incredible. Perhaps there were compensations to getting older, for today she believed with all her heart that her mother had indeed derived joy and happiness in her life’s quest—that of raising and marrying off five daughters under very trying circumstances. Though the job was not yet complete, success lay within her sights. And Mama was never happier than when she had plans and schemes to dwell upon.
“I am surprised to say I have not been truly comfortable alone. I like having someone to order about, someone to care for. I believe I shall enjoy my independence a while longer, but yes. I will accept the commodore, and happily.”
“I am glad. I believe with Commodore Harrington it was love at first sight. He wants to spoil you all the rest of your days, and nobody deserves it more.”
“Ah, Lizzy. We’ve come a ways, you and I. I knew how it would be. Now you understand what good work it is to help young people along to find the right match.”
“Then you will aid me with Georgiana and Mr. Midwinter?” Oh dear. Had she forgot her mental promise to give him up so soon?
“Well, I suppose I might…” Mama frowned. “But I think it a shame to forego a marquess. Though Georgie obviously cares for the vicar, and she can afford to marry where she likes. Or not at all! But I do not recommend remaining single, spinster or widow. I have found no joy in it.”
Hours later after dressing for dinner, Elizabeth dismissed Morton and was about to go down when Fitzwilliam came to her room.
“My dear, what are you about?” She tilted her cheek to receive his kiss. “It is time to go down to supper, and you aren’t dressed.”
“Kett came to speak with me and—”
“Yes, I know.”
“—we got to talking about our schooldays. The time flew.”
“So you now indulge in nostalgia? Gracious, we are getting old!”
“Ghastly, is it not? Soon we will be saying wot! wot! and bemoaning the loss of powdered wigs.”
“I would not go so far as that.”
“His terms were more than satisfactory, if you’d like to know.”
“Then Georgiana has accepted him.”
“Not yet. She promised her answer by tonight. He frankly admitted he is not altogether confident of his chances, but he gave me his word that should she accept him, he will do all in his power to see she is happy.”
“It is ironic. Only this afternoon, I told myself I must stop championing Mr. Midwinter.”
With a growing sense of inevitability, Elizabeth felt herself give further ground to Fitzwilliam’s friend. It was as if Kettering Corby had entered their world through a metaphysical door and now lived in it, never to leave them.
She sighed. “He is not all that bad a fellow, I suppose.”
“I am glad you see it.” Fitzwilliam kissed her gloved hand and smiled—not in triumph, as she would have done had Mr. Midwinter been the subject of this discussion. No, her husband was simply happy for his sister. “He said he does not care for Georgiana’s fortune, as he now has a fortune of his own, and that he likes her and never feels lonely when he is with her and her friends.”
“Lonely?”
“Kett always called himself the orphan in his family. His mother died when he was still at home and his father when he was at Harrow. He was never close to the cousins and uncles who stood between him and the title. That part of the family never liked Kett’s mother, and on her account they ostracized him.”
“And so he was not there when the fever came and took them all.”
“Quite. At all events, he will be in agreement with whatever I consider proper in the way of jointures for Georgiana and portions for their children. And he insists she must have the same or greater pin money as now. He owns he is not so rich as a Darcy, but he is more than flush in the pockets. He banks with Thomas Coutts, you will be happy to hear.”
“How convenient.” Elizabeth laughed. Thomas Coutts & Co was one of several banks used by the Darcy estate and the only bank used by Beau Bon-Bon.
“He suggested our agents and solicitors work out the particulars together if and when the time comes, with my wishes on the matter as the primary guide.”
“Has he no flaw?”
“Prematurity, perhaps,” Fitzwilliam said. “My sister has not yet accepted him, after all. But you now have all the particulars, which I am sure the ladies will be eager to hear when you go down.”
“Mama will dine on those particulars as a feast.” Elizabeth would tell Mama to forget about Mr. Midwinter.
“There was something else, Elizabeth.” A hitch caught Fitzwilliam’s voice, and he lifted her chin lovingly. “I told Kett I would be glad to call him brother, and that I could assure him of one thing: should he marry
Georgiana he would soon forget his orphaned state. That when he joined my family he would join my wife’s family, that there seems to be no end of Bennets and their varied doings, and it would be impossible ever to be lonely again.”
And then he kissed her very well, and her mama’s words echoed in her mind, I do not recommend remaining single, whether spinster or widow. I have found no joy in it.
Mama was right, of course. How could there be joy in being alone? If Georgiana chose Lord Somersea, then so be it. Elizabeth would be happy for them both.
As the evening progressed, Elizabeth wondered if her vow had been for naught. All through supper Georgiana seemed lost in thought. She barely spoke to Lord Somersea—or anybody—and when the party migrated to the music room, she purposely sat down between Gwennie and Lydia, leaving no place for the marquess.
His lordship raised an eyebrow but took no offense. Appearing sanguine, he sat down beside Elizabeth and pleasantly wondered aloud if Miss Darcy would play.
Georgie obliged without comment. For nearly an hour she possessed the Broadwood grand, playing two full sonatas before she relinquished the instrument. Her sister-in-law’s behavior would have been bewildering had Elizabeth not known Georgie had promised Kett her answer by tonight. She must not have yet given it—his lordship was neither happy enough to betray an acceptance nor sad enough for a refusal. She must be stalling.
“Well done, my dear,” Caroline said as they crossed paths. “You play better every time I hear you.”
“Miss Darcy is as accomplished as she is lovely,” Kett said.
At last Georgie looked at him, not in defiance but with something like concern. “I hope I am good for more than entertainment or ornament. One likes to feel of some use in the world.”
“The entertainment and the ornament are wonderful.” Kett did not miss a beat. “But those delights are mere additions and can never substitute for thoughtfulness, generosity, and a kind heart.”
“Well said, my lord,” Lydia chimed in. “Bravo.”
But Caroline was not finished. “Soon, dearest, you will feel less an ornament and more of use.” She spoke to Georgiana, but everybody knew her words were for Richard. “When you come into your inheritance, hold fast. A woman with a fortune is better off single, for the day she marries is the day she loses all her power.”
“A bit harsh, that,” Commodore Harrington said, chuckling. “Like to take the wind out of a man’s sails.”
“A gentleman cannot help the law being what it is.” Richard was not at all amused. “And a decent husband, a loving husband, will not abuse his authority.”
“Hear, hear.” Kett and Fitzwilliam said simultaneously.
Fitzwilliam, who never let Caroline go too far, continued, “Quartermaine, perhaps you would favor us with a song.”
“Pray do favor us with one of your duets,” said Somersea. “I very much enjoyed The House Carpenter last night.”
After exchanging mischievous smiles, Mary and Carley sang a scandalous duet about Matty Groves, the infamous lover who went home from church with Lord Darlington’s wife, the two of them slain by the wronged husband when they were caught in her bed.
“It is shocking to hear you sing such a piece together,” Mama declared. “But now you are married, I suppose you may do as you like.”
“It is the effect of reading The Monk too often.” Elizabeth smiled inwardly. Oh, how far had her prim sister come along in this world!
“Well, now you are married, I meant to tell you,” Mama said. “Be sure to get the announcement right for the newspapers. One may as well be single if the wedding is not to be in print. Ah, three daughters married! How wonderful.”
Surprisingly, Mama did not go further and comment on the unmarried state of her two youngest. She did smile at Kitty and Lydia with great self-satisfaction, as if she knew full well how things would be, but Elizabeth was puzzled as to what her mother believed she knew. There was Falcon Whittle for Kitty, a scheme Elizabeth was full on board with, but who would marry Lydia?
Sadly, Lydia herself had diagnosed the problem: any gentleman who would have her would not be worth having.
Georgiana said suddenly, “Every day with my own eyes I see proof there is no better prescription for happiness than a good marriage.”
She looked at Fitzwilliam.
“My brother has shown me what a good husband can be. And dear Elizabeth, who I am grateful to call my sister, gives daily instruction on how to love and respect one’s husband without losing one’s sense of self.”
Richard looked at Caroline as if to say you see?
Elizabeth found that her eyes were moist and there was a lump in her throat. How sweet of Georgiana to say such a thing!
Georgie then came to Kett, and when he looked up at her with a question in his eyes, she smiled and nodded. He rose and took her hand, smiling. “To that end,” Georgie continued, “Lord Somersea and I wish to make an announcement.”
Chapter 24
Three months later, April 10, Manchester
“I have asked Drake here as witness when I tell you that I have spoken to Mr. Clark and changed my will.”
The old lady’s frail appearance was shocking. All Drake’s life, Aunt Perpetua had been a rock, self-confident, brave, immune to her father’s cruelty and the indifference of her elder brother—in short, an inspiration. She had faded much since his last visit. The wisp of hair that escaped her nightcap was no longer iron grey but spider-silk white, and her complexion had lost most of its color.
“All my fortune shall go to your brother, Amelia, unless I have your word you will marry Mr. Brightwater.” Her resolve had certainly lost no vigor. “Refuse, and you will be penniless, at your brother’s mercy.”
“Then I shall be penniless, Aunt. And better to be at Drake’s mercy than that of Mr. Brightwater!”
Drake’s sister rolled her eyes at him in exasperation. Then she softened and tenderly wiped Aunt Perpetua’s peevish brow with a cool cloth. The old lady’s nerves might still be made of steel, but physically she appeared terribly frail. He had thought her letter overly dramatic, bidding him to come post haste—and at Easter no less—but upon seeing her now, he feared the worst.
Amy dropped the cloth into a bowl beside the bed and told the maid to take the lot and exchange it for fresh.
“Let us argue no more, dear Aunt. Drake has come, as you wished. Tell him of all my faults while I go down to the kitchen to see to your tea.”
The old lady managed to spit out a feeble, “Obstinate girl,” just as the bedchamber door clicked shut.
“Aunt Perpetua, I am ashamed of you.”
“Why? I thought you’d be pleased. Wouldn’t you like a fortune so you can marry that hoity-toity girl Amelia says you’re in love with?”
“There is so much wrong in that question that I will not even attempt an answer. Now tell me. What is so wonderful about Mr. Brightwater?”
“He has asked her,” Aunt Perpetua said simply. “The other one never will.”
“So that is how it is.” If Amy had an unsuitable beau, this was the first he had heard of it. “Without knowing either fellow, I surmise Mr. Brightwater is the more intelligent of the two.”
But then Drake chided himself. The same could be said of Lord Somersea vis-à-vis Miss Darcy. Perhaps Amy’s mysterious suiter, like Drake, considered himself unworthy.
“I would not go that far.”
“Then why force Amy, old girl? Would you be as much a bully to her as my grandfather was to you?”
“Bah!”
“You have treated her like your own daughter, and you know she loves you dearly. Do not let… things… end in discord.”
It pained him to acknowledge how much she was failing. He had spent nothing near the time his sister had with Aunt Perpetua, but for all her crabby jibes at him, he liked her. And he suspected she secretly liked him, despite the sorrowful fact he had been born a man.
“It is not a matter of forcing.” She squinted at him. “
I wish to see Amelia settled before I go.”
“Perhaps she considers herself settled, just as she is. Some ladies choose never to marry. I know of one in particular who continually refuses a lord who is head over heels for her. She would be a countess one day, but she won’t have him, nor any man.”
“Wise woman.”
“Why is Amy not allowed to be wise? You have lived unmarried all these years, and quite happily, according to your lights.”
“That is different. My widowed state suits me. Amelia is…”
“Is what?”
“Your sister is the sort of girl who will never be happy without love in her life. If she does not marry this good man now, I fear she will fall prey to that scoundrel later.”
“The other one?”
“The other one.”
His aunt might have a point. “I will talk to her, Aunt. I cannot promise more.”
Drake waited until she dozed off, then went downstairs and found his sister in the drawing room. “She is asleep.”
“Good.” Amy set aside the book she had been reading. “I’ll send up her tea later. But now let me get some food into you.”
They sat down at the end of a long table in a well-appointed dining room, and the meal they were served contained several of Drake’s favorite dishes. He was touched. It was a good feeling to be known, to be cared for.
“How long can you stay?” Amy said.
“A week. It is easier now that Mr. Bonney has come, but I would rather not monopolize his time. Mr. Clackston needs him.”
“Then to be fair, Mr. Clackston should pay his wage.”
Drake scoffed. “What are the odds of that happening?”
Amy knew everything about his life in Derbyshire. He had no one else to tell, and she was a diligent correspondent. She knew that he and his uncle now shared a curate between them, that Mr. Bonney lived in a cottage provided by Mr. Darcy—which everybody, including Mr. Bonney, agreed was far too fine for him—and that Drake paid Mr. Bonney’s stipend of one hundred pounds per annum. That within a few weeks after his apoplexy on Twelfth Night, Mr. Clackston had recovered sufficient to resume some, though not all, of his duties.