Elizabeth knew what was coming. No Scottish gathering would be satisfied with a single toast. Glasses were filled and refilled for the bride’s mother, the Matron of Honour (herself), every other woman in the hall, the groom, the laird. At her side, Darcy only pretended to drink, as did she. Finally came a break before the dancing, and an opportunity for Colonel Fitzwilliam to don one of his wedding gifts: a blue-and-green Mackay kilt.
Elizabeth had attended many céilidhs, but never one so uninhibited. She wondered whether by resolving the issue of Laramore, they had removed a source of friction in the family. Brodie, a divisive figure, was no more. Traditionalists like Flora and Isobel had been offered the exciting alternative of the Glengarry settlements. Carried along by the atmosphere of friendly exuberance, she let herself go in one dance after another. Darcy was more reticent—the celebration was for his cousin, so he felt less pressure to take the floor. But he had a surprise for her. As the gentlemen lined up for the Highland fling, he calmly rose to join them. She clapped and cheered as he hopped and span through the steps, not once losing his balance: he must have been secretly practising.
Midnight struck. Bride and groom took their leave, to ribald cheers, to spend their wedding night in the modest accommodation of the annex. As Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged an eloquent glance, she wondered whether he too was feeling a twinge of envy.
38
Two days later, near Loch Watten
They were bound for Edinburgh at last, in a carriage provided by Lieutenant Sinclair, whose groom was picking up a party from Wick. Darcy sat beside Elizabeth opposite the newly-weds: the Fitzwilliams had insisted on attending Georgiana’s wedding before embarking on their voyage to the New World.
Darcy felt drained, but relieved they had taken leave of Strathmaran in one piece. Celebrations for the wedding were continuing: by tradition they usually ended on a Sunday, which meant poorer families had to arrange weddings on a less propitious day later in the week. Of course the Mackays had pressed them to stay, but he had been adamant, as had his cousin. They had left Georgiana alone far too long.
A schedule had been agreed with Hector Mackay, and Darcy was relieved that it would be MacFarlane, not Brodie, who would put it into effect. Tenants wishing to stay in Scotland would be moved to the coastal villages as soon as their plots were ready. The others would winter in Laramore while awaiting reports from Glengarry: if all was well, they would move in the spring; if not, Colonel Fitzwilliam would seek a more suitable destination elsewhere in the colony. Names of emigrants had already been listed, and character references drafted. Darcy had arranged to pay all the deposits—a minor sum compared with the £10,000 that he would recover from the sale.
He had written to Burgess with instructions to bring two carriages to Wick and await them at the inn. A local footman and driver would come too, and maids to attend Elizabeth and Isobel. The carriages would be stocked not only with reserves of food and drink, but fine linen to replace the coarse bedding of the roadside inns.
Elizabeth looked across flat pasture to the loch. Few hills: the land sloped gently, and she could see for miles. At her side Darcy was pensive; Isobel and the colonel were both dozing.
Farewells had been prolonged and emotional. She had taken one more trip with Darcy to Laramore—the last time she would see the village intact. Donald and Claire Gibson were delighted at adopting Kirstin, and eager for the challenges of Canada; likewise the Kirdys, Iain having decided to leave his beloved moors and apply his farming skills on a larger canvas. Elizabeth brought a gift for Sibyl, a cream of lanolin and beeswax to soften her skin in cold weather. The soothsayer was alarmed at first, but calmed down sufficiently to thank her, in Gaelic, and offer in exchange a vague prediction about crossing water.
At Strathmaran Elizabeth had tearfully run the gauntlet of the Mackays, receiving an old clan-crest brooch from Flora, and an ornate silk shawl from Morag. Captain Robert wished her adieu with affection; Hector, with something more—respect, and a kind of yearning, suggesting depths of admiration that she found unsettling. Morag’s children danced around her; by the time Elizabeth returned, they might have grown up to raise families of their own.
She pictured Laramore as it would be then. All the cottages gone, their walls dismantled for re-use. No sign that anyone had lived there, except the graveyard, which would be left undisturbed from respect. There Thomas’s tomb might endure for centuries, unvisited except occasionally for a shepherd passing by.
In a small private dining room at the inn, Darcy relaxed with a glass of port and the luxury of being once more alone with Elizabeth. So far all had gone well. Burgess was waiting with his team; the rooms were cramped but acceptable; they had dined from a fresh catch of haddock. Colonel Fitzwilliam and his bride had pleaded tiredness and gone to their room.
‘You will be exhausted too,’ he said.
She smiled, still decorous in the half-mourning grey that she had promised to discard once they reached Edinburgh. ‘I don’t believe Issy was particularly tired, but let that pass. It’s the celebration more than the journey that wears me down. Five days for a wedding! They’ll drink themselves into an early grave.’
‘Will you miss them?’
‘The Mackays? Oh yes. Strangely, I love Flora and Issy all the more for rejecting me at first. Their affection was hard won, so of greater value.’
‘Hmm.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I can think of another instance of that rule.’
She grimaced, then raised a finger, smiling. ‘So can I. Tolerable?’
‘I forbade you to mention that word ever again.’
‘Luckily I’m not your servant, so I shall say whatever I please. But a weapon should be used sparingly, so you are safe for now.’
‘Do you think we will return to Strathmaran?’
‘Not soon. I’m desperate to see my family. Do you realise, it’s almost two years since I spoke to Jane?’
Darcy nodded, thinking of Bingley. His letter might arrive in a week or two: would it have the desired effect, or merely increase his former friend’s bitterness?
‘I yearn to inform them what is happening.’ Elizabeth pointed to her reticule. ‘I have a letter ready to send after Georgiana’s wedding. It says that our betrothal has been announced—which will be true then, unless you change your mind.’ She met his eye. ‘You won’t, will you? Dear William?’
‘I might if you say tolerable.’
‘Then I shall restrain myself until we are married. But what think you? The trouble is that if my mother knows, soon everyone in Meryton will know, including the current master of Longbourn.’
‘And hence Lady Catherine.’ Darcy sighed. ‘I might as well grasp the nettle and inform her first. Lord Matlock too. You realise that my aunt and uncle are not what you might call reticent? Frankness is for them a duty. Which in this case will take the form of abuse. Of you, and your family.’
She blinked. ‘You will find we are used to it.’
He fell silent, pondering how he would have felt, had the Darcy name been similarly tarnished.
39
August 1814, Edinburgh
The maid had just left. Georgiana lay on the bed, jotting a record in her diary. In the next room Margaret was taking her weekly bath—as usual, a noisy affair.
In a week she would be married. Mrs Inglis. No turning back now, but she was confident. Alone with James she felt not only entertained, but herself. Unlike many of her relatives, James had no desire to remould her. If they disagreed he called her a goose, but he never demanded submission. In his eyes she was perfect exactly as she was. (Although still a goose sometimes.)
Would he be the same after the wedding? People spoke darkly of men who enticed young ladies to the altar with pretty words, only to become tyrants later. This did not worry her. She had anxieties aplenty, but not over her future husband.
William had expressed whole-hearted approval—much to her relief, since she trusted both his judgement and his honesty. He would not give his bless
ing just to please her. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been equally enthusiastic, but the same could not be said for other members of the family. An express from Lady Catherine took her to task for not asking advice. She, her ladyship, could have suggested a far more suitable prospect. Lady Matlock wished her well—but such a pity she had not caught the eye of the heir, and that the wedding would take place in such an outback …
Georgiana smiled. As if her great day would be spoiled by the absence of these particular ladies! Quite the opposite. Alistair would have to come, which might be embarrassing. But he would not be allowed to enter Charlotte Square until bride and groom had left.
Her thoughts turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam, happily the only Fitz in a position to attend. He would be nearing Edinburgh now, with Darcy, Mrs Bailey, and another mystery lady. Isobel Mackay, now Mrs Fitzwilliam. Georgiana recalled how much she had feared meeting Elizabeth—without cause, it turned out. But this Isobel, savage, beautiful, formerly Elizabeth’s enemy! How might she react to a shy Englishwoman? Probably with indifference; still, the forthcoming introduction was daunting.
Margaret entered, towelled dry and wearing her shift. ‘Penny for your thoughts, Georgie.’
‘Not worth a penny.’
‘Dreaming of next week?’
‘Worrying, as usual. Why are families so awful?’
‘To help us appreciate our friends.’
Georgiana laughed. ‘To tell the truth, I’m not anxious about the wedding. It’s what happens after. Before long we’ll be back in Pemberley, or London, or Rosings, with everyone watching me.’
‘For a few days. Then they’ll switch to something else.’ She punched Georgiana’s arm lightly. ‘You’re not that interesting.’
‘So James tells me. Inglis humour.’ Georgiana blew out the candle and tried to sleep.
They came, mid-afternoon the next day. Georgiana stood at the head of the steps, in between James and Margaret, as her brother helped Mrs Bailey descend; from the other carriage, a young lady grabbed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s hand and leapt down, dark hair flying. Georgiana relaxed, reassured by such unsophisticated exuberance. The colonel’s wife wore a plain dark blue gown, white shawl, and no hat. She was tallish, Georgiana’s height, but less delicate in her build and features. And yes, as she approached, the dramatic loveliness of her face was hypnotic: one had to make a deliberate effort not to stare. Lustrous hair, flawless skin, full mouth, deep-set eyes with strong lashes. Yet Mrs Fitzwilliam made no effort to underline her looks through dress or posture. One could hardly imagine a less pretentious gown or bearing.
Regaining her composure, Georgiana ran to greet Darcy and Elizabeth. A line formed—Lady Dunbar, James, Margaret, herself, so that the colonel could present Mrs Fitzwilliam. Standing at the end, Georgiana was left alone with Isobel, who drew her aside.
‘Lizzy says ye’re verra guid on the pianoforte.’
Georgiana flinched at such familiarity. She had heard, from Darcy, of a truce between Isobel and Elizabeth, but Lizzy suggested greater intimacy. ‘Mrs Bailey is very kind, but I do love music.’
‘I’m nae much good at playing. Nor anything really except sitting on a horse.’
‘I love horses.’ Georgiana glanced at Darcy. ‘At home, William and I often ride round the park.’
‘Ye should teach Lizzy. She’s completely hopeless.’
Georgiana suppressed a giggle. This was not a grand lady, but a girl of her own age who had mixed little in society, and innocently blurted out what she thought.
She pointed to the doorway. ‘Shall we enter, Mrs Fitzwilliam? There are refreshments in the drawing room.’
After wine and sandwiches had been enjoyed, Georgiana saw Darcy whisper to James, after which they rose, along with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and took their leave. With only the ladies remaining, Lady Dunbar interrogated Elizabeth on events at Strathmaran. Isobel attended with the occasional grimace, fidgeted, but did not speak; once or twice she glanced at Georgiana and Margaret with an ironic lift of the eyebrows.
The gentlemen returned after half an hour, and Darcy unobtrusively invited Georgiana to Lord Dunbar’s study, where they could talk in privacy.
‘So, Georgie!’ He pointed to an armchair. ‘I hope you are as well as you look.’
‘I’m so relieved you are here at last.’
‘What think you of our cousin’s bride?’
She hesitated. ‘Younger than I imagined. I was afraid of meeting her, after Mrs Bailey’s earlier reports. But now I’m quite excited.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve had a business discussion with James, and thought I’d better review the arrangements with you.’
‘About the dowry?’
‘Yes. As you know, the settlement is £30,000, obviously a considerable sum. Invested in funds it will yield a yearly income of £1500, on which you can live comfortably, if not regally. Of course you are always welcome at Pemberley and our house in town. I am assured the same applies to Lord Dunbar’s estate, and his properties in Edinburgh and London. But as you know, you won’t be mistress of a large estate, although the dowry would purchase a small one.’
‘We’ve talked about this,’ Georgiana said. ‘James wishes to work, on the Encyclopaedia and other projects, and I wish to support him in this. He will need to travel, visit libraries in Oxford and Cambridge, or further afield, and I want to go with him. I’ve spent most of my life in the seclusion of Pemberley; now is my chance to see more of the world.’
‘As you should. James believes his remuneration will cover most of your expenses, but income from the dowry will allow you to live in greater comfort, provided it is not eroded once control passes to your husband.’
‘You mean wasted, by extravagance?’
He nodded. ‘The culprit is usually gambling. A young gentleman wishing to cut a dashing figure is goaded into nights at the table, and ends up losing his fortune.’
‘James is too sensible to do that.’
‘That is my impression. But wherever money and inexperience are found together, the sharks gather, and one must risk ridicule to avoid becoming their victim. I have felt these pressures myself, Georgie. One need not be a wastrel to succumb.’
She stared at him. ‘I cannot believe that you would do anything foolish.’
‘Once, at school …’ He shrugged. ‘At least I left Harrow with one lesson learned.’
Georgiana studied him. ‘You are warning me, William, is that right? You are saying a gentleman may be kind, and intelligent, like James, but still damage his family through weakness.’
He regarded her admiringly. ‘You’ve grown up a lot in the last two years.’
She coloured. ‘Life taught me a lesson too.’
‘So it did.’ He sighed. ‘But let me not alarm you. You have made a wonderful choice. You will love and esteem your partner in life, and rightly so. All that is required is a little care.’
‘You’ll be leaving by the end of August.’ Margaret Inglis lounged on the bed, while Georgiana wrote a reply to Lady Catherine. ‘I’ll hardly see you. Or James.’
‘That’s not true.’ Georgiana secured the letter in her diary. ‘We’ll be in London most of the time. Not Pemberley. James has to be near publishers and libraries.’
‘I suppose.’ Margaret looked unconvinced.
‘Lady Dunbar won’t winter in Edinburgh. She’ll bring you to London, and we can visit. There’ll be Christmas to look forward to, then the new season.’
Margaret sighed. ‘Another batch of half-witted fops after my dowry.’
‘There must be exceptions.’
‘Interested in me?’
‘You look lovely in your bridesmaid outfit.’ Georgiana smiled: she had enjoyed the final fitting of her wedding dress that morning, along with a silk gown that she was to wear to the ball—held in the Assembly Rooms on the evening of the ceremony.
A tap on the door, and they turned, startled, as Isobel entered. ‘May I join ye?’
‘Of course.’ Georgiana indicated an armchair, bu
t Isobel carefully shut the door and sat on the bed.
‘I was bored doon there.’ Isobel pointed to Margaret. ‘I’ve heard of ye, Miss Inglis. Ye’ll be cousin tae Lieutenant Sinclair of Larraig, our neighbour, who married my sister.’
Margaret nodded. ‘I’ve met them both, in Edinburgh.’
‘Wish I’d known ye before. We should form a secret society, fer lassies under twenty.’
‘Can I be a member?’ Georgiana asked.
‘Pity ye’re Sassenach.’ Isobel frowned. ‘But since ye’ve seen the error of yer ways and chosen tae marry a Scotsman, we could make an exception.’
‘What are the rules?’ Margaret asked.
Isobel extended a hand, inviting them to link up, and intoned, ‘Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno.’
‘Gaelic?’ Georgiana asked.
‘Latin, Miss Darcy! Yer governess wilnae be pleased.’
Georgiana took a deep breath: if Mrs Fitzwilliam could tease, so could she. ‘I understand now. One for all, all for one. I was misled by your unorthodox pronunciation.’
Isobel laughed. ‘It means, stand shoulder tae shoulder, tell the honest truth, never give away confidences tae others.’
‘Agreed.’ Georgiana smiled, enjoying herself. ‘I swear.’
‘I swear,’ Margaret said.
‘I swear.’ Isobel broke their hold. ‘Ye may ask me any question.’
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