Jane had finally gone to be churched, but now rather than needing the distractions Elizabeth had been providing, she found her own in preparing for the move and spending even more of her time in the nursery. There, she had the dual benefit of fulfilling her maternal nature and enjoying the presence of both her sister and Marguerite – for Marguerite was, the sisters agreed, a very enjoyable companion.
The three women were there on this day, watching the children play. Those close in age had paired off: Bess and George Nichols were engaged in stacking up all of the blocks available in the nursery and then knocking them all over and starting again, Bess, as might be expected, generally the one to take charge of the destruction; James and George were taking turns in chewing on a leathern ball, and indulging in tremendous fits of giggles over it. The youngest, Amelia, slept in her mother’s arms, and Jean-Charles, breeched since Elizabeth had seen him last, was making thorough use of the hobby-horse that had been prematurely installed by the twins’ father, for although it had been there for months, only recently had Bess and the elder George shown any interest in it.
“Jean-Charles likes this wood horse very much,” said Marguerite. “Where are they purchase – purchased? I think I must get him one.”
“Our carpenter, Jasper, made this one,” said Elizabeth. “We call them hobby-horses, and I shall have him make another like it. Jane, do you have one for Clareborne? If not, he may make two.”
Jane smiled, watched her elder daughter put her foot through the latest tower of blocks, and then replied, “I do not. That would be very kind of you, Lizzy.”
“Hobby-horse,” murmured Marguerite. “Oh! Is dada, in French. I have heard of them but never saw them before. Maybe I have one as baby but I do not remember. Yes, I would very much like one for Jean-Charles – he is going to have happy enfance, now, happy as Edward and I can make for him – and yes is very kind of you to have your Jasper make them for our children.”
The block tower began anew, and James emitted what Elizabeth thought was possibly the most delightful squeal that had ever been uttered by a child, and was echoed by George. Elizabeth could not prevent a tender smile completely overspreading her face at such a sound, and found her companions smiling as well.
“Your little boys make me wish every child has a double – a twin,” said Marguerite. “They will be even closer than your Fitzwilliam and my Edward were as boys, I think.”
“Yes, I think they will be,” Elizabeth said, smilingly.
Almost as though they had been summoned, Darcy and Edward came into the nursery, Edward calling out, “Ah, Jean-Charles, you have found a hobby-horse – well done, young man. Would you not rather ride a real horse, though?”
Jean-Charles looked to his stepfather, perplexed, and Edward looked to his wife. “Real horse?”
“Vrai cheval,” said Marguerite, looking nearly as perplexed as her son.
Elizabeth, however, had some suspicion as to what was afoot, based on the grins that formed both her husband’s and Edward’s countenances as Edward picked up Jean-Charles and said, “Come, my son, your vrai cheval awaits.”
Many children would have been upset to be separated from a toy from which they garnered such enjoyment as Jean-Charles had from the hobby-horse, so it said much about his trust in his step-father that he was not upset to be carried off, instead garnering excitement from Edward’s tone, even if the child did not understand all of his words. Darcy went over to his sons, greeted them by ruffling their wispy hair, and then rose to follow after his cousin in his usual long-strided walk. Marguerite also rose to follow them, and Elizabeth found herself torn between staying to watch the twins and following the two adults Marguerite had compared them to. Ultimately novelty won out, and she rushed out after Marguerite.
The ladies caught up with the men in Pemberley’s entrance-hall, where Edward had worked the normally quiet Jean-Charles up to such a state of anticipation that the boy was crying, “Cheval! Cheval! Cheval!” as the front door was opened for them.
Elizabeth and Marguerite stepped out onto the portico together and found what Elizabeth had anticipated: Buttercup in the drive, wearing a child-sized saddle, and Jean-Charles standing before the pony, being encouraged by his stepfather to stroke its nose.
“C’est beau cheval,” said the boy, and although Elizabeth spoke no French, she did understand this well enough to need to stifle a giggle. She had learned to ride on Buttercup and thus held a fondness for the pony, but she hoped the fat old pony appreciated that he was – probably for the first and only time in his life – being called a beautiful horse.
Jean-Charles was asked – in English – if he would like to ride the pony, and although perhaps he did not comprehend the question, the tone in which it was asked and his eagerness involving the entire situation with this beau cheval prompted immediate acquiescence. He was lifted up once more and placed upon the pony’s back, Edward pulling the stirrups up tight for such a small rider. Then Edward took up the pony’s bridle at the bit, and began leading Buttercup forward at a walk, Darcy now falling in beside Jean-Charles and directing the boy in holding the reins. Darcy’s lessons were ones Elizabeth knew well, for he had taught her how to ride, although he was endeavouring to teach Jean-Charles with gestures and the physical placement of the child’s limbs more than he had done with his English-speaking wife.
Elizabeth smiled, watching him and Edward, seeing the immense enjoyment her husband was getting out of the lesson; surely, he was anticipating the time when his own sons would be old enough for this. She heard Marguerite sigh, next to her.
“It is all so beautiful, the English country, where all is peace and birds sing and they teach little children to ride ponies. I thought Jean-Charles would grow in that dirty bad neighbourhood in Paris, and I am grateful that will not be his life.”
“I cannot claim to understand the hardships you knew, during the war,” said Elizabeth, “but I am glad you are both here now, and that your lives are so improved.”
They watched silently for a while, the inevitable smiles on their countenances as Edward continued to lead the pony around the drive at a walk, Darcy continued to make gentle corrections on the boy’s horsemanship, and Jean-Charles looked as delighted as a boy of his age could.
“You know what I do not understand about the English country?” asked Marguerite. Without waiting for an answer, she pointed to the landscape beyond the drive. “I do not understand how God decided in England he would place the trees so carefully. They are always giving most beautiful view, always. Why would God care more about trees in England than in France?”
“Ah, I fear I must correct your view of God’s power, at least as it regards the English landscape,” said Elizabeth. “The trees in the English countryside may appear natural, but they are often planned by man. The landscape you see before you was planned out very carefully by a man named Repton, under the direction of my husband’s father.”
“But your husband’s father could not enjoy the trees, if this Monsieur Repton placed them for him. They would be little trees, during his life. They would not look so good as they do now.”
“Very true,” said Elizabeth, “but that is often the way of our country. The older generation plants trees for future generations to enjoy.”
Marguerite appeared contemplative. “Sometimes I think you English are not so romantic as the French, but then I learn things like this and I think – you have your own type of romance.”
Elizabeth watched as her husband once again adjusted Jean-Charles’s hands to the proper angle. She recalled him doing the same for herself, wondered if he had done so for Georgiana, thought it likely he had learned it from his father, and was certain he would do it for his sons.
“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
+++
Anne had been glad to see her Fitzwilliam cousins join the house party at Pemberley; since Mrs. Bingley had given birth, Elizabeth had spent much of her time with her sister. Anne could not begrudge h
er this, of course, particularly since she had the sense that Mrs. Bingley had not been entirely well since the birth of Amelia Bingley. She had felt herself lacking in companionship, though, and the addition of two such people to the house party gave her greater opportunities for such.
And she had taken advantage of the lack of attention given to her; going out every day the weather allowed on Buttercup the pony, with a groom to accompany her. No-one questioned these rides – they must have presumed they were for her health – and therefore no-one except the grooms knew that her route never failed to take her past Stonebridge Farm, Mr. Smith’s property. They conducted themselves with propriety – Anne never left her mount, and they never spoke for more than a quarter-hour – but with each conversation, each glimpse of his countenance, Anne grew increasingly determined that they should marry. Therefore she heard with alarm that the cause of the heightened spirits of the dining party that evening had been the riding lesson given to Jean-Charles Durand by Fitzwilliam and Edward – a riding lesson given on Buttercup. Those two were recounting the boy’s delight, when Fitzwilliam noticed Anne’s countenance had fallen, and said,
“Ah, Anne, please do not worry that we shall steal your mount. I know you go out on him when the weather is good, and you will continue to take precedence – he could certainly use the exercise of two riders.”
Anne smiled, reassured, and then laughed as heartily as the rest of them when Edward said, “Now, Darcy, what will old Buttercup be without his belly? You won’t even recognise him. You’ll walk right past him in the stables, asking, ‘Where is Buttercup? And who is this slender little pony in his stall?’”
“I did not know you go out for rides, Anne,” said Marguerite. “If you do not mind I think I would like to join you, sometimes. I am a little jealous of Jean-Charles, today. It has been many years since I ride, though. I had a horse when we lived with my grand-mère, but then – then she died and cost was too much. So it will need to be a right horse, a calm horse.”
“I believe our cob Spartan would serve you well, now that Elizabeth has Flora,” said Darcy.
“Oh, will you ride with us as well, Elizabeth?” asked Marguerite.
Elizabeth replied that she would, and Mrs. Bingley was also applied to, to form a part of this ladies’s riding party, but said she did not think herself well enough recovered from birth for riding. Anne heard all of this unsure of how she felt about it: she would have expected to be angered at their disrupting her private meetings with Mr. Smith, yet she did like the idea of female companionship. A proposal would not come from these brief meetings with her on horseback, and so perhaps it was time to see what she could do to prompt one, and while she did that, she might enjoy the company of her female cousins, company that would be lost to her once she returned to Rosings. This was the thought that concerned her, for it prompted her to consider what her life would be like at Rosings more thoroughly than she had done thus far. With the company of an husband she loved, she had no fear of loneliness. Yes, there would be few women of her rank within her neighbourhood – her new rector was unwed, and Sir Robert Avery seemed a thorough bachelor – but her cousins could be invited to visit. Without an husband, though, she faced residing in the house alone, save her servants, for she had no intention of keeping Mrs. Jenkinson on. Before, Anne had never craved company – she had been too fatigued and her mind too weak to care for it – but now she understood the loneliness she would suffer, to be without those who had been her companions here at Pemberley. Then Anne considered Charlotte Collins, wondering with a twinge of hope if the widow might be willing to return to the neighbourhood as Anne’s new companion; she liked Mrs. Collins’s company, and a place at Rosings could make what little jointure the widow had go much further.
Such thoughts could not but dampen her mood, although it was improved when the ladies went through, and she was surrounded by that companionship she so feared missing when she left this house.
“Is – am I allowed to work on shirts now?” asked Marguerite, picking up her work bag from a table in the corner of the blue drawing-room. “Or must I do the fancy work now?”
“We are among family,” said Elizabeth. “Please work on your shirts, if you wish.”
Marguerite nodded. “Good, then I will make shirts. I hate when I must broder because it is not the right time for making shirts. Edward’s mother is much better at broderie than I am, so if I do it the work will just go to – to nothing. But she still made all his shirts with two arms – two slee-ves. I understand is hard for her as mother to think her son has lost his arm, so this is where I can help him.”
“Is it not hard for you, as well?” asked Elizabeth.
Marguerite shook her head. “Only when it is hard for him and he is fru–fru–oh, frustré is word in French.”
“Frustrated?” supplied Mrs. Bingley.
“Yes, yes, frus-tra-ted,” said Marguerite. “Then it is hard for me to see he is unhappy because he is not what he once was. But most of time I do not look at him and see what he has lost, because I did not know him before he lost it. So I try to remind him how much I love him and I do not mind about his arm because it is his head and his heart and his – other things – that are most important to me.”
Anne nodded eagerly to this, for she liked Marguerite’s perspective on the matter very much, and she was surprised to find the other ladies react with some measure of embarrassment. It must have been those other things Marguerite spoke of, Anne thought, but although at her age she had gained some understanding of such matters, being unmarried they had not been at the top of her mind. For those that had been embarrassed, fortuitous timing now dictated that Mrs. Bingley should be summoned to the nursery to see to her daughter’s needs, and shortly thereafter they were joined by the gentlemen.
Now Anne felt her single station more acutely, for with Mrs. Bingley gone to the nursery and Mr. Bingley off at Clareborne, she was left in the blue drawing-room with two couples, and those two couples seemed to be engaged in a competition to see who could produce the most adoring gazes. Those of the Fitzwilliams were longest, but the Darcys seemed capable of expressing a great measure of intensity in one little glance. There were no rules in this game Anne had invented, and therefore no winners, but surely she was the loser, to have no one to gaze upon or to gaze at her. She was not left out of the party, of course – engaged in conversation by all of her cousins, she should have enjoyed her evening. Yet when she retired for bed that night, all she felt was a greater certainty of how awful the loneliness should be, if she returned to Rosings without her heart’s desire, and a determination that she would not allow it to be so.
Chapter 11
The Caroline remained anchored at Grand Lewchew for some time, taking on the island’s fine, fresh produce and enjoying the hospitality of the friendly islanders. Georgiana had remained in seclusion aboard the ship during this time, until one morning when Matthew received word that a prince of the kingdom of Lewchew was coming to pay the ship a visit.
From the deck of the frigate, Georgiana watched the prince approach, travelling with his party in ceremonial boats, their flags flapping in the breeze. When the Caroline gave him a seven-gun salute, however, she caught Matthew’s glance and nodded to him that she would go down to the sleeping cabin, to hide herself away. She sat there, feeling that mild frustration she could not help but feel over being sequestered in such a manner, until there came a knock at the cabin door. It was Bowden; he had Moll with him, and indicated the prince wished to meet the captain’s wife. Georgiana was glad someone had thought to send Moll to help her change, so it was in her best dinner dress that she stepped into the great cabin, where she was to meet the prince.
He was there already, wearing a flowing robe of pink silk and bearing the deportment Georgiana would have expected of his rank. Matthew, in his dress uniform, came over to take Georgiana’s hand and lead her nearer to the prince, introducing her as he did so. This introduction was then required to be repeated by the ship’s Ch
inese interpreter in that language, and from thence repeated in the Lewchewan language to the prince.
Georgiana gave him a curtsey appropriate for royalty and rose to find him looking at her with what seemed surprise, albeit of a pleasant sort. He recollected himself and withdrew a fan from his robes, pointing it toward her. Georgiana curtseyed again in acknowledgement, and found he was giving it to one of his men, who brought it to Georgiana with a little bow. Unsure of what to do – ought she give him a gift in return? she had nothing readily at hand that should serve such a purpose – Georgiana did the best she could to indicate her pleasure in the gift, and glanced over to Matthew, who must have learned more of the customs of the island than she was familiar with.
Matthew merely encouraged the prince to look at the various things that might be of interest to him in the cabin, showing him the charts and mechanisms used for navigating the Caroline, and pointing out particularly the chart of Lewchew that he and Mr. Travis had been working on. This seemed to please the prince, and he asked several questions regarding it, which took a rather long time to answer, having to be translated through three languages. Answered they were, however, and Matthew promised they would have a copy drawn up for his Highness, which pleased the prince greatly.
Hawke and Bowden came in then with a large array of refreshments, laying them out along the dining table. The prince and his retinue were encouraged to sit and eat, and they made a convivial – if awkward, for want of common language – party. Georgiana fell back into her role as hostess – a role somewhat neglected, of late – with relative ease, encouraging them with hand signals and smiles to try the collation before them, occasionally helped on by the interpreter. Towards the end of the meal, the prince said something directly to her.
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