"She hates me, Lizzy! Mr. Dashwood’s mother hates me."
"She does not hate you, Kitty."
"She likes Georgiana."
"She likes Georgiana’s thirty thousand pounds."
"Il is the same thing."
Elizabeth came to Kitty’s side. "Perhaps to someone as disagreeable as Mrs. Dashwood. But not to Georgiana. Do you think she wants to be admired only for her fortune?"
"Her fortune, her music, her painting — " She tossed her embroidery onto the sofa. "I can’t even trim a cap properly. Who wouldn’t choose Georgiana over me?"
"Mr. Dashwood."
Elizabeth retrieved the hoop from the floor and handed it back to Kitty. "Mr. Dashwood came here last night with flowers tor you. He spent most of the evening talking to you. And when he left here, he lingered the longest over his farewell to you."
"That doesn’t mean he will want to marry me."
"No, it does not. But should he offer, you will know without question that he wants to marry you, not your thirty thousand pounds. That is a fortune Georgiana will never have."
Kitty turned the hoop around in her hands. "If he offers. And what are the chances of his ever doing so with his mother wishing him to tender his addresses elsewhere?"
"Let his mother court whomever she wants. He can afford to marry where he chooses."
Elizabeth said the words in a confident tone, attempting to console Kitty, but she could not help recalling Mrs. Dashwood’s assertion about her son’s sense of family duty. To what extent would he allow filial obedience to dictate his future happiness? Harry was young; his mother’s will, strong. A word from her might be all it took to redirect him.
Mr. Dashwood already possessed Kitty’s heart. She prayed he would not break it.
She placated Kitty with additional assurances, then suggested they take a walk. Fresh air and fresh sights, she hoped, would divert her sister’s thoughts from this unfortunate first meeting with Mr. Dashwood’s mother. Kitty yielded to Elizabeth’s persuasion and the two parted to retrieve their bonnets.
After donning both her hat and a light wrap, Elizabeth found herself descending the stairs to the accompaniment of Mozart. Georgiana had returned to the drawing room, where her fingers now flew through the opening movement of a sonata. Elizabeth approached the pianoforte and located Georgiana’s place in the music, turning the page when Georgiana reached its end. Further observation of the performer, however, revealed that Elizabeth need not have troubled herself. Georgiana played from memory.
When the movement concluded, Elizabeth invited her to join the walk. Georgiana declined, stating a desire to continue at the piano.
"I have been thinking," she said, starting the adagio section, "that perhaps I ought not go to Norland."
"Of course you should go. Mr. Dashwood’s invitation included everybody."
"His mother’s invitation very nearly excluded Kitty I do not wish my presence to cause your sister any unhappiness. If I stay behind, Mrs. Dashwood might treat Kitty with more civility."
"Mrs. Dashwood’s behavior toward Kitty has far more to do with Mrs. Dashwood than with either you or Kitty."
"Nevertheless, Kitty will enjoy the party more without me."
"Kitty would feel horrid if she knew you missed the fete on her account."
She paused on a minor chord. "Then do not tell her."
Elizabeth studied Georgiana. Her head was bowed over the keyboard, her expression guarded. Did she truly wish to remain behind, or was she declining the invitation because she thought she should? Elizabeth did not want her new sister-in-law to feel excluded from this or any other family happenings. Nor to believe that anyone considered her own happiness secondary to Kitty’s or anybody else’s.
"Georgiana, do reconsider. This season in London was to have been a pleasurable time for you, as well, yet it seems you have not met any gentleman worthy of your esteem." That Darcy protected his sister so closely had not helped, but Elizabeth refrained from voicing that thought. "Perhaps someone at the fete will earn your regard."
Georgiana completed an intricate passage before responding. "I did not realize you hoped to bring about a match for me this season," she finally said. "But of course you and my brother must feel my continuing at Pemberley an intrusion on your privacy now that you are married."
"Oh, Georgiana! How ever could you think that? Pemberley is your home — for the rest of your life, if you wish. I do not scheme to have its empty rooms to myself. I thought only of you — that perhaps you yourself had begun to long for another home, and a husband to share it."
"I cannot deny imagining such scenes from time to time, but I am in no hurry to realize them. I — " She stumbled over a.simple grace note and corrected herself. "I know my brother surely must have told you of my imprudence two summers ago involving Mr. Wickham. Since that time, I do not trust my own judgment in matters of the heart."
This marked the first Lime she had spoken of the incident, or how it had affected her. "It is Mr. Wickham who cannot be trusted," Elizabeth declared.
"Nevertheless, I am not yet ready to form an attachment with anybody."
"Your own judgment seems very sound on that point. You are absolutely correct. There is no reason for haste."
Her fingers slowed as she approached the end of the adagio. "When I am prepared to accept a suitor’s attention, the right gentleman will reveal himself. Meanwhile, let this be Kitty’s season. Allow me to excuse myself from the Norland party."
Elizabeth regarded Georgiana doubtfully. "You are certain?"
"Quite. In fact, my friend Miss Sedgewick has invited me to a concert on the thirtieth and I had hoped to attend." She struck the final chords of the movement and met Elizabeth’s gaze. "Please indulge me?" Her expression was earnest.
"As you wish."
"Thank you."
She started on the allegro assai. Elizabeth listened to Geor-giana’s perfect execution, repeating their conversation in her mind. Anyone could appreciate her sister-in-law’s accomplishments and gentle spirit. But she was discovering in Georgiana a young woman of greater depth and intelligence than was evident upon first acquaintance, and felt privileged to be developing a more intimate understanding of her.
"Can I persuade you, at least, to join us for our walk?" Elizabeth asked.
Georgiana started to shake her head, but then abruptly halted the music. "Actually," she said, rising from her instrument, "I think I shall."
Seven
"To say that he is unlike Fanny is enough.
It implies every thing amiable."
— Mrs. Henry Dashwood to Elinor,
Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 3
Whatever pressure Fanny Dashwood may have exerted on her son to bestow his addresses on a wealthier woman, Harry Dashwood remained steadfast in his attention to Kitty. He visited the townhouse daily, securing Kitty’s affections even more firmly and rising in Elizabeth’s esteem if only for possessing the good taste to adore her sister. Georgiana made herself scarce during his visits, not because anyone suspected Mr. Dashwood vulnerable to fickleness, but to spare Kitty any pain from recollecting his mother’s incivility. An obligatory return call in Harley Street had proven as enchanting as their first visit with Mrs. John Dashwood, and everyone seemed much happier forgetting the existence of Harry’s mother altogether.
Darcy’s opinion of Mr. Dashwood rose, as well, particularly when he encountered the younger man at Angelo’s fencing school and heard of his application for membership in one of the more intellectual gentlemen’s clubs.
"Mr. Dashwood seems to be genuinely striving to improve himself and find more worthwhile ways to spend his time,"
Darcy remarked to Elizabeth one rainy afternoon. She had wandered into the library in search of a novel, but, upon finding him there, had abandoned her errand for the superior diversion of conversation with her husband.
"You sound surprised."
"I did not anticipate such a rapid transformation, nor one so sincere."<
br />
"Mr. Dashwood is apparently capable of great change when he sets his mind to something," she said. "His regard for Kitty may be his primary inspiration, but I think your encouragement has also contributed. He respects you."
"Perhaps he will make a suitable husband for Kitty, after all."
"Why, Darcy! I believe you are starting to like him."
He shrugged. "Perhaps I feel a sort of kinship with him. It does not seem like very long ago that my own father died."
"You both lost your fathers at a relatively young age. He, even earlier than you."
"Though his father’s death was recent, the more I talk with Mr. Dashwood, the more I form the impression that he has lacked paternal guidance for a long time. John Dashwood seems to have acquiesced to his wife in most matters, and she seems to have expended more effort in trying to dominate her son than teach him. It is small wonder he spent so little time at Norland."
"So now you have taken the fatherless young man under your wing, offering the direction that John Dashwood did not."
"You are too generous. I am not yet thirty myself; I have not the wisdom to be a surrogate father to him."
"And you are too modest — a trait of which I cannot often accuse you. Very well, then. You can be an elder brother to Mr. Dashwood. Georgiana can vouch for your qualifications in that role."
Darcy contemplated that for a moment. "I should like to regard Mr. Dashwood as my brother."
"I am glad to hear it," she said. "For if he marries my sister, you will have no choice in the connection."
It was with light hearts that they all set out for Sussex — all except Georgiana, who remained in London to attend the performance of a noted Italian harpist with her friend Miss Sedgewick. She would stay with Miss Sedgewick’s family while Elizabeth and Darcy were away, an arrangement that provided both a proper chaperone for Georgiana in her brother’s absence and an opportunity for her to spend more time with her friend.
When Kitty and the Darcys arrived at Norland, the young master himself met their carriage. Mr. Dashwood helped Kitty alight, studying her face the whole while for her first impressions of his home.
"It is beautiful, Mr. Dashwood!" she exclaimed. "The most perfect house I ever saw."
Her delight clearly pleased him. He regarded the house with quiet pride. "I am glad you think so, Miss Bennet," he said softly. "Most glad."
Though Pemberley would always remain foremost in Elizabeth’s affections, Norland was indeed a magnificent house. It was prettily situated in a wooded parkland, surrounded by seas of daffodils still in bloom. As they neared, she saw that equally abundant waves of tulips prepared to overtake the daffodils when their reign was exhausted.
Their party was the first to arrive; Fanny Dashwood and other relations were expected later that day and the majority of guests on the morrow. Mr. Dashwood proposed taking a walk about the grounds once they’d refreshed themselves, to which they readily assented. While they changed out of their traveling clothes, however, the sky darkened, and by the time they regrouped in the drawing room, a steady rain fell.
The shower failed to dampen Kitty’s pleasure at being in Mr. Dashwood’s home, or his eagerness to show it to her. He suggested instead a tour of the house and led them through its rooms. He soon discovered that he made a poor docent, as his years of absence and lack of interest had left him unfamiliar with many of the house’s characteristics. He also possessed but few memories to share with them.
The housekeeper, however, was pressed into service as a guide. She had been at Norland since the days of Harry’s great-great-uncle and knew each panel and newel post as if she had fashioned them herself. As she led them through the great hall, music room, morning room, dining room, drawing rooms, and so on, her narrative formed at once a history of the house and a history of the Dash wood family. The original house, they learned, had been built during the reign of Henry the Fifth, and had been altered and expanded several times. Most of the present house had been built during the Tudor monarchy, with another wing added during George the First’s time. Care had been taken, however, to blend the different architectural styles as well as possible, so that the variations added interest without detracting from the structures overall grandeur.
Under John Dashwood’s tenure, the house had seen modifications both inside and out. He had annexed surrounding land and enclosed the common; to please Fanny, a grove of old walnut trees had given way to a greenhouse and flower garden. Fanny, too, had selected all the china, plate, and linen in use.
As they moved through the dining room, Kitty, in a whisper, asked Elizabeth her opinion of the place settings.
"Rather too pretentious for my own taste," she whispered back.
"I thought so, too."
Noting a small alcove on one end of the dining room, Elizabeth enquired as to its purpose.
"The dining room used to be a bedchamber in the original house, and a servant slept in that alcove," the housekeeper replied. "When the chamber was converted into the dining room, a table was put in the center of the alcove. At one time, breakfast was set out there instead of on the sideboard during large parties. But the present Mrs. Dashwood prefers the sideboard, so the nook generally goes unused now, except as a place to set flowers to help ornament the dining room."
They moved on to other rooms, where they learned that the settle had been a wedding gift to Sir Stephen and Lady Dash-wood in the sixteenth century, that the tapestries in the blue bedchamber had come with another long-ago bride, and that the pianoforte had last been played regularly by Harry’s aunt Marianne Dashwood, now Mrs. Brandon, when she lived in the house as a girl. The genealogy lessons continued in the long gallery, where generations of Dashwoods lined the walls.
"That’s Sir Stephen, there," said the housekeeper, gesturing toward a full-length portrait of a man in a ruff collar, "the last knight in the family. His lady wife is beside him. They say the two of them were inseparable. Over there is Mr. Albert Dashwood, my first master at Norland. A fine-looking man in his youth, though I don’t remember him that way, as he was old when I came here. At least, he seemed old to me as a girl. Perhaps Mr. Dashwood remembers him?"
Harry shook his head. "I couldn’t have been more than five when he died."
"Four, I believe, sir. But you certainly made an impression on him when you visited with your parents." She smiled in recollection. "You near about talked his ears off with your little voice, telling him about your latest discoveries and using only half the right words. That’s when he decided to entail the estate to you."
"Instead of leaving it to his own children?" Elizabeth asked. The anxiety such an arrangement had caused her own family through the years left her perpetually puzzled by the logic of men who settled their affairs so unjustly.
"He never married," the housekeeper said. "His nephew, Henry Dashwood — grandfather of young Mr. Dashwood here — lived with Albert in his later days. By then Henry’s son, John, was grown. Henry lived here with his second wife and their daughters, Elinor, Marianne, and Margaret. That was a happy time. The girls adored their uncle Albert, and I do believe he lived longer for the pleasure of their companionship."
"Where are they now?" Kitty asked.
"Henry died just one year after Albert. According to the terms of Albert’s will, Henry could not divide Norland among multiple heirs. Upon Henry’s death, therefore, everything went entirely to John, so that the estate could eventually pass whole to his son, Harry. When Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood took possession of the house, Mrs. Henry Dashwood and the girls moved to a cottage in Devonshire owned by a cousin of hers."
"Sir John Middleton," Harry said. "You have met him."
It did not surprise Elizabeth that the widowed Mrs. Henry Dashwood had chosen to live near the genial Sir John rather than continue at Norland with Fanny Dashwood as its new mistress. She somehow suspected that Fanny, having just come into ownership of the great house, had not been a particularly gracious hostess toward her predecessor.
&nb
sp; "The girls are all grown now, correct?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes, and comfortably settled with husbands of their own," the housekeeper replied.
"I invited them all to Norland this week," said Harry. "But I believe only my aunt Elinor and uncle Edward Ferrars will join us. Margaret is in confinement, with Marianne and their mother attending her and the infant."
Another new baby. It seemed all the world had entered an uncommon state of fecundity.
Kitty strolled farther along the gallery, studying various portraits in their turn. She stopped before a full-length painting of a young, dark-haired man with an almost tangible air of self-possession. "Is this a likeness of your father, Mr. Dash-wood? His resemblance to you is striking."
In that, Elizabeth concurred. The subject had been captured at about the same age as Harry Dashwood and bore many of the same physical characteristics. But for the clothing that clearly marked him as an inhabitant of the previous century, he and Harry could pass for twins. His eyes, however, seemed to mock the viewer with secret knowledge, and Elizabeth found his sardonic smile unsettling.
"No, my father’s portrait hangs over there. This is Sir Francis Dashwood, probably our most notorious ancestor."
"What is he notorious for?" Kitty asked.
Darcy cleared his throat. "If Sir Francis had an estate in Buckinghamshire, as you told me, how did his portrait come to be here?"
"Perhaps it arrived on the same coach as did the looking glass I showed you." Harry shrugged. "I discovered the two items together in the attic when I was last here, and thought it highly amusing that Sir Francis and I looked so much alike. So I had the portrait brought down and hung. As for why it may have been brought here, your conjecture is as good as my own. I understand there are numerous paintings of Sir Francis at West Wycombe — perhaps his heirs didn’t think they needed quite so many remembrances of the fellow. If I remember aright, the estate went to a half brother. Maybe the new owner wanted to clean house and live down the old chap’s reputation."
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