The Road to Pemberley

by Marsha Altman

  I have said that I had already come to the realization before your letter arrived. That happened yesterday, when I went to Bingley’s house. Have you heard that Sir Frank Watson proposed to his cousin? It is a great upset, Sir Frank having been so blatant in his attentions to Miss Bingley. For myself, I can only think of it as a bit of good fortune, but I do feel for Miss Bingley. Not for the loss of Sir Frank—she is well rid of him—but his cousin, Miss Watson, has been unkind to her. It seems the family expected him to propose to Miss Watson as soon as he was out of the blacks, and his attentions to Miss Bingley were not looked upon kindly, least of all by Miss Watson herself. The matter has been set to rights, as far as the family is concerned, but Miss Watson is still put out, and as she cannot vent her ire on her future husband, she has made Miss Bingley her target.

  I do not fear for Miss Bingley’s reputation or comfort in the long term, but she and Miss Watson have several mutual acquaintances, and the whole thing must be very uncomfortable for her at present. I further have it from Bingley that Miss Bingley is quite determined to marry this year, and Sir Frank’s defection has upset her greatly.

  To return to my story. I went to Bingley’s house to see Andrew, but I had also hoped to see Miss Bingley, to determine her state for myself. When I asked after her, I was told she was not taking guests, but Andrew happened to mention she was in the downstairs sitting room, and I confess I purposely lost myself in the house in order to find her.

  The door was slightly open, and opened fully with a slight push. She was lying on the sofa, a pillow clutched to her chest. My heart quite broke for her. I realized then what you have known for months. I could have gone to her, and I desired nothing more than to gather her in my arms and comfort her, but I only backed quietly out of the room. I needed time to think.

  My mind is a whirl. Tonight, I am glad of the ache in my hip. It provides an occasional distraction from my thoughts.

  R. F.

  XL. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR. DARCY

  February 15

  Darcy,

  Miss Bingley has agreed to marry me. In a month, you may make me the subject of as much raillery as you like, but I beg you to defer your teasing for a time. I have been made to understand the depth of her feelings for me, and I am perfectly disgusted with myself—I had thought her attempted pursuit of me dispassionate. Rationally, I realize that I had no way to know her heart, but what has rationality to do with a man in love?

  Yours,

  R. Fitzwilliam

  XLI. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. HURST

  February 15

  Dearest Sister,

  Colonel Fitzwilliam has asked me to marry him. Upon writing that sentence, I stared at it for some minutes. I still cannot credit it.

  He came today to see his brother, and I was determined to meet him. I will not have the world thinking that a Miss Watson who is so ugly and stupid that she must have her father bully her cousin into marrying her can have any effect on me. I am so glad to be rid of Sir Frank. We would have been wretched together.

  I looked quite well today, I think, though I did not take particular care with my toilette. My hair has been cooperative of late. That always puts me in a good mood.

  We met in the drawing room, myself, Colonel Fitzwilliam—Oh! But I am allowed to call him Richard now, and he particularly asked me to. Lord Ashbourne and Charles were there as well, though Jane had gone to lie down. It was strange and awkward at first, for he kept staring at me, and I had not seen him in several weeks. Charles and Lord Ashbourne went away for a time to—I do not know what they went off to do, only Richard watched them leave with an odd expression on his face. I was suddenly overcome with distraction, and I could not think of a thing to say. I started to talk of something—I cannot remember what—and then he came across the room and sat beside me and said—

  No, I will not tell you what he said. Those words are for me alone. Only, he gave me to understand that he cares for me, and I—

  Do you remember when we were girls, and we used to practice just how we would respond to our marriage proposals? “Your Grace, you have made me the happiest of women, and I would be honored to accept your proposal.” I was always so poised and composed and graceful in my acceptance. Well, there was nothing of composure or poise in this. Were I in a different frame of mind, I might be able to see my way to being embarrassed, but I am only—

  Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. The moment he had made plain to me that he was asking me to be his wife, I burst into tears. Oh, Louisa, it was awful. They were not even ladylike tears of happiness, they were sobbing tears of relief. I suppose I somehow communicated to him that there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to be his wife, for when Charles returned and saw us, me sobbing into his handkerchief and Richard with his hand on my back, I heard Charles say, “What on earth is the matter?” And Richard said, “I think your sister has just agreed to marry me.”

  Despite my joy, I am seeing my way to be embarrassed about all of this, but it was all settled in a few minutes more. I managed to restrain myself and speak with tolerable composure. Charles gave his blessing to the match. I suppose I will have to write my uncle, but I care not a fig what he thinks. I am sure he will be glad to be rid of me entirely.

  What a fright I must have looked! Richard did not seem to mind, and stayed for several hours.

  I can hardly think. He comes again tomorrow. You must come to Bath, and then my every happiness will be complete.

  Yours, Caroline

  XLII. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR. DARCY

  March 5

  Dear Darcy,

  Ah, Cousin, would that you were in Bath and had witnessed it for yourself!

  I wrote twice to my father following my engagement. My first letter went unanswered, and my second was returned unopened. I was prepared to leave the matter at that, but Caroline begged my leave to pen a letter of her own to my father, and I gave it. I know not what she said in her letter, but my father came to Bath.

  We have met him four times. The first visit saw him at his most unkind. The treatment Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and, especially, Caroline received was not to be borne. I could have tossed him from the house—and would have, had it been my house and not Bingley’s—but Caroline cajoled me into being civil. After he had gone, she told me she feared her fortune and connections were not smart enough for him, but I assured her that I could have been marrying a German princess and my father still would have found it exceptional that I had chosen a bride for myself without first consulting him.

  My father returned the next day and the day after, and Caroline was in fine form each time. It was a masterful display of obsequiousness and toad-eating that would have made Lady Catherine’s parson green with envy. I would have choked on my own vomit had I attempted such blandishments. The end of it all is this: I am once again on good terms with my father, solely on the basis of my having chosen for myself “a woman of sense and good breeding” as my bride. I moreover have it from Ashbourne, who has it from my sister, that my father may make a wedding present of one of his houses in London—not a mere lease on good terms, but an actual transfer of property. This is not to reach Caroline’s ears until it is certain, however.

  Well, I am not entirely pleased with her methods, amusing though they were, but I will not argue with good results. She is not under the least misapprehension about what sort of man my father is, and even at the height of her fulsomeness I heard her tell him that she would not agree with him that it was better for me to suffer the surgeon’s knife than “give myself up to my weakness” (his words). Because I have mentioned it and you specifically asked in your most recent letter, I will tell you that my hip is better. I use the cane nearly every day now, despite my hatred of displaying my infirmities for all to see, and it does help. Caroline scolds me when I leave it at home.

  Do not worry overmuch about Mrs. Darcy. It was only the accoucheur’s educated guess that she would be confined in February. These things can never be known exactly. Chi
ldren come when they are ready to and not a moment before.

  Tell Georgiana that if she trips and falls at her presentation, I will provide her with a set of men’s clothing and procure her passage on a ship to the Indies (East or West, whichever she prefers). Never mind that, I will write to her myself and try to reason her out of her fears.

  I had best conclude before I am forced to reach for yet another sheet of paper. I send my love and regards to you and all your household.

  Yours, R. Fitzwilliam

  XLIII. MISS BINGLEY TO LORD BUXTON

  March 10

  My lord,

  I could not wait another moment to take pen to paper and tell you how grateful I am for the kindness you have seen fit to bestow upon your most unworthy servant. How can I ever give proper thanks for such kindness? I shrink from the thought of taking on such a task. Dear Richard has been forced to tell me every detail of the house—all that he can recall, for he has only seen it once. This does not surprise me, your holdings being so vast that one cannot expect your children to know every detail of every house, but I do wish he could tell me more. I am sure it is a delightful home. Richard said that it is grand and stately, and only a little old-fashioned. I am sure that we will be able to bring it up to the standard that is worthy of a son of yours with only a small outlay, though perhaps we will have to wait some time before going forward with the expense. Weddings are such costly things, you know. No, upon reflection, it will not do to wait. I would never have anyone seeing your son and, if I may take the liberty of calling myself so, daughter living in a house that is anything but a proper reflection of your rank and position. I am sure we will find the money somehow.

  I was furthermore delighted to receive your kind invitation to stay with you at Kentridge when we return from Weymouth. I am so eager to see Lady Mary once again. You have a very fine daughter, sir. I have never met a more accomplished young lady. You have done very well by her.

  Richard wishes to make his greetings in his own hand, so I will end here.

  With most heartfelt respect and deepest gratitude, I am, sir, your lordship’s most obliged, humble, dutiful, and obedient servant, Caroline Bingley

  Sir—I am sure I cannot exceed Caroline in expressing my gratitude for your gift, so I will not try. I will say only that I thank you for your kindness. Caroline and I will marry in the church at Kentridge, as you have asked us to do. The Bingleys leave for Pemberley along with my brother in a few days. I will be about three weeks behind them, as I have some business to attend to in London before going on to join them.

  —R. Fitzwilliam

  XLIV. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MISS BINGLEY

  March 17

  My dear Caro,

  No, I will not stop calling you by that name. I like it. What is more, no one else uses it, so it is mine alone.

  I hope this letter finds you well. I know that traveling with my brother can be a trying experience. I recommend a glass of wine and a nap to help you recover. Have I ever told you my philosophy of napping? Remind me when I arrive, and I will enlighten you.

  My father has given me two thousand pounds, to be used in the renovation and repair of our house. Your abilities frighten me, woman.

  Shall I ask you to give my love and best wishes for her recovery to Mrs. Darcy, or would that be testing your forbearance? I think I shall send it through Darcy instead. I look forward to seeing the little one. I must begin instructing Master Richard Darcy on how to be as charming as his namesake.

  God willing, I will arrive at Pemberley no later than the 1 st. It occurs to me that this is the first letter I have ever written to you. Am I making a mess of it? I have no talent for letters of love. There should be more verse and less sarcastic prose, but I would laugh too hard to hold my pen if I attempted to write you a sonnet, and I see no occasion for transcribing the words of another.

  Caro, this is the man you have accepted: not always properly serious, given to much complaint, and with a bad hip besides. In scant weeks, you will be joined to me forever. If you wish to cry off, you had best do it soon.

  I will be earnest for a moment. I miss you terribly. I have a picture of you in my mind. Do you recall when we went riding in Hyde Park? I think I fell in love with you that day, but I was too foolish to know it. You looked so well with the sunlight in your hair. You critiqued the dress of each person we passed, and some of your comments amused me greatly. It is a memory that I will use to carry me through the next week.

  Your most devoted, Richard Fitzwilliam

  XLV. MISS BINGLEY TO COLONEL FITZWILLIAM

  March 20

  Sir,

  I am ill equipped to speak on your talent with love letters. The letter I have just received seems to me the most perfect specimen of its kind. I have no wish to cry off. Your complaints will always have a willing ear if you will endure mine.

  I give you leave to call me by That Name, if you must—but not in public. It took me years to dissuade my brother from using it, and I will not have you return him to the habit.

  I have seen Master Darcy. He has that odd, unfinished look that newborns always do, but he is a healthy, well-looking child and I am happy for them. Do not make a face; I am in earnest. I will let Mr. Darcy transmit your love and wishes. I doubt very much Mrs. Darcy would be able to keep her countenance if they came from me.

  I recall very well the afternoon in Hyde Park. It is one of my happiest memories. I did look very handsome that day, did I not? Ah! I have found a flaw in your letter. You have praised my hair, but not my smile, or my eyes. In fact, now that I read it again, I think your letter quite lacking in admiration of my good looks. I trust you will remedy this when you arrive. We must go riding in Hyde Park when we take possession of our house in London. And only think, we will be able to ride out as husband and wife, with no need for maids or footmen to lend us propriety, and we may go out every day if we wish.

  I miss you very much. Charles teases me for being lovesick. He is as troublesome as he was when he was a child. I confess I am easily distracted, now that you are not here. I spend too much time staring at my sketch of you, and now that I have a letter to read, I will read it until I know every stroke of the pen by heart. I am so eager to see you.

  I left this letter open while I walked out with Jane and Miss Darcy. I am bad company at present, too given to staring into the middle distance and not attending to anything that is said, but as this is to be expected in a woman whose lover has chosen the company of bankers over her company, I am excused. Miss Darcy thinks nearly as highly of you as I do, and Jane’s patience is never exhausted, so at least I do not fear censure when I speak of you at length, and I frequently do.

  I will be genuine with you for a moment (this, sir, is a rare event, I think you know). You have honored me with your proposal. I want you to know that I will do my best to be worthy of that honor. If you will only tell me what you want in a wife, I will do my best to fulfill your wishes.

  I sign myself as your devoted, Caroline

  XLVI. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MISS BINGLEY

  March 24

  Dear Caroline,

  I was not intending to write any more letters from London. I leave in but two days. After reading your last, however, I have decided to send this letter ahead of me. I had better not arrive at Pemberley and find you bent over The Improvement of Human Reason, or some other book that I have mentioned in passing. Such reading would well be a torment for you.

  You have been genuine with me, and I will return the favor. I have seen enough simpering, idiotic females, and enough women who play the part with varying degrees of success to know that I do not want one of them. What do I want in a wife? I am not a man who has either the inclination or the patience to take a Child Bride in hand and mold her into my ideal. Your brain, Caroline, does more than hold the sides of your skull apart, and that is not a trait that is as common (in women or men) as one would hope. I expect you will take advantage of this.

  I do not expect you to change to sui
t me. Moreover, I am well aware that any such changes would be superficial and halfhearted, at best. I know you better than you might think, thanks to long, hot London afternoons, when there is nothing to do but converse. Those afternoons have largely passed into the dreamy haze of idealized memory, not because I particularly enjoyed sitting in your aunt’s parlor sweating through my shirt, but because of you.

  I love you, Caroline, and I trust we are capable of making each other happy. I can only hope that you are entering this marriage with open eyes and a clear head, as I am. I’ll not have you put me on a pedestal, Caro. It will not do.

  I hope that I have set that bit of foolishness to rest for good. Here I am writing to you again, so I will address the failure of my earlier letter and say that I look forward to seeing my beautiful Caroline once again. Her smile, as bright as summer sunshine, is the light of my world, and her eyes are the clear blue of Caribbean waters.

  I do hope the pimple on her chin has healed.

  Yours, Richard

  XLVII. MRS. FITZWILLIAM TO MRS. DARCY

  June 2

  Dear Mrs. Darcy,

  I thank you for your kind invitation to Pemberley, but Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have no plans to leave London at present. The summer in London is so delightful, and we would not go away from it for the world. We will be at Tetley Hall in August, and I look forward to seeing you there.

  I send my regards to Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, and young Master Darcy.

  Yours, &c., Caroline Fitzwilliam