So Great A Cost

by honey_and_smoke

Summary:

The year is 1814 and Elizabeth Bennet finds herself in service to Widower Mr. Darcy, acting as governess to his six-year old daughter.

Chapter 1

Derbyshire
April 1814

 

Mr. Darcy’s luxurious carriage conveyed Miss Elizabeth Bennet down a sloping gravel road toward a massive manor house set close to a placid, gleaming lake. The road dipped in and out of the well maintained woods, and for a short period of time ran alongside a lovely shallow stream (full of wide flat rocks simply made for jumping to and fro) that fed the lake, until meeting a mossy stone arch bridge that angled the carriage sharply toward the great house. Spring had finally come to the north of England, where Miss Bennet had found herself for the past two years, so far from her various homes in southern and central England she had known. She could smell the waking woods sprouting dear little green buds, and pushed down the longing to explore the grounds. With luck, her charge would be amenable to the out-of-doors, and there would be ample time for exploration.

The carriage finally pulled up to Pemberley’s main entrance, and Elizabeth did her best not to let her mouth drop. The house looked impressive enough from a distance, but up close, it was rather astonishing to see the scale of Mr. Darcy’s wealth. It gave her a sudden wave of melancholy: this grand, impressive house, and a little six-year-old girl rattling around on her own like a ghost. No wonder Mrs. Reynolds had inquired particularly about Elizabeth’s history with young, shy children.

The groom dismounted the carriage and came around to open Elizabeth’s door and hand her out. A fine looking woman in a tidy cap came forward to meet her, smiling warmly. “Miss Bennet, I presume?” At Elizabeth’s nod, the woman answered, “Of course, who else would it be? I am very pleased to welcome you to Pemberly. I am Joanna Reynolds, the housekeeper with whom you have been corresponding.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. It is a great pleasure to put your name together with your face,” Elizabeth smiled. And it was. There was sense and wisdom in the lady’s countenance, and Elizabeth had the feeling that she would like her very much, very quickly. Joanna Reynolds must have been just a little bit older than Elizabeth’s own mother would be if her parents were still alive.

A footman came forward to assist the groom with removing Elizabeth’s belongings from the carriage, and Mrs. Reynolds gestured for Elizabeth to follow her up the sweeping stairs of the house. “I should very much like to give you a tour directly, Miss Bennet, but you must be tired after your journey so I shall show you to your rooms. Perhaps a tour in the morning would suit?”

“You are very kind, Ma’am, a morning tour would be most welcome. I must thank you again for sending a carriage for me – the journey was a vast deal more pleasant than it otherwise might have been,” Elizabeth said. She then asked, “Is the master not expecting me?”

“Oh! No. Mr. Darcy ihas been from home since January. We do not expect him back until later this summer. Perhaps not until late June or July.”

“I see,” said Elizabeth. It was early April. Such a long time to be away from such a young child. She had never worked for a widower before, but she had a great deal of experience with the wealthy. Most fathers she had known did not take an active interest in their children, not until they were old enough to begin to need to engage with the larger world. Perhaps it was so with Mr. Darcy and his little daughter Phoebe.

In their correspondence Mrs. Reynolds said that Miss Phoebe’s mother had died of childbed fever shortly after delivering the babe, and that Mr. Darcy’s younger sister made her home about half of the year at Pemberley. Elizabeth could not help but wonder who there was to love the child and to play with her, other than the nursemaid. Whatever could be said about Elizabeth’s own childhood, up until she and her sisters were orphaned, there had been love, joy, and a great deal of noise.

Mrs. Reynolds was obviously authorized to make the extremely important decisions on behalf of Mr. Darcy if she was the one to have hired Elizabeth. In their correspondence, Mrs. Reynolds had asked Elizabeth endless questions, though nothing ever crossed the line into presumptuousness.

From what Elizabeth understood, the child was painfully shy and easily frightened. Elizabeth had learned nothing in her letters from Mrs. Reynolds that gave her any trepidation, nor must Mrs. Reynolds have learned anything that gave her pause about Elizabeth’s ability to do the job. The family Elizabeth had been working with for the past two years, the Hobsons, were off to India, and Elizabeth did not choose to follow along. Therefore the Darcy family came along at just the right time. And with such generous terms – an extraordinary £120 a year.

She followed Mrs. Reynolds up the grand staircase off the main hall, and down a seemingly endless hallway toward a wing on the back of the house. As she walked, Elizabeth bobbed her head at a passing maid and footman, and marveled at the luxuriousness of the surroundings. Half moon mahogany tables gleamed like mirrors, and held large vases in the oriental style. The walls were painted in a warm, airy blue, which had the effect of filling the hall with a beautiful, calming light. The ceilings were as high as a cathedral, it seemed. Elizabeth could not help saying as they walked, “I do not think I have ever seen such a beautiful home, Mrs. Reynolds. Mr. Darcy must be very proud of it.”

“That he is, Miss Bennet! Pemberley is the work of many generations, all very responsible landowners and masters. We are all quite fortunate to be in Mr. Darcy’s employ,” said she in rejoinder.

“I am sure It is very much to his credit that you say so, Ma’am.”

“I say no more than anyone who works for him would say. He is the best landlord, the best master, and the best elder brother and father. Very generous and affable to the poor as well. ‘Twas a shame Mrs. Darcy was taken from us all so soon, for I am certain he was an excellent husband as well,” said Mrs. Reynolds with what appeared to great fondness (and flaming partiality) toward Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth checked a smile. Certainly it was far too soon to be searching for Mr. Darcy’s flaws. She would not meet the man for months, but she looked forward to sketching the character of this paragon. Privately, of course, behind a most demure mask. All of it was fodder for Elizabeth’s real work, and she relished the chance to see what this new setting could teach her of humankind.

They moved toward the back of the wing they had entered and toward a single great door. Mrs. Reynolds opened it and stood to the side for Elizabeth to walk through. The door opened into a sitting room with child-sized furniture mixed in with adult sized. There was a pianoforte and harp along with some other instruments – Elizabeth spotted a lute and even a harp-lute and mandolin. The room was bright and cheerful, and seemed fit for comfort. There were shelves full of books, some of which appeared to be for children, along with a large globe Elizabeth longed to spin. A fine, well-used table sat alongside the window, stacked with slates and chalk. “Heavens, what a lovely room!” she couldn’t help exclaiming.

“It is indeed. All the work of the late Mrs. George Darcy. She was very fond of music, as is her daughter, Miss Georgiana Darcy. These are all instruments she learned upon, though she excels most at pianoforte,” Mrs. Reynolds said smiling. She then gestured to a door on the left and Elizabeth walked toward it.

She found a much smaller sitting room papered with a charming pattern of birds sitting in sparse green leafed branches against a robin’s egg blue sky. There was a comfortable looking wingback chair near the fireplace, and an elegant little desk next to the window. A bookcase stood poised waiting for the little collection that traveled with her. A small dining table sat discreetly in the corner. Elizabeth supposed this indicated that the family did not dine with their governesses much of the time, and gave a small shrug. She had been forced to become used to solitude.

“This is your own private sitting room, Miss Bennet,” said Mrs. Reynolds.

“It is beautiful, I am very pleased,” Elizabeth answered earnestly.

“Through that door you will find your bed chamber,” Mrs. Reynolds smiled and continued. “I will leave you to rest yourself, and I will send up some tea and a light repast. Miss Phoebe is out on a walk with her nursemaid, and will return in an hour, I believe. You may wish to explore the school room and nursery before she returns. They may be found through the door on the opposite side in the larger sitting room.”

Elizabeth smiled and bobbed her head in thanks, and Mrs. Reynolds curtsied and left her in peace and quiet. Elizabeth explored the bed chamber, reveling in the lovely warm colors and the fine prospect of the gardens through the windows. It was not a large room, but it had a cheerful hearth and ample storage in the closet. The attached sitting room was all that was comfortable and charming. Elizabeth looked around the rooms in happy contemplation until two footmen and a maid arrived with her trunks. The maid stayed to help her unpack, a cheerful young woman with a strong northern accent who introduced herself as Molly, and Elizabeth reveled in the pleasure of unpacking her life in a lovely new place.

Over the years she had been out on her own, Elizabeth had become a very efficient traveler. She had two trunks of equal size and good quality, gifts from her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner when she first left Miss Wellington’s school. One trunk was given over entirely to her wardrobe, while the other was for personal effects: books, papers, keepsakes, as well as her little travel writing desk, which had been a gift from her oldest sister, Jane. Elizabeth guessed that the purchase had been done secretly, as her sister’s husband William Collins did not approve of Elizabeth, and certainly would not have liked any of Jane’s pin money being used for such a purpose.

It had been several years since the two sisters had seen each other in person, not since Elizabeth had returned to Meryton for a brief visit at the end of her schooling and before her first position at the same girls’ school where she and her younger sisters were educated. Elizabeth had not even stayed at the family estate, Longbourn, during the visit, but rather at their Aunt and Uncle Phillips’ in Meryton. It was at the Phillips’ where Jane had presented Elizabeth with the little desk. She was to leave Meryton the next morning, and it was all Jane could do to hold back her tears.

Elizabeth shrugged at the memory and sighed as she ran her hand over the smooth surface of the desk, clearing it of imaginary dust. Elizabeth adored Jane, loved her best out of anybody in the world, and it was indeed painful to limit their intimacy to letters alone, but at least they had that, Mr. Collins be hanged.

While Molly worked on her clothes, setting aside a few overly wrinkled gowns to be pressed, Elizabeth placed her own small collection of books on the shelf in the sitting room. Most of them were books she had taken from the Longbourn library after her father died, but before William Collins took possession. The majority were titles that Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth had shared and loved together: Robinson Crusoe, Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius, The Odyssey, were among them. But although these books held a fond place in her heart, Elizabeth prized her collection of novels just as much for different reasons. She recalled the nights she and her sisters took turns reading Evelina aloud in the drawing room, sending their Mama into fits of laughter with their dramatics. She remembered how she and Jane huddled under the counterpane together after scaring themselves witless reading the Castle of Otranto. She had about a dozen more family favorites that traveled with her, providing amusement, solace, and comfort. She added them to the very pretty shelves tenderly. Those books were her teachers.

Lastly, she placed her watercolor of Longbourn on the table near her bedside. Her next youngest sister Mary had done it while home visiting from school. Although Mary was well known for her desire to play and sing, she was equally known for her lack of inherent musicality. However, one of the teachers at Miss Wellington’s Academy for Young Ladies had seen a hidden talent for drawing and cultivated it in Mary that she might find pleasure and satisfaction out of the accomplishment. Elizabeth and Mary had gone off to school at ages fourteen and twelve, and in that time, Mary had flourished as an artist. Feeling less pressure to excel in music, she began to play for her own pleasure and had become a rather pleasing musician as well. She had caught the eye of the vicar in that school’s parish, and was to wed him in three months’ time.

In a few moments, Elizabeth heard the arrival of another maid with a tea tray, and she left her bedroom to gratefully partake of whatever had been brought up. She was pleased to find an excellent quality blend of tea along with dainty little sandwiches and a beautiful slice of pound cake drizzled with a berry sauce. Molly excused herself to leave with the other maid, and Elizabeth looked out the window as she ate, imagining her life at Pemberley, and how all was to unfold. It certainly seemed a good beginning, if the rooms and food were any indication.

There was a noise from the school room, and Elizabeth realized her charge must be coming to meet her. She went quickly to the mirror to check her appearance, then went to meet little Phoebe Darcy.

The little girl was on a tall, thin scale, with dark hair and pale, gray eyes. She stood behind Mrs. Reynolds, holding onto the woman’s skirts. Elizabeth put an open smile on her face, and attempted to catch the little girl’s eye, but not a inch from behind Mrs. Reynolds would Miss Phoebe stir. Mrs. Reynolds murmured quietly to the child, “Come now, Miss Phoebe, it is time for you to meet Miss Bennet.” The older lady struggled to bring the child before her, and Elizabeth kept the smile on her face until Mrs. Reynolds finally succeeded in moving the child toward Elizabeth.

Mrs. Reynolds wore a strained smile and was finally able to say, “Miss Bennet, I’m pleased to introduce you to Miss Phoebe Darcy.”

Elizabeth responded, “Miss Phoebe, I am so very pleased to meet you. I –” She was cut off when the little girl let out an ear-piercing scream, and could make out the words “I told you I do not want a governess!” She then ran away from the two ladies and into the attached nursery room.

Mrs. Reynolds looked at Elizabeth, her face red. Apparently Miss Phoebe Darcy did not wish to be met.

“Never you mind, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Elizabeth, with careful cheer in her voice, to show she was not afraid of a child. “Believe it or not, I have had worse first introductions! First impressions are not everything. Leave it with me, Ma’am.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and headed toward the nursery door.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

Pemberley, Derbyshire
April 14, 1814

My dear Aunt,

I have been at Pemberley above a week now, and feel I can finally offer an opinion of my new situation.

You were right in advising me that Pemberley is an estate of great importance in this area, and that I would be quite comfortable. Though I have not left the property, it is clear that all in Mr. Darcy’s employ are grateful for his generosity and benevolence as a landowner. I managed a short ramble about the park two days ago and met with some of the nearest tenants, who sang the man’s praises to the sky. How he does as a father remains to be seen, but it is clear that my little charge has had little parental guidance, I am sorry to say.

Miss Phoebe and I had a difficult beginning. She ran away screaming when we were first introduced. I thought the housekeeper would burst into flames! But I assured Mrs. Reynolds it was nothing, and set about my task. I found the child under her bed, and went for my workbasket. I sat in her room and spoke stories out loud for at least an hour while I embroidered a fichu for Mary’s wedding gift. Eventually she came out from under her bed and I offered her some tea and biscuits. Miss Phoebe still would not meet my eye, but when I asked if she would like another story, she nodded yes and drank her tea. That was how we passed our first day together. Each day got a little bit better. She is a very shy child, very fearful. It puts me in mind of a cat we had in the barns at Longbourn. We never knew where she came from, but she was afraid of her own shadow. Naturally it was Jane who brought her around, setting out food and water, keeping the other animals away. Eventually, she became just one of the barn cats. One must go slowly to earn the trust of such a one, whether feline or child.

Of course none of the inmates of Gracechurch street have any issues with shyness, do they? I am pleased to hear of Kitty and Lydia’s success at the Kittermans’ ball, and do hope that you and Uncle Edward find nothing to be wanting in Kitty’s beau? Mr. Bradley seems a promising prospect, being made partner in his firm at just age 30. You are right that Mama would have been disappointed that Kitty might wed a solicitor and not a land-owning gentleman, but Papa would be happy in the good sense and humor you say the man possesses. Tell Kitty in her next that I expect to hear every detail, and tell Lydia I shall send a long letter praising her description of the evening gown she had made up for the Kittermans’. One can almost see the lace.

I shall close now, but rest assured I am well. Give my love to Uncle, the children, and of course my two little sisters. Do not forget to take a kiss for yourself from,

Your loving niece,
Lizzy

 

Elizabeth’s letter did not detail the concern she felt over Phoebe’s demeanor. The little girl hardly spoke and would not look anybody but Mrs. Reynolds or her nursemaid in the eye. Still, Elizabeth thought of Jane’s little barn cat Minny and persisted in her slow overtures of friendship. She told stories, played and sang at the pianoforte, and led Phoebe out on walks, though Susie the nursemaid had to accompany them. Elizabeth kept up a slow drip of calm chatter that mainly professed great admiration for the grounds. She asked Susie about living in Derbyshire, and her upbringing in the region. She suggested they pick a bouquet of cowslips they came across as a gift for Mrs. Reynolds, which appeared to please Phoebe better than anything else had done so far in their short acquaintance. Elizabeth wondered how long it would be before she was rewarded with a direct look in the eye, but did not press.

At the end of her second week, Susie asked, “Miss Bennet, what about you? We know you worked in the north, but that’s about all we know, Miss. What about before you were a governess?”

They were out walking the estate, Susie carrying a basket with a blanket and some flasks of tea and a bundle of freshly baked scones. Elizabeth carried some books, and pencil and paper. Phoebe followed them dutifully, for wherever Susie would be, so too would be Phoebe, if she could not have Mrs. Reynolds.

“I was born in Hertfordshire near a little market town called Meryton. My Papa’s estate was called Longbourn, and I was raised there with four sisters.” Elizabeth answered. They had scouted out an excellent spot for a picnic, in a warm, sunny spot near the edge of the brook. She and Susie set about laying out the food and drink while Phoebe stood waiting to be able to nestle into the nursery maid’s side.

“Four sisters you say!” Susie finally answered as they settled themselves down. “I have four brothers myself. I’m the wee baby of the family.”

“My mama would have envied your mama in having so many sons. Unfortunately, our estate was entailed on a distant male cousin who we did not meet until after my parents’ passing in the year ‘four,” Elizabeth said as she accepted a small tray of teacups.

Quite unexpectedly, Phoebe said, “My mama died, too.”

Without looking at the little girl, Elizabeth answered gently, “I know, my dear. It is such a horrible thing to lose one’s mama. I am so sorry she died.”

Phoebe said nothing, but accepted a teacup directly from Elizabeth. As the little girl busied herself about her scone, Elizabeth and Susie locked eyes and gave each other a little smile. It was progress.

“Shall I continue with The Swiss Family Robinson?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, yes, please, Miss Bennet!” Susie said, and she gently hugged Phoebe to her side. “It’s ever so exciting, isn’t it, Miss Phobe?”

Phoebe nodded, and nestled in for an hour of excellent storytelling. Elizabeth took a sip of her tea and began.

 

Pemberley, Derbyshire
April 22, 1814

Dearest Mary,

My warmest congratulations on your upcoming wedding and greatest wishes for your felicity with Mr. Robertson. He is an excellent man, as you and I both know, and I believe you will both be very happy. I am sorry that I will not be there to celebrate with you, dearest.

Who could ever have believed that you would be wed in Miss Wellington’s parish, to the very young, green vicar we first met in my last year of schooling? However, when I really consider things, it seems very natural to me. It was clear you both always admired each other, and as you grew in age, wisdom, and looks, he grew in confidence as the shepherd of his flock. I am glad you stayed on with Miss Wellington to teach drawing, not that I believe Mr. Robertson would not have followed you to Gracechurch street. However, with Miss Wellington forwarding your acquaintance and consequence in the neighborhood, you shall transition quite neatly into the role of clergyman’s wife. I am very pleased for you, Mary, and I know Mama and Papa would be, too.

I thank you again for your offer to come and live with you and Mr. Robertson in the parsonage. As lovely as the house is, and as beautiful as I shall always find Suffolk, you know that I am happiest being independent. It is a great comfort to know that I have a home to return to with either you and Mr. Robertson or with the Gardiners. I have given the matter much thought over the years, and perhaps it is knowing that I have family to support me that allows me to enjoy the independence I do? If I encountered trouble, I know Uncle Edward would come for me in a trice. At any rate, you know my scheme. I shall continue to work and save so that I may leave service behind and devote myself to my writing. At that point, I likely shall wish to make a home with you or the Gardiners (or perhaps impose myself upon Kitty or Lydia and their husbands), where I shall be your children’s eccentric novelist auntie. If it suits the Darcy family, perhaps I shall finish my governess career at Pemberley. When Miss Phoebe needs a companion and not a teacher in eight or nine years’ time, perhaps you can make room for me then, and I shall have a tidy sum of savings to sustain myself in the household.

I have been gathering material enough in my positions, certainly, to be a very well informed writer. Thank you for your comments on my latest chapter of The Misses Bell. You are right to have picked up on some similarity between the great-aunt and Mr. Hobson’s mother. The families I have watched over the years certainly keep the imagination fed.

Pemberley is a well-run concern, despite its absent master. I have made the acquaintance of the steward, Mr. Greenup, and I can tell you that he is most zealous in his duties, which makes no insignificant contribution to the estate’s success. I have made inroads to friendship with the formidable (but very kind) Mrs. Reynolds, the most excellent housekeeper. I dine with her every few days. My charge and I are coming along well, and there are a great deal of interesting people to look at in church. Lambton is not as big as Meryton, but there are many prosperous merchants here, as well as some minor gentry. You know as well as I how a new face fascinates the locals on a Sunday. Perhaps I shall make some friends soon.

I hope you will enjoy the fichu. I have embroidered it with roses and ivy, just as we had outside our bedroom window at Miss Wellington’s. I congratulate you again, dearest, and please extend my greetings and good wishes to your soon-to-be husband.

My best love,
Lizzy

 

After four weeks at Pemberley, Elizabeth and Phoebe had graduated to being left alone without nurse Susie, which Elizabeth considered to be a minor triumph. She had introduced the alphabet to the child and the two sat in what felt like companionable silence in the schoolroom as the rain fell outside.

“You have done very well with the alphabet, Miss Phoebe, and now I would like to begin with putting the letters together,” said Elizabeth. “These are cards my sister Mary painted for me, because they help a person learn better how to turn letters into words.” Elizabeth pulled out a sheaf of simple words with charming little watercolors on the back of the card. She laid down the first card and tapped on each letter as she went, sounding out, “Duh-oo-guh…Duh-oo-guh,” and nearly lost her countenance when Phoebe yelled out, “DOG!”

“Well done, Miss Phoebe, that is quite correct!” Elizabeth said, trying to hide her surprise at such an enthusiastic reaction. She turned over the card revealing Mary’s little pen and watercolor rendition of Miss Wellington’s little King Charles Spaniel.

“It is a very good drawing, Miss Bennet,” said Phoebe, considering.

Elizabeth handed the card to her. “Thank you, I shall tell my sister you like it. She will be most pleased.”

Phoebe examined the card for a while. “Are there more? I want to learn to read very fast, so I can write to my Papa and Aunt Georgie.”

“Yes, I have many more. I used these with a little girl at the school where I taught. She had a much easier time remembering words with pictures. Let us try the next card,” Elizabeth said, taking care not to show too much enthusiasm so as to make the child self-conscious.

After they had been through more animal cards, Elizabeth asked, “Would you like me to help you write a letter to your papa or aunt? You can tell me the words and I shall copy them down exactly as you wish to say them.”

After a moment, Phoebe answered, “No, I thank you, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth nodded and began to stow away the cards so they could take their midday walk. Phoebe said, “I do not wish to write a letter until I can do it myself.”

“Ah,” said Elizabeth. “You wish to be a very independent lady. I was the same way as a child.”

“Were you?” Phoebe asked, showing interest.

“Oh, yes! I loved to be out on my own as much as possible, and I insisted that I could read well before I actually could. I would take a book from my Papa’s library and pretend to read it to my sisters. I drove my poor Mama to distraction.” Elizabeth answered.

“Why was she upset about you?” Phoebe asked.

“Because I would often sneak away from the nursery to climb trees and run through the brook at the edge of the estate. I came back quite dirty and often with torn stockings and gowns!” Elizabeth laughed and Phoebe surprised her by giggling along.

“Aunt Georgie would never climb a tree, I do not think. And I do not know if my Mama ever did. I do not think my Grandmama would have let her,” Phoebe answered, deep in thought.

“What about you, Miss Phoebe? Would you like to climb a tree someday?” Elizabeth asked.

“Perhaps a small tree,” she answered.

“Then shall we search for one on our walk?” Elizabeth held out her hand as they made to leave the schoolroom for their constitutional.

“I think we ought, Miss Bennet,” Phoebe said, slipping her hand into Elizabeth’s. Though no trees were climbed that day, Phoebe and Elizabeth had found several good choices that were neither too narrow, nor too tall.

 

Pemberley, Derbyshire
May 17, 1814

Dearest Uncle Edward,

I thank you for your last and the updates on my funds. You and Aunt Maggie often ask me when I shall give up this business and return to the family fold. With Kitty very likely to soon to be engaged, and Mary never having left Miss Wellington’s, I certainly do know that there is ample room for me in Gracechurch Street, as you have both always said. Now that Lydia is done with school, she might like the company of one of her sisters. Aunt Phillips also kindly offers a room to me in each of her missives. Though I miss you all greatly – indeed I believe it has been three years since I last saw any of my family! – I am quite happy with my chosen path. I know my mother would have fallen into daily swoons about my being in service, but I must make my way in this world as I see fit.

You asked me what would be enough fortune before I felt I could return comfortably to my family. You know that I do not wish to feel a burden to anybody, and I also know you will say I am not a burden. The material point, Sir, is that I would feel a burden. I never wish to be in a position where I must beg a brother-in-law for money to replace a threadbare gown, nor to shuffle from house to house until some wretched cottage can be found for me on some relative’s estate, or some drafty room nobody cares about in a too-cramped house. It is your goodness in helping me manage and grow my money that makes me feel most comfortable, and I will feel I have enough when I could make my way without a man’s help, beyond yours in helping me manage and grow my capital.

Right now, with a fortune of £1,600 in the four percents and my excellent income from my current position, I believe I will have over £3,000 by 1824. I would have an income of £130 a year from the interest and with that, I could live quite comfortably in any of the family’s households, where I could contribute to everybody’s domestic felicity without requiring anything but love, room, and time in return. With any luck, I shall also earn income from my writing. When that day comes, I hope to make my home with any of my family except the Collinses once I have done.

Perhaps I should say that I will come to live with my family when I feel I have sufficient inspiration and work to share with the world. (You know that my second draft of The Misses Bell is proceeding nicely.) At any rate, in my position here I want for nothing. The staff are very efficient and respectful, my charge and I are coming along well together, and I do not believe I have ever seen a place for which nature has done more than at Pemberley. My expenses are so few, particularly since despite my protests your good wife will continue to send me beautiful fabric, sober though it must be, and better stockings than any governess would dare to purchase. With the kind interference of my loving relations toward my mulish ways, I am certain I shall save a great deal of money and come home to harass you in Gracechurch street years ahead of schedule.

I am glad to hear your news of the new partner you have taken on, he sounds an industrious and scrupulous man, and I am delighted to hear that you and Aunt Maggie will take Lydia, Kitty, and the children to Lyme in August. Pass on my greetings and love, and thank you again, dear man, for your kindness and care in the place of my own papa. Tell Lydia she is at least two letters in my debt.

Affectionately yours,
Lizzy

 

When Mrs. Reynolds came upon Elizabeth in her sitting room while Phoebe was being put to bed by Nurse Susie, she took a great interest in the dove gray muslin she was spreading out on the table.

“This is quite fine, Miss Bennet. A unique gray, very warm,” Mrs. Reynolds said, fingering the weft of the fabric at Elizabeth’s nod of permission.

“Thank you, I believe so, too. My Aunt will often send fabrics almost too fine for a governess. But I am grateful, as I need some summer gowns. I had two that were beyond making over again, and so I left them with one of the maids at The Hobsons’ to make of them what she would. I was planning on visiting the dressmaker in Lambton on my half day.” Elizabeth took back the length of muslin and folded it over her arm.

“Would you like some assistance here at Pemberley? Miss Darcy’s maid was training one of our upstairs maids on dressmaking last winter, and Jenny would be glad for the practice. She hopes to gain work as a lady’s maid one day. Though most ladies’ maids do not make dresses, it is helpful to know how they are constructed, and Jenny was quite a dab hand,” Mrs. Reynolds offered.

“Oh! How very kind. And how good of you to ensure that a young person receives training to move up in the world, even if she does not stay in your employ, Ma’am,” Elizabeth said, setting the fabric back down into the bundle of canvas in which it had arrived. Mrs. Reynolds was correct – it was warm in its hue, very nearly lilac in essence. Elizabeth always wore plain gowns in unobtrusive colors. A governess ought never to draw attention to herself for her own good. But occasionally she gave in to a little vanity and knew it was a shade in which she’d look well.

“I shall send Jenny to you this evening, Miss Bennet. Have you any patterns or plates she may use?”

“Oh, yes. I have a few that I like to use again and again, as they can all be fastened up without assistance. A governess should always be prepared to dress on her own, though you have been so generous here. I shall go quite spoilt with the attention from the maids,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “Will you not sit down, Mrs. Reynolds?”

Mrs. Reynolds acquiesced and took a seat at the little table. Elizabeth joined her, looking at the older lady expectantly.

“I came to inquire about your progress with Miss Phoebe. Mr. Darcy has requested a more expansive report in my next,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

Elizabeth thought for a moment. “I have been with Miss Phoebe for nearly six weeks now, and I must say that I am pleased with how she gets on. You saw that she was very against me at first, but with time and help from Susie and yourself, she has become comfortable enough with me to begin her lessons and take walks solely in my company. This, I think, was the first hurdle for the child.”

Mrs. Reynolds paused and said, “Yes, of course. I myself believe that was an important first step. It is only that Mr. Darcy is impatient that the child should be learning a great deal before he returns home.”

Elizabeth felt a little bubble of indignation rise in her chest, but pushed it back down. “I see…Mrs. Reynolds, the little girl is by no means deficient in understanding. She has grasped onto the simple foundations of all our subjects, and is most eager when we work on our letters and words. She is proceeding well for her age and for the length of time we have been together, particularly given her extremely shy nature. But rushing her would serve no purpose other than to make her intractable, I believe.”

Mrs. Reynolds was quiet, but looked as though there was something else she would say. “Ma’am?” Elizabeth encouraged her gently. “I shall not break if you have something to tell me about my methods with Miss Phoebe, nor will I gossip about anything you tell me. You may speak to me frankly.”

“I believe Mr. Darcy wishes her to be more like an ordinary child,” Mrs. Reynolds said slowly. When she saw Elizabeth’s countenance darken, she hastened to say, “Miss Phoebe does not run and lark about, nor does she talk much, as you know. She is very quiet in her father’s presence…there is an awkwardness there, between the two of them. I think because she does not speak very much around him, he believes she must be very far behind other children.”

Mrs. Reynolds was clearly loath to say a thing about Mr. Darcy that even whispered of disrespect or insubordination. Elizabeth had no such allegiance to a man who seemed to think his own little girl an oddity, rather than a child of his own flesh and blood. She took a deep breath and then said, “Perhaps I might write a report and you could include it in your letter?” The relief on the housekeeper’s face was instant.

“What is it that you think Mr. Darcy wants for Miss Phoebe?” Elizabeth said after a moment’s reflection.

“I believe he wishes her to be a more jolly child than she is. Mrs. Darcy, may God rest her soul, was a very sickly, quiet woman. They were cousins, and Mrs. Darcy’s mother, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, was very insistent on the match. After Mr. Darcy’s father passed away, young Mr. Darcy wed Miss Anne de Bourgh. He was just 23, and it was a time of great upheaval for the family. I think he worries that Miss Phoebe will be a dull and sickly woman,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “It is wrong of me to speak of their private affairs, but perhaps this will be of some help to you as you teach little Miss Phoebe.”

Elizabeth was quiet, and fought the urge to exclaim what insufferable presumption the man displayed toward his own child’s character, which was by no means defective, merely immature and sadly underdeveloped from a lack of affection. “Nothing can flourish without care,” she finally said. “A man must tend to his concerns the same way one does a garden. With attention, notice, and proper cultivation.”

“And you must never say so, must you?” Mrs. Reynolds said, kindly, but pointedly.

“No, unfortunately, I must not. Most men would not care to hear such criticism, particularly not from a woman in their employ,” Elizabeth said. “You need not worry, Mrs. Reynolds. I shall find a way to speak to him about Miss Phoebe. I think it is wrong to expect the child to be anything other than who she is – one cannot take a rosebush and turn it into a foxglove. They are both equally good and beautiful flowers, just different. The child is coming along well, however. I shall find a way to talk about her that reassures him while also giving Miss Phoebe and myself time.”

“I thank you, Miss Bennet. I am very glad you’ve come to us at Pemberley,” Mrs. Reynolds said, and Elizabeth patted her hand in return. “I shall send Jenny to you shortly.”

 

Pemberley, Derbyshire
May 20, 1814

Dear Sir,

I write to you on behalf of Mrs. Reynolds that she need not trouble herself with transcribing or translating my words to you regarding Miss Phoebe’s progress. I hope you excuse my forwardness in taking on the task in your housekeeper’s stead, and certainly in writing to a person I have not yet met.

I wish to assure you that Miss Phoebe is doing very well. Your daughter is of an exceedingly shy nature and was quite resistant to working with me in the first weeks I was at Pemberley. While she is one of the more shy children I have known in my years of teaching, she is by no means unusual given her circumstances. There are few children in the vicinity of Pemberley for her to observe, nor does she interact with many people beyond her nursemaid, Mrs. Reynolds, and now myself. However, steady adherence to routine instruction, praise toward her efforts, rather than disapproval of any imperfections, and warmth seem to be having an excellent effect on the child.

Thus far, she has taken most keenly to learning her letters and drawing. While numbers are not her preferred lessons, I can tell you she has a good understanding of arithmetic. I believe she excels in finding patterns. She has begun learning to stitch, and we have also started pianoforte. She takes well to learning, and I can say that you have a very intelligent child, Sir.

I shall endeavor to prepare Miss Phoebe for interaction with the wider world, that she may not fear it as she grows. Rest assured, I would never dream of doing so precipitately – I am sure as a sensible and loving parent, you would agree that rushing a child is a useless exercise. In this we are in complete accord.

Respectfully yours,
Elizabeth Bennet

 

Several days later Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy sat reading his letters over coffee. When he arrived at this one, a young footman passing by the breakfast room swore he could hear the master exclaim, “What an impudent old piece!”

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Derbyshire
June 1814

Elizabeth and Phoebe exited the Darcy pew of the church in Lambton and followed the vicar outside. Phoebe clung to Elizabeth’s hand tightly, as she had throughout the entire service. Of course Phoebe was used to church, even to the vicar, Mr. Washington. This was not what had her nervous. Today, Elizabeth asked Phoebe to speak a little bit to Mr. Washington and his mother as they left. Had Elizabeth known that this would have thrown her charge into such nerves, she might have waited a few more weeks. But Mr. Darcy would be home soon, and Elizabeth hoped to show him a slightly more outgoing child, if she could. Needs must.

They had practiced many times, and Elizabeth gave Phoebe a reassuring squeeze of the hand as they met the Washingtons at the threshold. “Thank you, Sir, we very much enjoyed today’s sermon,” Phoebe said in a rush.

Mr. Washington looked very surprised, and even caught Elizabeth’s eye as if seeking an explanation, but instead looked back down at the girl and said gently, “I thank you most sincerely, Miss Darcy. I am pleased you enjoyed it. May I inquire as to your health, and all those at Pemberley?”

“I thank you, Sir, we are all very well. I bid you good day,” Phoebe said breathlessly, then saw Nurse Susie exiting the church with the other upper servants. Phoebe looked at Elizabeth, and who nodded her permission to join Susie, and Phoebe ran off as though chased by the devil himself.

She turned back to the Washingtons and smiled. “Thank you, Sir. Miss Darcy requires practice speaking to people outside the home. I see you understood my purpose, I am very grateful!”

“Well, who could do less for the child!” Mrs. Washington said. She was a plump lady of fifty-some years, with graying hair below her bonnet. “Poor little lamb, so shy…”

“Yes, about that, Mrs. Washington. Might I trouble you for some advice?” Elizabeth asked, and Mr. Washington watched as his mother guided the young lady off to the side. He only allowed his eyes to linger for a moment on her graceful figure and pretty face before turning back to the next parishioner in line for conversation.

 

Mrs. Washington was all curiosity at Miss Bennet’s request. Her son had been the vicar at Lambton for two years now and was in a good position to marry. Mrs. Washington had no idea what the young lady’s request would be, but she could only assume Miss Bennet wished to put herself forward for some type of notice from the parsonage. Mrs. Washington was long overdue for some grandchildren, and not backward to credit whatever pleasing young gentlewoman might come her and her son’s way. So far none in Derbyshire had caught his eye.

They stood over to the side of the churchyard, and Miss Bennet finally said, “Mrs. Washington, I am wondering if you can make some recommendations to me?”

“Oh! Certainly, if I am able. What is it you wish to know?” Mrs. Washington said.

“I am hoping you can tell me of any families in the area with children of an age with Miss Phoebe Darcy,” Miss Bennet said.

“Oh…” Mrs. Washington said, wrong-footed now for why Miss Bennet had pulled her over.

“Yes, you see, I feel she needs some playmates, but none of the tenant families nearest Pemberley House have children her age.” Miss Bennet explained. “I wondered if you knew of any families who might be returning from town who might have children about six years old, perhaps a year younger or older?”

“Ah, yes. That is very clever of you, Miss Bennet. Will you let me think about that and make some inquiries? Of course, I shall not mention Miss Darcy’s name, only whether or not the families will be returning any time soon,” Mrs. Washington said, and Miss Bennet nodded. She had noticed the way that Thomas’ eyes followed Miss Bennet as they walked away. She certainly was a beautiful girl with very genteel manners. Such a loss for her to be a mere governess, poor though she must be…And that is when an idea occurred to Mrs. Washington.

“Let me ask around town, and perhaps you might come to tea in a few days’ time to learn of my findings? If I find any suitable candidates, I can certainly facilitate an introduction,” Mrs. Washington said.

“That would be most gracious of you, Ma’am. Please do send a note to Pemberley, I would be at your service,” Miss Bennet smiled, and Thomas walked up at the exact right moment to see the bright expression on her face. Yes, it was a very good notion of Mrs. Washington’s indeed.

 

The carriage rolled back along to Pemberley. Mrs. Reynolds and Nurse Susie had the privilege of making up the traveling party, and the two were busy discussing the health of one of the former upper servants, who they had not seen at church this week. Elizabeth determined that Phoebe had regained her equanimity. She leaned over to her and said quietly, “I am very proud of you, Miss Phoebe, and you should be proud of yourself, too. You were frightened, but you spoke to Mr. Washington anyway. You are a very brave girl.”

Phoebe said nothing, but Elizabeth watched as a small smile dimpled the girl’s cheeks. Elizabeth patted her hand, and attended to Mrs. Reynold’s and Susie’s conjecture on the retired chambermaid’s whereabouts.

Sundays at Pemberley were luxurious to Elizabeth. Most of the time she and her charge kept to the nursery apartments and nearby grounds, but as there were no formal lessons, Elizabeth thought it most natural to indulge her own curiosity about her surroundings and to cultivate the same in Phoebe. That Sunday, it seemed most correct to spend as much of the day as possible admiring the Lord’s good work in Pemberley’s park.

“Shall we go out to the gardens, Miss Phoebe?” Elizabeth asked. The two had just finished a light repast, and she longed to walk and move.

“I do not like Mr. Clarke. Will he be there?” Phoebe said, referring to the old head gardener.

“I do not think so, my dear. It is Sunday, and the men do not cut the grass or weed the beds on Sundays. Does he frighten you?” Elizabeth asked.

“His face is very crumpled, and he always looks angry,” Phoebe said, lifting her chin.

Elizabeth laughed. “The times that I have spoken to Mr. Clarke, he is very civil. He cannot help that his face has so many wrinkles, anymore than I can help that I have brown hair, or that you have blue-gray eyes.”

Phoebe was unmoved.

“I have an idea. If we see Mr. Clarke, let us ask him about his work. Many people with whom it seems difficult to converse are very happy to simply talk about themselves. It is a great trick of mine, you see. Just ask others what they think, and soon enough, they will think you the greatest conversationalist in the world.” Elizabeth said.

“If I talk to him, can we play spillikins after dinner?” Phoebe asked.

“Hmm,” Elizabeth said, pretending to give it great thought. “Is not Sunday the day Nurse Susie trims your nails after dinner?”

Phoebe was silent.

“My dear, you know you must have your nails trimmed, whether it is today or later in the week. However, I find myself in great need of a very good, long game of spillikins. Perhaps we can ask Nurse if you may have a slightly later bedtime?”

Phoebe agreed to the scheme readily, and off they went to explore the grounds. In truth, Mr. Clarke was a mite cantankerous, but he had told Elizabeth many interesting things about the gardens and grounds. For example, it was Lady Anne Darcy who had created the rose garden as it was today. That lady’s predecessors had not much cared for roses beyond the ordinary, but for Lady Anne, it was one of her greatest joys. She worked with Mr. Clarke and his predecessor to create the archways and pathways around the little sections that held like with like. There was a lush border of lavender along the whole, and Mr. Clarke had given her leave to cut as much as she liked from any of the plants, as long as she did not cut unevenly, or all at once.

Phoebe and Elizabeth decided to head to the rose garden first. The scent from the garden was exquisite, as Elizabeth knew it would be, for it was June, the perfect time for roses. She and Phoebe walked through the arbors of pink climbers and meandered through each little section, determining their favorites and watching the birds drink from the gazing pool in the center of the garden. Phoebe determined that a lovely cutting rose in a delicate apricot color was best, while Elizabeth gave it for a beautiful white rose that had a slightly yellow tinge at the center, for the smell was intoxicating. As they flitted from bush to bush like two happy bees, Mr. Clarke did indeed come upon them. He bowed to them and said, “How do ye do?” in his gruff voice.

Elizabeth brought Phoebe forward and said, “We do very well, Sir, on this beautiful day, and we trust that you are well, too. Miss Phoebe was just admiring this beautiful rose. Can you tell us anything about it?” Elizabeth gestured to Phoebe’s choice and Mr. Clarke actually smiled.

“Well might you admire it! It were your own grandmother’s doing, bringing that rose to Pemberley,” he said, the creases around his eyes growing deeper as he remembered.

“Was it really?” Phoebe asked, interested. Elizabeth’s heart sang at the girl’s question, and her setting aside her fear in asking it.

“Yes, Miss. Your grandmother Lady Anne, God rest her soul, saw this rose when she went into Kent to visit your other grandmother. I think she said it were at a neighbor’s estate. So she asked if she might take a cutting, and lo and behold. It’s a beauty, isn’t it? Some might think a rose used to Living in Kent wouldn’t like it in Derbyshire, but it did right well.”

“How did she make it grow from a cutting?” Phoebe asked.

Mr. Clarke launched into a description of how to cultivate a new rose bush out of an old one, and when the best times of the year to do it were. When he had done, he said, “Maybe you’ll be like your grandmother Lady Anne and have a care for roses especially.”

“Perhaps I shall, thank you, Mr. Clarke.” Phoebe said politely, and they went their separate ways.

Not wishing to make too much of the child’s conversation with the gardener, Elizabeth merely said, “See? He is not angry at all. A very polite fellow indeed.”

“That is true, Miss Bennet. He was not so very dreadful at all,” Phoebe mused.

 

Next Elizabeth led them to the apple orchard to the south of the house. “Look, do you see how the trees are dropping some of the young fruit?” she asked Phoebe, pointing to the ground.

“Why do they do that?” Phoebe asked.

“One of the farmers on my papa’s estate told me it was because it is conserving energy for the fruit that is still on the tree. It cannot possibly grow so many apples, and so some fall,” Elizabeth explained.

“You know quite a lot, Miss Bennet,” Phoebe said, with some surprise in her voice.

“Why thank you, Miss Phoebe,” said Elizabeth wryly. “One should always be curious and ask questions. There is much to know in the world, so much to wonder at.”

“Look there, there are two people,” Phoebe said, drawing closer to Elizabeth’s side. Sure enough, Elizabeth spotted one of the under footmen and a kitchen maid walking arm in arm. She smiled at the pretty picture they made in their Sunday best, sneaking a walk together after church before returning to their duties.

“You are right, we shall give them their privacy. They seem to be enjoying a pleasant conversation, and we do not wish to interrupt them while they are at their leisure,” Elizabeth said.

“Why are they at their leisure? Should not they be working?” Phoebe asked.

“A person cannot be at work all the time. One must have some fun every now and then, especially servants, as they work very hard,” Elizabeth said. “There are many servants here at Pemberley, you know.”

“How many?”

“Let us try to guess, dearest. You know there is Mrs. Reynolds, Nurse Susie, Mr. Clarke, Jenny, your aunt’s maid, and your Papa must have a valet. Of course, me, your governess. We just saw two people there. So we have just counted nine people. How many others?”

Phoebe squinted and seemed to be calculating quietly. “Eight?” she guessed. Eight was Phoebe’s favorite number.

“It is a good guess, but it is still too small. There are eight women and girls working in the kitchens alone,” Elizabeth answered, smiling. She began to number the servants for Phoebe. They waved to the sheepish footman and nervous, giggling kitchen maid, and counted the numbers of people on their fingers until they ran out of fingers between them.

“You see? There are at least 42 servants working in the house itself. Then there are the stables and gardens. And, oh, the gameskeeper and the steward, Mr. Greenup. There are a great number of people who care for Pemberley, and for whom Pemberley must care. Is that not remarkable?” Elizabeth asked. Phoebe agreed in some amazement that it was.

They had come to the edge of the woods, and Elizabeth dared go no further without a footman, per Mrs. Reynolds’ very strict instructions about Phoebe’s safety. There was a log that had been pulled from the wood to act as a bench, and the two went and sat down there.

“I suppose that is why my Papa is always so busy, there are many people to take care of,” Phoebe said.

“Yes, indeed, the master of an estate has many concerns. As does the mistress. There are also tenants to support in their efforts as well as any local concerns. It can be a very busy life,” Elizabeth answered. “Do you miss your Papa?”

“No, I do not,” Phoebe said. “I miss my Aunt Georgiana, though. She is very kind to me, but she does not say much.”

“Why is it that you do not miss your Papa?” Elizabeth asked mildly, beginning to weave together pieces of long grass that she plucked from the sides of the log.

“I do not know,” Phoebe said simply. “When Papa is here, he visits for a few minutes in the morning and then he goes, and I do not see him. So it is not very different when he is gone.”

“Ah,” said Elizabeth. She started to show Phoebe how to plait the strands together to make a crown, and they became so invested in their weaving that they moved from the log into a patch of dappled sunlight on the grass. They giggled as they worked, and Phoebe ran about to look for the little wildflowers at the edge of the wood so they could be tucked into the crowns as well.

Elizabeth leaned back on her hands and watched the little girl as she ran about, depositing forget-me-nots into her pinafore pockets with great care. Elizabeth thought of how different her relationship to her own father was from Phoebe and Mr. Darcy’s. Though her heart didn’t ache with the loss of Mr. Bennet as it did in the years immediately after her parents’ deaths, every now and then, she was astonished at how overwhelming a wave of grief could be. Elizabeth’s father had meant everything to her, along with Jane, and though Jane still lived and Papa did not, both sometimes felt equally lost to her.

On the night they died, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had been returning from an evening at the Gouldings. There was a storm that night, and the coachman said that a bolt of lightning frightened the horses. He tried to keep control of them, but they bolted for the River Lea, and it was all he could do to keep them from pulling the equipage into the river itself. He lost control and was thrown from the seat, where he broke his arm and even lost a few teeth. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were not so fortunate. They had been crushed by the carriage. The apothecary had told them that the couple had not suffered, that their deaths were likely instantaneous. Elizabeth never asked how he was able to divine such a thing. She could not stop picturing the deaths over and over in her mind for several months.

The Gardiners had come from London right away, and along with the Phillipses they were invaluable in keeping the girls’ spirits up and organizing all that must follow in the aftermath of the accident. About two months after Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were buried, they were finally able to locate the heir to Longbourn, a Mr. Hiram Collins, who arrived with his son, William.

Mr. Hiram Collins was every bit as miserly and foolish as Papa had said. He immediately let four of the ten servants at Longbourn go, and fought Uncle Phillips tooth and nail over the provisions in Mama’s will over her jewelry and other effects, which were to go to her children, and did not belong to the estate. He was planning on sending the five Bennet sisters packing to London to live with their godparents the Gardiners when William Collins presented an alternative.

William Collins was deferential to his father in the extreme. It seemed to Elizabeth that he had not a thought in his head that was his own, unless it pertained to his newfound importance as the heir apparent to Longbourn and all that it entailed. He was not an ugly man, but neither was he well-groomed nor attired. None of the Bennet girls could admire him, but only Jane was kind about the deficiencies of his character and person.

Perhaps this was her downfall. In her efforts to be kind to the young man, as she was to all fellow human beings, William Collins began to fancy himself in love with her. Indeed at sixteen years old, Jane was in her first bloom and was proving to be an extraordinary beauty. There were very few young men who did not fancy themselves in love with Jane Bennet. William Collins could hardly believe his luck in meeting with her and becoming heir apparent to the estate on which she lived. He followed Jane wherever she went, and proposed marriage to her not three weeks after they met.

Jane and her sisters were bound for London, as was detailed in her father’s will, but the girls were all devastated at the idea of leaving Longbourn and all they knew. William Collins proposed that if he and Jane were to wed, her sisters could stay. After all, they were hearty girls, and could contribute to the running of the household and property, though their mother had obviously sadly neglected their domestic education. Not one of the girls could cook!

Though Jane had always wished to marry for love – she and Elizabeth had spent many a night awake in bed imagining their future husbands – she felt this sacrifice was the right thing to do for her sisters. To lose their dear parents and then Longbourn on top of it! She agreed to Mr. Collins’ proposal and hoped that she would grow to love him in time. Therefore, the banns were read, and Jane was to become Mrs. Collins.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did their best to convince Jane that such a step was not necessary, that the girls would come to love London, and that there was ample room for all, despite the fact that there was already one child in their nursery on Gracechurch Street and another on the way. In fact, with the modest amount of money Mr. Bennet had left in his personal accounts (just over £1,000, which Hiram Collins was unable to touch, despite his best efforts), the girls could all attend school – she and Elizabeth and Mary could go right away, and Kitty and Lydia would go in a few years’ time. But Jane had made her choice.

The day before the wedding, William Collins overheard Elizabeth trying to convince Jane to break the engagement, to say that it was folly to pretend such a stupid man could ever be worthy of her. Elizabeth expounded eloquently and ferociously on William Collins’ foolishness, self-centeredness, and lack of education in such strong language that the man was quite resolved: as soon as he and his beautiful Jane were wed, the remaining four Bennet girls would be sent away, never to live under Longbourn’s roof again. And indeed, as soon as the ink was dry on the church registry, he announced that his new sisters were for London, and they should begin packing as soon as the breakfast was over.

So in the end, Jane’s sacrifice had meant nothing.

The four youngest Bennet girls were able to attend Miss Wellington’s School for four years with the funds left over by Mr. Bennet. Uncle Gardiner divided the amount up and each girl got £200. £100 paid for schooling, and he was able to invest the remaining money along with their individual shares of their mother’s portion. He said nothing about Jane’s share to either Collins man and invested the £200 pounds very aggressively on his eldest niece’s behalf so she would have something of her own should she need it.

When old Mr. Hiram Collins died about a year and a half after taking possession of Longbourn, Mr. William Collins softened and allowed Mary, Kitty, and Lydia to visit. Not Elizabeth, though. Not that she would ever be in the same room as that man again.

Jane’s letters were cheerful, almost purposely so. She spoke of their neighbors and tenants, and of keeping the ledgers for the estate and house. She wrote about learning more about baking and cooking, and of improvements to the house and property. Elizabeth could perceive a dimness, though. Mr. Collins was not cruel, but neither did he genuinely love or appreciate Jane. Nor, it would seem that he was doing much to manage the estate beyond blustering about his prowess as a landowner. It was fortunate that Jane had a good head for numbers and had received good training from their mother for managing a household. By extension, Jane seemed to be learning how to work around her husband’s ineptitude in concert with the steward, and was helping to guide the Longbourn estate as well. As far as Elizabeth could tell, Jane’s love did not blossom beyond the common affection one develops for a cat.

Eventually Jane bore Mr. Collins two healthy children. First there was little James Collins, a fine, large healthy boy born when Jane was nineteen. Mary had gone home to visit the following summer and returned with some very pretty pencil drawings of their nephew, who favored Jane in looks, fortunately for him. Then three years later a daughter, Rose. Aunt Phillips wrote that little Rosie was the very image of Jane when she was a babe. Elizabeth could only hope that the children’s characters were as inclined toward their mother’s as were their looks. Elizabeth had never met her niece and nephew, but Jane was effusive in their praise (they were both very clever and sweet-natured, she reported in her letters), and Elizabeth hoped that someday there might be an opportunity. How odd to think she had charge of a child who was exactly in between the age of her niece and nephew. It eased some of the ache she felt at not knowing the children, or of being known to them. She could imagine that she was seeing something of James’ and Rosie’s experiences through Phoebe.

Elizabeth focused her eyes back on Phoebe and called over to her, “Miss Phoebe, do come show me what you have gathered so we may add your spoils to our crowns. We shall be most fashionable as we continue our walk, shall we not?”

Phoebe gently spilled the pale blue blossoms into Elizabeth’s hands and they set about tucking the blooms into their grassy laurels, exclaiming over their beauty while Pemberley bloomed all around them.

 

About a fortnight after Elizabeth’s conversation with Mrs. Washington, she received a note from that lady bidding her to stay for tea after Sunday services. Elizabeth worked out her absence with Susie and Mrs. Reynolds, saying she would walk back to Pemberley after tea.

“But it is nearly five miles, Miss Bennet! And to walk alone!” Mrs. Reynolds was rather disproportionately surprised, to Elizabeth’s mind. Yet she only smiled and said, “Indeed, I relish the notion, ma’am. It has been some months since I could stretch my legs with such a long walk.“

Therefore all was arranged. Elizabeth bucked convention and put on one of her two brighter, non-working gowns to match her cheerful feelings. Therefore when she sat down in Mrs. Washington’s parlor, she presented quite a pretty picture when Mr. Washington came in to join them.

Mrs. Washington set about pouring for the party, and talking about the improvements they had made to the parsonage in their brief tenure. “Not that Mr. Darcy has not been generous in keeping the property up to date with all the new conveniences,” she said, not wishing to sound as if they’d been given the keys to a hovel.

“No, certainly not,” Mr. Washington said. “The parsonage has been well-maintained. My mother merely refers to the furnishings. The former vicar was here since the early days of King George’s reign, and we believe that was the last time the sofa had been replaced.”

Elizabeth laughed and said, “I can well believe it. A man will be the last person to replace a beloved sofa. It was so with my father. He had the most tattered chaise lounge in his book room, but would not hear of my mother buying a new one.”

Mrs. Washington smiled. “And are your parents still with you?”

“Sadly, no, ma’am, they died in a carriage accident when I was but fourteen. I was at school after that, but under my Uncle’s guardianship until my majority three years ago. My sisters and I were very fortunate to be in his care, as he and my aunt are the very best of people,” Elizabeth explained.

Both Washingtons murmured in sympathy, and this gave Mrs. Washington the opening she needed to find out more of Elizabeth’s background. Elizabeth knew enough about the ways of managing mamas (indeed, her own Mama had been one of the best, along with Aunt Phillips) and therefore answered Mrs. Washington’s questions with amused forbearance. When any question bordered on the impertinent, Mr. Washington kindly steered the direction back in a more neutral and polite direction.

“You say your oldest sister, and next youngest sister are wed, now? And your youngest next is likely to be engaged by summer’s end! Your mother would be very happy indeed,” Mrs. Washington said after they had been discussing Elizabeth’s family for the better part of a half an hour.

“I believe she would have been,” Elizabeth answered. (Ecstatic was a more accurate word, but Elizabeth forbore mentioning it.)

“And do you yourself not think of settling down, Miss Bennet?” Mrs. Washington asked. Mr. Washington’s face went beetroot red, but he did not say anything in objection to his mother’s question.

“Oh, heavens! I am so busy with teaching, and happy in my profession that I confess it is difficult to imagine!” Elizabeth said, feigning some obliviousness. “I take great joy in being a governess and have been in the happy position of working for very good families. Speaking of which, Ma’am, I believe you said that you had some news for me related to my current charge?”

“Do you really take joy in it, Miss Bennet? I have known many governesses who found no pleasure in their circumstances,” Mr. Washington said with some earnestness.

Since his curiosity seemed genuine, Elizabeth answered, “For some I believe it is drudgery. I cannot pretend that caring for children is all joy and cheer. There are some days that are very difficult indeed. But I value my independence and have a great passion for teaching children. I am fortunate to have found a path that allows me to maintain myself doing what I like.” This did not seem like the time to mention that she would sooner work as a scullery maid than be under the thumb of any man. She hoped she had communicated enough of her independent nature to the Washingtons to be understood, but not rude.

“That is quite fortunate, then,” Mr. Washington said in rejoinder. Elizabeth thought the matter was settled enough, but she missed the gleam in Mrs. Washington’s eye. That lady was sure it was just a matter of time before the young governess would succumb to her Thomas’ manifold charms, and she would be keeping her company in the parsonage ere long.

“Now, Miss Bennet, I considered your question,” said Mrs. Washington. “The Gladwells have just returned from town –have you heard anybody mention the Gladwells to you yet? Very fine people, with a smallish estate just past Kympton. They have a little boy of six named Charles who might be a good friend for Miss Phoebe. If it suits you, I will arrange an introduction…”

Mrs. Washington listed a few other possibilities and Mr. Washington watched the pair thoughtfully as Miss Bennet nodded along to his mother’s speech. Perhaps there might be something there after all, no matter the young lady’s probable lack of fortune or independent streak. After all, she was beautiful, intelligent, genteel, and seemed capable of navigating nearly anything with reasonable good cheer. Mr. Washington had not met many who fit that bill, and decided she might be worth pursuing further, if one could find a way to go about courting a woman whose waking hours were so wholly not her own.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Derbyshire
July 1814

 

For the last leg of their journey home, Fitzwilliam Darcy and his sister Georgiana chose to ride on horseback ahead of the servants and carriages. Their mounts were waiting for them at the last inn before Pemberley, and they traversed the last fourteen miles home with great anticipation. At the end of this journey, there would be order, peace, and calm – all the more desirous to Darcy after any length of time spent in town. The serenity of Pemberley was always a dramatic foil to the chaos and heat of London in the warm months. Yet it was his duty to remain there for the season, and a little beyond, for it was time for Georgiana to seek a husband.

Georgiana was now twenty, and had been out for two years now. Though she was beautiful, rich, and accomplished, she had never quite gained back the confidence she lost at age fifteen, when an old family friend had attempted to elope with her. George Wickham was blessed with happy manners that covered up the wickedness that lurked within, often until it was too late for a victim to do anything but struggle in his net. George was the son of Harry Wickham, the excellent steward of Pemberley, and had grown up alongside Darcy as a close playmate. Though the boys were both twelve years old when Georgiana was born, George was already showing signs of a wicked and dissolute character, something he kept carefully hidden from Darcy’s father, who served as godson to the boy.

After Mr. Darcy senior’s death, Darcy and Wickham had their final falling out. There was no lie George would not be guilty of telling, no debt of honor he would not abandon, and Darcy was happy to never see the wastrel again. But the summer Georgie turned fifteen, Wickham came to her notice while she was visiting Ramsgate for the summer. It had been little work for Wickham to convince Georgiana, lonely and desirous of romance as she had been, that theirs was a great love, and elopement the only natural option for the conclusion of that great love. In this he was aided by Georgiana’s companion, Mrs. Younge, who claimed some prior acquaintance with the scoundrel.

Darcy had arrived just in time. Mrs. Younge was threatened within an inch of her life to never speak the Darcy name to anyone again, or to darken their doorstep with her wickedness. Wickham was chased off with threats of debtor’s prison, as Darcy held several hundred pounds of his vowels. Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy’s cousin and co-guardian of Georgiana had trailed the man and learnt that he had been frightened enough to set off for the shores of Canada to make a new life. How Wickham managed money for the passage and setting up a new life there, Darcy could not guess until a few weeks after the debacle, Georgiana realized she was missing several pieces of jewelry, valued perhaps in excess of £150. It was a small price to pay for the man’s permanent absence from their lives, as far as Darcy was concerned. This mortifying betrayal on top of all the others had completely done Georgiana in, however, and cemented the false idea that she was only of any interest to a man because of her wealth.

They had just spent another unsuccessful season in town, with Georgie hardly seeming to distinguish one suitor from the next. Her companion Mrs. Annesley was a very good woman, and had done much to fortify and bolster Georgiana’s spirits in her tenure with them, but his little sister had never really recovered her joy or developed any enthusiasm for society, and was distrustful of others’ intentions. There was always next year, or perhaps a house party or two in between seasons.

The gentle rolling hills took on a more rough and rugged characteristic, and the Darcys knew they were but half an hour from Pemberley house itself. Even their horses seemed eager, knowing that a good meal and good rest were not far away. Darcy looked at his sister, who grinned back. Although there was more than a half year’s worth of work to review and verify, and although there were bound to be problems waiting for him, Darcy could scarcely wait to be home again. They cantered into the park and when they joined the gravel path, slowed their horses into a trot, then let them walk down the hill toward the stables, where they were greeted cheerfully by the excellent stablehands. He inquired as to the whereabouts of the stable master Mr. Patchett, as he had very recent news of a new acquisition to share with the man.

“Georgie, I see Mrs. Reynolds coming, a boy must have run up to the house and alerted her to our early arrival. Will you go ahead and let her know the arrangements with the servants behind us? The lads said Patchett is round the paddock, I shall quickly speak with him, then return to the house,” Darcy said, pulling the paperwork for a new stallion he had just purchased from an old acquaintance from his saddlebag. Georgiana nodded and they parted ways.

Darcy set off toward the path to the south paddock and nodded as he passed several of the groundskeepers and stablehands. How good it was to be home amongst those who knew him and whom he had known for so much of his life! The rich smell of the earth and woods felt like a caress after the stink of town. He just was just about to round a small cluster of fragrant spruce trees when he heard pounding footsteps and laughter. The footsteps were close and getting closer, and suddenly a body crashed into his own, taking them both to the ground.

“Oh!” The owner of the footsteps shrieked, and he found his legs tangled in muslin and with a mouthful of bonnet ribbon. A woman, then. She scrambled up to her feet and held out her hand to him, which he ignored in favor of getting up on his own, and brushing the pea gravel from his backside and legs.

Darcy said nothing, but looked at the woman, a lady he had never seen before, dressed with what seemed like nearly aggressive simplicity. Her dark disheveled curls were topped with an unadorned chip bonnet. Looking down he realized there were sprigs of lavender stuck to his cravat—they must have come loose from the brim of her hat. The woman dropped into a deep curtsy, still panting for breath. Darcy could hear more footsteps, but they sounded smaller and lighter.

“Sir, I am terribly sorry to have run into you! I do hope you are not injured?” The woman exclaimed. The little footsteps got louder and closer.

“Madam, I am unhurt, but unfortunately, rather confused,” Darcy said sternly. He was about to insist that she identify herself when it became instantly apparent who she was. The little footsteps rounded the bend and his daughter Phoebe and a little boy of similar age careened around the spruces and just managed to stop before bouncing gently into the woman’s back. She swayed with the impact, but did not fall again.

“Miss Bennet, I presume?” Darcy said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir, I am she, and I believe you must be the master,” the young woman answered. Darcy’s eyebrows lifted at her forwardness. She showed a suspicious lack of mortification for having bowled him over. Before Darcy could say anything about it, Miss Bennet turned to his daughter and murmured something quietly.

As they spoke to each other quietly, Darcy observed his child. Phoebe looked different – certainly healthier than he remembered, with a flush in her cheeks from running and a bit of color from the sun. She was also taller – she would certainly take after the Darcys in height, and not the de Bourghs. Darcy was about to turn his scrutiny onto the little boy who was panting slightly behind Phoebe when his daughter stepped forward, curtsied, and said, “Welcome home, Papa. We are all very pleased to have you back at Pemberley.”

“Thank you, Phoebe,” Darcy bowed in return. “It is very good to be back. I shall leave you now, I must find Mr. Patchett. Miss Bennet,” he nodded, and did the same for the little boy, who seemed to have a look of his neighbor Jonathan Gladwell.

As he walked away, Darcy realized that the governess was easily two or three decades younger than her epistolary impudence had implied. He frowned at the decision Mrs. Reynolds had made in hiring such a young woman, and a seemingly improper one as well.

Well, well. There was much to do. First to Patchett, then to a bath and some food, then to Mrs. Reynolds. Doubtless there was much to learn.

 

After a bath and a hearty tray of sandwiches, Darcy was much refreshed and less irritable, though no less concerned about the state of affairs with the governess. He walked to his study where his housekeeper was to meet him and provide him with all the news of Pemberley that she had not shared in letters. As he walked, he nodded his head at the deep bows and curtsies of several servants. He spoke a quick “How do you do?” to each, hardly slowing his pace.

Darcy settled in at his desk and began sifting through the correspondence that had been forwarded from London as well as what had arrived in Derbyshire over the past week. He picked up the household ledger and reviewed the salaries from the latest quarter, taking note of Miss Bennet’s. All was correct there, it was on par with what his and Georgiana’s old governesses had earned. Yet those ladies had been very experienced and serious, which was as it should be, since the rearing of children was a sober affair.

He wished to know how Mrs. Reynolds could fail to see it differently. After all, she had been present for most of his childhood and all of Georgiana’s. Their governesses had been very strict models of propriety. He remembered the ladies as being very old, but in retrospect, they must have been not much older than he was now – perhaps in their late thirties or forties. A knock sounded at his study door, and Darcy called, “Enter.”

Mrs. Reynolds came into the room, her face aglow with pleasure at seeing him. “Mr. Darcy, I am sorry I was not there to greet you! We are all so very pleased to have you and Miss Darcy back home. It is never the same without you.”

Darcy smiled, the woman’s joy at having the family home again filling him with warmth. Mrs. Reynolds had been one of the most consistent presences in his life. His parents were all that was good and benevolent, and it was from them that he learned how to steer the ship that was Pemberley. His mother Lady Anne Darcy had been a source of affection, but her death had been so long ago that Mrs. Reynolds had become a source of maternal comfort in her place. His father George Darcy was the very best of men, but very stern and stiff with his son and heir. Darcy posited that it might be to do with the weight of the great responsibility of running such a large estate upon which so many depended, something he well understood. Their relationship was never one of camaraderie, nor did it occur to Darcy that it could be until he witnessed other fathers and sons while away at Eton and Cambridge. It stung particularly, because Darcy often witnessed such jocularity between George Wickham and Mr. Darcy Senior.

“I thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. I see that you have been keeping things running as smoothly as ever, and that nearly all seems well at Pemberley,” he began.

Mrs. Reynolds’ forehead wrinkled as she pinched her brows. “Nearly all, Sir? Pray let me know your concerns so that I may address them immediately.”

“The governess,” Darcy merely said.

“Oh, Miss Bennet? You have met her, then! She is excellent, is she not?” Mrs. Reynolds’ countenance lit up.

“Is she? My impression of her is that she is impertinent and forward, hardly the model of femininity I would wish my daughter to emulate,” Darcy said.

Mrs. Reynolds’ mouth opened as if in wonder, but she quickly recovered herself and asked, “Indeed, Sir? I am quite surprised. Miss Phoebe has come along so well under her care.”

“She is full young to be a governess, is she not?” Darcy continued.

“I admit that it was a surprise to meet her at first. Far be it for me to reveal a woman’s age without her knowledge, but given your concerns, I believe Miss Bennet would not mind my telling you that she is four and twenty,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“How on earth could such a person come to your attention? She is nothing like Miss Givens or Miss Redmond,” Darcy asked. “They did a fine job with me and Georgiana, I believe.”

“If you will excuse me, Sir, neither of those ladies were particularly warm. When you left the hiring of Miss Phoebe’s governess to me, I felt the thing she needed most was a cheerful and lively teacher. I wrote to several of my acquaintances for recommendations, and it so happened that Miss Bennet was available, having just left a family in the north. You yourself said you wished that Miss Phoebe would be more merry like other children. I feel that we have accomplished that with Miss Bennet’s help,” Mrs Reynolds said. Darcy thought he might have imagined a note of finality in the housekeeper’s voice, a trick he himself often deployed with tenants and friends whom he had no intention of indulging. Though he wished to shake his head in wonder at it, Darcy moved on to other subjects and spent a satisfactory half hour with Mrs. Reynolds catching up on the rest of the goings on at Pemberley House.

 

After an hour of sorting the piles of correspondence and paperwork to be dealt with on the morrow, and a brief visit with Mr. Greenup confirmed their appointment to ride out together in two days' time, Darcy felt himself to be at his leisure. He was not a man who liked being idle, nor did he understand how others could while away hours with nothingness. If he had nothing to do, Darcy would find something to fill his time in very short order.

Therefore, he began to move about the house in search of anything else that might need his attention. He went to the library and saw with satisfaction that some of the new titles he had sent up from London were awaiting him at his favorite table. However, he also saw that many of the atlases were missing, along with several of the botany books. He frowned at that, disliking that the titles had been removed without his say so, and knowing it could have only been done by one party in particular.

Darcy went to the conservatory to check the progress of some changes Georgiana had requested before they left for London only to nearly stumble over a small easel down one of the paths. As he exclaimed over the mess, an under gardener came around the path and apologized and helped set the easel and paints back to right. “I’m ever so sorry, Sir, those are Miss Phoebe’s things, Miss Bennet asked that we leave them there so when inspiration struck, the little Miss could come back quick and paint.”

Darcy caught himself mid-splutter, then merely said, “I see…”

He now moved with some deliberation toward the schoolroom, needing to better understand how on earth this upstart had come into his home and bewitched the servants.

As he made his way toward the family wing, he was arrested by the sound of feminine laughter and bold pianoforte chords. He walked toward the music room, where his approach startled two smiling maids who were quietly tapping their feet outside the door as they peered in. “Oh!” said one, Katie Wilkens, he thought. “We’re terribly sorry, Sir! It’s just so lovely to hear music when we work.” She and the other maid curtsied hastily and fairly raced away from the door.

Their noise at the door didn’t stop the playing and singing. Darcy peered around the door and saw Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley laughing and clapping along as Miss Bennet played and his daughter sang. Phoebe's hands were clasped together in front of her chest and she sang, “Up rose then the bonny young lady, and drew on her stockings and shoon, and packed up her clothes in fine bundles, and away wi’ young Donald she’s gone!”

Phoebe was animated and cheerful as she sang, something Darcy had never seen before. When she was an infant, she was fearful of him and would cling to her nurse. During her visits as she grew older, she was not smiling or cheerful, but dutiful in her responses to his questions. So here was a sight to behold. Her little voice was louder than he knew it could be, and the tone and quality of her singing seemed quite good for a six-year old child.

When she came to the chorus, Darcy smiled to see Georgiana joining her in song and smiling, something she rarely did these days.“Will ye gang to the Highlands, Lizzie Lindsay, will ye gang to the Highlands wi’ me?” they sang as Miss Bennet’s sprightly fingers produced a jolly, bouncing rhythm.

How odd to realize it was the first time he had seen his own child engaged in any kind of merriment.

He listened for a little while longer, then retreated to his own study, lost in thought, with his outrage at disorderly greenhouses and denuded geography sections somewhat forgotten.

 

Darcy had not wanted to marry his cousin Anne de Bourgh. Not really.

His Aunt Catherine had long harped on the destiny of his union to his cousin, her own daughter, and for many years, Darcy had merely chosen to ignore it until it suited him not to ignore it.

After losing his father, Darcy thought it might be wise to find a bride who would help raise Georgiana and be a helpmeet to him at Pemberley. One season in town had shown him all he needed to see of the type of women available to him – accomplished in everything but what would make a useful sort of wife. What cared he for a woman fluent in French if she could not speak of anything intelligent in the language? What did it matter if she could paint china or cover screens if she could not help Mrs. Reynolds plan a course of stores for a long, frigid winter in Derbyshire, to ensure all tenants and servants would pull through any difficulties? It seemed the women flattered and fawned without seeing beyond his money, and none of them had the natural talents and character traits that he really wished for, beautiful and well-connected though they were.

And so it made sense enough to ask Anne if she would marry him. They could unite their estates, protect themselves from fortune hunters, and live a quiet, comfortable life at Pemberley. He knew he could have looked a little longer or harder for a better match, but Darcy found he did not have the heart for it. Anne would do for him, and he for her. What Anne had not the strength or ability for, Darcy knew Mrs. Reynolds and her excellent staff could undertake. Anne was sanguine when she accepted him, though later she told him she was happy to be leaving Rosings. The marriage articles were drawn up, a trousseau was ordered, and they were wed from Hunsford Parish on a fine autumn day.

If anybody beside Lady Catherine were to describe Anne de Bourgh, they would call her shy and sickly. Those two things certainly were correct. But what many people did not know was that Anne, though not terribly accomplished in the traditional feminine arts, was a very intelligent woman. She was a voracious reader, as it was one of the few outlets for stimulation available to her at Rosings, and she fell upon the collection in the Pemberley library with great enthusiasm. There was some improvement of her health when she was away from her overbearing mother and the army of buffoons Lady Catherine employed as medical men. While Anne really was of a weak constitution, with good simple food, rest, and the opportunity to run her own affairs as she saw fit, she became healthier.

Therefore, she and Darcy felt confident in trying for a child after a half year of marriage. About another half year later, they were successful, and Anne became with child. The babe seemed determined to cling to life, though Anne was often ill with a weak stomach and could barely take nourishment. The midwife said that the illness would abate after a time, but it never did.

Though she grew weaker and weaker, Anne was very happy about the pregnancy and worked hard at stitching little infant gowns and knitting little stockings. Georgiana sat alongside her and they discussed names and decorations for the nursery. She had determined her child would be named Lewis if a boy and Phoebe if a girl, after the Greek Titaness of intellect, for Anne loved knowledge and learning. “Books have always been my best friends,” she once said offhandedly to Darcy. Though she was speaking idly, sorting through her stack of novels to read, Darcy thought of it whenever he thought of Anne. To the outside world, her life had been very small, but from Darcy’s intimate view, she had a large, rich inner life.

When Phoebe was born on a snowy December evening, it seemed to take every ounce of strength Anne possessed to bring her into the world. In fact it took more strength that she possessed, but she seemed to borrow it from somewhere far outside of her. The labor was long, nearly three days, and once the child was born, Anne lapsed into unconsciousness. She developed childbed fever, and within a week of Phoebe’s birth, Anne was gone.

Darcy had been afraid to get too close during what turned out to be the last week of Anne’s life. His guilt was astronomical in its scope. He had allowed his own wish for what was easy – marriage to an unchallenging woman, a quiet life at Pemberley – to override what good sense should have told him. He could claim he was doing his duty by his cousin, after her mother spread rumors and insinuation about their eventual union to any who would listen, but the truth was Darcy had long suspected that Anne was not well enough to survive childbirth, and therefore, she should not marry. Whenever he looked at Phoebe, he was reminded of his own selfishness.

During that last week of her life, Anne’s longtime companion Mrs. Jenkinson often nestled the babe into the crook of Anne’s arms, bolstered up by mounds of pillows. Darcy could hear Mrs. Jenkinson coaxing Anne to wake up and see her little child. Phoebe was quiet during these visits, happy to sleep soundly against her mother’s warmth. Darcy could hardly stand to view such a sight, and would walk away if Mrs. Jenkinson and Phoebe were there.

Lady Catherine was unable to attend the birth or to see Anne due to the harsh winter that had come early to the north of England, therefore she did not see her daughter pass away. When she finally arrived in March to meet her granddaughter, Darcy was shocked to see the grand lady look so diminished. She had always insisted that Anne was well past the point of any illness or weakness, and until Darcy saw her that early spring, he would have said Lady Catherine had been lying. There could be no question of Anne having had a weaker constitution than average. But in seeing her so reduced, so small, so mild, Darcy now understood that Lady Catherine believed all she had said about Anne’s health, and was now suffering with the truth of it all.

She had held Phoebe with a disinterestedness that had privately astonished Darcy. He thought that she would arrive in Derbyshire in state, and insist upon taking the child home to raise at Rosings, which he would have immediately refused. But it seemed Lady Catherine also felt some great anguish when looking upon Phoebe’s face. She had been to visit one other time, when Phoebe was four years old, but otherwise depended upon letters from Georgiana and himself for news of Phoebe. She wrote a letter every month for Georgiana to read to her granddaughter, but never was there a suggestion of bringing the child down to Kent, nor any requests for miniatures or sketches. Even Darcy could recognize that he and his aunt were allowing the child to be the embodiment of all their regrets about Anne, but he was at a loss for what was to be done about it.

 

Miss Bennet, however, seemed to have plenty of ideas about what to do with his daughter, Darcy came to learn, and he was not certain that he liked any of them.

After a few days at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy summoned the governess. The young woman came to his study, and as she seated herself across from him at the desk, he took the opportunity to observe her. Knowing that she was but four and twenty opened up a series of other questions for him – how came she to be out on her own? Granted, all old maids must naturally start out as young ones, but it was still odd to see such a young woman in such a prestigious post. In ten or fifteen years’ time she would look as distinguished as any other governess, he was sure, but right now she was surely too young to have given up the hope of marrying. She must be completely on her own in the world.

Miss Bennet settled her skirts about her and folded her hands in her lap and looked at him expectantly.

“Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to speak to you in less awkward circumstances,” Mr. Darcy began, and the woman actually chuckled.

“Yes, Sir, I cannot tell you how sorry I am about having run across you in such a manner. It was my turn to be chased in our little game, and I have a very competitive spirit, you see,” she answered, smiling.

“Yes, well,” Darcy was at a loss. There was no deference in her voice, but rather she spoke as if they were partners at a dinner table. “Mrs. Reynolds has told me of your experience and qualifications, you seem to be an interesting match for your role.”

Darcy swore he saw her lips quirk up at one side at his use of the word “interesting”. “I thank you, Mr. Darcy. I enjoy teaching children, and Miss Phoebe is a delightful charge. We had a difficult beginning, but have since reached a very happy accord.”

“Difficult, you say?” Darcy asked. Certainly all difficulty must be on Miss Bennet’s side.

“Yes, she was extremely shy and would not be away from Nurse Susie or Mrs. Reynolds, nor did she like to speak to a new person. But you see now that she and I are very good friends,” Miss Bennet said.

Here was something he could seize. “I do not pay you to be friends with my child, but rather to teach her, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, allowing some sternness to enter his tone.

“One cannot work on a child in any way without some overtures of friendliness, Sir,” Miss Bennet answered. He was certain he detected a slight lift of her chin.

“Assuming you are correct, what is it that my child is learning, Madam? Have you overcome your difficulties in reaching her?” he asked, feeling his ire beginning to rise.

“I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I am correct in my position. A teacher may be both loving and authoritative. But to your specific question, Miss Phoebe has been learning her letters and her abilities are beyond her age when it comes to reading, which is excellent, and unsurprising, as she loves being read to. She does not yet care much for her pianoforte lessons, but has a very good voice. When she is a little older, she would do very well with a vocal master. I have been cultivating her drawing abilities, and she has become very interested in the garden. We sometimes meet with Mr. Clarke, who has promised her a little plot near the kitchen gardens next summer.” Miss Bennet drew breath and looked as if she was poised for his next round of questioning.

“I see. I should like to examine her myself to see her progress in writing and mathematics,” Darcy answered, still not sure how offended he should be by Miss Bennet’s rebuttal that she was correct and he was not.

“Certainly, Sir! I was going to suggest it myself. When would you like to see Miss Phoebe? Would Monday afternoon suit you?” Miss Bennet asked.

“Why not tomorrow after church?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, Sundays are very special and easy days for Miss Phoebe. We do not have lessons, but rather spend our time exploring the grounds. Everybody deserves a day of rest from their labors, would not you agree?” Miss Bennet tilted her head at him.

Darcy was out. He had never felt so managed by a woman before, let alone a servant. “Madam, I will see my daughter tomorrow after church. I expect a full recitation of what she is learning, as well as to see some of her work itself.”

“Of course, Sir. As you like it,” Miss Bennet answered. She had deep dark brown eyes, and Darcy was certain he was detecting a hint of disdain in them. But at the same time, she spoke with such a sweet, low voice, he was unable to accuse her of anything.

“Tomorrow it is, then, Miss Bennet. Please bring Phoebe to my study at two,” Darcy said, fighting to keep the frustration out of his voice. You are the master, Sir, there is no need for frustration, he told himself. He repeated it to himself again after Miss Bennet curtsied to him and left the study, as he played later at billiards, and when he enjoyed a glass of brandy after dinner, but for some reason, it would not stick.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Elizabeth looked up from her book to monitor the progress of Miss Phoebe’s riding lesson. She was re-reading The Alvondown Vicarage, which she had once borrowed from the circulating library while living at Miss Wellington’s, and had long wished to read it again. For such a large collection, Pemberley’s library was curiously low on novels, but somehow they contained most of Mrs. Roche’s works that Elizabeth knew of. She marked her page with an embroidered bookmark that her sister Lydia had sent her, and peered out from under her shady spot to see how Phoebe got along. Or, in truth, to see how Mr. Darcy was getting along.

About two weeks ago, she and Phoebe had their interview with the master to see if Elizabeth’s teaching was properly up to the mark. Indeed, Phoebe had answered all of his questions calmly, and demonstrated perfect understanding of several rudimentary lessons. Elizabeth watched quietly as father interviewed child, careful to keep her face as neutral as possible. How was it possible that a man could be so disconnected from his own child, yet still have such specific expectations for her? Could know so little of her interests and character?

Phoebe spoke to him as one might speak to a doctor, with respect, but with some trepidation. Elizabeth could see that Mr. Darcy was beginning to be frustrated with the answers that gave nothing beyond the minimum requirement, and at this point, Elizabeth thought it might be wise to intercede.

“Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, but Miss Phoebe and I were hoping we might perform a song for you as a demonstration of all that she is learning. Would that suit?” She asked.

Mr. Darcy seemed to hold back a rolling of his eyes, or perhaps an irritated huff, but said, “I suppose it would.”

Elizabeth smiled and said, “We have worked very hard on this piece, and I know it would please Miss Phoebe greatly to be able to share it with you.”

“Very well, then. Let us adjourn to the music room,” Mr. Darcy said, and Elizabeth was relieved to have found a way to put an end to the uncomfortable appointment, and perhaps to move Phoebe along to more pleasant Sunday pursuits. The party left Mr. Darcy’s study and made their way with silent deliberation toward the pianoforte.

Miss Darcy happened to be there while Mrs. Annesley sat stitching what looked like it would eventually be a decorative cushion. “Georgiana, do you mind if we interrupt your practice, my dear? Phoebe would like to demonstrate her growing musical ability for me,” Mr. Darcy said.

Here it was Elizabeth who checked an eyeroll. Miss Darcy agreed with alacrity, and Elizabeth took her place at the keyboard. She played a few scales for Phoebe to warm up her voice, and then began to play “Lizzy Lindsay”. She had transposed the key to something comfortable for Phoebe’s high flute-like voice, and the overall effect was quite sweet and charming. She played the introduction, then nodded her head at Phoebe, who began, “Will ye gang to the Highlands, Lizzy Lindsay, will ye gang to the Highlands with me? Will ye gang to the Highlands, Lizzy Lindsay, my bride and my darling to be?”

Thus unfolded the Robert Burns song about the English lass who falls in love with a Scottish Chieftain disguised as a common laborer. Phoebe sang with great enthusiasm, her little hands clasped afore her as Elizabeth had taught her. She took strong, deep breaths and belted out the story, and Elizabeth thought again how far the two of them had come together.

On that first fateful day together when Phoebe had screamed and hid, this was one of the songs Elizabeth had sung to her. The next week, Phoebe had asked for "the Lizzy song," and Elizabeth had smiled and led her to the pianoforte to play and sing for her and Nurse Susie. Over the next few weeks, she played it again several times before beginning to teach it to Phoebe, and had explained it was one of her Papa’s favorite songs. “He sang it to me often, for my family calls me Lizzy. And he loved the poet who wrote this song. So whenever I sing it, I think of my dear Papa.” Phoebe had accepted this information matter-of-factly, and said, “I wish to learn it so you will feel at home, then.”

When Phoebe finished the song, the assembled party clapped and even Mr. Darcy looked somewhat appeased. “You sing very well, child, much like your grandmother Lady Anne,” he said.

“Thank you, Papa,” she said, and looked expectantly at Elizabeth. When Elizabeth looked back at Mr. Darcy, it seemed nobody knew what to do to put their awkward interview to an end, so she asked, “Would you like to hear another song, Sir?”

“No, I thank you. Phoebe, you are doing very well in your studies with Miss Bennet. I shall be very proud of you if you continue to work so hard,” he said, and Phoebe curtsied and went back to Elizabeth’s side. The inquisition was over, and apparently the two of them had passed.

“Shall we go for a ramble, Miss Phoebe?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, yes, please, Miss Bennet!” Phoebe answered with some joy and relief.

Elizabeth laughed at the girl’s happiness. “Then off we two shall go! Let us visit Nurse Susie for a change of shoes and your spencer.”

The two of them said their farewells to the gathered party, and left. Elizabeth knew as soon as she was outside, she would be able to shake off the unpleasant feeling of scrutiny emanating from Mr. Darcy, who appeared to be glowering at her.

 

The day was warm – it was late July, after all – and Phoebe and Elizabeth had just finished filling a basket with delectable berries from the raspberry patch. After their interview with Mr. Darcy, they had visited the cook and begged her for another raspberry tart for dinner tomorrow. Cook had laughed and said, “Will ye gather the berries, Little Miss?” And Elizabeth and Phoebe had agreed with great spirit.

Of course, they had to sample the berries to be sure that they were of the best possible quality, so they picked a bit more than was necessary and sat down in the shade to enjoy their little repast. This, of course, was the moment when Mr. Darcy found them, mouths full of berries, with red-stained fingertips and lips. They both scrambled to their feet to make their curtsies to Mr. Darcy’s bow and looked at him expectantly.

“Phoebe, I forgot to mention. Now that I am home and you are a little older, you will begin your riding lessons. I shall teach you myself,” Mr. Darcy announced.

Phoebe’s face came over quite cross and she shouted, “No, I will not!”

Mr. Darcy’s face was quite astonished, and he replied, “It is not negotiable. You are a Darcy and you will learn to ride. There is nothing to fear.”

“I will not,” she yelled again, and turned to run away, but Elizabeth quickly shot out her hand and stopped her by the arm. She knelt down and said quietly, “Dearest, you cannot shout and run when something happens that you do not like.”

Phoebe’s face was murderous and she stuck out her chin. Elizabeth persisted. “Are you afraid to get upon a horse?” But Phoebe said nothing. “I was very afraid when I was a girl. I did not like it at all!” Behind her, she heard Mr. Darcy say, “Really, Miss Bennet, how is this –” but she waved her hand behind her back to stop him, ignoring his sharp intake of breath at her dismissal.

“My Papa tried to teach me, but I was scared to be so high off the ground. We did not have a pony, rather a rude horse named Nellie who did not care for me, though she loved my sister Jane. I had one lesson and declared to my Papa that I would never ride again! He did not press the point, but sometimes I wish he had.”

Phoebe’s chin lowered a little bit, though, as Elizabeth spoke.

“I did learn to ride at school, after I was settled in. They had much sweeter horses, and the stable master was a very kind, patient man. But I often wished I had explored my own dear country on horseback, even if it was on Nellie! Do you think you would like to consider what your Papa has offered, and then let him know tomorrow whether or not you are ready for lessons?” Elizabeth asked, and the angry look in Phoebe’s eyes went away. “After all, if you know how to ride, you and Charlie could ride ponies across the park. You know he is forever boasting of his pony Lightning…”

“Yes, that is true. Well, I do not need to wait. Papa, I am ready to begin my lessons,” Phoebe said, looking over Elizabeth’s shoulder at Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy’s disturbed countenance smoothed down, and he answered, “We shall begin tomorrow, then, at 10, before the heat of the day sets in. Miss Bennet can bring you to the stables at that hour.”

“Yes, Sir, we shall be there in good time. Miss Phoebe, shall we take these berries to Mrs. Hudson?” Elizabeth asked, and Phoebe lunged for the basket and started toward the house.

Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth followed along in silence until she said, “Sir, I believe you will find even children do well with a choice.”

“I beg your pardon?” He asked.

“If you will forgive the liberty of my saying so, Sir, everybody likes to feel asked to do things, not just be told they are happening. Even children.” Elizabeth ventured cautiously.

He said nothing, which was better than saying something high-handed, and they walked to the house in silence. It was not a peaceful silence, but neither was it tense, and for that Elizabeth could only be grateful.

 

Now after a couple of weeks of lessons, here they were. Phoebe had not increased in skill very much. While Elizabeth could hardly call herself an expert horsewoman, she had developed a tolerable seat. She could see that Phoebe continued to ride stiffly, and Mr. Darcy continued to be frustrated by her lack of improvement at their every other daily lesson. At that moment, Miss Darcy came down the path in her riding habit, having clearly just finished a ride, for her cheeks glowed with exertion and her normally perfect coiffure was slightly mussed. She stopped next to Elizabeth and asked, “How do my niece and brother do, Miss Bennet?”

“Oh, it is slow going, Miss Darcy, I am sorry to report. Miss Phoebe can be rather stubborn, and I do not think she is ready to let go of her fear, although she would not call it that,” Elizabeth answered.

Miss Darcy smiled and said quietly, “Stubborness is a trait found on both sides of our family, I am sorry to say.”

Elizabeth only smiled, rather than agreeing wholeheartedly as she wished to. “I can offer no advice to Mr. Darcy on how to achieve success in this endeavor. I am only competent as a rider. But perhaps you may offer him some guidance?”

Miss Darcy shrugged her elegant shoulders slightly, but walked over to the fence of the paddock where Mr. Darcy led Phoebe around the ring. Elizabeth could not hear them speaking, but after a few moments, Mr. Darcy stepped aside and Miss Darcy spoke to her niece and mimed the rolling rhythm of sitting atop a horse. She then made her motions jerky, and returned to making gently rolling movements, moving her hands as though with the gait of a horse. Phoebe nodded and then Miss Darcy stood to the side and Elizabeth heard her say, “Walk on!”

Phoebe began with jerky motions, but with some corrections from Miss Darcy, managed to imitate the gentle, responsive movements required to move with the pony, not against him. “Brava, Phoebe!” Elizabeth said under her breath, smiling. She stopped smiling when she realized Mr. Darcy was looking back at her, scowling.

Oh, how she wished she could scowl back!

 

The riding lessons were improving with the occasional addition of Miss Darcy’s presence and mild, useful suggestions. Soon enough, Phoebe was asking if Charlie could come over with Lightning for “a bit of a race”. Elizabeth said there would not be any racing, but a lovely ride through the park would be a great reward for working so hard to learn. July slipped into August, and all the haymaking was done for the summer. Elizabeth had a most exuberant letter from Kitty announcing her engagement to the brilliant Mr. Bradley. Phoebe had grown so much that Nurse Susie had to let down her hems again, and new stockings were needed. Elizabeth thought it was as good a time as any to begin to teach her charge how to knit, and found the child had an aptitude for it well beyond that of sewing. All in all, it had been a most delightful summer.

Indeed, the only mark against Elizabeth’s satisfaction in her post was, unfortunately, the Master. He stopped by the schoolroom at the most inconvenient times, asking for demonstrations of Phoebe’s abilities in reading and mathematics. He occasionally insisted upon accompanying the two of them in their slow horse rides around the park in the place of Joe, the cheerful groom Elizabeth and Phoebe preferred. Mr. Darcy never gave himself the trouble of saying much, and Elizabeth could not make him out at all. Why seek out Miss Phoebe if he had no real desire to speak to her? Why not just dismiss Elizabeth if his disapproval was so very great?

One morning Miss Darcy stopped in the schoolroom as Elizabeth and Phoebe were finishing up a simply patterned long shawl, Phoebe’s tongue stuck out in concentration as she cast off. “Phoebe, Miss Bennet, may I interrupt you with some very exciting news?” Miss Darcy asked.

“Oh, yes, please! Miss Bennet, is that all right?” Phoebe was so excited that she dropped a stitch. Elizabeth smiled and said, “Of course, Miss Darcy. Only one moment, if you please.” And she helped Phoebe recover the stitch before the thing unraveled.

Miss Darcy sat down at their work table and said, “Phoebe, guess who is coming for a visit? Cousin Richard!”

Phoebe gasped and clapped. “He is my favorite cousin!”

“And mine,” smiled Miss Darcy. She rarely showed much pleasure in anything, therefore Elizabeth was most curious. “May I enquire about your Cousin Richard, Miss Darcy?”

“Our dear cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, is in the military. He was injured on the continent last year, and has been working with the war office and training new army recruits since that time. I do not think he likes it much, but his right arm was badly damaged, and he can no longer fight,” Miss Darcy said. “His mother would very much like it if he found a wife and resigned his commission, but alas, no wife has yet been found.”

“Ah, how difficult for an active man not to be able to be in motion,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes, that is exactly so,” Miss Darcy replied. “Richard is happiest when he has a mission. My brother is the same, only his missions are much closer to home, happily for us.”

Elizabeth forebore replying, but instead asked, “Miss Phoebe, what say you to learning a new song to welcome your cousin?”

The child agreed eagerly, and Miss Darcy offered to play if Elizabeth and Phoebe would sing. Elizabeth pulled out her personal albums of music and Miss Darcy exclaimed over the well-curated collection, much of it copied out in Elizabeth’s hand.

“You have many songs I have never heard,” Miss Darcy said. “I see you favor Pleyel.”

“I do indeed,” Elizabeth said. “He has long been a favorite of mine. And of course Haydn.”

“Oh, I adore Haydn! Perhaps as much as Herr Mozart,” said Miss Darcy, lighting up. It occurred to Elizabeth that the best way to approach Miss Darcy was probably similarly to how she had first approached her acquaintance with Phoebe. Slowly, gently, and with great patience. How odd to be around such shy women. Her sister Jane could be serene and reserved, but Mary, Kitty, and Lydia were anything but. Her memories of being together with her sisters all involved laughter and boisterousness. Though it was nearly ten years since they had all lived together, Elizabeth still dearly loved a laugh. Still, she had accepted that her current role allowed for little society. Miss Darcy seemed to eschew society as much as possible, though entry to the highest and most exclusive circles of society must be hers for the asking.

“When will Colonel Fitzwilliam arrive, Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.

“He shall arrive in a sevenight. I shall have to speak with Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Hudson about ensuring that his rooms are ready and that all of his favorites may be served,” she answered.

“Well that is just enough time to learn a song, is it not, Miss Phoebe?” Elizabeth asked, and Phoebe nodded with vigor, and they returned to her music collection to choose just the thing.

 

When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived a week later, Elizabeth readied Phoebe and sent her with Miss Darcy to greet their relation. She waited in the drawing room with Mrs. Annesley, Miss Darcy’s lovely, genteel companion. Mrs. Annesley was perhaps in her early fifties, with silver gray hair streaking her temples and smile lines about her eyes and mouth. Elizabeth had not had much time alone with Mrs. Annesley, for she dined with the Darcys, and Elizabeth ate with Phoebe, or else alone.

The two women sat companionably, Mrs. Annesley working at her embroidery, and Elizabeth at her knitting. It appeared Mrs. Annesley was adding some detail to fine linen serviettes, and Elizabeth asked about her work.

“Yes, my niece is getting married in a month, and I shall complete this part of her trousseau,” Mrs. Annesley answered. “Her dear mother was my sister, and since she has passed, I am helping to complete as much as I can, albeit from a distance.”

“I am sure your niece is very grateful, your embroidery is quite beautiful. Whereabouts are your family? Shall you be able to attend the ceremony?” Elizabeth asked. They spent a pleasant half hour in conversation before the family returned to the room, and Elizabeth learned that Mrs. Annesley was the widow of a clergyman from a small town near Sheffield, and when Miss Darcy married, Mrs. Annesley would likely move to be with her niece and new nephew to help with any children who had arrived by then. Such was the lot of a genteel woman without ample means, and yet Mrs. Annesley and she were fortunate for their happy situations.

Elizabeth was just sharing more about Longbourn when a sound was heard at the door, and the Darcys entered with Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was carrying a gleeful Phoebe against his hip, bracing her with his uninjured arm, and laughing a great deal. Elizabeth smiled to see both of the Miss Darcys look so happy. Mr. Darcy followed in all his usual grave state.

“Ah, Mrs. Annesley!” The Colonel exclaimed. “What a pleasure to see you again, Ma’am! I trust you are well.” The Colonel took this opportunity to slide Phoebe back down onto her own two feet, and gave a bow to the two ladies in the room.

Both Elizabeth and Mrs. Annesley had risen and tucked away their work into baskets. Mrs. Annesley curtsied and Miss Darcy said, “Miss Bennet, may I have the honor of introducing you to our cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Elizabeth smiled at his pleasing, open countenance and replied, “You may indeed, Miss Darcy. The honor is all mine.” She curtsied and Phoebe dashed over to her side. Quietly she turned to Phoebe and said, “Remember, dearest, do not run indoors lest we break something,” and Phoebe nodded, threading her hand into Elizabeth’s. Miss Darcy bade them all sit and called for tea.

“Miss Bennet, I understand from Miss Darcy that you hail from Hertfordshire. Very fine country. Whereabouts?” The Colonel asked.

“A little market town called Meryton. My family’s estate was a mile east, Longbourn. The landscape is certainly very different to Derbyshire, but I find myself quite pleased to have known both so well,” she answered. Miss Darcy asked her preference for tea and handed her a cup.

“You are very well traveled for such a young woman, then?” The Colonel asked.

“It is not for me to say, but I have spent time in Hertfordshire, Suffolk, Staffordshire, and then of course London,” she answered.

“That is very well traveled indeed!” The Colonel responded. Elizabeth assisted Phoebe with balancing her cup of tea and a biscuit and answered, “I shall accept your authority on the matter, Sir, for you are surely more traveled than most! Was your journey from town pleasant?” She moved the chat away from herself and more toward general topics and the others in the room. Miss Darcy ventured a thought or two and Mrs. Annesley and Phoebe added their thoughts. Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Darcy might be moved to take responsibility for his share of the conversation, but the Colonel kept returning to speak to her, to ask her of books and her travels again and again.

Elizabeth was not uncomfortable, per se, but she also knew she was drawing more attention to herself than a governess ought and was glad when Phoebe finished her tea and sweets. At a convenient pause in the conversation, she said, “Miss Phoebe, we must return to our lessons for the rest of the day. Shall we?”

The men rose and Elizabeth and Phoebe said their goodbyes and made their curtsies to the room. Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief to be back in the schoolroom where they continued their work on writing words and Phoebe even managed a few long sentences. It was never a certain thing when male relations or friends came home to visit. Often these men saw a governess as fair game, a lady they could flirt with, or even perhaps sneak a favor or two from. Sometimes they ignored the governess as one beneath their notice, and Elizabeth often found those visitors preferable. Only time would tell what type of visitor the Colonel would be. If nothing else, he put her in the awkward position of having to speak as though she was a visiting guest, and not a servant in the household, which certainly put her out of charity with Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth wondered if she ought to drag out an even duller, plainer gown and make herself scarce over the remainder of the Colonel’s visit.

 

The next day Miss Darcy arranged to have Phoebe and Elizabeth join them after dinner to present a song in honor of the Colonel’s visit. Miss Darcy was to play, and Phoebe was to sing. They had selected a merry song, “The Jolly Young Waterman”, which Phoebe had been singing all week. Elizabeth was sure the tune would never leave her head, but it delighted Phoebe, who was sure her dear cousin Richard would love it.

It was nearly Phoebe’s bedtime, and Elizabeth was not certain that the child would be able to stay awake long enough to sing. However, to the drawing room they went, where Miss Darcy had forgone the separation of the sexes after dinner in order to have an evening of music between herself and Mrs. Annesley, with the opening act of her little niece. As they entered the room and curtsied to the assembled company, Elizabeth was struck by the beauty of the drawing room, which she had never before seen in the evening. The nights were long in the north of England, and there was still a fair amount of late evening sun coming through the windows of the room, but the lamps had been lit. Miss Darcy’s silk evening gown was a bright, rich violet and Mr. Darcy and the Colonel in their evening dress were handsome. Even Mrs. Annesley wore a very fine evening gown with pearls at her throat, and inside, Elizabeth shrugged to herself. She was in her plain navy gown with a simple hairstyle and no adornment but the garnet cross her father had given her on her twelfth birthday.

Well, no matter. She was not here to dazzle the crowd with her good looks. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and assisted Phoebe to the piano where her aunt sat waiting at the bench, then took a seat over to the side.

Miss Darcy played the bouncing introductory chords to the song, and Phoebe missed her cue to start. Miss Darcy played it once more and Phoebe realized her mistake and began, “And did you not hear of a jolly young waterman, who at Blackfriar’s Bridge used for to ply…”

She made it to the end of the first verse, but Elizabeth could see from the look in her eye that her sleepiness had caused her to forget where she was in the song. Phoebe’s face went red as Miss Darcy repeated the measure once more, then again. To avoid the little girl’s mortification, Elizabeth nearly jumped out of her seat and went to Phoebe’s side and began to sing along. “What sights of fine folks he oft row’d in his wherry…” Elizabeth sang, and she saw recognition dawn on the girl’s face. “‘Twas clean’d out so nice and so painted withal, he always first oars when the fine city ladies in a party to Ranelegh went or Vauxhall…”

Phoebe’s confidence returned and the two of them sang happily together, telling the story of the jolly young waterman falling in love with a young damsel. When they finished, the company clapped, including Miss Darcy, and Elizabeth and Phoebe curtsied, ready to return to the nursery.

“Bravo, Miss Bennet, we have never heard you sing before,” said Mrs. Annesley.

Elizabeth’s cheeks pinked slightly and she answered, “You are too kind, ma’am. Miss Phoebe, I believe we should say our goodnights and return to the nursery. Nurse Susie will be wondering where you are soon enough!”

“No, you must not rush off, Miss Bennet!” cried the Colonel. “Will not you give us a song of your own?”

Elizabeth began to demur, but Miss Darcy chimed in. “Miss Bennet, Mrs. Annesley is quite right. We have never heard you sing, and it is quite enchanting. Will you sing for us?”

Elizabeth looked around the room and caught Mr. Darcy’s eye. He looked so severe that she could not imagine obliging the company. Instead she said, “You are all too kind. I beg you would excuse me, though, poor Miss Phoebe really must go to bed. Let us say goodnight now, Miss Phoebe.” What a convenient excuse a child’s sleep could be!

They said goodnight to the party and Elizabeth returned her charge to Nurse Susie, who quickly helped the child wash and dress for bed. She was asleep in a trice and Elizabeth was finally at her leisure to enjoy the pot of chamomile and mint Mrs. Hudson was always kind enough to have sent up to her each evening.

 

Elizabeth had been inspired by her re-read of Mrs. Roche’s novels and had been waiting for a good evening to sit down and write out a few ideas for a possible future novel to write now that the Misses Bell was more or less completed. She opened her notebook and surprised herself by writing for nearly two hours. The chamomile did not have the usual effect on her, and rather than drowsy, she felt energized by her successful evening of writing. Elizabeth was attempting to remember the opening style of Mrs. Roche’s novel The Maid of the Hamlet. It began to irk her that she had not written down her reaction to the opening lines, and she knew she would not rest until she read the beginning of the novel again.

She rarely wandered about Pemberley after hours, but who could she bother at this hour, and in the library of all places? So Elizabeth took a candle and made her way toward that end of the house.

As she neared the library, she passed Mr. Darcy’s study. The door had been left ajar and she could hear male voices. She froze, wondering at the wisdom of passing by the room with the light of a candle to expose her when she heard Colonel Fitwilliam say, “Come, Darcy, you must admit it! Miss Bennet is a rather pretty girl. Unusually pretty, I daresay.”

“I do not make a habit of ogling the women in my employ, Richard,” Mr. Darcy said. “And even if I did, Miss Bennet is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed red to hear herself so spoken of, and retreated quickly to her room before she was found wandering the halls. Back in her pretty little bedchamber, she washed her face, and took down her hair to braid it. She avoided her reflection in the mirror and when she finally lay in bed, she allowed herself a frustrated screech that turned into a laugh. Elizabeth had been attempting to make out Mr. Darcy’s character even before she had met the man, and she was more sure than ever he had the makings of an excellent villain in one of her future novels. She huffed and scoffed to herself until she finally fell asleep, imagining literary revenge.

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Derbyshire
August, 1814

Darcy had never encountered a woman like Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He was used to complete, stultifying deference from the female sex, and Miss Bennet showed the bare minimum. Hardly a passable amount for one in service, even. He was used to nothing but the most banal subjects of conversation, and Miss Bennet seemed allergic to such chatter, judging by the occasions he overheard her in conversation with others. He was used to seeing gentlewomen dressed in the finest gowns they possessed around him, and Miss Bennet seemed to eschew even little bits of embroidery on her plain gowns.

He found her intriguing, and he could only assume the reason for that was he was frequently confounded by her behavior.

One day he and Fitzwilliam were out riding the estate and they saw Miss Bennet and Phoebe walking along the brook with a footman trailing them at a short distance. “Shall not we ride over to them, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam asked. “After all, I know how you enjoy staring at Miss Bennet. Now you may see her up close in what might be her natural habitat: a tempting little water nymph cavorting about.”

Darcy merely scoffed.

“Come now, she is very pretty, is she not?” Fitzwilliam pushed. “That must be why you look at her so.”

“I look at her to ensure that she is not leading my child into a path of eccentricity. After all, what gentlewoman enters service if she has any means to avoid it? Mrs. Reynolds told me the woman has relatively well off relations in London, Suffolk, and Hertfordshire, and they seem to be on good terms. I cannot account for it.” Darcy asked.

“I cannot begin to guess, myself. Certainly no woman in our family would do such a thing,” Fitzwilliam answered. “But then, no woman in our family could live on less than £50 a quarter, now could she? It would be quite a come down for them to be so reduced, so the family must continue to be prosperous. Miss Bennet does not seem to see it as a degradation.”

“Precisely. It seems unnatural,” Darcy responded. He wished to veer the subject away from Miss Bennet, a woman who agitated him nearly every time they interacted. “Will you be able to stay for our house party in Autumn? It is a certain thing now. Georgie and I are putting together the guest list. We shall be shooting grouse.”

“I cannot really hold a gun anymore, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam said. “I am lucky enough to ride, but it is doubtful that I shall ever go out on the hunt again.”

They were both quiet and Fitzwilliam offered, “I must return to the home office as planned, but I shall see about returning for the last week.”

Darcy nodded and the two lapsed into their own thoughts as they rode along. He could hear his child’s merry shouts and yelps fading into the distance, but he refused to turn and look lest Fitzwilliam accuse him of wishing to propose marriage to the governess.

 

The next Sunday morning dawned gray, hot, and still, the type of August day that generally presaged a storm. Georgiana and Phoebe came down the stairs for church, followed sedately by Mrs. Annesley who was chatting with Miss Bennet. There was something different about the young woman, but Darcy could not place it, nor did he have the opportunity to study her, for his sister, her companion, and his daughter all were handed into the coach in which he rode, and Miss Bennet entered the second one with the other upper servants. Fitzwilliam rode alongside the carriage, making several remarks on the heat of the morning and the great quantities of ices he intended to eat at dinner to make up for it.

The family all entered their pew, and Miss Bennet sat in the row behind them, therefore he still did not have the opportunity to place what was different. Yet when they exited the church after service and stood about speaking to their neighbors and tenants, Darcy watched as Miss Bennet stood to the side with the vicar’s mother, Mrs. Washington. It was then that he was able to spot the difference: color. Her gown was a bright, creamy yellow of sprigged muslin with light green ribbons near the hem of the skirt. Her spencer was the same as always – a plain piece done in blue, but she had tucked several flowers into the brim of her chipped bonnet, and her hair seemed to be treated differently, with a bit more care than usual.

As his neighbors engaged with Fitzwilliam and Georgiana over the weather – all were in agreement about the heat and were hopeful of a coming rainstorm – Mr. Washington finally joined his mother and Miss Bennet. They spoke cheerfully together, indicating a familiar acquaintance, rather than a mere civil show. Somebody asked whether or not the Earl of Matlock had dropped anything of interest about the recently passed Highways Act, and Darcy was forced to return his attention to the conversation. Therefore he lost sight of Miss Bennet as they reboarded the carriages. When they arrived back at Pemberley, he realized that the governess was not among them.

“Where is Miss Bennet?” he asked Mrs. Reynolds as they walked through the entrance of the house.

“Oh, she is with the Washingtons for the afternoon. Occasionally she takes tea with them. Miss Phoebe’s nurse shall mind her, never fear,” Mrs. Reynolds answered.

“Does she do this often?” Darcy asked, feeling annoyance begin to rise in his breast.

“Oh, not very, Sir. She has befriended the Washingtons and been to tea perhaps four or five times since she has been with us at Pemberley. It was Mrs. Washington who facilitated the introduction to young Master Gladwell’s governess, and now he and Miss Phoebe are the best of friends,” Mrs. Reynolds answered cheerfully.

“I see. Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds,” Darcy answered, and followed his family and Mrs. Annesley for tea in the east parlor, where the windows had an excellent cross breeze when the door was propped just so, even in the stillest of weather. His irritation died down, though he hardly knew why it had risen up. Perhaps because Miss Bennet was not entitled to take a half day whenever it suited her.

Darcy accepted a cup of tea and a slice of his favorite seed cake from Georgiana and allowed himself to be pulled into the conversation about the house party. It was determined that Bingley and his younger unmarried sister would be in attendance, though his elder sister and her husband would not, as their long-awaited heir had recently been born. The rest of the party had to be selected carefully, as he hoped among the men his sister might meet her future husband, but there needed to be enough women. Among those women, it was Darcy’s hope that none were single. Bingley’s sister would be bad enough.

They discussed the party with Mrs. Annesley, to whom he had recently confided his aim: if Georgiana could meet the right man in an environment where she felt comfortable, perhaps it would go differently than her seasons in London had done. He had said nothing to Georgiana about the matter, merely that he wished to give her experience hosting a larger entertainment and to have some friends for hunting. The group set down to seriously considering which company to assemble. After an hour’s worth of discussion, with Fitzwilliam occasionally chiming in from across the room where he lounged with a book, a guest list was agreed upon. Darcy’s aim had largely been achieved: there would be a mix of single men and their female relations, mostly married or engaged sisters or the occasional mother or aunt, though a couple of single women could not be helped. His Aunt Matlock would be amongst them, as well as her youngest daughter Anna, who was yet unmarried after five seasons, much to her mother’s dismay. Anna, unfortunately, fancied herself a free spirit.

Darcy went to his study and sat down to begin his letters of invitation. Bingley he knew to be up in Scarborough visiting family, most of whom were no longer in trade, but generation by generation they climbed toward gentility. He and Charles Bingley had met at Cambridge when Bingley was just beginning and Darcy was nearly finished. Though some of his family had disdained the connection, Darcy had been charmed by Bingley’s amiability and genuine affability – he had known little of such openness in his life amongst most of his acquaintances. Bingley had inherited a handsome sum from his father, who had sold most of his interests in trade by the time the Bingley children were young, but never lived to purchase an estate. Bingley had made attempts here and there over the years, but had not yet committed. Bingley was a true friend, but Darcy had long given up any fledgling hope that he and Georgiana might come to anything. If Bingley saw Georgie as anything other than a little sister, Darcy had yet to see it. Still, even if there was never to be a match between the two, Bingley made company easier to bear, even with the addition of his sister.

The other letters were dispatched to various estates across the country. Darcy had gone so far as to consider whether he could bear for Georgiana to fall in love with any friends more than fifty miles away, but had dismissed such thinking as foolishness, so a letter to Ambrose Wright in Dorset was added to the pile, as was one for John Cuthbert in Northumberland. When all was said and done, they were to have fourteen guests, heavier on the male company than female. A few younger single women in the party could not be helped where Darcy thought there was a possibility of compatibility between a friend and Georgiana.

After about an hour of attending to the invitations most dutifully, Darcy stood up to stretch his back and flex his hand. A sudden strong breeze came through the window and swept several pieces of paper to the floor. He set a book on top of the remainder of the pile and walked over to pick up what had fallen, eyeing the sky through the window as he knelt. Rain was definitively on the way, judging from the dark clouds moving in from the west. As he sorted the papers, he looked idly back up to see a figure in a yellow gown running up the footpath that led from Lambton. Darcy let out a mild oath when he realized it was Miss Bennet. What, had Washington allowed her to walk home, when the man keeps a serviceable carriage! He made his way down to the side entrance where he knew she must be headed, closing the window as the first fat drops of rain began to fall from the heavens.

He reached the hallway at the same moment the young woman burst through the doors, thanking the footman who had let her in. “I was quite sure I would arrive looking as though I had swum the channel, Jones, I thank you for your speedy service at the door!” The footman let a smile slip as she started to remove her bonnet, the flowers she had tucked in the brim lost somewhere along her run. Darcy cleared his throat and both Jones and Miss Bennet looked up in surprise. Jones was wise enough to be embarrassed by his slip of emotion toward the young woman in front of the master, and bowed to leave the room with as much dignity and speed as he was able to muster. But Miss Bennet merely curtsied and said, “Mr. Darcy, Sir. How do you do?”

Darcy was nearly speechless. The hem of her gown was six inches deep in dust from the dry path, but had she been even ten minutes later, that dust would surely have been mud from the sound of the rain that was now beating the windows of the hall. Her eyes were bright from the exercise of running, and her cheeks glowed most healthfully. Darcy found his voice and said, “Miss Bennet, do you mean to tell me that Washington allowed you to walk home unaccompanied with the threat of a storm in the air?”

“Do I mean to tell you that he allowed me, Sir? Certainly not, I allowed myself,” she answered, her face a mixture of confusion and scarcely hidden affront, but her voice even and level. She untangled a last strand of hair from her bonnet and Darcy saw how the humidity and walk had made her most disheveled.

“You walked nearly five miles alone, to say nothing of the weather? Miss Bennet, whatever could you have been thinking?” Darcy said, almost in shock that he needed to have such a conversation with a woman who was meant to have excellent sense and judgment.

Miss Bennet’s eyes blazed for one moment and she opened her mouth to say something, but then seemed to change her mind. Instead she said, “Sir, I hope you will excuse my lapse in judgment. It is so rare that I am able to indulge in my passion for solitary walks that I was carried away. Pemberley is so safe, and you know most of the path is on your lands. There are always servants on the path heading to and fro the village, and I met a few on my way. I hope you will not hold my lapse in propriety against me, Sir.”

Darcy was now wrongfooted, for he meant to bring up the lapse in propriety himself, but she beat him to it. Instead after a moment, he was able to bluster out, “See that it does not happen again, Miss Bennet. I hope that you do not treat my daughter’s safety as cavalierly as you do your own.”

“Certainly not, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” she answered, holding her head up with the bearing of a wrongfully accused queen. She curtsied and headed toward the stairs to reach the schoolroom and governess’ apartment and said, “You are too generous, I thank you for your understanding.”

Darcy stood staring after her, and finally muttered, “I am sorry to say that I understand nothing about you, Madam.”
`

The rain continued unabated for the next three days, swelling the brook and river, and driving the household mad. The ground was not suitable for riding, and one could only read so much or play so many games of billiards. One afternoon, having had enough backgammon with Fitzwilliam, Darcy decided a walk through the house would suit and work off some energy.

He made his way through the family wing, then to the guest wing, where he overheard two dusting maids singing a tune he couldn’t quite place. He walked up to the attics, then back down to the public rooms. His feet finally carried him to the gallery, where he heard carrying voices. It was Phoebe and Miss Bennet. The red carpet runner dampened the noise of his footsteps and he went a little closer to where they sat on two little stools someone must have placed for them. They were sitting in front of a portrait of Anne deBourgh-Darcy.

It had been done three months after their marriage, when Anne’s health had started to improve. She wore a white silk gown in the portrait, and held a book in her hand, which was often how she could be found in life. Darcy remembered that it was a copy of one of her favorites that she had brought with her, Candide, by Voltaire. How Anne had loved that novel, and how she’d had to hide it from her mother! But it was a favorite of her father Sir Lewis deBourgh’s, and Darcy could hardly fault the two of them sharing a love of the satire. That love was immortalized on the canvas. Darcy wondered what had become of the green leatherbound book, whether it was still in the mistress’ chambers, or if somebody had absorbed it into the Pemberley shelves.

Miss Bennet’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Your mama was quite lovely, Miss Phoebe. I can see much of her in you,” she said. Darcy could hear a fond kindness in her voice, and for a moment, it gave him a little twinge in his chest, though exactly why he could not say.

“Thank you, Miss Bennet. I do not think she and I look alike at all, though,” Phoebe answered.

“You certainly do have the look of your father, that is true. You are tall, and you have very handsome dark, wavy hair, and I believe you have the same eyes as Mr. Darcy and your Aunt Miss Darcy. But look, can you see the shape of Mrs. Darcy’s cheeks? They are very like your own, my dear. She is not smiling so very large in this painting, but perhaps she had a dimple in her cheek as well? We always carry our mamas with us, no matter what we look like. There is always something of them to be found in us,” Miss Bennet answered, and the two were silent for a while.

Darcy’s throat suddenly felt thick, and he turned away before he was spotted. He saw that Miss Bennet had a sketchbook and pencils with her. She must have been planning for Phoebe to copy a painting as practice in her book, as he remembered Georgiana’s governess doing with her charge so many years ago. He wondered if Phoebe would draw her mother for practice, and the thought felt quite bittersweet.

Walking slowly back to his study, he recalled that he had a rather nice sketch of Anne that Mrs. Jenkinson had done in the last month of her pregnancy with Phoebe. It was from the neck up, and she had captured Anne’s likeness on a good day, when she had been able to keep some food down, and had accepted a bath and had her hair styled in a becoming manner. Darcy went to his files and pulled out the unframed work. He rang for Mrs. Reynolds and asked her to wrap up the sketch to be sent to Bakewell to be framed. When the lady exclaimed over the quality of the likeness, Darcy merely shrugged and said, “Mrs. Jenkinson was talented. I had forgotten that I had it in my possession. It ought to be Phoebe’s, do not you think?”

Mrs. Reynolds teared up. “I do, very much so, Sir.”

“Good, good,” answered Darcy gruffly. “Then let us get to it.”

 

Next Sunday at church, the coaches fell into the same pattern: the family all together in the first carriage, then the upper servants in the following vehicles. Darcy observed that Miss Bennet was back in her dull garb, therefore he deduced that she was to return to Pemberley with her original party. After the service was over, he stood once more with his neighbors, remarking on the weather, the sermon, and any other odd bit of news disguised as gossip the flock could think of. Darcy let his eyes wander over the churchyard, and he saw Miss Bennet once again with the Washingtons. He watched as Mrs. Washington stepped away from Miss Bennet and her son, and how the two fell into easy conversation. Darcy was certain he did not mistake the appreciative look in Washington’s eye, and he bristled once more. Really, for a clergyman to behave so in front of all his parish – openly admiring a young woman, one essentially out on her own, too.

He cut the conversation he was currently engaged in short and gestured to round up his party. The day was already quite hot, and he found himself languid and querulous, therefore it was best to leave before he insult or offend anybody. He knew from experience it was a weak point of his. The family moved toward the carriages, which thankfully moved the servants along as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Miss Bennet and Mr. Washington curtsy and bow to each other, apparently in perfect accord.

What can he want with her? Darcy wondered. She is young and healthy, I suppose, but she cannot have two pennies to rub together beyond her salary with us. Her looks are good, but nothing out of the common way. By the time they returned to Pemberley, he was certain it was nothing, that Washington must have had some intelligence to share with her about the community. They certainly were not going to lose their governess to the parsonage any time soon. The living at Lambton was quite good, about £400 a year, when one took the glebe into account. Washington could get himself a bride with a reasonable dowry of four or five thousand.

There was nothing to worry about.

 

Responses to his invitations began to come in. There was only one regret, which put them at just fourteen visitors. He took the last positive response down to the salon where he believed Georgiana might be. As he passed the morning room, he heard a footman humming as he polished the silver and again, the melody tickled at his brain – he had heard it somewhere before. Granted, the footman, young Smith, did not appear to be rich with the gift of tunefulness. Ah, well.

As he drew nearer to the salon, he heard female voices. He put his hand on the door knob and stopped when he heard Miss Bennet say, “Miss Darcy, it is true that there are some very wicked people in this world, but it is likewise true that there are some very good ones. You made a nearly ruinous mistake when you were very young and inexperienced. Do not continue to make the ruinous mistake of not trusting again.”

Darcy sucked in his breath, then hoped his approach had not been heard. He did not intend to stand there and eavesdrop, but the very idea that Georgie had shared any of her history with Miss Bennet had shocked him to his core.

He could hear what sounded like muffled sobs through the door and was this close to opening it when the murmuring noise of a woman’s comfort came through next. He imagined that Miss Bennet was patting his sister on the shoulder, or embracing her, and Darcy finally found the impetus to pick up his feet and retreat to his study, where he allowed himself to wonder at it all, and whether or not it would do his sister any good to confess to another person. He had his differences with Miss Bennet, but he was certain he could depend upon her secrecy. Darcy allowed himself an afternoon brandy, and sat staring out the window until it was time to dress for dinner.

 

August gave way to September, and they held a farewell dinner for Fitzwilliam who was returning to town to resume his work at the war office. The women departed for the drawing room after dinner, and Darcy and Fitzwilliam each selected a cigar. Darcy had requested one of the best vintages of his brandy collection, and the sweet, oaky smell mingled with the smoke as the two relaxed into their seats.

“Will you give up your commission, do you think? I know you do not need to hear it from me, but your mother and sister will be coming here, and I know it will be the first thing Aunt Cassandra will ask…” Darcy said, exhaling a large puff of smoke.

Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes, but paused a moment before answering. “It is likely I shall. She is right, I need to get serious about finding a wife. It will not be easy with this injury and all my scars. Mother believes any woman of the first circles would jump to accept my suit, but I am damaged goods, and may need to look further afield, for a woman possibly of a lower class, but with a large dowry to silence all objections,” he said, gazing at the golden light settling over the prospect from the dining room windows.

“It is nonsense to call yourself damaged goods, Richard. Absolute nonsense,” Darcy responded.

“I must speak as I know I will be found. The marriage mart is little more than a set of mathematical calculations designed to put oneself as far ahead as possible. That is often how we see women, and therefore, they should see us men exactly the same,” he said.

“A bleak view, but unfortunately, there is truth to it,” Darcy nodded once.

“Well, there you have it. As I am stopping at Matlock on my way up to town, now you shall arm me with the intelligence I know I will be pressed for as soon as I have been fed. Mother will want to know if this house party is intended to help you find a second wife,” Fitzwilliam said, swallowing a healthy sip of brandy. He winced as it burned in his throat, but then let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“Hardly. This party is for Georgie,” he said, and the best part of being friends with Fitzwilliam was that he really did know when to let sleeping dogs lie.

“To Georgie, then,” Fitzwilliam lifted his glass.

“To our Georgie,” Darcy responded. And they finished their drinks and cigars, and made their way to the ladies.

When they arrived in the drawing room, Miss Bennet and Phoebe were there. Georgiana said, “We shall have a song for you from Phoebe in honor of your last night at Pemberley, Richard.”

“I am glad to hear it, my dearest ladies!” he said cheerfully, the dourness of the last half hour worn off. “Come, Phoebe, Miss Bennet, what are we to hear?”

“I am going to sing the Lizzy Song,” said Phoebe. “It is my favorite of all. But I wish for Miss Bennet to sing with me.”

“Oh, Miss Phoebe, you sing that song beautifully on your own, dearest,” Miss Bennet protested.

“Please, Miss Bennet? I want Cousin Richard to hear you sing it, for you sing it best,” Phoebe said.

Miss Bennet stood and led Phoebe to the piano. As she settled herself at the keyboard, she said, “There is a very fine old saying which everybody here knows, of course. Keep your breath to cool your porridge, and I shall keep mine to swell my song.” She smiled, and Darcy could not help smiling back.

She played the sweet rolling measures of the opening of the song, and suddenly Darcy knew the tune that he had been hearing his servants singing all over the estate. He had only heard Miss Bennet sing the first night Fitzwilliam had come to Pemberley. It had been a cheerful, rousing song and it was difficult to hear the actual quality of her voice. But now listening to her warm, rich alto paired with Phoebe’s high little voice, he felt enchanted.

The pair sang beautifully together, and they ended their song to thunderous applause. Darcy was even sure he heard the footsteps of some of the servants in the hall. Miss Bennet played another two songs for Phoebe to sing, and they made their exit. As they left, Fitzwilliam gave Darcy a knowing look, to which Darcy could only roll his eyes. They finished their evening amicably, the party playing at cards and laughing until nobody could keep their eyes open.

When Darcy’s valet Evans helped him undress that evening, the man said, “‘Tis a catchy tune, is it not, Sir?”

Darcy was startled to realize he had been singing. “What, Evans?”

“The Lizzy Song, Sir. It has become quite a favorite around these parts,” Evans replied, “Below stairs one can hardly escape it.”

Darcy frowned at his lapse of concentration, but more so at whatever had come over him. For the first time in many years, he felt a sort of inexplicable lightness. He lay awake for the next hour, attempting to locate the source.

Notes:

It just occurred to me people might like to hear the Lizzy Song. Here is a particularly lovely version:

https://youtu.be/_29xswm9YdE

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Derbyshire
September, 1814

 

Elizabeth sat with Phoebe in the schoolroom having just completed their lessons in geography for the day. They had been working on the counties of England, and tracing Phoebe’s mother’s home county of Kent all the way up to Derbyshire. “How long would it take to travel there, Miss Bennet?” Phoebe asked.

“It is a very good distance, as you see. Do you remember how many miles Pemberley is from Lambton?” Elizabeth asked.

“One?” Phoebe guessed. Elizabeth laughed and gave her a slight squeeze on the nose, at which Phoebe also laughed. “No, silly, ‘tis five, as I think you well know!”

“Yes, that is right, it is five!” Phoebe answered, laughing still.

“And you know that a carriage ride between Pemberley and Lambton takes not quite half an hour if the horses are going at a trot, correct?” Elizabeth continued, pleased at the opportunity for a practical lesson. “I know not where your Mama’s home was, but here, let us get our map of England out and see if we can calculate the length of time it would take to get from Derbyshire to Kent.”

They spent an engaged hour mapping their routes across England, starting with Derbyshire to Kent, then going from Kent to Meryton, then down to Brighton, where Phoebe said Cousin Richard spent a good deal of time. They discussed the difference between riding post or riding the coach, and how one must stop to rest one’s horses, if one was lucky enough to have horses. When they had exhausted the subject of how long it would take to go from Pemberley to Kent, Phoebe said, “I wonder if I shall ever see Rosings, where my Grandmama lives.”

Elizabeth was at a loss to answer, for it did not occur to her that Miss Phoebe had any living grandparents at all, for nobody spoke of them. At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and she called “Enter”. Miss Darcy came through.

“Aunt Georgie, where in Kent is Rosings?” Phoebe asked, and Miss Darcy, though surprised, answered, “It is perhaps ten miles or so west of Maidstone, near the village of Hunsford.”

“Thank you. I shall find that on the map,” Phoebe said, and set to work hunting for the town.

Elizabeth stood and walked over to Miss Darcy. “She has been curious about her Mama, lately,” Elizabeth quietly explained. “Although I confess I had no idea she had any living grandparents."

“Oh, yes, Lady Catherine. Phoebe has not seen her above twice in her young life, I do not think,” Miss Darcy answered. “She does send me letters to read with Phoebe about once a month, or she did, rather. It has somewhat dwindled, though I did not realize it until now.”

Elizabeth was not sure of any of the circumstances, except that it all sounded quite sad, and she said so.

“I agree, it is all quite sad. I believe Aunt Catherine likely regrets having pushed so hard for the match between her daughter and my brother. Anne was never in very good health, and carrying and delivering Phoebe required strength she did not have,” Miss Darcy said, and Elizabeth was silent.

Finally she offered, “Do you think Lady Catherine would be willing to receive correspondence from Miss Phoebe?”

Miss Darcy looked thoughtful. “Perhaps she would. I do not know why she stays away. After my niece was born, I was certain Lady Catherine would be banging down the doors trying to convince my brother to send Phoebe to Rosings. Perhaps hearing from Phoebe could give the lady some joy.”

“I cannot believe it would make her anything other than pleased,” Elizabeth said. “Would you be willing to share Lady Catherine’s direction?” They would begin Phoebe’s correspondence on the morrow.

Miss Darcy inquired if they were free to go into Lambton for the afternoon with her. She was much occupied with the house party that would take place in October, and wished to take her mind off of things with a visit to the milliner’s. “I certainly do not want for any trimmings, but perhaps you may like to purchase something?” Miss Darcy asked. “We shall be low on ladies this visit, as my brother’s primary purpose behind the party is hunting. I intend to invite you to dine with us often in the evenings.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth said. “That is most kind of you, but I cannot imagine Mr. Darcy would agree to such a plan.” Her discomfort with the idea of scheme was immediate, but she had no way of explaining to Miss Darcy why.

“Of course he will agree to it! And I do not mean every night, Miss Bennet. But perhaps on some of the evenings where we are quite uneven with company. Often we shall have some local neighbors with us to dine. I suggested to Mrs. Annesley that you might enjoy some society. She and I have both so enjoyed your conversation since you have been with us.” Miss Darcy was quite earnest, so rather than outright saying no to the request, Elizabeth merely smiled and said, “Thank you. As the time draws near, I am sure it will all work out.”

Elizabeth had no need of ribbons, but agreed to a ride to Lambton so long as they could visit the bookseller’s. She had ordered a copy of Fanny Burney’s The Wanderer, and believed it ought to have arrived by now. She ordinarily made use of the lending library, but could not bear to wait any longer for Miss Burney’s latest, and so she had decided a little extravagance was in order.

She prepared Phoebe for their impromptu outing and set her mind to work on the problem of avoiding Miss Darcy’s request. Elizabeth was surprised that Mrs. Annesley would support the idea – she ought to know better than anybody else in the house the difficulties involved with being a gentlewoman in service. The difference between a governess and companion, however, was vast. A companion was in the room with the family, meant to lend aid to the ladies of the house with society, and the governess was behind closed doors, meant to avoid it. She sighed to herself. It would come to nothing, as Mr. Darcy certainly would not tolerate such a situation at his dinner table. Therefore she rode to Lambton in Miss Darcy’s open-air landau with a light heart, holding hands with Phoebe, and listening to Miss Darcy pointing out occasional points of interest as they rolled along.

 

Lizzy Bennet of Longbourn had been a very lively girl, quite fond of visiting alongside her Mama and Jane. She took great pleasure in society, and before the loss of her parents had daydreamed of what it would like to come out. She and Mary went away to school still grief-stricken with the triple loss of their parents, Jane, and Longbourn, but after a few months, she was able to occasionally smile again. Once they shed their mourning clothes, Elizabeth enjoyed walks with Mary and their friends, and the little amusements girls got up to at country schools. Though she did not know at the age of fourteen that she would someday eschew the thought of being a wife in favor of being in service, what brought her to the point was watching husbands and wives over the next few years.

She knew William Collins was a fool, and completely unworthy to be the husband of Jane Bennet, let alone the master of Longbourn. Reading between the lines of family letters, including those from her elder sister, Elizabeth could see that Jane did all the work of running the estate, while Mr. Collins got all the credit. On Elizabeth’s last visit to the Gardiners before she found herself working for the Hobsons in the north, Aunt Maggie confided that Jane and Uncle Edward had managed to set up an account in the four percents. They had explained to Mr. Collins that this was what all landholders did, but that one must never touch the principal, nor the interest, if one could help it, lest one be considered ungenteel. It had never occurred to Mr. Collins to ask why Mr. Bennet had never done such a thing.

Aunt Maggie whispered that since Hiram Collins’ death, Jane had managed to save nearly a third of Longbourn’s income each year. Elizabeth knew that this money was intended to do all manner of things: provide support in lean years, be a dowry for any daughters and give consequence to the sons, help with repairs and investments to the property. And it was beyond Elizabeth why a man with every right and opportunity available to him did not see the sense of doing the work of protecting his family and property himself, and instead left it to his wife.

Then there was the housekeeper at Miss Wellington’s, the long-suffering Mrs. Pallant. Her husband was meant to be a sort of man of all work. As far as Elizabeth could tell, he was a man of hardly any work. Mr. Pallant was never around when any sort of unpleasantness was happening, leaving messes and heavy loads to Mrs. Pallant and the maids. Elizabeth heard whisperings amongst the kitchen staff that Mr. Pallant “drank away his wages” and even lost his finest coat in a card game at the inn. Once, while Elizabeth was working as a teacher in the school, she had overheard Mrs. Pallant begging Miss Wellington to give Mr. Pallant another chance. “My dear Harriet,” Miss Wellington had kindly answered. “I believe he is on his eighth or ninth chance, now. When is it to end?” Mrs. Pallant went on to explain how beastly Mr. Pallant would be if he lost his work, how it was important that a man be a provider. Miss Wellington had said nothing, but Elizabeth knew the lady’s many looks. She was sure Miss Wellington’s face was a mixture of frustration, resignation, and fondness for her housekeeper, who really was a good sort of woman. So Mr. Pallant had stayed on, and as far as Elizabeth knew, he was still there today, doing exactly as he had always done. Drinking away all his wages and probably most of his wife’s, too.

Perhaps the best example of all the ways marriage could go wrong were her own parents. With Longbourn entailed, and with the birth of each successive daughter, Mrs. Bennet had become sillier and more anxious. And as Mrs. Bennet’s nerves grew more fragile, Mr. Bennet’s worst tendencies – indolence, sarcasm, dismissiveness – had increased right alongside Fanny Bennet’s famous nerves. Elizabeth had often wondered what drew her parents together in the first place. Her father’s intelligence was more engaging and lively when she was younger, and her mother’s spirits were not so easily agitated. At one point, there must have been a very great liking between the two, but it had fizzled out into a benign affection at best and a contentious atmosphere at worst.

Although her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were an excellent example of marital felicity, Elizabeth did not care for the odds. She used to consider herself romantic when she was younger, and in her heart, she still did believe that elevating, pure love could exist. But she also believed Miss Wellington had the right of it: control your own destiny, never give it away to a man who might hold the responsibility as cheap as dirt.

Miss Wellington was of a good family in Suffolk, but one that had unfortunately dwindled down. She inherited her parents’ home, as well as their modest fortune when she was twenty-eight. Miss Wellington had a decent enough dowry before the event of her father’s death, but her plain looks and bluestocking tendencies had driven away any potential suitors in the neighborhood. When she was the mistress of a house and land, men who had ignored her most of her life were suddenly most attentive. Her widowed aunt and that lady’s companion came to live with her, and together the three formed a plan. They sold off most of the land, maintaining a lovely little park and the cherry and apple orchards, and set about creating a school for young ladies. Miss Wellington’s school could comfortably hold 30 students and had created a most salubrious environment for young girls. The gardens and park were charming and the house was comfortable and well maintained. Miss Wellington was firm, but loving and it seemed that the lady had all the happiness she needed in helping young girls grow up into ladies.

During the last year Elizabeth taught at the school, she asked Miss Wellington whether or not she wished she had ever married, and the woman’s answer stuck with Elizabeth. “Absolutely not, my dear," she had said most emphatically. "Would it have been pleasant to be a mother? I do not know. Would it have been charming to have been loved and to be loved by a husband? Perhaps. But what I do know is I love this house as it is, my friends as they are, and the right to run my life as I see fit. I could not bear to have any of it taken away from me by a husband.”

And so Elizabeth’s opinion of marriage was cemented. As with any path not taken, there would always be regrets. Elizabeth had choices and resources enough to wait for good positions, and not grab at the first thing she could get. She had family whom she loved dearly, and who all had a care for her. The very idea of a man taking credit for any of her hard work or cleverness, or mocking her into hysterics, or even just ignoring her needs – the idea that a man and wife were meant to be one, when the man so clearly could subsume the woman if he wished. Well. Elizabeth found she could bear the solitude of being a governess very cheerfully above such a fate.

 

A week after their excursion to Lambton (Elizabeth had stayed up late every night that week to finish The Wanderer, which was most excellent), she had a letter from her Uncle Gardiner. She patiently waited until dinner with Phoebe had been completed, and handed the child into Nurse Susie’s care. She then wandered out to the rose garden to her favorite bench. Although the roses in September were nothing to their mid-summer glory, Mr. Clarke told her many of the varieties Lady Anne Darcy had cultivated were chosen because they would bloom until the first frost. Elizabeth shivered with pleasure as she wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and smelled the first hints of the coming autumn from the trees starting to turn at the edges of the woods.

Settling down on the stone bench amongst the lovely pale pink climbers she and Phoebe had often admired, Elizabeth opened her letter. Uncle Edward wrote of their excursion to Lyme, and how the ladies had been all delight to go seabathing. He also said that they had been in company at the inn with a publisher and his family.

Kitty and Lydia had your fair copy of The Misses Bell and made so bold as to share some pages with the man’s daughter. Miss Henning was in raptures over the story, and showed it to her papa. Lizzy, I hope you will not be vexed at Lydia and Kitty sharing out of turn, for although they were not authorized to say anything about the book, the girls are your greatest champions, and they adore the story of the three Miss Bells making their way in the world.

Mr. Henning and his wife read the first chapter and enquired if they might read the rest. This I could not do without your permission, and so promised to call on him when we were all returned to town and settled. Upon learning more about the novel, he thinks it could do well if published in three volumes. What do you think, Lizzy? He is only the first publisher to whom we have spoken, and I will not countenance anything but the best of agreements for you, should he make an offer. Shall I act for you, my dear girl?

Elizabeth let the letter fall to her lap and let out a deep breath. This was what she had been hoping for someday, and now that it was a possibility rather than just a dream, she felt odd. To share her first novel with the world meant that she was leaving behind the possibility that The Misses Bell could be untouched by any criticism from the outside world, that it could continue to be refined until it reached some mythical distant, future perfection. Elizabeth did not know she felt that way until just now. “And yet, what are novels for, but to be read, and to be out in the world, as we all are?” she murmured to herself, thinking aloud.

“What was that, Miss Bennet?” a lady’s voice spoke, and Elizabeth managed to stifle her shriek of surprise.

“Oh! Mrs. Annesley,” Elizabeth breathed out. “You did startle me, ma’am.”

“I apologize, Miss Bennet, it was not my intention. In fact, I shall add it to another apology I mean to offer you,” the lady said, walking up to Elizabeth’s spot on the stone bench, gesturing to the empty space beside her.

Elizabeth nodded and moved over a few inches. “Two apologies from you in one evening, madam, I am all curiosity,” she said.

“Well,” said Mrs. Annesley. “In addition to frightening you so badly, I must also apologize for not curtailing Miss Darcy’s enthusiasm for having you beside her for many of the entertainments and dinners she is planning during the house party. I tried giving her a few hints, but it is difficult for her to understand the awkward position in which your inclusion places you.”

“Ah, yes. I was wondering that it did not strike you, but it appears that it has. She is such a shy young lady, I do not like to excuse myself from offering any support I may provide since she feels comfortable with me, and yet…” Elizabeth trailed off, folding her unfinished letter and resting it in her ungloved hands on her lap. The sun was dipping and a chill began to settle in the evening air.

“I must go in for dinner very soon, but if it truly distresses you to be included, I shall be more direct about the awkwardness it creates for you,” Mrs. Annesley said.

“At the end of the day, I have not fretted at all, truly, because I do not believe Mr. Darcy will like it. I do not think he cares for my manners, and will certainly not want me about while he is entertaining guests,” Elizabeth answered.

“Really?” Mrs. Annesley said. “Is that what you think of his impression of you, Miss Bennet? I fear you are mistaken there. He rarely speaks, and around you, he speaks often. He is interested to hear what you will say.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I am an oddity, I believe. It is almost impossible for me to hide so much of myself, and I am aware that my character is not what the master is used to.”

Mrs. Annesley merely inclined her head and paused for a moment before answering, “I have been with the family nearly these five years, and despite the varying impressions the three Darcys may give, you are very good for this family. I need not speak in detail of Miss Darcy’s experience at Ramsgate, I believe she has told you enough. In a few short conversations, you managed to say to make her believe and understand what I could not in all my years with her. And poor little Miss Phoebe is quite a different creature with you. I had feared she might…turn out badly. You have shown her love, and interest, and expectations, and she has done very well. I only say prepare yourself, for even if Mr. Darcy is not sure why or how you have done his ladies a good turn, he does indeed know that you have, and is unlikely to go against Miss Darcy’s wishes.”

Elizabeth sighed and stood up, gesturing to the house, desirous of finishing her letter and looking at her wardrobe. It seemed inevitable to be included in some of the amusements, and she had better focus on preparing rather than avoiding. “Shall we, ma’am? Apparently I need to take stock of my ribbons and fans.”

Mrs. Annesley smiled and the two ladies who knew the Darcy family better than they knew themselves headed back inside.

Back inside Elizabeth threw herself into the chair before the hearth and eagerly read and re-read Uncle Edward’s letter. Where half an hour ago she had felt trepidation and uncertainty, she now felt excitement and courage. Elizabeth went and picked up her dear little writing desk, and set about penning a reply to Uncle Edward, asking questions about what she ought to expect for her work, and what the proceeds might be, and why three volumes might be best, and so on. Once she sanded and sealed the letter, and bid the maid to enter with her pot of mint and chamomile and to light the fire, Elizabeth felt as though she could endure a hundred house parties full of young lordlings and haughty misses who might attempt a favor, or sniff at her simple evening gowns. She felt something like Lizzy Bennet of Longbourn once more.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Derbyshire
October 1814

 

“Perhaps you should walk out with us, Miss Darcy? I believe the opportunity to work out some of your nervousness could be beneficial,” Elizabeth said with a kind smile. The first of Miss and Mr. Darcy’s house party guests would be arriving within the hour, and Miss Darcy had gone by the schoolroom no less than three times to chatter nervously to Elizabeth. She decided that there was nothing for the constant interruption but a walk.

“Oh, I couldn’t, Miss Bennet! What if they should arrive early?” Miss Darcy said, anxiety evident in her voice. “I would not be here to greet them!”

“Miss Darcy, I come to think that it would be the best thing for you, truly. I can see how unsettled you are. Nature is one of the best cures for such a malady. Come now, I insist. Miss Phoebe, could you ring the bell? We shall ask your maid to make you ready for a short walk around the gardens. It is not as if we would not hear a carriage arrive, now is it?”

Miss Darcy relented, and Phoebe gleefully rang the bell, excited for her reprieve from study for the day so that she could run about the edge of the woods, looking for mushrooms. Nurse Susie had told her the legend of the fairy ring, and Phoebe was both terrified and fascinated. The very idea that a circle of mushrooms could spring out of the ground overnight and should one be bold or foolish enough to enter, one would have no choice but to dance until one expired of exhaustion. Well! Phoebe assured Elizabeth she would not enter the circle, but that she would like to see one all the same. Elizabeth could only be grateful the child erred more toward fascinated than terrified.

The three walked out into the gardens, Phoebe running about and searching for faeries and fungus. Elizabeth took the opportunity to thread her arm through Miss Darcy’s and say, “You will do well, I am sure of it. You have planned most meticulously alongside Mrs. Reynolds, and she would never lead you astray. There is nothing left undone or unthought of. What troubles you so?”

Miss Darcy was quiet for a few moments, and Elizabeth allowed the young lady to gather her thoughts and decide what to share. The air was a perfect temperature – just on the edge of cool, and the sweet crisp smells of autumn enveloped them. Elizabeth fought the urge to let out a contented sigh, for that would surely be misconstrued.

Finally Miss Darcy answered, “I am not a success in society, Miss Bennet. I know you are aware of my folly with Mr. Wickham, and that certainly did not help matters, but the truth is, I have always been awkward. I never know what to say to others, and I can never catch the ebbs and flows of their conversation. I cannot say that I have very many true friends, for I do not know how to make them. I am always worried that anybody who wishes to befriend me wishes to do so for my fortune and position, or to get closer to my brother. I do not think I would be tolerated amongst London society were it not for the Darcys’ wealth. When I am out in town, or when we have guests I do not know well, my discomfort is nearly all I can think of.” She had spoken quickly, all in a rush, and now stopped to take a large breath of air. “You must think me an absolute ninny. What kind of lady complains about such a superior position in life?”

Elizabeth just gave a small smile and shook her head, and urged the young woman to keep walking, veering after Phoebe who now ran toward the exit of the rose garden and toward the topiaries. “I certainly do not think that. I believe you have every reason to be skeptical of other people’s motives, for indeed you have met more interested acquaintances in your life than most of us ever shall.” Elizabeth paused and after a moment, Miss Darcy said, “I beg you would continue.”

After they walked a few more steps, Elizabeth turned to Miss Darcy and said, “There does come a point, Miss Darcy, where you must practice.” Again the younger woman stopped and Elizabeth pulled her arm away, turning to face Miss Darcy.

“Would you say that I am a fair musician, Miss Darcy?”

“I would say you are more than fair! We are all always so pleased when you play and sing for us. Your talent is very natural,” Miss Darcy answered enthusiastically, but did not hide the expression of confusion on her face.

“You use the word talent, Miss Darcy, and perhaps I was born with some. But consistent application, time, and interest are what have made me a good musician. I practiced. To be in society, to converse with others, to show interest in their concerns and to forget your own self-consciousness.” Elizabeth picked up Miss Darcy’s hands and gave them one firm shake in her own. “It is well that you do not feel you possess a natural talent for these things. But as with all things, you can improve with practice. It is within your reach, and it is your own responsibility.”

Miss Darcy looked thunderstruck, but Elizabeth felt bold enough to continue.

“It is also acceptable that you do not enjoy it! Do you know, my older sister Jane is very much like you. She has the sweetest disposition and the most tender heart. Jane is very even-tempered. She does well enough in society, and enjoys speaking to others and making calls amongst friends. But she often must take small rests when she is at home to visitors, because so much interaction tires her. Then my youngest sister Lydia is the absolute opposite! It is almost as if the more society she has, the livelier she becomes. I am certain she is the belle of every ball she attends, and doubtless she is dragging my aunt out to every event to which she is invited. I do not think it would be right for Jane to be more like Lydia, or Lydia to be more like Jane. I only think that one must know oneself. If Jane knows she can bear more company when she has a quiet quarter of an hour to herself between calls, then that is a good solution to the claims society has on us all. If Lydia knows, well…I am not sure what it would be best for Lydia to know. Perhaps all she really need know is that she can be most fatiguing to her poor chaperone, and try to give the dear lady some rest, perhaps every fourth night.” Elizabeth smiled, and Miss Darcy laughed.

They heard a joyful yelp from the other side of the herbaceous border, and began to walk after Phoebe once more.

“You have given me something to think about, Miss Bennet,” Miss Darcy said. “Nay, you have given me something to try.”

Phoebe ran around the corner of hedgerow and said, “What has Miss Bennet told you to try, Aunt Georgie?”

“It is sometimes difficult for me to speak to others, so she gave me some advice,” Miss Darcy answered.

“Oh, yes! Miss Bennet gave me advice about that once, too! I daresay it is working,” Phoebe said, and they began to walk together again as a group, this time veering toward the edge of the copse.

“Really? What did she tell you?” Miss Darcy said, smiling.

“She said if I am nervous in conversation to just ask questions of others and they will think you are very clever. And you know, she is right. Most people do not even ask questions in return! So if you wish to make friends, just ask questions. I know that it works because I am friends with Mr. Clarke now, even though he is often very cross. And it works with Charlie Gladwell, because he talks so much, but I can learn interesting things from him. So now I have two friends instead of none,” Phoebe explained as she scanned the ground for mushrooms.

“Ah,” said Miss Darcy, clearly at a loss. But still, she smiled. The three of them walked the edge of the woods, hoping for a fairy ring, until the sounds of a carriage could be heard in the far distance.

“Phoebe, Miss Bennet, I shall leave you to your hunting, I must go and greet our guests,” Miss Darcy said. But there was a steadiness in her voice that had not been there before.

“You will do very well, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth answered. And she and Phoebe continued along the path hand in hand, wondering to each other what else the faeries of Pemberley might do.

 

It was impossible not to feel the excitement and energy in the house with the arrival of all the guests. Elizabeth had grown up on a much smaller estate than Pemberley – Longbourn was perhaps a quarter of Pemberley’s size, if not a fifth. Elizabeth and her sisters grew up in close confederation with the household servants. Here there was a much greater distance between the Darcy family and the household help. Elizabeth had made certain to show kindness and warmth to the staff, though she herself existed in a peculiar state – a gentlewoman, but in service. Often governesses were met with suspicion. Miss Wellington had warned Elizabeth that the servants would keep themselves apart from her, sure that she was carrying tales back to their employer, while the employer kept the family as separate as possible from the governess, for “it is an awkward business having a gentlewoman in the household, but not of the family. The mother can resent her for becoming such a dear figure to her children, and the father’s eye might wander too freely toward her.”

Though Elizabeth existed in her own sphere, she could not help but absorb the various feelings of all the inmates of the house. It was part of what made her a good writer, Aunt Maggie had once told her. Elizabeth was an observer, and had a special gift for turning a canny perception into a witty, feeling phrase, both on paper and in person. Therefore she had smiled a great deal during the weeks of preparation for the house party, for the conversations she heard all around her would make excellent observations for future novels down the line.

She overheard the chamber maids giggling about the valets that were certain to arrive with their gentlemen, and their guessing at which of the maids might catch their eyes. She listened to the stableboys excitedly talking about whether or not they’d be allowed to accompany the gentlemen on their hunting excursions, and the fine horseflesh they certainly must bring with them. And finally, she heard Jenny, the little chambermaid who was hoping to become a lady’s maid someday, asking Miss Darcy’s maid for advice on the gowns Elizabeth had given her to make over.

Some months back, Elizabeth had given Jenny half the fabric sent down from town from Aunt Maggie. For although creating gowns was not the purview of most ladies’ maids, Jenny was eager to understand everything about how fine gowns were made. To hedge her bets, Elizabeth had also visited the dressmaker in Lambton to have her do another, but she need not have. Jenny had made a very good job of it, so it was with great confidence that Elizabeth turned over her two evening gowns.

The gowns had traveled along with her since leaving Miss Wellington’s, when Aunt Gardiner had insisted that Elizabeth needed them. They were in excellent condition, having been worn perhaps a total of four times since she’d received them, and each time was when she was home visiting family. There was simply no call for finery in her life.

But, oh! Jenny fairly quivered with the opportunity to update these gowns with more fashionable flourishes. Elizabeth had listened to Jenny and Miss Darcy’s maid Miss Keller discuss her gowns in the bedroom, while Elizabeth waited in the sitting room. She could overhear the two discuss the quality of construction (very fine) and how that made one’s job easier. They discussed Miss Bennet’s coloring (“You must find a way to use your lady’s best colors. Miss Bennet would look excellent in violet-blue and golden yellow.”). And they discussed ways to make the two gowns look different between wearings, for if Elizabeth attended more than two dinners, she would need something to provide variety in the gowns.

Miss Darcy had insisted that Elizabeth take one of her evening robes, for the color did not suit her (it was a silk russet, most becomingly cut, but sadly, much too short for Miss Darcy). Jenny fell on the overgarment gleefully, adjusting and pinning it to fit around Elizabeth’s bust, and adding a few darts to tighten it around the ribcage. “So much fuss, dear Jenny! But I am grateful for your attention. You shall be a very fine lady’s maid or dressmaker, should you choose it,” Elizabeth had told the young woman, squeezing her hand in thanks, and Jenny had blushed furiously while Keller smiled on.

And it was so much fuss – the flowers brought in, the meals and wines planned, the excursions to the peaks (this was the only part Elizabeth sighed over, for she would have loved to walk and climb the trails and hills). But it made the household happy to have an occasion to show off their superior hospitality, and it was always exciting to have new people to study and wonder about.

Therefore Elizabeth indulged Phoebe in sitting in the windowseat in the easternmost parlour, where they had an excellent view of Mr. and Miss Darcy greeting their guests. Most people arrived around the noon hour, with a few guests filtering in closer to dinner. Phoebe exclaimed over the fine horses and number of carriages, as well as the ladies’ traveling clothes and the number of trunks each guest brought. “Do you ever wish to travel to somebody else’s house, Miss Bennet?” Phoebe asked.

“Well, I am always in somebody else’s house, my dear. I think I would like to have a home of my own someday, that would be the true novelty,” Elizabeth answered.

“But Pemberley is your home!” Phoebe answered with some vehemence, turning away from the window and glaring at Elizabeth. It was moments like this where she looked a great deal like her father.

Elizabeth merely smiled and put her arm around the girl, redirecting her attention to the view out the window where a young man and woman were disembarking the carriage. The man was speaking animatedly, and had caused the ever serious Mr. Darcy to crack a smile while the woman had fallen upon Miss Darcy, linking their arms together and gesturing to the house. Elizabeth was not sure what to say to Phoebe, so instead she simply said, “I am so happy that you like having me in your home, dearest.”

Phoebe merely laid her head against Elizabeth’s shoulder and threaded her arm around her waist. Elizabeth then asked, “And what about you? Where should you like to go, Miss Phoebe?”

And Phoebe began to name all the places in the world they would travel together, and how they would get there. They watched the drive and portico until tea was brought in, and they could have a merry chat over Mrs. Hudson’s beautiful lemon tarts and dainty little sandwiches, which were cut finer than usual for all the exalted company that had just descended upon the estate. After they ate, they were to head out on a leaf hunt so they could rub as many different specimens as possible into their sketchbooks.

 

Because they were to go into the forest out of the sight of the house, Elizabeth had requested Jones, their favorite footman, to accompany them if he was free. Although he had many extra duties at present, Mrs. Reynolds had waved him along, and he gallantly carried their basket of specimens as they tramped through the woods.

They collected several different types of oak leaves as well as chestnut, sycamore, and beech, and finally Elizabeth declared them to have enough leaves to fill five notebooks. “Come, dearest, we must return to the house if we are to have time enough before dinner and bedtime to finish our project.”

Phoebe agreed cheerfully and began to question Jones about his favorite trees. (She was rather astonished to hear that he did not have one, therefore set about helping him find one. Elizabeth’s heart sang at Phoebe’s growing ease in speaking to others.) As they exited the woods, Elizabeth saw a cluster of gentlemen, Mr. Darcy among them headed their way to reach the stables. Jones straightened his expression into something more serious and fell back a few paces behind the ladies.

After a few minutes, their paths finally crossed. “Miss Bennet, Phoebe,” Mr. Darcy nodded to the pair of them, while the three other gentlemen bowed to their curtsies. They were just about to head along when one of the men cried out, “Miss Elizabeth, is that you?”

Elizabeth turned toward the man who had spoken and was astonished to see Ned Goulding, the oldest cousin of the Goulding family in Meryton. “Mr. Goulding, how do you do!” she said, a smile bedecking her face.

Ned answered, “It has been some years, but I should know you anywhere! I am very well, Miss Elizabeth, just arrived from Hertfordshire today. Had I known I would find you, I would have offered to carry anything you needed from Longbourn.”

“That would have been too kind of you, Mr. Goulding, I thank you. At present, I have all I need. I trust your journey was uneventful?” She answered, very aware of the company around them, and Phoebe’s curiosity at her side.

“Oh, perfectly fine, this time of year is best for travel,” Ned answered. He was about to go on when he caught his host’s eye, which had grown quite stern.

There was an awkward pause as the party looked around at each other, and then Phoebe said, “Miss Bennet, how do you know that gentleman?” It was clearly the question Mr. Darcy wished to ask, but had not found his voice yet to do so.

“Mr. Goulding is the cousin of some of the neighbors near my Papa’s estate, and he would often come to visit from his own father’s estate. My sisters and I spent many happy days playing with the Goulding children as we were growing up,” Elizabeth answered, smiling and looking down at her charge. Ned smiled too and said, “There is not a better tree climber in all of Hertfordshire, I would wager.”

Elizabeth looked up to see Mr. Darcy’s face and schooled her expression. “My tree climbing days are certainly well behind me! Mr. Goulding, it was a pleasure to see you, but my charge and I have very important business to which we must attend. I am sure we shall see you often during your stay.” And she took Phoebe’s hand and gestured to Jones for them to continue toward the house.

As they walked and she absentmindedly answered Phoebe’s questions about Ned, Elizabeth felt a growing sense of dread about what might come of the house party, and how it was likely to threaten her equanimity. For Mr. Darcy to see Elizabeth acting above her station by conversing with guests or attending dinners was bad enough, but she really had no idea what Ned understood about why Elizabeth had left Longbourn, or why she was in service, and she did not feel like speaking about it overmuch, and certainly not to anybody at Pemberley. A governess might be kept at a distance when living in a house, but it was self-preserving to maintain some distance for one's own sake, too.

 

The next day, Miss Darcy informed Elizabeth that the guests, particularly the ladies, were eager to meet Phoebe, and asked that Elizabeth prepare for the both of them to attend tea that afternoon. Elizabeth asked if all the gathered party would be in attendance, and upon confirmation that they would, nodded her head once. She then asked, “And what do you think of the assembled company, Miss Darcy?”

“I must thank my brother for compiling the guest list, for everyone in attendance is most congenial. Most of the party are gentlemen, but some have brought female relations. And our Aunt Matlock and cousin Anna are here as well. They will be most eager to see Phoebe, for it has been several months since they were last in company with her,” Miss Darcy said.

“Then we shall arrive in good time, shall we not, Phoebe?” Elizabeth asked the little girl who was cutting out some of her leaf tracings.

“Yes, of course we shall, Aunt Georgie. Do you think Aunt Matlock would like some leaf drawings? She is a very kind lady, Miss Bennet, although I do not know if she likes trees,” Phoebe said, poking her tongue out in concentration.

“I am sure she would like whatever you made for her, Phoebe,” Miss Darcy said fondly. Then stepping aside, she told Elizabeth, “I would like to thank you for your advice to me yesterday. It is not easy for me, but I am trying harder with people, especially those I have never met, and I am using the trick you gave Phoebe: just ask people questions about themselves! Mrs. Annesley said she was quite proud of me.”

Elizabeth smiled. “That is excellent to hear! You see? People are not such a mystery after all. In fact, if you allow yourself to study them, you shall never be bored a day in your life, I wager.”

Miss Darcy laughed and left them to their lessons. When it was time for tea, Nurse Susie helped Phoebe change into a new gown and brushed her hair (much to Phoebe’s consternation), while Elizabeth made sure her fichu was neatly tucked in and her own curls were tamed into submission in their low, simple style. Then they were off.

As they walked, Elizabeth reminded Phoebe of how to behave amongst such a large party, and what she could do if she was not sure what to say, or if she became overwhelmed. The little girl was much better at talking to strangers and making friends, but this was a large group of unknowns, and the situation was practically designed to exacerbate shyness on the part of a young child. Still, there was nothing for it. Elizabeth squared her shoulders and smiled at the footman who let them into the drawing room where the large party was gathered.

They entered a merry room full of chatter, and an older lady, most elegantly dressed, called, “Is that my little niece Phoebe? It cannot be, for you are so much grown you do not look the same!”

Phoebe stepped into Elizabeth’s side and grabbed her hand, but Elizabeth looked down and smiled. “Come, let us go and greet your Auntie, my dear. She looks very happy to see you!”

They walked up to the lady who was seated beside a young woman who looked very similar, and must be the daughter. Elizabeth and Phoebe curtsied to them, and the lady held out her arms. Phoebe uncertainly took a step toward them, and the woman gave her a gentle squeeze, the pleasing smell of jasmine wafting off of her as she did.

“So, my dear little Phoebe, this must be your governess! Will you introduce us?” The woman said, looking over, and Elizabeth knew Phoebe’s response was a test of Elizabeth’s skill as a teacher.

Fortunately, Phoebe remembered the rules of introduction perfectly well. “Aunt Matlock, may I introduce you to my governess, Miss Bennet? Miss Bennet, this is my Aunt Matlock, but I do not know if you are also supposed to call her Aunt.”

“Yes, thank you, my dear. Miss Bennet, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. You may call me Lady Matlock. My niece Miss Darcy has nothing but the highest praise for you, and I can see Phoebe is coming along quite well. Will not you sit with us?”

Elizabeth took the chair alongside the sofa upon which the lady and her daughter sat, and Phoebe settled in between her relations. The young woman was introduced as Lady Anna, and she had a bright, fresh look about her eyes that Elizabeth found she liked very much. Looking around the room, she could see that there were more gentlemen than ladies, and that the ladies looked upon their little group with a great deal of interest. Whether they were curious about Lady Matlock and her daughter or Phoebe, Elizabeth did not yet know.

In short order, Lady Anna had laughingly explained the party to Elizabeth while her mother questioned Phoebe about what she was learning and how she was doing.

“You see, Miss Bennet, I believe my cousin Darcy has gathered the assembled crowd to help his sister find a husband. Nearly everyone is single, save Mr. and Mrs. Darling, but you see, they come with Mrs. Darling’s single brother, Ambrose Wright,” Lady Anna said. Her eye was conspiratorial and it made Elizabeth want to laugh.

“It is certainly possible that was your cousin’s motive, Lady Anna. Do you not think it possible he just wanted to have a hunting party?” Elizabeth asked, smiling.

“Oh, it is certainly a good excuse! But I can tell you all of these men are highly eligible, and my Mama agreed with alacrity to the invitation, for she certainly wishes me to marry as well. However, she will be left wishing and unsatisfied, for I do not think I ever shall get married. Why would I, with an independent fortune and a comfortable house?” Lady Anna smiled, and although Elizabeth wished to lift an eyebrow, as the lady had not taken Elizabeth’s own likely situation into account before she spoke, she merely said, “Why indeed? A sensible lady of good fortune and family can live a very pleasant life.”

“That is just what I think!” Lady Anna said. And she proceeded to share the details of the remaining party guests. There were the Darlings and their brother Mr. Ambrose Wright, come all the way from Dorset, where Mr. Wright had inherited the family estate. There was Mr. John Cuthbert and his aunt (“He is rather dull, but his aunt is quite witty, I am glad Darcy included her, for she does not suffer fools lightly and tells them what they are about before they even realize it!”). Robert and James Grey from Lincolnshire were excellent horsemen, and from what Lady Anna understood, both in the market for a wife (“They had better look to Georgie, for they shall find no quarter with me, no matter how James Grey looks at me. Do you see? He is staring!”) There was Mr. Andrew Cunningham and his widowed sister Mrs. Markham. They were near neighbors in Derbyshire, just twenty miles or so away, but it had been some years since she had seen them. (“Time has not been kind to poor Mrs. Markham, for Mr. Markham took ill nearly right after their wedding, and was sick for nearly three years before he died. She looks very careworn, poor dear.”)

“Then there is Mr. Bingley and his sister, Miss Caroline Bingley. Look, do you see the way she stares over here? Mark my words, she will try to make the best of friends with little Phoebe, just as she has done with poor Georgie. Good gracious, it is dreadful to be in company with her. But Mr. Bingley is so amiable and such a good friend of Darcy’s that one must put up with the sister to see the brother.” Lady Anna sighed, and Elizabeth thought of what a pleasure it would be to sketch the young woman's character.

“And I do not know very much of Mr. Goulding, but I understand he has a handsome estate in…Herefordshire?” Lady Anna continued.

“It is Hertfordshire, ma’am,” Elizabeth supplied. Before she could be quizzed, she offered, “Mr. Goudling is the cousin of a family I grew up with. My father’s estate was in Hertfordshire. I was very surprised to se him, it has been about ten years since we were last in company.”

Lady Anna looked at Elizabeth for the first time, really looked. “I see! And you are here, in service with the Darcys. I wonder how that came to be? I will not rest until I know your secrets, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth laughed lightly and said, “I am afraid that all of my secrets are quite dull. I do not wish to excite your anticipation.”

Lady Anna only murmured in response when Mr. Darcy came up to them. “Darcy, do you know our charming Miss Bennet knows Mr. Goulding?”

“I learned that yesterday, in fact,” he said, giving the assembled group of women a small bow. “How do you do today, Phoebe?”

“Very well, Papa. Miss Bennet and I are on our best behavior,” she said, primly sipping her tea and thunking the cup down a little too hard in the saucer.

“Yes, I see that you are,” Mr. Darcy said, looking at Elizabeth. Her cheeks heated and Lady Matlock tutted.

He was about to speak again when Miss Bingley came up to the group and slid her arm through Mr. Darcy’s. “Ah, Lady Matlock, how was your journey to Pemberley?” Miss Bingley looked and spoke as though she was the lady of the house, inquiring about a guest’s comfort. Although Elizabeth had never heard the woman spoken of before by anybody before today, she wondered at the ease in which she inserted herself into the scene, if she was a regular guest in Mr. Darcy's life.

“Uneventful, I thank you,” Lady Matlock answered indifferently. She then turned to Elizabeth and said, “Miss Bennet, I must congratulate you on your method with my great-niece. Phoebe has come along quite well, and seems much happier than when I saw her last.”

“I thank you, it is my very great pleasure. Phoebe is a delightful young lady, and we have a great deal of fun together, do we not?” Elizabeth smiled at her charge.

“You are the governess, are you?” Miss Bingley asked, and Elizabeth felt the awkwardness of the question. She had not been introduced to the lady, and was growing more confident that she did not wish to be. Still, Lady Anna delicately rolled her eyes and introduced the two ladies.

Elizabeth felt Miss Bingley’s eyes travel up and down her dress and person, sizing her up. But Elizabeth had faced worse intimidation than this, and merely waited for the lady’s next advance. “I cannot say, Miss Bennet, I have ever heard that a governess’ first aim with her charge should be fun,” Miss Bingley said.

“I cannot say that I have heard that said either, Miss Bingley. Nevertheless, Miss Phoebe and I do have a great deal of fun as we learn, do we not?” Elizabeth smiled at Phoebe, who rose from her spot on the sofa to stand next to Elizabeth’s chair. Taking the opportunity to redirect the conversation back toward the others, she asked Phoebe, “Have you had a pleasant visit with your aunt, Miss Phoebe?”

“Yes, I have. She is going to come to the schoolroom tomorrow to see my drawings, and she wishes to hear me sing and play. She said Cousin Anna will come, too,” Phoebe reported.

“That is capital, we shall be prepared to show them how very skilled you have become,” Elizabeth said. She stopped speaking so that someone, anyone, would pick up the conversation and lead it in a less antagonistic direction, but it was not to be.

“I am sure Mr. Darcy’s daughter is a brilliant and talented child. How could she be anything less with such illustrious parentage? From whence do come, Miss Bennet? How long have you been in service?” Miss Bingley asked.

“Hertfordshire, Ma’am, and I have been a teacher for six years, a governess for four,” Elizabeth answered mildly.

“I see, I see,” Miss Bingley said, and was about to draw breath to say more when Ned Goulding walked up.

“Miss Elizabeth, what a treat to see you again. If I may, I have a great deal of intelligence to share with you of all your old Meryton neighbors,” he said, looking about for a chair to make himself comfortable.

“Oh, do you know our Miss Bennet?” Lady Anna said, her eyes brightening. “What an extraordinary coincidence!”

“That it is!” Ned answered. “I suppose I should call you Miss Bennet and not Miss Elizabeth, though it is hard to think of you as such. I can hardly remember to call your older sister Mrs. Collins, and not by Miss Bennet,” he said, nodding his thanks to a footman who pulled over a chair for him. Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy stayed perched on the edge of the group, removed but still attending.

Phoebe asked, “What sorts of games did Miss Bennet play when she was a child?”

“Oh, Miss Phoebe, nobody wants to hear about my silly old games!” Elizabeth said, wishing that she had consigned the child to her aunt’s care for tea and feigned a headache.

Lady Matlock, perhaps the only true lady amongst the group, sensed Elizabeth’s discomfort with the situation and said, “Mr. Goulding, are you from Meryton as well?”

And this led Ned to talk about his family’s estate some ten miles east of Meryton, and how he had inherited three years ago, which Elizabeth had not known (if she had the opportunity to speak to him when not in front of her employer and every one of his illustrious guests and their mother), she would ask about his family, and of neighbors whom she did not know much of these days. But right now, she wished to be far away from the richly furnished drawing room, away from so many people with such varying interests in her. And from the uncomfortable gaze of her employer, who certainly could not like the attention she was drawing to herself. The advice she had given Phoebe and Miss Darcy of asking questions of others only worked when people were not bound and determined to find out every little thing about a body.

After a few minutes more conversation, Miss Darcy came over and asked Elizabeth and Phoebe to come and meet the other guests. Elizabeth nearly leapt from her seat with pleasure, though she farewelled the small group most graciously. As she led Phoebe away, she overheard Lady Anna lean over to her mother and say, “Well, I daresay this will be a very interesting few weeks.”

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Derbyshire
October 1814

Darcy had excused himself from his guests on the third day of the gathered company to attend to some correspondence with his man of business in town. It was not necessary and could have waited, but a little bit of reprieve from company was always welcome. He set down his pen and shook out his hand, leaning back in his chair to look out the window.

Out on the lawn he could see Miss Bennet and Phoebe walking with Georgiana, Mr. Goulding, Mr. Wright, and the Darlings. Georgie and Mr. Wright were leading the party arm in arm, and Mr. Goulding was speaking to Phoebe and Miss Bennet, while Mr. and Mrs. Darling trailed behind idly. Though he could not see the facial expressions of any of the walking party, he could see that Phoebe’s steps looked bouncy and carefree, and at one point, Miss Bennet’s head was thrown back in laughter. Darcy huffed and looked away from the window, turning toward the coffee tray Reynolds had delivered for him.

As he sipped the rich brew, he opened a desk drawer and pulled out the drawing of Anne that he had sent off to the framer’s. It had been returned to his possession for a few weeks now, but with the details of the house party and several pressing matters of business, he had not yet given it to Phoebe. He had made it his business in the early days of being back at Pemberley to monitor the child’s progress, and to ensure that Miss Bennet was not leading her down a path of oddity. However, there was little he could say about Miss Bennet’s method with Phoebe. The girl was coming out of her shell in ways he himself had never had done as a child, and her growing intellectual abilities were blooming. He knew he was an intelligent, clever man, but in his child’s newly nurtured curiosity, he saw something of Anne, whose intelligence had a whimsical side. There was nothing too small or odd for Anne to learn about in her pursuit to understand a subject, and if one could draw her into conversation, one was sure to be rewarded with surprise after surprise.

Still, it was an awkward business to give Phoebe the picture.

He also was not certain of how to speak to the child about her mother, for it was a subject that had never arisen between them, and Darcy felt how badly done that was on his part. He had not known where to begin, so he simply had never started. He was also unsure how to breach the close confederation of Phoebe and her governess, who seemed to be the person Phoebe admired most in the world. To interrupt their compelling world of painting, singing, numerical games, and countless walks felt extremely awkward, for he felt himself an unwanted visitor, politely tolerated until they could resume their business.

He turned the portrait over, looking at the well-constructed frame and maker’s label on the bottom corner, then turned Anne’s likeness back toward the front, staring at it, thinking back to the day he had overheard Miss Bennet and Phoebe talking in the gallery. It was true that there was a very strong look of the Darcys about his child, but Miss Bennet was correct. He could see Anne in the shape of Phoebe’s cheeks, which were naturally fuller with health than her mother’s. Though Anne did not smile often, she did indeed have a dimple in her left cheek, just as Phoebe did. Darcy sighed and looked back out the window. The party had moved further away and walk walking toward the temple, which had a very good prospect over the park. He would do it soon.

Darcy could still see Goulding walking with Phoebe and Miss Bennet. That was an awkward business as well, but with how much Georgiana liked Miss Bennet, there was nothing to be done. Georgie had announced that Miss Bennet would attend a few of the dinners to even out the party, and to lend her support. It seemed needless, for Georgie had been doing very well as hostess, better than Darcy had hoped, even. But whatever Darcy could do to encourage his little sister, he would, despite his misgivings.

 

That evening at dinner, his misgivings turned out to be great.

The party gathered in the drawing room before dinner as usual, and now with a few days being together, was much more congenial and familiar with each other. Most of the guests were friends of his from university or those who were old family connections, and had been in company before to some degree. But now a few days’ togetherness made much difference in everybody’s willingness to engage with those they did not know as well.

Unfortunately, most of the gentlemen applied this same principle to Miss Bennet.

She had arrived in the drawing room exactly ten minutes before dinner, and Darcy was momentarily astonished by her appearance.

Miss Bennet’s gown was not the finest in the room. He noted that it was much more simple than the other ladies’, but that it showed her figure to advantage. It was trimmed with a violet ribbon that suited her coloring very well. The same ribbon was threaded through her hair, which was dressed in a much more sophisticated style than she usually wore. Darcy could see that her curls were tamed into something more sleek, and the effect was most becoming, though he found himself rather missing the more wild curls he was accustomed to seeing on her, and observing how they often escaped their pins. He had never seen so much of her decolletage before – a simple garnet cross on a delicate gold chain was draped over her collarbone. He could discern simple pearl earbobs catching the light and glowing through the curls framing her face.

The overall effect was something so lovely and charming that he was struck dumb.

Darcy watched her walk over to Georgiana, who was standing amongst the Darlings and Wright. She threaded her arm through his sister’s and helped add to the small group’s conversation. Miss Bennet smiled kindly at Georgie as she spoke, and Darcy could see the governess’ support was encouraging to her. He happened to look around the room and checked a sigh, for he saw that Miss Bennet’s inclusion in the party now meant the other gentlemen were noticing her.

James and Robert Grey looked at Miss Bennet and spoke low to each other. The Bingleys had entered the room, and the brother walked directly over to Georgie’s group and began speaking to Miss Bennet. Though she was not his usual type, she certainly was very close – a very pleasing figure, a pretty face, and an engaging manner. Darcy was lost in thought over these musings when he heard the sound of rustling silk from behind, and suddenly, Caroline Bingley was upon him.

She, too, was looking at Miss Bennet, her eyes narrowed to stare at the young woman. After a moment, she said, “Far be it for me, Sir, to comment on the manner in which you run your household, but I must say, that is a surprise.”

Darcy bristled, partly because it was what he had feared guests might think when the governess was included in the entertainments, and partly because Miss Bingley had a tendency to overstep in her pursuit of becoming the next mistress of Pemberley, an event that had about as much probability of his Aunt Matlock suddenly breaking out into a merry jig and bawdy tavern song.

Still, he had no choice but to respond. “My sister finds comfort in her presence. This is Georgie’s first time acting as hostess during such a party. Miss Bennet is not a conventional choice, but she has done much good for both the Darcy women.”

Miss Bingley had found her opening. “Oh! Say no more! I should have realized dear Georgiana would need the assistance of a slightly older, more experienced lady during such a time! It would be my pleasure to step in for the governess in such a case. She cannot be comfortable amongst such august society, I am sure it would be a favor to both.”

Darcy managed to extract his arm from the woman’s, planning to get away from her before it was time to escort the ladies into dinner. “I am sure Georgiana has it all in hand, Miss Bingley. I am put in mind of something I must discuss with the Greys. I beg you would excuse me.”

He bowed to her and made his way over to the brothers. The elder, Robert, had recently inherited his estate in Lincolnshire, and the younger, James, was no profession, instead choosing to live prudently on his allowance which he had invested many times over. Darcy had thought either one might make a good match for Georgie, for they both had a fair character and were honorable. But now, seeing the lascivious way they looked at Miss Bennet, Darcy could not be so sure.

“Grey, James, how was your ride out this afternoon?” Darcy asked, coming upon them.

“Our ride? Oh, very good, Darcy. Nothing like the terrain around Pemberley for a good gallop and excellent views of the peaks,” answered James, though he was somewhat distracted.

Grey turned to look at Darcy and said, “I say, you are clever, old man. That is the governess, is it not? She is quite an attractive addition to the household. I know you’d never trifle with a servant, but it is not exactly the same as when the girl is the governess, is it?”

Darcy turned on the man with such a cold and menacing look that Robert Grey actually flinched. James finally turned around and saw the expressions on the men’s faces and rushed to say, “He does not mean anything by that, Darce. Simply that such a pretty gentlewoman in the household is a treat, is it not? You can hardly disagree with that, can you?”

“A man can hardly call himself a gentleman if he will ogle a young woman in service, can he?” Darcy responded, and he mentally crossed both Grey brothers off his list for Georgie. He knew Aunt Matlock did not find either man to be of any particular interest or quality, so she would not encourage Anna in their direction. All that remained was to endure their company for the remainder of the party. He bowed. “If you will excuse me.”

He made his way to Georgie’s group, which now included Mrs. Annesley and unfortunately for his sister, Miss Bingley, who had plastered herself to Georgie’s side. He insinuated himself into the conversation between Miss Bennet and Bingley, who was animatedly describing an entertainment last season in town.

“You make me quite envious, Mr. Bingley, I adore the opera and never miss the opportunity to attend if I am with my family in town,” Miss Bennet said.

“I will admit that a large part of why I attend the opera is to see my friends. It is possible that I do not always attend to the music,” Bingley admitted ruefully.

Miss Bennet smiled, and Darcy was struck by the sweet brightness of her expression when she did. “Well, when next you are there, I hope you will listen closely to honor those of us who may not always be in attendance.”

“Certainly I will, Miss Bennet,” Bingley said with a gallant, comical bow, and Miss Bennet laughed. It was a merry little sound, light, genuine, and pleasing to his ears.

“Would you not say, Darce? I say, Darcy?” Bingley asked, shaking Darcy out of his stupor.

“I beg your pardon, Bingley, my mind wandered away for a moment. What did you say?” He replied, mentally shaking himself.

“I said that you are quite an admirer of the opera. The Darcys have long had a box, and that on both sides of your family, you actually attend to hear the music, not attend the gossip,” Bingley said.

“It is true that the Fitzwilliams and Darcys both admire musicianship. Nearly everyone in the family is musical except for me, and my late wife was also quite unable to carry a tune, I am sorry to report. It was quite a surprise to learn that my daughter has a growing musical talent and ability,” he said, with a small bow to Miss Bennet. She looked rather surprised at his saying so, as if a compliment was the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth.

“Is she really, Darcy? I hope we shall hear her sing and play for us sometime this visit, then,” Bingley said, smiling. “I cannot play or sing anything, myself, but my sisters have always been very talented. Granted, they had good masters. Before the voice teacher came, I used to hide when Caroline would begin her caterwauling.”

Georgie and Miss Bingley came up to the three of them and Miss Bingley said, “What are you laughing about, Charles? I insist upon knowing the subject of your amusement.” Darcy watched as Miss Bennet tucked her chin to hide a smile.

“Er, nothing special, Caroline, we were merely discussing music. Darcy tells me his daughter has been gaining confidence as a musician, and I had hoped –”

“Oh!” Miss Bingley interrupted. “We must hear her then! Have you any musical entertainment planned, Miss Darcy?”

“Yes, ma’am, we are planning a musicale toward the end of the party, and I hope to –” Georgiana began, but again, Miss Bingley’s enthusiasm outpaced her civility.

“We must hear her then!” Miss Bingley cried. “Such a dear little child, is she not?”

Georgiana made certain that the woman was actually done speaking before answering that she knew none more dear.

Miss Bingley then turned to Miss Bennet and said, “Miss Benning, I assume we shall have the pleasure of hearing you some time. You must be a tolerable player if you are teaching Miss Phoebe with some success.”

“It is Miss Bennet, Miss Bingley,” Georgie said, looking distressed.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, so it is. Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, smiling, certain she had won this round, and what? Made Miss Bennet seem less consequential that she already was as a governess in a room full of wealthy people?

Watching Miss Bennet’s expression put Darcy in mind of something, only he did not realize until later when he was turning over the events of the evening in his mind what it was. Darcy had seen many fights in his day, particularly at Gentleman Jackson’s, and as he watched the expression on Miss Bennet’s face, he realized he was witnessing something that was always rather thrilling to see in the boxing ring: an experienced fighter weighing up an unskilled opponent. The flash of amusement an experienced fighter sometimes shows when faced with an amateurish upstart.

“Oh, please, think nothing of it, Miss Bingley,” said Miss Bennet, with an arch smile upon her face. “A lady of your caliber is discernible a mile away, and I hardly dare hope for the favor of your distinction. I shall be happy to play for the party at any time.”

The insult was so complete and yet so subtle, Miss Bingley did not take it in, and yet to Darcy, Bingley and Georgiana it was completely clear: Miss Bingley was ridiculous, and no matter what the social or economic differences between them might be, Miss Bennet considered Miss Bingley beneath her concern. Georgiana smiled and said, “Miss Bennet, would you mind terribly if I pulled you aside to ask your opinion on the rest of the evening’s entertainment? No, Miss Bingley, please do not trouble yourself, we shall be going in to dinner shortly, please enjoy the company.”

Georgiana laced her arm through Miss Bennet’s and they stepped to the side of the room, with Mrs. Annesley following along. Darcy watched her walk away and felt all the peculiarity of his situation: he admired the governess.

 

Dinner was a success, the most opulent yet of the meals Georgiana had organized. Darcy could see that Aunt Matlock was radiating approval toward his little sister, who appeared to be glowing from her success. Perhaps Georgiana was finally growing enough in confidence, finally coming into her own. The house party had been an excellent notion, but from the quiet support he saw Miss Bennet providing in the form of subject changes, helpful observations, and engaging conversation, he knew part of it was that Georgie finally had the right teacher.

Mr. Wright seemed to be pulling ahead of the pack of gentlemen. While the Grey Brothers no longer bore thinking about, Cuthbert and Cunningham were by no means poor choices, yet they had not put themselves forward for his sister’s notice. Goulding was a reasonable option, as he was a good man with a good income and strong estate, but he was nearly as puppyish as Bingley had been a few years back. Ambrose Wright was a very good match. He would take up the cause with his Aunt tomorrow, and was sure of her proper encouragement toward Georgie.

This resolution allowed him to look around the table once more. Miss Bennet was seated next to Cuthbert, who seemed eager to impress her. Darcy could hear him talking about his estate Willig Park, which was absolutely nothing to Pemberley. Cuthbert described the walks and gardens (which in Darcy’s opinion were garish and overdone), as well as the architecture of the house (badly conceived attempts at a Palladian style over a perfectly fine Tudor house). Why had he even invited Cuthbert?

On her other side was Bingley, and while he did not necessarily think Bingley would trifle with Miss Bennet, he certainly was a known flirt. Oh, he’d grown up quite a bit in the last few years, after a minor disappointment with a young lady whose family was ancient and noble, but sliding further and further into genteel poverty. Even so, Bingley’s fortune was not draw enough for them to overcome the fact that it was earned in trade, and the young lady withdrew her affections. Bingley had been certain this angel had been different, and had not quite recovered his carefree attitude toward love.

Perhaps Miss Bennet was his next angel? Darcy nearly squirmed as he watched Miss Bennet quietly tease and laugh at Bingley when she was not engaged by Cuthbert. His uneasiness felt palpable. When Georgiana finally rose and led the ladies out, Darcy felt an almost physical relief.

The rest of the night was less stressful, for Miss Bennet was largely surrounded by ladies once they all removed to the drawing room. Darcy watched as she sipped a glass of sherry and laughed at old Mrs. Cuthbert’s remarks and sympathized with Mrs. Markham’s loss. Seated as they were on a sofa together, no gentleman was able to breach their confederation.

But when Georgiana asked the ladies to exhibit, it was another story. Miss Bingley of course put herself forward first, starting with a warbling Italian love song, and leading into a complex concerto without being asked to play a second. Mrs. Cuthbert was still an excellent player, though she did not go out much in society these days, and she regaled them with some Beethoven movements. Anna was an excellent musician and a dreadful singer, but she was determined to join her voice to her playing, and Darcy checked his laugh at Aunt Matlock's put-upon expression as her daughter strained through an aria. He was nearly certain Anna did it on purpose to discourage suitors and tease her mother. Finally, he saw Miss Bennet subtly nodded at his sister to encourage her to play, and Georgiana played a piece by Pleyel that Darcy knew was a favorite.

Georgie then asked Miss Bennet to play, and after a bit of demurral, the lady agreed. She walked up to the pianoforte and made herself comfortable, spreading out the skirt of her evening gown and thinking for a moment. Miss Bennet set her delicate fingers above the keyboard and began by playing a set of sprightly, triumphant rolling notes.

Her playing was precise, but still deeply feeling. Darcy had rarely known a performer who put more emotion into her music, and he wondered if this was the kind of thing that could be taught, if Phoebe would be the same. He was pleased enough with the music, but then she took a deep breath, causing her bosom to rise and for a leap to rise in his chest. Out came another song he had never heard before, in Miss Bennet’s clear, lovely voice – “Ye cliffs! I from your airy steep look down with hope and fear, to gaze on this extensive deep and watch if William’s there…And watch if William’s there…Sad months are past while here I breathe love’s soft and constant pray’r...love's soft and constant pray'r. Reclining o’er the waves beneath I drop the tear of sad despair. But see, a swelling sail in view, Oh! My fond hopes arise. ‘Tis he, I feel that love is true, I trust my faithful eyes…”

William. She could not know that was the name his mother called him, the name he preferred. She could not know what it meant to hear her sing his name in such a warm, mesmerizing voice. She could not know that she had suddenly become a siren hiding in his very own home. As Miss Bennet concluded her song to great applause, and started another by popular demand, Darcy realized he was gripping the arms of his chair and then, quite mortifyingly, understood that when it came to Miss Bennet, he was in a great deal of trouble.

 

Over the next few days, the tumult of Darcy’s mind was great. It was absurd in every way to fancy himself in love with Miss Bennet, to think of marrying her, a desire that had popped into his head out of nowhere, quite unbidden. She was in his employ for a start, and beyond that, the gulf between them socially was so wide that he could hear the laughter at White’s echoing even now. Darcy, in love with his child’s governess? Of all the men who could fall into that trap, is he not the last you would expect? This is what comes from not keeping a mistress…He felt quite betrayed by his mind, jumping from intrigue, to infatuation, to love, to the possibility of matrimony, which was not a possibility at all.

He must seek to cure himself from this obsession, and as a start, he began to listen to her conversations with others. Surely she would reveal something that made her less admirable.

But no. One day as he passed the music room where the ladies had gathered to listen to Phoebe play, Darcy overheard Miss Bennet say to the recently widowed Mrs. Markham with great sensibility and even greater kindness – “Grief such as yours will always be there, Ma’am. It is clear you loved your husband a great deal. But if I may say, grief eventually learns to sit quietly in a corner or a closet, and your happy memories take up greater room eventually. Not that grief will not pop up when one least expects it, but it is no longer such an insistent presence.”

The next day he listened to her spirited joking with Goulding as he accompanied Miss Bennet and Phoebe on one of their rambles about the garden. Goulding had asked if Miss Bennet remembered the time his young cousin had goaded her into a footrace, to which Miss Bennet replied, “Mr. Goulding, do be serious. We are not yet so advanced in age that I have forgotten how thoroughly I trounced your braggart cousin. Were he here today, I should happily accept any challenge, be it physical, mental, or of will, for you know I am a very competitive creature. Of course, if you would be so good as to let me know whether your cousin Tommy has grown in stature, sense, or control, I am not above designing the competition to my advantage. My vanity is still very much intact, you know.”

Another time, he overheard her in conversation with Mrs. Reynolds, advising her about a skirmish between two of the chambermaids. “Mrs. Reynolds, it is easy to forget that they are young girls and just as prone to the squabbles and jealousies as any two sisters who have no relief from each other might be. Cannot Dora temporarily be assigned to the guest wing while Sallie continues to work in the family wing? I daresay as soon as some of these handsome valets go back home with their gentlemen, the girls will be fast friends again.”

He took the opportunity of asking Mrs. Reynolds in a vague, disinterested tone about Miss Bennet’s background. Her parents were both gone, that much was easy to infer and confirm. But what of the remaining family? How could they let her work if there was another choice? Were they so poverty stricken as all that? But no, the worst of it was that nobody was married very high, and the uncles were a merchant and a solicitor.

Miss Bennet was sensible, beautiful, and clever. He bristled at her low connections and common background, but he knew: every attempt to deny the ropes of attraction that had wound about Darcy only pulled his restraints tighter.

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Derbyshire

October 1814

Although there had been some awkward moments for Elizabeth during the Darcys’ house party, it was nothing like she had originally feared. Though there had been some uncomfortable leers from a few of the gentlemen, nobody had pressed her nor said anything untoward. Mr. Cuthbert was clearly interested in flirting and impressing her, but she gave him no quarter, though neither was she rude. It occurred to her that the man must like Elizabeth for herself, because any other woman in attendance would have been a more prudent choice. It mattered not, Elizabeth had no desire to be mistress of Willig Park, or wife to a kindly but innocuous man. He had been easy enough to put off with a few well-deployed expressions of obtuseness.

The guests would be departing in six days’ time, and Elizabeth felt assured of her success in getting through the remainder of the affair with her equanimity intact, at least with regard to the guests.

However, Mr. Darcy seemed to be back to his glaring and disapproving ways.

Elizabeth noticed him at the edges of her conversations with others, or back to following along on her rides with Phoebe in lieu of their favorite groom. She wondered that he did not feel rude attending to her and Phoebe instead of his guests, but Elizabeth could not claim to understand the man. She longed for a true friend in the household so she could ask what Mr. Darcy meant by listening to her conversations, or watching her intently, but there was nobody to ask about his behavior. Certainly nobody else on staff was subject to such scrutiny, but nobody else existed in the peculiar, liminal space that Elizabeth did. All she could do was shrug and move along with her duties to both Phoebe and Miss Darcy.

Elizabeth did what she always did when troubled: disappeared into her inner world of reading, writing, letters, and searching for joy. She adored her little charge, who was growing more confident each week, and responding well to her lessons. She had pleasure in hearing from her family, and had even started sketching out a new novel. Elizabeth knew that The Misses Bell was no longer to be tweaked with. She must satisfy herself that her novel was as good as it could be at that moment in time, and it must go make its way in the world. She was now at work on something about the most prominent family in a market town, and how their lives were turned upside down with the arrival of a mysterious new gentleman who was not what he appeared to be. When Elizabeth was not working with Phoebe, or interacting with guests or servants in Pemberley, her mind was in her imaginary little market town – she loved this part of writing, how she could disappear into little worlds of her own making.

That morning Phoebe was with Nurse Susie and Elizabeth had taken the opportunity to consider how to respond to Uncle Edward’s latest. He and Elizabeth had been pondering over whether to sell The Misses Bell to Mr. Henning, or to finance the book themselves, with Mr. Henning printing, advertising, and distributing the book. If she sold The Misses Bell, she took on very little of the risk associated with publishing a book. If it did poorly, it would be Mr. Henning’s loss. But if it did well, the loss would be Elizabeth’s.

Elizabeth read Uncle Edward’s letter for what seemed the thousandth time and decided she must go outdoors for a vigorous walk to make a decision. She would stop dragging this out and finally write her uncle back this very day. She dressed for the out of doors and tucked the letter inside her pelisse, though this hardly seemed necessary, she knew it by heart.

As she made for the path along the stream, Elizabeth moved quickly, feeling the muscles in her thighs work and heat. The clarity she always got from a fast walk started to come over her, and when she reached the stream, she began to jump from rock to rock, speaking quietly, but authoritatively to herself.

“Now let us see, Lizzy Bennet. If you take on all the risk yourself, it would not be entirely foolish. If we follow Mr. Henning’s advice to sell in three volumes, and we price each at 15 shillings, then to turn a profit, we would need to sell…” Elizabeth murmured and ran the calculations in her mind again. If they were able to get the novel into libraries, she knew that ladies would share their recommendation of the novel with each other, for it was what ladies did. She knew the first volume of the book, which centered on the beautiful, eldest Miss Bell and her ill-starred romance with a young man forced to leave their town would pull in her readers, the second Miss Bell, who was witty and daring would provide comic relief, and the third Miss Bell would bring all the stories together with her misadventure in London. Elizabeth felt in her bones that this novel would do well.

“Then I suppose selling the copyright is out of the question. I could no more sell The Misses Bell than I could a child,” she said to herself rather loudly.

Much to her surprise, a male voice called out, “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, what did you say?”

Elizabeth let out a shriek and nearly lost her balance as she spun around on the rock and caught sight of Mr. Washington.

“Miss Bennet, are you well?” He cried out, lunging for the rock on which Elizabeth was standing.

Elizabeth caught her balance and laughed, holding up her hand to stop the man from bounding into the stream. “Sir, all is well. I was merely lost in thought as I attempted to solve a problem, you surprised me. But no need to worry, my father always said I had the balance of a cat.”

Mr. Washington laughed and said, “Well, if you are certain, Ma’am. I do not relish the notion of walking into Pemberley with squeaking wet boots.”

“Nor will you need to,” Elizabeth smiled and jumped back over to the side of the stream where Mr. Washington stood. “You have an appointment with Mr. Darcy, I take it?”

“I do, and wished to enjoy the excellent weather we are having, so I walked. Is not this a fine day?” Mr. Washington asked, holding out his arm.

Though Elizabeth had no need of the support, she laced her own through his companionably and said, “I try not to have favorites when it comes to the weather, but I confess that a beautiful October day has no rival in my heart.”

“Then we are the same. I find autumn to be irresistible, though there are many duties to which I must inevitably attend. The glebe must be put to rights for winter, the feed must still be stored for the horses, I must see that the backhouse man has put up as much wood as possible, when he would rather be walking out with the scullery maid. You see my dilemma. All I wish to do is wander the woods and peaks,” Mr. Washington said.

Elizabeth smiled and nodded in agreement. She shared some of her observations about the far off peaks and asked Mr. Washington for his thoughts on the coming winter and what the season would be like in Derbyshire.

They came upon the house and Elizabeth guided Mr. Washington to the front hall where he could wait to be taken to Mr. Darcy when they came upon the man himself.

“Darcy, how do you do?” Mr. Washington said. The tone of his voice was pleased and jovial, and he held out his hand for Mr. Darcy to take, which he did after a beat, looking between Elizabeth and the vicar. “Washington,” was all he said.

Elizabeth’s heart was still light and happy with the decision she had made about her book, and she took this opportunity to escape the dour master and abandon Mr. Washington to his mercurial temper. She had half an hour yet before she needed to collect Phoebe from Nurse Susie, and it was just enough time to begin a letter to Uncle Edward. She would accept his offer to fund half of the book, whilst she funded the other.

Elizabeth did not see the lingering glances of the two gentlemen: the stern expression of her employer, nor the admiring gaze of her friend. Neither did she see Mr. Darcy’s gaze of curiosity and scrutiny turn to Mr. Washington’s face, or their awkward journey to Mr. Darcy’s study.

 

The next day Elizabeth and Phoebe were in the schoolroom practicing a piece on the pianoforte (which Phoebe grudgingly admitted was nice to be able to play, even if she did not prefer it to singing) when an elaborate knock sounded at the door.

Phoebe and Elizabeth looked at each other and giggled at the extravagant pattern of rapping. “It must be Cousin Richard!” Phoebe said happily, and Elizabeth nodded her head at the door. “Enter!” Phoebe sang out.

“I come bearing gifts from town, little miss!” Colonel Fitzwilliam said as he entered the room. Phoebe jumped up and ran toward the gentleman, who crouched down for an embrace. Elizabeth stood up from the instrument and smiled at the Colonel’s warmth and kindness toward Phoebe. It was important that she know affection from a male relative, and it was clear that Mr. Darcy would not be the one to provide it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a figure of great admiration to Phoebe and Miss Darcy, and it was easy to see why.

Phoebe guided her cousin over to the table and he set down a parcel that appeared to be from a milliner. She regarded it warily. “Is this something for a fine lady?”

“Oh, yes, only the finest ladies possess these. Perhaps you should open it?” The Colonel answered very seriously. Elizabeth walked closer to watch Phoebe pull at the ribbon holding the box together. She moved around the fabric inside the box and let out an enormous gasp. Like a fisherman pulling a prized catch from the water, Phoebe’s little fist came out of the box with a magnifying glass.

“Miss Bennet, look!” Phoebe cried, looking at the glass in her hand as though it was the key to all the secrets in the universe.

“What a gift!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “It seems as if Colonel Fitzwilliam knew exactly what you needed. And indeed, he is a wise man, because fripperies are of no interest to our Miss Phoebe, are they?”

“At least not yet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “But someday, I am sure you will appreciate a fine bolt of fabric or an exceptional length of ribbon as well as any lady.”

Phoebe looked at him and gave a great huff. Then she turned to Elizabeth and said, “Miss Bennet, may we please go to the conservatory and look at the plants? Please?”

“We have not yet finished your pianoforte practice, dearest,” Elizabeth reminded her.

Phoebe was about to open her mouth to let out a protest when the Colonel said, “If you will finish your practice, I shall escort you both to the conservatory to see what discoveries you might find.”

“Then let us hurry, Miss Bennet. I am going to look for spiders. Mr. Clarke said that this is the time of year when they come and hide inside,” Phoebe said, as she raced back toward the pianoforte bench. Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows and gave Elizabeth a cheeky grin, to which she gave a little eye roll and smiled. His expression and warmth implied an older friendship than really was, but Elizabeth found she did not mind it, and that despite his mild teasing during his last visit to Pemberley, his actions toward Phoebe and Miss Darcy showed a very good heart.

Phoebe ran through her exercises with great efficiency and no dilly-dallying, as was her general wont when it came to the instrument. Elizabeth then declared the party ready to make off for the conservatory. She picked up a shawl from her chambers then allowed the Colonel to guide them to the room they knew so well.

“How was your time in town, Sir?” Elizabeth inquired. She thought she could sense a melancholy about the gentleman.

“Oh, all well and good,” he answered. “I sold my commission, you know.”

“I believe Miss Darcy mentioned something to that effect. I imagine it was a difficult decision?”

“You imagine correctly, Miss Bennet. I have been a soldier so long that I hardly know what I ought to do next. Now that Napoleon is trapped on Elba, it seemed a good time to find a new path for myself. The army will do very well without me and my diminished physical capacity, as they call it,” the Colonel said as he gestured with his injured arm. He spoke with great jocularity, but Elizabeth was not fooled.

“Sir, your arm may not be the same, but your mind is stronger than ever, your wisdom of battle and defense greater than ever, I am sure. You must not act as though you are a pebble mixed in with the grain, something to be sifted out and discarded,” Elizabeth said kindly. “You still have a great deal to offer, Sir.”

The Colonel was quiet for a few moments, then said “I cannot really hold a gun, Miss Bennet. I can ride, but other physical things are too painful. I confess I feel ruined.” The words seemed to come out of him unbidden, as if he was on the verge of tears to even say these things aloud, almost shocked that he had said them at all.

Elizabeth took a pause before she answered. They walked slowly, watching Phoebe ahead of them in the hall. The child was inspecting the edges of painting frames, the fibers in the drapes, even dust motes dancing in the sunlight that filtered in through the drapes.

“Of course you feel ruined, Sir. We all feel ruined after something catastrophic to our very personhood happens. Take your time, feel ruined. It is well. And then one day, you will not feel ruined anymore. I promise. Time is generous, because it heals, and also selfish, because it also takes. But in this matter, let time be your friend. All will be well, Colonel,” Elizabeth answered.

He did not answer for a moment, then said thickly, “I am no longer a colonel, Miss Bennet.”

“To me you shall always be a Colonel, and I would wager there are hundreds, if not thousands of men across the country who would say the same,” Elizabeth answered. She made so bold as to reach out and touch his uninjured arm, which he angled out for her to take.

They continued walking toward the conservatory and Phoebe cried out, “Miss Bennet, look at this stain in the carpet! Do you think it is coffee or manure?” Colonel Fitzwilliam let out a braying laugh, and Elizabeth found herself doubled over with laughter, much to Phoebe’s confusion.

 

The penultimate day of the house party finally arrived, and Miss Darcy would be presenting her musicale. All of the ladies were planning to exhibit, with the exception of Lady Matlock who much preferred to listen these days.

Elizabeth and Phoebe had been practicing her playing, but had determined that Phoebe would be best served by singing while Elizabeth played. Miss Darcy requested that Elizabeth also exhibit, and then she and Phoebe were to join the company so the child could hear other performers.

Elizabeth was again in a plain gown, as she had been whenever not in attendance for an evening event. When she and Phoebe entered the room, they were immediately set upon by that absurd woman Miss Bingley.

“Oh, my dear little Miss Phoebe, we are so delighted to hear you perform, child! What will you be singing?” She cornered the two of them nearly as soon as they entered the room.

Phoebe eyed the woman with a great deal of trepidation and looked to Elizabeth, who squeezed her hand and gave an encouraging nod. “I shall sing ‘The Jolly Young Waterman,’ ma’am. It is my favorite,” Phoebe answered very gravely.

“Oh, yes, what a merry tune that is,” said Miss Bingley. “I am sure that you will perform most delightfully, my dear.” Her voice was sickly sweet and she spoke to Phoebe as though she was speaking to a simpleton. “Will you not sit down by me, dearest? I have a very good spot positioned well to see the performers.” Elizabeth could feel Phoebe stiffen, and decided to put an end to the interview. “Miss Phoebe, there is your Aunt Matlock. Remember she wishes you to sit with her tonight,” Elizabeth said, and Phoebe bobbed a relieved curtsy and walked over to her aunt and Cousin Anna.

Elizabeth was about to curtsy to Miss Bingley and follow her charge when Miss Bingley said, “I see you back in your usual garb, Miss Bennet?” There was a smirk on the woman’s face, and the expression of superiority was irresistible to Elizabeth. She had seen Miss Bingley in action enough times to know that she would make excellent inspiration for a character in one of her novels, and also that she would take any opportunity to be as nasty as possible.

Elizabeth merely smiled and said, “As you see, Miss Bingley. I am here in my capacity as Miss Phoebe’s governess, rather than Miss Darcy’s guest. Therefore, a plain old working gown makes the most sense, does it not?”

“I could not agree with you more, Miss Bennet. I take it this means you are no longer setting your cap at any of the gentlemen?” Miss Bingley said, and Elizabeth felt a flare of anger shoot through her. Still, it would not do to display any emotion.

“Indeed, madam, that was never the case, I assure you,” Elizabeth answered with an air of indifference.

“Well, well,” Miss Bingley answered. “I can assure you that if I were the mistress of Pemberley, I would never have countenanced your attendance at any evening events.”

“I believe that if you truly have your heart set upon living at Pemberley, ma’am, you might wish to inquire if Miss Phoebe needs a second governess, as I cannot conceive of it happening any other way. I beg you would excuse me,” Elizabeth said, and walked after Phoebe to find a spot alongside Lady Matlock and Lady Anna, leaving behind a red-faced, gasping Miss Bingley.

That had been a rather satisfying setdown, and she would simply have to trust what she perceived as Mr. Darcy’s decided distaste for Miss Bingley to be her protector should Elizabeth’s saucy speech ever get back to the man. In Elizabeth’s experience, the best way to manage a bully, no matter how great or small, was to speak their language and hold a line in no uncertain terms. Miss Bingley’s language was clearly cruelty, and to strike back in kind, in what was clearly a tender spot, would teach her not to cross swords with Elizabeth.

She made her way to Lady Matlock, Lady Anna, and Phoebe, who was nestled between the two ladies. After she curtsied to them, she took the chair next to their sofa and said, “Miss Darcy tells me she managed to coerce you into finally playing tonight, Lady Anna. I understand that this is a rare treat.”

“Whether or not it is a treat, Miss Bennet, I shall leave to the party to determine,” Lady Anna said with a twinkle in her eye.

“We spoke about this, Anna,” Lady Matlock said quietly, but with loving menace in her voice.

“Yes, yes, Mama. I will not sing a tavern song tonight,” Lady Anna said in exasperation. “That was one time!”

Elizabeth could not help the laugh that slipped from her mouth. Lady Matlock cooly replied, “If I recall, it has happened at least twice, young lady.” Lady Anna merely gave an elegant shrug, and the women spoke of what they would perform.

Ned Goulding sat in the chair alongside Elizabeth’s and reminded her of the musical performances the children in Meryton would present at family parties. Elizabeth reminisced with him fondly, and Mr. Bingley came up at that moment.

“Meryton sounds like a most charming place. I have not spent much time in Hertfordshire, but I confess that its proximity to town is very appealing,” Mr. Bingley said after listening to Ned and Elizabeth describe some of the homes around Meryton and Longbourn.

“To me Hertfordshire is the best of all the counties. Oh, it does not have your rugged beauty of the north, but it has gentle landscapes, beautiful woods, congenial people, and as you said, it is not far to town when one feels the need for adventure. You are looking for an estate, are you not, Bingley?” Ned asked.

“I am indeed,” he answered. “My father intended to purchase after he sold his interests in manufacturing, but he did not live to do it, so it has fallen to me. I have been looking for some time, but had not been serious until this past year or so.”

“There is an excellent property there for lease in Meryton. It is called Netherfield, and…” Ned began to tell Mr. Bingley, but Elizabeth’s attention was pulled back to the ladies, who were asking about Phoebe’s progress on the pianoforte. After a few moments, all chatter ceased when Miss Darcy stood up in front of the instrument and called their attention. Elizabeth smiled at her proudly, for if Miss Darcy was nervous, she did not show it at all. This was quite a triumph in and of itself.

After calling their attention, Miss Darcy once again cleared her throat and said, “We have so enjoyed having you all at Pemberley, and we hope you have enjoyed yourselves as well.” She was interrupted by a few cheers and a hearty, “Hear, hear!” from Mr. Bingley. Miss Darcy smiled, “It is a great joy to be surrounded by friends, and I am very pleased that so many of the ladies have agreed to play for us today. First we will have my niece, Miss Phoebe Darcy, who will be accompanied by her governess, Miss Bennet. I have spoken to all the other ladies about order of play, so I shall leave off the introductions and let the ladies entertain us. Phoebe, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth watched with approbation and affection as Phoebe squared her little shoulders and walked to the pianoforte. Elizabeth followed her and settled herself at the instrument, and gave the child an encouraging smile when she turned for one last look at her governess. Elizabeth played the opening bar of the song and Phoebe took a deep breath and belted out her favorite tune about the jolly young waterman. When Elizabeth looked out at the ladies and gentlemen, she could see smiling, charmed faces as they watched the little girl sing. Whether or not they knew how shy she was before Elizabeth had come now mattered not. They could see a confident little girl in front of them. Phoebe’s voice was improving with practice, and her memory was much better at retaining lyrics. Elizabeth tucked her chin and smiled. Her pride needed to be kept under good regulation, after all, no matter how delighted she was.

The party all clapped loudly for Phoebe, who barely remembered to drop a curtsy to the audience, then raced back toward her Aunt Matlock’s side, face flaming. Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy as the child raced away, and saw the complacent look on his face fade into a little frown. He cannot wonder at the child wishing for comfort from somebody else over him, can he? Elizabeth wondered. But apparently, he could. Ah, well.

Elizabeth had promised Miss Darcy that she would play one song, but that she would rather not sing. Miss Darcy had begun to wheedle and plead, but Elizabeth merely laughed and claimed a bit of a sore throat with the changing weather. Miss Darcy had acquiesced. Elizabeth did not really have a good reason as to why she would rather not sing. Perhaps it was that she was feeling a little melancholy for her family, and felt like keeping back some of her energy for herself, rather than the assembled party.

Elizabeth remained seated at the pianoforte and waited for the party to settle after Phoebe took her seat and shyly accepted praise from the ladies and gentlemen. When all had quieted, Elizabeth bowed her head once and played a sonatina by Pleyel she had always loved. She loved it because her family had loved it, and Elizabeth found herself missing them that night. She had once heard Pleyel criticized because he was not as scientific or complex as other composers. But the Bennets had always favored the feeling that came from a Pleyel piece. One could put a great deal of emotion into anything he had written, and the Bennets had always been a rather feeling bunch, for good or for ill. How odd to find herself in a home where feelings were not at the forefront.

Elizabeth had been privately meditating as she played, and it put a great deal of emotion into her song. When she played the final notes and let the music resonate throughout the beautiful room, there was silence. When she looked up, she could see Ned’s beaming smile, the astonished looks on the Matlock ladies’ faces, the nearly fond look from Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Darcy’s almost pained countenance. Then the applause was loud, nearly thundering after the silence. Elizabeth stood up and curtsied to the room, her face suddenly flush with embarrassment. She did her best not to rush back toward her seat, and smiled as she passed members of the party when they congratulated her on her superior playing. She could hear Miss Wellington’s voice echoing in her mind: A governess must do her best to blend in, try never to stick out, my dear.

A footman – Samuelson, Elizabeth noted – kindly brought her a little glass of sweet sherry, and gave her a miniscule smile as their eyes met. How odd to be trapped between two worlds, and to be so reminded of it by being included in Miss Darcy’s company! Elizabeth had received a great deal of kindness from the household staff, though she was not completely a part of it. And she had received confusing interest from the ladies and gentlemen of the party. She could only hope all would go back to normal after the guests departed tomorrow.

She did not see the frequent gazes of Mr. Darcy as she sipped her sherry, or as Phoebe moved from Lady Matlock’s side to nestle onto her lap and sleepily watch the remaining ladies play. Instead, Elizabeth listened with her arms around Phoebe, and calmed her melancholy, nervous little heart with the music, and the warm, reassuring weight of the little girl in her lap. When it came time to take Phoebe to bed and for the gathered company to move into the larger drawing room, Elizabeth and Phoebe took their leave graciously. Elizabeth said her goodbyes to the guests she would miss and the ones to whom she had been cautiously indifferent. She and Miss Bingley avoided each other as though they were circling barn cats, which suited Elizabeth well enough.

After Elizabeth consigned Phoebe into Nurse Susie’s care, she went and sat at the window to sip her nighttime tea, which had arrived promptly along with a maid to light the fire.

It was a most comfortable situation, with a child she was coming to love, among people of whom she had become fond. Elizabeth only hoped the past few weeks had done nothing to jeopardize it.

 

Miss Darcy and Mr. Darcy sent off their guests the next day. Mrs. Annesley elected to sit in the schoolroom to work on more items for her niece’s trousseau as Elizabeth worked with Phoebe on her arithmetic. The weather had turned colder and many of the leaves were now tumbling and whirling around the park. Elizabeth looked out the window at the gray skies. If rain did not threaten, perhaps she would ask Jones to accompany them on a long walk that afternoon. Phoebe completed the set of calculations before her, then handed them over to Elizabeth for inspection.

Elizabeth ran her finger down the column of answers, and nodding her head in approval said, “Very good, my dear. These sorts of calculations are much like pianoforte exercises. They build a sort of automatic ability in your head. However, I know they can be trying, so now we must put it into practice! We shall take our slate and chalk to either the library or the ballroom and do some addition exercises. Which room would you like, my dear?”

“Hmmm. The ballroom!” Phoebe answered.

“I did not expect that, I confess,” Elizabeth laughed. “For I know after the conservatory, the library is your favorite place, is it not?”

“It is so,” Phoebe answered. “But I have not been in the ballroom above twice, and I would like to look at it. I wonder if a ball will ever be held there again?”

“I daresay it will at some point. We shall begin your dancing lessons in a couple of years. It will be a very necessary skill for a lively young person such as yourself, will it not, Mrs. Annesley?”

Mrs. Annesley agreed and began to put the napkin she was embroidering away in her work basket. Elizabeth encouraged Phoebe to go and use the chamberpot before they set out, and the child skipped out of the room.

“You know, it is possible there may be a ball there much sooner than anybody ever expected,” Mrs. Annesley said. “I believe Miss Darcy and Mr. Wright have begun to form an attachment.”

“Really! I knew she had quite a few conversations with him. There was no opportunity for dancing, of course. With so few ladies about it would have seemed odd. Dancing is such a good first step to falling in love!” Elizabeth said. She felt a great deal of pleasure for Miss Darcy. “When will they see each other again, do you think? Dorset is so very far.”

“Mr. Wright and the Darlings are traveling up to visit Mrs. Darling’s aunt in Sheffield, but they will return to the area in six weeks. They are to stay with the Matlocks, and Miss Darcy and I at least shall go to stay with them for a time,” Mrs. Annesley answered.

“And do you think Mr. Wright is a good match for our Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.

“I think he has a fair character, and seems to be a kind and patient man. If Mr. Darcy thinks well of him, then half the work is done, for he is very fastidious about the company he keeps. I think if Mr. Wright and Miss Darcy enjoy each other’s company, something very good could grow from a further acquaintance,” Mrs. Annesley said.

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully and Phoebe returned to the room. They said their goodbyes to Mrs. Annesley and set off for the ballroom, debating what to count first: windows or wall sconces. As they walked, Elizabeth idly wondered about how much quieter Pemberley would become for Phoebe if her aunt were to marry and move to Dorset. Mrs. Annesley would move on to life with her newly married niece and Elizabeth and Phoebe would be left with Mr. Darcy. How much lonelier the house would feel without them! Elizabeth sighed to herself and opened the door to the ballroom, then she and her charge determined that Phoebe would tally the number of windows first.

 

They did not manage to go for a walk that afternoon as a light rain began to fall over Pemberley after they finished their lessons. Phoebe was rather tired from her late night the previous day, so she dined early, and Elizabeth handed her off to Nurse Susie for an early night.

This, of course, left Elizabeth with an unusually large amount of free time, and there was no better place to spend it than in the library. For although Mr. Darcy’s collection did not contain enough novels to satisfy Elizabeth, it certainly held enough materials to conduct research for her own novels. She had an idea that one of her characters in the next work would be a sailor, and therefore Elizabeth needed to research the ports of England and the empire.

She took her notebook and pen along with a list of questions she had been drafting for herself – Portsmouth: Population? Characteristics of terrain? Points of beauty or interest? – and headed for her favorite table in the library. Although the light was growing dim, she knew she could ask for a fire and work happily for several hours before she needed to go to sleep herself.

And that is just what she did, immersing herself in travel guides and histories of the Royal Navy, and jotting down note after note. It was not until she heard the sound of a door that she looked up. Mr. Darcy had entered, and he looked as surprised to see her as she did him.

Elizabeth rose from her seat and curtsied in return to his bow. “I did not expect to see anybody in the library, Sir. I would be happy to vacate if you would prefer to have the room to yourself,” she said.

It took him half a beat to respond, but Mr. Darcy did reply, “No, no. Please stay, you are perfectly welcome to stay. I only came for a book.”

Elizabeth could not help but smile. “Well, then you shall be satisfied many times over, Sir, for the room is full of them.”

He said nothing, and walked over to the first alcove, evidently in search of something specific. Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and began to sift through the notes she had taken, organizing them into tidy piles. It was about time to return to her chambers. Mr. Darcy could enjoy the library as he wished.

Mr. Darcy crossed back in front of the table where Elizabeth worked, and seemed as though he would head for the door. He made it within a few steps of the exit, but turned around in a violent hurry, and stepped back toward her table. Seeming to change his mind again, he turned toward the door and stopped with his hand on the knob. He paused for a moment there, and seemed to square his shoulders. Mr. Darcy turned around and walked toward Elizabeth’s table again.

The great man’s capricious movements and apparent indecision were surprising enough to Elizabeth, but the next words out of his mouth were beyond anything she could ever have imagined.

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Notes:

I like to update every other week, but last week was a doozy, and I wanted to make sure to get this chapter right -- it's a big one!

If you're interested about the publishing talk Lizzy gives herself, there's a really interesting blog post from the excellent Jane Austen's World. It's where I got the inspiration for that little bit of the chapter.

https://janeaustensworld.com/2023/06/26/jane-austens-publishing-journey/#:~:text=Publishing%20Choices%20in%20Austen's%20England,illustration%20for%20Sense%20and%20Sensibility.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. The words seemed to hang in the air between them.

Elizabeth knew she was staring at Mr. Darcy, but felt struck dumb. He seemed to mistake her silent shock for encouragement and continued with his speech.

“I am well aware that any alliance between the two of us would be a degradation to my family’s name and that there would be a great scandal attached to the marriage for many years to come – wedding an impoverished governess. But it cannot be helped,” he said, and once more started to pace.

“Indeed,” he continued, “I have fought my feelings for several weeks now, Miss Bennet. I was sure that my feelings were not of love, but perhaps infatuation that would fade over time, but I am now sure that the opposite is true.” He stopped pacing, and turned back toward her, coming to stand directly in front of Elizabeth, where she remained perched on the chair at her table, ready to flee as soon as she could.

Mr. Darcy was not deterred by her silence or lack of reaction. Not at all. He concluded his speech with, “Despite the lack of connection and fortune you would bring to our marriage, there is nothing for it and we must wed. I beg you to name the day that will make me the happiest of men,” Mr. Darcy said, finally leaving off what had to be the most ridiculous speech Elizabeth had ever heard directed at her person.

As he had been speaking, Elizabeth’s feelings turned from shocked to doubting to furious. When he first mentioned his passionate feelings for her, Elizabeth was surprised to learn that Mr. Darcy was capable of any such emotion. The man was so quiet and so taciturn, Elizabeth had often doubted he had any feelings beyond irritability. But as he spoke, she found it almost beyond belief so successful and clever a man thought it wise to tell a woman he wished to marry what a poor investment she was.

He was waiting for her to respond, and Elizabeth’s mind was spinning. There was no choice but to refuse him, everything she had seen of his character told her he was the last man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed upon to marry, and yet how to free herself from the trap he had caught her in? He was her employer, and she was quite attached to Phoebe and her place at Pemberley. There could be no safety or calm for her if she refused him. That is if he even allowed her to stay on. It was possible she could be forced to pack her trunks and leave at first light, dragging them behind her down the road to Lambton.

She urged herself to think logically, to find a way out of the puzzle that had been set before her.

There could be nothing real in this. Had the man himself not once declared her tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him? He must be lonely without a wife, and as the nearest, most available female around, Mr. Darcy must have developed some sort of a fancy that he was in love with her. For that was all it could be: a fancy!

Elizabeth delicately cleared her throat, and said, “In cases such as this, I believe the established mode is to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, but I cannot, Sir. I thank you for the honor of your proposal, but it would be wrong of me on every level to accept. You are correct: it would bring scandal down upon your house, and I would be censured and despised as a grasping schemer. Think of the negative effects on Miss Darcy and Miss Phoebe. You speak of ardent love, and yet, we know nothing of each other, nothing true or deep about the other’s character. I am certain that if you knew more of me, you would begin to regret your choice, were I to accept. Please, let us forget this ever happened. We can go along as if it did not,” Elizabeth spoke in a rush, and felt breathless as she concluded her argument.

Mr. Darcy was startled by her response, that much was clear. He walked over to the table opposite her own and set down his book, looking almost as if he was attempting to shake himself awake. He finally turned to her and said, “Miss Bennet, I said that I had overcome my struggles in deciding to propose. Pray, pay me the compliment of knowing my own mind.”

Elizabeth felt a dangerous spark of anger in her chest. “I would ask the same of you, Sir. It is impossible for me to accept.”

“Miss Bennet, it is overly scrupulous of you to object on the grounds of your reputation. The only people who matter are our family, and they would know the truth of the situation,” Mr. Darcy said. His countenance looked agitated, as though he had never expected a refusal at all. Rather, Elizabeth was certainly meant to swoon into his arms and accept her good fortune at having caught his eye.

“And yet you chose to begin your suit with the degradation I would bring to the Darcy name, Sir. I struggle to comprehend: is my situation in life an abject barrier to your respectability or is it not? To say nothing of my own?” Elizabeth fired back at him, and the anger flared up from a little tiny spark into a dangerous little flame.

Elizabeth could see some comprehension dawn over Mr. Darcy’s countenance. He paused a moment then said, “Should I have endlessly flattered you? Sprouted poetry and other declarations of undying love? I admire your mind and your spirit, Miss Bennet. My admiration for you needs no false adornment.”

Elizabeth restrained herself from rolling her eyes then said, “Nobody has asked for false adornment. To hear a proposal one was not expecting at all is one thing. To hear that one's situation in life is so repulsive that weeks and weeks of arduous struggles were necessary to overcome before one’s suitor could even condescend to ask is quite another, Sir. To eventually hear after several minutes that you are asking me because you admire something about me might be the most shocking part. For all I understood until you spoke of your supposed admiration of my mind and spirit is that I am worthy of your disdain.”

He was quiet for a moment, and with great dread, Elizabeth studied the aggravation on his handsome face. “You would continue this life you have chosen, one of servitude and dependency? That is more attractive to you than the position of the mistress of Pemberley?” Mr. Darcy said, his voice strained with incredulity.

Elizabeth walked out from behind her table and went nearer to the man, now propelled by an unwise fury. “My freedom is more attractive to me, Sir. I do not feel inferior to anybody because I work. I would sooner scrub pots in the scullery than tie myself to a man who would take it from me. I would never pay so great a cost,” she spat out.

“What a nonsensical thing to say!” Mr. Darcy said. His handsome face turned scornful, and he took a step closer to her. “That is not what any wife of mine would ever feel!”

Elizabeth had to check her laugh at the absurdity of such a statement. “How would you know what anybody around here feels, Sir? What pains do you take to know them, to understand their cares, to please them? How could I possibly accept a marriage to a man who deigns to propose to a woman without understanding a single thing inside her heart?” Elizabeth understood the absolute idiocy of responding as she was, but she could hardly contain herself. After weeks of holding herself in the odd limbo of being part of the household and acting as a gentlewoman at parties and dinners, the strain had caught up with her. To be insulted was bad enough, but to be misunderstood felt worse to her.

“If you wish to make me feel ashamed for my feelings toward you, you shall not succeed. They are natural and just,” Mr. Darcy retorted, almost childishly.

“I wish for nothing but this conversation never to have happened!” Elizabeth said, and watched the great man wince.

“Perhaps I should have flattered you, or concealed my struggles. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. I would have you understand me, and how we would be perceived, and begin life as a couple,” Mr. Darcy said.

Elizabeth tried calming herself, and to try and give him a better understanding than he currently possessed. “Mr. Darcy, I would have you understand me as well. You speak of a life of dependency. That is not the life I live. I take pleasure in my role with your daughter. I have loved teaching other children. I have had good positions, and am fortunate enough to continue to only accept good positions, thanks to my family’s generosity and support of my choices to be independent. I will not marry any man, let alone one who is likely mistaking lust and loneliness for love.”

“Do not tell me what I feel – It is insulting in the extreme!” Mr. Darcy said. He threw up his hands and began to stalk toward the nearest window.

“You feel insulted?” Elizabeth nearly laughed, for the absurdity of the situation was starting to feel almost too great to bear. “I begin to believe I am dreaming, for this is the strangest conversation of my life, Mr. Darcy. You have told me of my inherent unsuitability to be your wife, berated me for my rejection of your suit, and never once do you seem to have considered how this conversation would impact my ability to stay on as Miss Phoebe’s governess, should I not accept you. You forget that on the other side of your proposal is a rational creature with her own hopes, dreams, and feelings. Even if I were interested in marrying, it would be difficult after being addressed in such an ungentlemanlike manner.”

Once again, Mr. Darcy started, and looked at Elizabeth in shock. The reality of their situation must have crashed over him all at once, and he seemed to shake himself, and came back in front of Elizabeth at her table. She looked down at her various scraps of paper about Portsmouth, and felt like another person had written them. The Elizabeth before this conversation had taken place, and the Elizabeth after.

“I…” He began, then stopped. “I will leave you now. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time.”

Mr. Darcy did not bow, he did not even look her in the eye. Instead, he made for the library door and fled the scene, leaving her alone with the dying fire and in a state of dread and confusion about what in heavens’ name she was to do next.

 

Elizabeth went to bed the night after Mr. Darcy’s proposal without washing her face or braiding her hair, ignoring her pot of tea. She only managed to change into her nightgown before falling into bed and tossing and turning until she fell into a fitful sleep.

She was surprised to be awoken by two maids the next day. Molly and dear Jenny both stood over her, attempting to rouse her. “Miss Bennet, are you well? You seem very poorly, ma’am!” Elizabeth finally eased into consciousness after a few gentle slaps on the back of her hand.

She struggled to sit up and felt rather than saw somebody move some cushions behind her back so she could stay upright. Elizabeth was hot and could hardly open her eyes. She managed to croak out, “Pray, would you bring me some water?”

“At once, Miss Bennet,” Jenny said and rushed out of the room, and Elizabeth finally rested her head back on some of the pillows propped against the headboard and opened her eyes.

“Miss, I don’t mean to make matters any worse, but you look downright awful!” Molly said.

Elizabeth let out a weak laugh. “Then I look how I feel, my dear. You should step back, Molly, I can feel that I am hot and likely have a fever. I would not wish to make anybody else ill.” Her nightgown was damp, and Elizabeth took this as confirmation of the fever having started sometime in the night.

“I’ll tell Susie that you’re sick, and that Miss Phoebe ought not to come here. We’ll take good care of you, Miss Bennet, never you worry. Let me find a clean nightgown and tidy your hair,” Molly said, and stepped into efficient action.

Molly had helped Elizabeth change and relieve herself, and was kneeling behind her to brush out and braid her hair when a knock came at the door. Mrs. Reynolds and Jenny entered, the latter carrying a small tray of tonics, water, and a carafe of what Elizabeth suspected was barley water, the benefits of which the cook Mrs. Hudson could deliver a glowing panegyric. She smiled weakly at the women as they came in and began to fuss.

She drank deeply of the cold fresh water and let her head fall back in exhaustion. Mrs. Reynolds confirmed a fever and said they were brewing willow bark tea downstairs. Molly gathered the nightgown for laundering and curtsied out of the room, while Jenny applied cold cloths to Elizabeth’s forehead. The sensation of being so tenderly nursed was heavenly, and she felt the power of the liquids and cold water applied to her forehead make her feel a little less heated. She closed her eyes and fell asleep again.

Elizabeth woke again when she heard Mrs. Reynolds and an older male voice murmuring at her bedside. She was still hot, but the fever seemed reduced from earlier. She opened her eyes and quietly said hello to the pair, who turned to her immediately.

The older gentleman was the apothecary from Lambton, who Mrs. Reynolds introduced as Mr. Gourley. Mrs. Reynolds stayed for the examination, sitting alongside Elizabeth’s bedside as Mr. Gourley listened to her heart and lungs and felt her pulse through her wrist. He placed a cool dry hand against her forehead and pronounced the fever mild, but that rest was in order, along with more willow bark and whatever food she could tolerate, particularly Mrs. Hudson’s broth, which was known locally to be the most health-inducing in all of Derbyshire.

Elizabeth nodded along at his advice, and despite having slept for so long, felt exhausted as Mrs. Reynolds showed the man out of the room. She came back over to Elizabeth’s bedside and helped straighten the bedclothes out and began to pour another cup of willow bark out. She laughed when she saw Elizabeth wince.

“‘Tis bitter, I know, but Mrs. Hudson has added a great deal of honey and cinnamon to the pot with the hope of masking as much of it as possible,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, which was hoarse from not having spoken much, along with the dry cough that seemed to have formed since the morning. “Pray thank her for me, it does help. It is just such wretched stuff. Not even a woman of her skill can hide it,” she answered.

Mrs. Reynolds bobbed her head and passed over the cup. Elizabeth grimaced and drank it down, hoping it would work quickly, for her head ached as well.

“Is anybody else ill, I wonder?” she asked.

“No, it seems right now that you are the only one,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“I am so sorry you went to the trouble of calling Mr. Gourley out here just for me,” she said.

“Oh, do not be silly. Of course we would call him here just for you,” Mrs. Reynolds said, adjusting the tea tray to bring forward some bread and butter. She pieced a slice of the bread onto a toasting fork and walked over to the fire.

“You are very good, Ma’am. How does Miss Phoebe do?” Elizabeth said, flopping her head back against the pillows.

“She is most worried about you, but she and her Nurse are out and about on a midday constitutional. That will certainly lift her spirits. I believe she may come back with a bouquet of some sort for you, although heaven knows what she might find out in the garden at this time of year,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“I admire Miss Phoebe’s eye for nature,” Elizabeth answered. “Nobody I know finds sticks and dried leaves as beautiful. Everything in nature needs a champion. If the bouquet is full of dead oak leaves and spiders, I shall love it all the more.”

The toast was ready and Mrs. Reynolds served Elizabeth. She managed to eat one slice with butter and raspberry jam. (Why were the raspberries at Pemberley the best in all of England? Elizabeth could not say.) “Madam, I will drink another vile cup of your willow bark, then I am afraid I must sleep again.”

Mrs. Reynolds laughed and poured another dainty little cup of the miserable brew, which Elizabeth dutifully drank. She then bid Mrs. Reynolds farewell and nestled back into her pillow, looking out of her window at the gathered gray clouds, wondering what awaited her on the other side of her illness. She fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.

 

It took four days for Elizabeth to recover enough to return to teaching Phoebe, and during that time, she feared what she would find outside of her room often enough. She was oddly grateful for the reprieve her illness allowed her from having to see Mr. Darcy again. She was afraid of how Mr. Darcy would act. Elizabeth had beseeched him to forget the proposal, and indeed had been in total earnest. It seemed rather naive of her, for she did not think she could forget it herself. Could she go on as if nothing happened, even if the man allowed it?

Phoebe had created several drawings for Elizabeth while she convalesced and sent a few very short notes as well. When Elizabeth was finally well, Phoebe ran up to her and squeezed her hard enough to cause a grunt to come out. “Ooof, Miss Phoebe, I have missed you, too, dearest. And because I have missed you so, I shall not scold you for running and attempting to tackle me as though I was a pig who got loose in the garden.”

“Miss Bennet, you missed ever so much! Aunt Georgie and Mrs. Annesley left and went to Bakewell for some shopping, but they are back now. Aunt Georgie brought me some music she said we would like. Mr. Clarke scolded the undergardner, he said he was a lazy clod. What does that mean? And my Papa went away again, so we will only have Joe when we ride, but I am not sad, for I like Joe.”

A wave of relief washed over Elizabeth and she said, “Your Papa went away again?”

“Yes, he has gone to Scarborough to see Mr. Bingley for a month. How far away is Scarborough?” Phoebe answered.

“Quite far, over a hundred miles, I believe,” Elizabeth answered. “Shall we find the atlas to begin our lessons today?”

Phoebe was all agreement, and the two went to the schoolroom to search for Scarborough, a feeling of anxiety occasionally coming over her as they worked, despite all Elizabeth’s attempts to block it out.

 

With Mr. Darcy out of the house, Miss Darcy invited Elizabeth to dine with her and Mrs. Annesley. Uneasy as Elizabeth was about her situation at Pemberley and what she was to do next, she still accepted the invitation with alacrity. It was pleasant to enjoy the two ladies’ society, and Elizabeth rallied her spirits to be good company.

One evening not long after her recovery from illness, the three women sat enjoying a most excellent repast. Miss Darcy was coming into her own, learning how to manage the food in the larder along with the seasons and balancing the needs of the family with those of the servants. They were discussing joints of meat and entertaining when Elizabeth decided to venture a gentle tease.

“Miss Darcy, do you wonder at all about expanding your knowledge of the pantry and larders to the southern counties? After all, Dorset is quite a different place to Derbyshire,” Elizabeth smiled, and Miss Darcy looked a little flustered, but pleased.

“It is not a certain thing at all, Miss Bennet. It is true Mr. Wright has a handsome estate in Dorset, but I may never be the mistress of it. Although I do think we would suit,” Miss Darcy answered.

“Your hopes are very modest, Miss Darcy, but I noticed that he greatly admired you. At any rate, I recommend visiting the library as soon as may be. There are a wealth of travel guides and you may learn something of your possible new home,” Elizabeth said.

“My poor sister, Phoebe’s mother, was forever reading. She had an a very eclectic interest in books, and it led her to be an expert on many odd subjects,” Miss Darcy said. “There was a period of time where Anne was interested in the different regions of the country. Since travel was out of the question, she ordered many guides from the bookseller’s in Lambton.”

Elizabeth thought of the guide to Portsmouth she had been using for her research on the night of the proposal and felt an odd pang of connection to the poor woman.

“What a pity she was not able to see more places in her young life,” Elizabeth said.

Presumably to prevent the conversation from sliding into melancholy, Mrs. Annesley said, “Mrs. Darcy was very fond of Pemberley, I believe you’ve said, Miss Darcy?”

“Yes, she was happy to be out of her mother’s home. Lady Catherine loved her daughter, but could be quite overbearing,” Miss Darcy said.

“Oh, while we are speaking of Lady Catherine, I meant to thank you for her direction, Miss Darcy. She and Miss Phoebe have been corresponding for the last several weeks,” Elizabeth said. “Phoebe does very well writing short notes, but most of her letters are full of sketches. Lady Catherine has been sharing some stories of Mrs. Darcy’s youth, and what Rosings is like.”

“Oh, how delightful!” Mrs. Annesley said. “What a fine thing for a grandmother to be in touch with her granddaughter in such a way, after so many years, with so much distance.” Miss Darcy smiled and murmured her agreement.

Elizabeth thought about Miss Darcy’s very likely betrothal and how poor Mrs. Darcy’s life was cut short with childbirth. How much risk a woman took on when she married, whether it was to fall prey to the whims of a less than ideal husband, or to lose one’s life in the childbed and to never know how one’s child would be loved and cared for. She imagined herself in Mrs. Darcy’s position, having a child, dying, and then the poor thing being raised without love or joy. There had been little enough in Phoebe Darcy’s young existence for a long enough time. It made the idea of marrying Mr. Darcy even more terrifying than it already was.

She was not equal to forwarding much more of the conversation that evening, and instead listened and agreed as Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley spoke more of Lady Catherine, managing a household, and heaven knew what else.

 

A few weeks after the proposal, the skies cleared and Derbyshire was blessed with the most stunning autumn day. The weather was rather cool, but the day was so beautiful and bright that Elizabeth had sent a note over to the Gladwell household, asking if young Charlie and his governess Miss Bradley would care to go for a ride in the afternoon. The party obliged and came on horseback, accompanied by their own groom. Elizabeth, Phoebe, and Joe rode out to meet them in the grove west of the stables.

Being outside was one of the few things that could relieve Elizabeth’s tension and anxiety, therefore she gloried in each breath of cool fresh air rushing into her lungs, the feeling of being in the warm sun when the trails allowed, and the smell of the fall leaves as they crunched under the horses’ hooves.

The group came to a clearing and the grooms took the opportunity to teach Phoebe and Charlie the finer points of a canter, and so it naturally fell to Elizabeth to circle the grove with Miss Bradley. She was a woman in her late thirties, if Elizabeth had to guess, and her character tended toward stiff formality, though she could be warm with Charlie.

They rode in silence for some time until Elizabeth ventured, “I believe you have been with the Gladwells for about five years now, is that right, Miss Bradley?”

“It is, Miss Bennet. The older boy, Simon, is at Eton now. In a way it has been like teaching two only children from the same family,” she answered.

“It must be odd. Are the boys very different?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, yes. Simon is a very serious child, while you can see Charlie will talk to anybody about anything as long as he is allowed to run on,” Miss Bradley said.

“Will you stay with the family until he grows up?” Elizabeth asked.

“I shall, as long as it pleases them. Although I believe Mrs. Gladwell is in an interesting condition again. The poor woman has had many disappointments, according to talk in the servants’ hall. There is of course a large gap of years between the two boys, and now if there is a third babe, Charlie will be seven years older than him or her. But it is good for me, as the child would be in need of teaching around the time Charlie would leave for Eton, so I would stay on. The Gladwells are a fine family, no improper behavior at all. It is lonely, as you know, but I have no complaints,” she said as they turned their horses around to return to the beginning point.

“Have you ever worked for another family?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, there were two families before I came to the Gladwells. The first was not a bad situation, but I only joined them when their daughter was twelve. She went off to a seminary when she was fifteen, and so then I was with another family for a time before finding this position, thank goodness,” Miss Bradley said.

“It was not a happy situation, I take it?” Elizabeth asked.

“No,” Miss Bradley said, her voice darkening. After a few beats she simply said, “The father.”

Elizabeth made a murmur of sympathizing assent. She understood. Any governess would.

The two women were quiet for a while, all conversation ceasing until the sound of Charlie cheering for Phoebe as she cantered a figure eight around the grove with remarkable ease and skill. She finished closing the eight and then cantered over to Elizabeth, breathlessly calling, “Miss Bennet, Miss Bennet! Did you see what I did?”

Elizabeth smiled, “I did indeed, my dear! I am so very proud of you, it was a very great accomplishment!”

Phoebe smiled back with a huge toothy grin, and turned her mount back toward Charlie and the grooms.

The ladies were silent until Miss Bradley urged her horse to walk again, and Elizabeth followed. “Careful, Miss Bennet. It is very difficult when you love them too much,” Miss Bradley said.

Elizabeth understood this, too. It only added to the ache and the fear that she had been carrying in her heart for days now, each day growing worse as Mr. Darcy’s return date approached.

 

About a week before the master was to return to Pemberley, Mrs. Reynolds came by the schoolroom to deliver a letter for Elizabeth. “This note was tucked in with my letter from Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet. Certainly it is something regarding Miss Phoebe, I shall leave you to it,” the lady said.

Mrs. Reynolds walked out of the room, leaving Elizabeth standing haplessly by the pianoforte where Phoebe was working on her scales. The child stopped and looked up at her, rousing Elizabeth out of her stupor.

“Pray, continue, Miss Phoebe. You are doing very well,” she said.

Elizabeth walked over to the sofa near the window, out of Phoebe’s line of sight, and unsealed the note. It read simply, Miss Bennet, I would speak to you first thing when I return. – FD

What a flutter of nerves into which this threw Elizabeth! What would he say? A renewal of his proposal? He was stubborn enough for it. A dismissal? It seemed almost certain. Both were equally horrible to her. She listened to Phoebe play, and as usual, miss the transition between E major and E minor. The child went back and forth, making discordant noises until she found the right fingering.

She heard Miss Bradley’s dire voice saying, “It was the father,” and felt there was nothing for it. It was the father, and Elizabeth did not know what to do anymore. Elizabeth stood, fiddling with the piece of paper in her hands, when a knock came at the door again.

It was Mrs. Reynolds again. She looked very grave. “Miss Bennet, we have more of your post here. Parker was sorting letters and this one was mixed in with Mr. Darcy’s correspondence.”

The older lady brought her hand from behind her back and held out a black rimmed missive, signaling death. Elizabeth looked down at it in a daze, then back up at Mrs. Reynolds, who held the letter out, a sympathetic look on her face.

With her spirits now in a great state of turmoil, she walked forward and took the letter, breaking the black wax seal. She read the first sentences, too quickly to comprehend, and then she re-read it and re-read it once more. She was vaguely aware of Mrs. Reynolds guiding Phoebe out of the schoolroom and into the nursery.

The housekeeper returned, and then walked over to Elizabeth, guiding her over to a sofa near the window. “My dear Miss Bennet, what has happened?”

Elizabeth let out a whoosh of air and said, “It is from Longbourn, my family's estate. My sister Jane’s husband has died.”

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

When Elizabeth had explained the subject of her sister’s letter – that her brother-in-law had died – Mrs. Reynolds was full of kind condolences. She offered to have Jenny dye any garments black, or to send a letter express if need be. Elizabeth thanked her from her heart and held the dear older lady’s hands. “Madam, right now, I hardly know what to say or do. If I could have a few hours to myself to take a walk, it would do me a world of good.” She could hardly explain that the letter brought news of the end of a man she despised without seeming heartless and unnatural. What her spirits wanted was privacy, so that the first transports of her feelings were witnessed only by the trees and rocks.

Mrs. Reynolds agreed with alacrity and left Elizabeth to change into her warm pelisse and bonnet and sturdiest walking boots. She found her gloves and headed for the side entrance of Pemberley, the one that led off into the woods. Elizabeth did not often get the chance to take a true tramp through the woods. She was nearly always with Phoebe in the daytime hours, and although the child was very fond of being outdoors, their walks tended to be rambling and slow. Now Elizabeth had the opportunity to run and climb, to exert herself and beat away the blue devils that had plagued her since Mr. Darcy’s badly done application for her hand, an occurrence she still quite couldn’t believe.

Elizabeth trod the path that took her along some rocky outcroppings, where she knew there was a small clearing surrounded by fragrant pines. Some Darcy sometime or other had placed a pretty little stone bench there, and she wished to read Jane’s letter slowly, to give the matter her undistracted, full attention.

 

Longbourn, Hertfordshire
November 10, 1814

Dearest Lizzy,

I am most grieved to tell you that William Collins has unexpectedly died. It was quite shocking, as it is when any relatively young person dies. He received an infection from a cut, and although at first it seemed like nothing, the cut grew redder and redder, and although Mr. Jones tried to get the better of it when the fever came, a few days after he first cut himself, Mr. Collins died.

I continue to write it and say it out loud because it still seems impossible to me.

The children are bearing up as well as they can. His death confuses and saddens the children, although they were not particularly close to their father. He spent but little time with them, which is to be expected of a man with young children. It is my duty to ensure they have a strong sense of memory around their father’s best qualities so that it may carry them forward all their lives.
Jamie was Mr. Collins’ heir, and his will specified that I maintain the property in trust until our son is of age. With Jamie, the entail is broken. Our mother would be so happy to know it was so, and that it is her grandson who will continue to care for Longbourn. I believe you know from Aunt Gardiner the work I have done on Longbourn since becoming its mistress, and how Mr. Collins was satisfied to leave things largely to me. My role now will be to ensure Longbourn continues prosperous as the years go by, until Jamie inherits. I continue to build Rosie’s dowry so she will never be in the position of having to wed against her inclination.

We are well, we are strong, and we shall continue to thrive here at Longbourn, even in the face of our loss. But dearest Lizzy, you know as well as I: Longbourn has not been Longbourn without you. I would not be so selfish to beg you to come home, but may I confess how much I have longed for your presence? Not only me, but your niece and nephew, the Phillipses, other neighbors and friends. You cannot know how much you are loved and missed, not just now, but since the day you left. However, I am not so selfish as to press for it if it is not your wish to come home again.

Adieu! I take up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not, but circumstances are such that I cannot help begging you to come home where you belong. Please come and know your niece and nephew, and be by my side as I take on the role of both master and mistress here at Longbourn.

Yours affectionately,

Jane Collins

 

The stone bench was cold beneath Elizabeth, and it had numbed her bottom. The earthly reminder jolted her out of her daze. She could be with Jane again! And she could know her niece and nephew! Jane had Longbourn well in hand, and Elizabeth could contribute to the running of the household, but ought to still have ample time to write. She jumped up from the bench, and began walking again with vigor, with a frantic kind of happiness leaping out of her chest. Though she certainly never wished for Mr. Collins’ demise, she could not pretend that its announcement did not fill her with a perverse sense of justice. The man had upended the lives of the Bennet sisters, and now that his presence was removed from the world, Elizabeth could only see it as a positive, as sorry for Jamie and Rosie as she was that they had lost their father. She stood up abruptly. She must go to Longbourn.

There was only one thing about leaving that Elizabeth could not easily move past: Phoebe.

She had come to care for the child a great deal, and knew that Phoebe was a tender-hearted little creature. Elizabeth would have started packing her trunks the second recovered from her fever if not for Phoebe Darcy. The idea of leaving her after so many months of the child making such progress and their becoming so attached stood like a boulder in the middle of an otherwise very clear path.

And yet, Elizabeth thought, as she tramped quickly away from the clearing and back into the woods, There is Mr. Darcy. Most of the leaves had fallen off the trees in Pemberley woods, particularly after a rain storm had passed through the area, finishing what the wind had not. The landscape of Derbyshire, though she had not seen much of it beyond Pemberley, was a stark contrast to that of Hertfordshire, her home county. Derbyshire was dominant, and forced one’s attention whereas Hertfordshire pulled one in gently, as though by invitation.

Elizabeth had always fancied herself courageous, and it would be difficult to argue that she was anything but. She had left home at fourteen after having lost her parents, her close connection to her beloved elder sister, her very home. She had managed to flourish at school, guiding her younger sisters and many other young ladies through loneliness, uncertainty, and the other challenges of becoming a young woman. She had made her way in the world, despite the many obstacles society threw in a young woman’s way during her quest for independence.

Yet the idea of facing Mr. Darcy again felt nearly insurmountable. Elizabeth walked along the path until she came to some rocky outcroppings and felt the need to scale them. You can do anything, Lizzy, she told herself as she panted. You can do anything. She lifted the hem of her skirts and pelisse out of the way and scrabbled up the last few feet of rock. Elizabeth looked out at the woods and the bit of clearing she could see through some pines. Out loud she said, “I can do anything!” and she realized that she no longer wanted to.

What she wanted most was to go home, where she could be herself. No need to be pleasing toward an employer, no need to keep oneself small.

And no need to placate an arrogant man who presumed to know what was best for her. Not ever again.

Elizabeth caught her breath from where she stood on her rocky perch, hands on her hips. She could feel an ache in her heart for Phoebe, for the parting that she now could admit she knew was in front of them. Elizabeth had known almost as soon as she recovered from her illness that she no longer felt secure at Pemberley, for though he may leave his estate for a month or or even half a year, Mr. Darcy belonged to Pemberley the same way Phoebe did. And Elizabeth did not. It was only with Jane’s astonishing letter that it was clear to Elizabeth that she would go.

She looked about her surroundings once more, and methodically picked her way back down the rocks. She walked slowly back toward the path that had brought her here, looking at each dormant patch of moss, each cluster of stones, the rattling dry leaves remaining on the branches. She picked up a twig with a cluster of dried oak leaves and a few acorns attached, meaning to bring it to Phoebe, the first peace offering of however many Elizabeth could contrive in the next few days before she meant to leave.

 

Elizabeth walked back into the house and made directly for the housekeeper’s quarters. Mrs. Reynolds had a beautiful pair of rooms near the front of the servants’ hall. When Elizabeth knocked, it was almost as if Mrs. Reynolds was expecting her – she was admitted immediately to the little sitting room where the housekeeper conducted business. She settled in at the table covered with an embroidered tablecloth, running her fingers along the edges that fell above her lap. Mrs. Reynolds had left to pull together a tea tray, insisting that Elizabeth have a bite to eat with a good cup of strong, sweet tea.

After she had appeased the older lady by swallowing down a dainty little sandwich and half a cup of tea, Elizabeth took a deep breath and said, “Mrs. Reynolds, I must go to my sister. I must resign my post.”

Mrs. Reynolds let out a sigh and said, “I was afraid that was what you might say.”

“I cannot tell you how much I regret leaving Miss Phoebe,” Elizabeth said, surprising herself by tearing up in front of the very dignified older lady.

“I know, my dear. Anybody can see that the two of you are very good friends. She will miss you greatly,” Mrs. Reynolds said, reaching over and patting Elizabeth’s hand.

“I hope that I have helped her be ready for another governess. Would that I had a recommendation for my replacement for you! Perhaps I may write to my former school mistress? She may know of a good woman.” Elizabeth pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed underneath her eyes where the tears had spilled over.

“Pray do, Miss Bennet. And in truth, you have done more for her than just prepare her for another governess. You have helped her engage more with the world, and to find a reserve of inner bravery. I believe her father is very pleased. But beyond that, I know her mother would be so very proud. Well done, Miss Bennet. Very well done indeed.” Mrs. Reynolds said, and the tears began to fall in earnest.

After regaining her composure, it was not a very difficult business to arrange her departure from Pemberley. Mrs. Reynolds confirmed that Mr. Darcy would return in five days’ time, and therefore it was a great object for Elizabeth to be gone in four. It would give her enough time to take her leave of the very few acquaintances she had in the area, and also to say her goodbyes to the household. For there were many she would miss – so many of the kind hearted staff, and of course Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley. And of course, dear little Phoebe. An idea occurred to Elizabeth, and as she was standing to leave Mrs. Reynolds’ chambers, she asked, “Ma’am, would you be willing to give my correspondence to Miss Phoebe? As one never knows when Mr. and Miss Darcy will be from home, it seems that you are the best person to ask.”

“Of course, Miss Bennet, of course,” Mrs. Reynolds smiled.

 

Elizabeth lost herself in the details of leaving Pemberley to avoid the contrariety of emotions she was experiencing. There was a fluttering joy at returning home to Longbourn and seeing Jane and the children – something Elizabeth did not think she might ever get to do. There was the destabilizing sensation of leaving service to return to the life of a gentlewoman, which she did not anticipate being able to do for at least a decade. There was a massive amount of relief at not having to ever see or speak to Mr. Darcy ever again, along with the vague fear that the man might return early, and thus deny her the ability to sneak away. And then of course, there was leaving Phoebe.

As sad as she was, Elizabeth had to laugh to herself when she had a moment of quiet after speaking to Phoebe about her plans, because the two were ending as they started: with screaming.

When Elizabeth told the little girl she was leaving, Phoebe let out a scream that seemed to rattle the very window panes. The child ran and hid beneath her bed and would not come out, so once more Elizabeth told stories, and she sang songs, and she read books aloud until Phoebe came out.

When she crawled out, Phoebe was a bit dusty, but nevertheless, Elizabeth held out her arms and the girl fell into them. “Miss Bennet, why must you go?” she sniffled.

“Because my sister needs me very badly. Her husband just died,” Elizabeth answered. She squeezed Phoebe close, and stroked her back. “I am very sorry to leave you, dearest. I will always miss you, and always think of you with great fondness.”

Phoebe did not answer, but Elizabeth took the great shaking breaths the girl was taking to mean that she was attempting to stop crying. Elizabeth moved the girl back so she could look into her little countenance. “Miss Phoebe, my dear. You know that a lady does not scream and hide when she does not get her own way, do you not?”

“I know,” Phoebe said, a bit sullenly.

“It is not bad that you feel so distressed. It is perfectly reasonable, for it is always hard to lose a friend one is used to seeing every day,” Elizabeth said and moved the girl to her lap. “But you know that –”

“One must find a way to have one’s feelings without a burst of ill humor, lest one be mistaken for a wild animal,” Phoebe said, and Elizabeth laughed.

She pulled out the sprig of dried oak leaves and handed them to Phoebe, “For your collection, Miss Phoebe.”

Despite herself, Phoebe looked at the offering with interest. “It is from a Sessile Oak, is it not?” she asked.

“That is right, very good. I am so pleased that you have such a good memory for nature specimens,” Elizabeth said with warm approbation.

“It is my favorite thing that we do, nature hunting,” Phoebe said, looking down and gently fingering the bumpy little cupules of the acorns. Elizabeth pulled her in for a squeeze.

“Then let us not waste the time we have left,” said Elizabeth. “Would you like me to show you where I found that one? It was a very good walk, but we shall need Jones to attend us, as the spot is fairly deep in the woods.”

“Oh, yes, I should like it above all things,” Phoebe said.

“Then let us finish today’s lessons, eat a very good dinner, and get a good night of rest, for we shall need all of our strength to traverse such a distance,” Elizabeth said.

And that is what they did over the next few days they had left together – a quick mad dash through lessons, then a gigantic tramp through the woods with Jones, who very reverently collected their various specimens in a large basket Mrs. Reynolds had hunted down for the purpose.

 

Elizabeth’s only acquaintances in Derbyshire were Miss Bradley and her charge, Charlie Gladwell, and then of course the Washingtons down at the parsonage. Miss Bradley and Charlie were sorry to see her leave the area, but Charlie very gallantly announced that he would cheer Phoebe up whenever she needed it, and could also teach her whatever Miss Bradley taught him, so she would not be too stupid. Elizabeth thanked him extravagantly with a deep curtsey and warm smile. Miss Bradley said not much, but as they parted, she offered a quiet, “I envy you, Miss Bennet, and wish you all the best in your return to civilian life.” It was the closest thing to a quip she had ever heard Miss Bradley make, and she squeezed the lady’s hand.

She called at the parsonage on the day before she was to depart. Mrs. Washington was visibly disappointed that she was to leave, and Mr. Washington was rather rueful, but he smiled as they visited. The wind had been bitterly cold that day and Mrs. Reynolds had ordered the carriage for Elizabeth, who, needing to settle her account at the book seller and milliner, did not argue about the necessity when there was so much to be done.

Mr. Washington saw her out to the carriage and handed her in himself. The coachman was settling himself with the heated bricks the Washingtons’ man had brought out, and Mr. Washington stood at Elizabeth’s open door. “We shall miss your company, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Washington said again.

“And I yours. You and Mrs. Washington have both been so hospitable. I shall ever remember you as my first friends in Derbyshire,” Elizabeth answered. “I shall miss our good talks.”

Mr. Washington was quiet for a moment, and seemed as if he was deliberating. Whatever the question was, the resolution of his thoughts led him to ask, “Is all well, Miss Bennet? It seemed there was some tension between yourself and Darcy when I was last up at Pemberley. That day I happened across you at the stream.”

Elizabeth startle was perceptible only to herself, or so she hoped. Mr. Washington was an observant man, and she had to assume he saw something she did not about Mr. Darcy.

Still. What was there to say? “No, sir, nothing like it, I am sure,” she answered with as much airy indifference as she could.

“Nothing is causing you to run away, I hope,” Mr. Washington said.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “No, Sir, I assure you. All is well. It is only that I am needed at home.”

“And so ends the teaching career?” Mr. Washington smiled kindly, tilting his head.

“Not very likely! I have a niece and nephew who do not yet have a governess. I am sure I will wind up teaching both of them for a short period of time, if nothing else,” she said.

“Ah, only now it shall be the office of an aunt, not a governess, and therefore they need not pay you,” Mr. Washington said. His voice had a lilting humor to it, but Elizabeth could see he was concerned.

“Mr. Washington, I am happy, I assure you. I am pleased to go. I have missed my sister so very much, and she needs me right now. As do her miserly children, even if they will not pay their aunt any of their pocket money to learn at her wizened feet,” Elizabeth answered. She tried to maintain a light tone, but ultimately she was affected, and so she said, “I thank you for your concern, Sir. It is most handsome of you. I shall be well.”

He was quiet again and made to close the door of the carriage. “I only hope you will consider me a friend, Miss Bennet. If you are ever in trouble, or have need of a helping hand, do remember you have one in me.”

There was more under this speech, Elizabeth knew. She was aware that Mr. Washington admired her, but likewise she was aware that he understood her. She held out her hand to him then, and he kissed it. “Farewell to you, Miss Bennet. I hope we hear some news of you in a letter to my mother.”

“Undoubtedly you shall,” Elizabeth answered, smiling. Mr. Washington closed the door and slapped the side of the carriage. They waved to each other, and Elizabeth thought of how odd it was that somebody else in the world might have an inkling of what awkwardness existed between herself and Mr. Darcy, how strange that he might have known even before she did. She pressed the bottoms of her boots against the hot bricks and let the dull, persistent warmth comfort her as she took her penultimate ride in Mr. Darcy’s carriage.

 

By her last evening at Pemberley, all of her goodbyes had been given, all of her belongings packed. Mrs. Reynolds had kindly organized a carriage to Bakewell where Elizabeth was to catch the stage, and she was to leave quite early. She gave the chambermaids who served her and cared for her a knitted shawl each, and a little something extra for Jenny – a pretty length of blue ribbon that would look well on her Sunday best. Elizabeth gave a particularly fond farewell to Jones and congratulated him on managing to choose a favorite tree at last (Scots Pine, an excellent choice). To Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley, she gave her best wishes for their futures, and hoped they would be happy in their next adventures.

Elizabeth asked Nurse Susie if she minded whether or not Elizabeth put Phoebe to bed, which the sweet woman promptly authorized. Once Phoebe was in her nightgown with her hair braided, and snug under the covers, Elizabeth presented the little girl with a gift. It was the first chapter of a book.

Elizabeth held it out to the girl, and Phoebe read aloud, “The Daring Adventures of Phoebe, Princess of Pemberley Kingdom, as told to her Faithful Companion.” Then she gasped, “Is this about me? A book about me?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Yes indeed. It is a story that I am writing about you. I shall send you a chapter at a time until the novel is complete.”

“You will?” Phoebe’s little voice quavered, and she stared at the pages in her hands.

“I will. Then we shall continue to learn from each other, and continue to be friends, no matter how far apart we are. If you write to me of the things you learn and do and see, I shall try to incorporate them into the story. With some flights of imagination, of course,” Elizabeth answered.

Phoebe handed the pages over and asked, “Will you read to me?”

“Of course I will,” Elizabeth said. She dramatically cleared her throat and Phoebe giggled. “Once there was a young princess named Phoebe. She was heiress to the realm of Pemberley, a most magical northern kingdom. If one has never been to Pemberley, they are greatly to be pitied, for it is the most beautiful of all the kingdoms in all the land. Set amongst the rocky mountains of the north, one must reach Pemberley through the clouds. The climb is arduous, and many give up. But if one is brave and persists, one is richly rewarded with the beauty, prosperity, and joy that are so abundant in Pemberley. The people love their king in Pemberley, but it is no secret that the real hero of the kingdom is Princess Phoebe, the king’s only child…”

Elizabeth read the little chapter to Phoebe five times, an indulgence she did not mind, as it was the last one she could give the child. She fell asleep as Elizabeth turned the last page of the chapter, so the book was carefully placed in the protective vellum sleeve she had made for it. She swept the few loose hairs back from Phoebe’s brow and leaned over to kiss her soft cheek. “May God bless you, little one,” and she left the nursery, sending a silent prayer to watch over sweet, funny, ferocious Phoebe Darcy.

 

Mrs. Reynolds kindly saw her off the next morning, though the sun had barely risen, and the woman surely had many demands on her time. They clasped hands at the portico while two of the footmen loaded her trunks in the carriage.

“I wish to thank you for everything, Ma’am,” Elizabeth said.

“There is nothing to thank for, Miss Bennet. We were very glad to have you with us,” Mrs. Reynolds answered.

They walked toward the carriage, and Elizabeth said, “Not so. Your kindness made my time at Pemberley even more pleasant, from the very first, almost to the very last. Your goodness at having the apothecary called when I was ill! I am sure it lessened my suffering.”

“I cannot take credit for that, Miss Bennet. It was Mr. Darcy’s doing. When he learned you were ill, he insisted. Not that I would not have done so eventually! But he would not hear any objections,” Mrs. Reynolds said, and turned to accept a basket from a little kitchen maid.

“Oh…that was very good of him,” Elizabeth answered, bemused. After their last interview, she could not imagine Mr. Darcy passing her the salt, let alone calling for medical attention for her.

Mrs. Reynolds rifled through the contents of the basket, ensuring there was a flask of tea. “He is a very good man, as you well know, Miss Bennet. Now. Here are provisions from Mrs. Hudson, with her compliments. I can see she has included enough food to see you off to the new world,” the lady smiled.

“I thank you again. I shall think of my time here at Pemberley very fondly,” Elizabeth said, and they clasped hands before Jones handed her up into the carriage with a fond smile and a quietly mumbled, “God bless ye, Miss.”

The carriage pulled away in the cold blue morning light, and Elizabeth watched the house and grounds recede into the distance. She observed the golden sun starting to peek through the trees and beam over the hills and allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by the clopping of horses’ hooves. She had better sleep as much as possible now, for the stage would not be comfortable. But one can endure a great deal if on the other end of one’s discomfort is the blessing of home.

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Derbyshire
December, 1814

For several weeks now, Fitzwilliam Darcy had been in a state of uneasiness that was heretofore unknown to him. Malaise, anxiety, even melancholy had been his faithful compatriots since the early days after his ill-advised proposal to Miss Bennet, once all anger had fled. They rarely left his side, accompanying him to fitful sleep and rushing to his side the moment he woke from whatever rest he managed during the night.

But when he arrived home after his retreat to Scarborough to find Elizabeth Bennet gone from Pemberley, an emotion he had not known since his father passed away came to him: despair.

In the first hours after his proposal, Darcy felt little but anger. She had dismissed him as though he were no better than a tinker! He had never doubted that his request would be met with anything other than a resounding yes. Therefore to realize he rated so lowly with a woman so far beneath his own station in life had come as quite an infuriating blow. She, who lived in his very household! Miss Bennet should see that he was willing to overlook his very reasonable objections to the match to see all that he was entrusting her with, for she had daily proof of his consequence and responsibility.

He had fumed, pacing his chambers and moving about in a most unsettled manner on the evening of his proposal. He had managed a few hours of sleep, and woke up with the dawn, intending to go for a long ride while he considered his next steps. He left the house in the blue dawn light, galloping over his lands with great speed, jumping over stiles and pitching rocks over the edges of various precipices while his mount rested. As he rode, the very thought that drove Darcy’s fury – Miss Bennet lived in his household, therefore should know all he was offering her – became the thought that started to torture him. Miss Bennet lived in his household.

What in heaven’s name had he been thinking?

He had guided his horse back toward the Pemberley stables rather slowly, traveling in and out of some of the trails through the woods, basking in the relief of the morning sun warming his cold body when it peeked through the tree canopy here and there. Miss Bennet lived in his household. However were they to proceed from here? For she would not have him, and he did not know how to live with her now, any more than she did him, he was sure. He replayed the scene between the two of them on a nearly endless loop, letting his feelings of anger dissipate, allowing room for shame and mortification. These sensations were rare for him, and most dreadful.

When he returned to the house, he entered through the side door closest to the kitchens and servants’ hall, where there was a great deal of bustle and noise for the morning, particularly now that all the guests had departed.

He happened to see Mrs. Reynolds walking by with a tea tray, a rare sight indeed. Darcy wondered why the task had fallen to the housekeeper, rather than a maid, and intercepted her to ask.

“Oh, ‘tis Mrs. Hudson’s willow bark. Miss Bennet seems to have fallen ill with a fever,” Mrs. Reynolds answered with some regret in her voice. “The poor thing is quite insensible, but we hope to rouse her so she may take some tea.”

Darcy had felt a start, and again, a rush of guilt. Was it possible to give somebody a fever by distressing them? He got a hold of himself, remembering that he was the master of Pemberley, and not a fearful child. “We must call Mr. Gourley for her, then,” he said, his voice clear and authoritative.

“Do you think so? It is early yet, and she may not need his assistance…” Mrs. Reynolds’ voice trailed off.

“It is always wise to get the better of these things, and Miss Bennet is under our care,” he answered firmly.

“Very well, Sir, I shall see it done,” Mrs. Reynolds said, smiling, and turning back to her quarters to no doubt dispatch a note.

 

Darcy waited until he had word that Miss Bennet’s fever had broken, and that she was on the mend. It was impossible to think of what he ought to do next while under the same roof, and therefore he resolved to leave for a period. Bingley was the obvious choice, one hundred miles away in Scarborough as he was, and the man would welcome his company for its own sake. Bingley had also mentioned in passing that his sister was off to spend some weeks with friends in town, therefore Darcy need not worry that Miss Bingley would operate under the misapprehension that he was there to see her. A quick pair of expresses, and the business was arranged.

He had spent the next month grappling with his actions and attempting to understand all that Miss Bennet had said. It was odd, to be sure, that any woman would choose to be in service rather than to be wed to a man of wealth and consequence. He and Bingley would play at billiards, and Darcy’s mind would wander to some of Miss Bennet’s expressions – “To hear that one’s situation in life is so repulsive that weeks and weeks of arduous struggles were necessary” – and he would wince, and Bingley would scold him into attention once more.

Or they would be with the gentlemen for after dinner port at a friend of Bingley’s, and he heard her ferocious, “My freedom is more attractive to me – I would never pay so great a cost,” and he would turn the words over and over in his mind, until he was roused out of his inattention by Bingley’s discreet elbow, and he was forced to say something in return to his host’s conversation.

One day the weather was unusually fine for autumn, and he and Bingley rode out on the carriage road along the shore. The wind was not so strong, and the waves lapped gently. They spoke not much until Bingley offered, “You do not seem yourself, Darcy. You seem rather troubled, as a matter of fact.”

Darcy was quiet, but he nodded in return. “I cannot say I have felt like myself, Bingley. Some trouble back at Pemberley.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” Bingley said affably in return. “A burden shared is a burden halved, as they say. I am happy to hear about it, if it helps?”

Darcy merely shook his head. “It is quite sensitive. However, in essence, I made quite a blunder with someone back home.”

“Ah! The famously upright and correct Fitzwilliam Darcy made a mistake? I do not believe it!” Bingley laughed.

Darcy forced a smile, though he knew it must look more like a grimace. “This time I did.”

“Come, man, nobody can avoid mistakes. It is our lot as mortals,” Bingley said.

“I try to avoid exposing myself to ridicule. You know I try to keep myself under good regulation,” Darcy answered.

“Even strong rope frays after time,” Bingley said as he navigated a rut in the carriage road.

“True enough. I am unsure of how to correct my missteps, however. I suppose that is why I begged refuge with you. I needed some time,” Darcy said.

“That is quite surprising, Darcy. I have never known you to retreat from a problem,” Bingley said, to which Darcy had no response. He prevented himself from shrugging his shoulders as he wished to.

They rode quietly for a few minutes more, then Bingley gestured for them to turn from the shore and back into town. “Well, I daresay there is nothing for your problem but to apologize to any you have harmed and promise to do better,” Bingley said. Darcy bowed his head at this piece of wisdom and considered.

Before their conversation had devolved to angry interchanges, Miss Bennet had said, almost pleadingly, “Please, let us forget this ever happened. We can go along as if it did not.” Darcy felt that the only possibility left to him was to ask whether or not she thought it was still possible. For Phoebe’s sake, he hoped it was.

When Darcy returned to Pemberley, he was met by Georgiana and Phoebe, who looked rather peevish. They greeted each other just inside the hall, for the weather had truly turned wintry. Upon rising from their bows and curtsies, Darcy said, “Thank you for interrupting your lessons to greet me, Phoebe.”

“It does not signify, I have no lessons,” Phoebe answered sullenly.

“What is this?” He asked, looking at Georgiana.

“Miss Bennet left us just two days ago, Brother. As you were likely already on the road, I did not send any news of her resignation,” Georgiana said. At Darcy’s befuddled expression, Georgiana explained, “Her brother-in-law died, and she returned to the family estate to be with her elder sister and niece and nephew. It must be such a difficult time for them.”

Darcy was astonished enough at this news that he still had not responded, so Georgiana continued brightly, “I am working with Phoebe on her music as well as her reading. We are having such fun, are we not, Phoebe?”

Phoebe merely grumbled. Darcy eventually managed to mutter, “Well, that is a great pity. We shall have to find a new governess for you, Phoebe.”

Phoebe opened her mouth as if to protest, but Georgiana wisely interrupted whatever tirade was clearly about to begin by grabbing her niece’s hand and saying, “We shall see you at tea, Fitzwilliam,” and the two of them made their way upstairs.

Darcy listened as Mrs. Reynolds bustled up to inform him that there was hot water in his room and ordered his great coat and hat to be taken away by a footman. He walked upstairs, and allowed his man to assist with removing his coat and shirt. Darcy had to be prompted twice to walk over to the pitcher and basin laid out for washing the road dust from his body. When he was scrubbed and dressed to his valet’s satisfaction and finally granted some precious privacy at long last, Darcy walked over to the window and looked out upon the vast, impressive grounds. He thought about how although he had not had the smallest idea of how to apologize to Miss Bennet, to be denied the chance to make an attempt was but another regret to add to his growing list.

 

About a sennight after Darcy’s return home, Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley were off for Matlock, where they would stay through Twelfth Night. Darcy and Phoebe would join them about a week before Christmas. It was odd to consider, but it was the first time Darcy was alone with Phoebe without any other relations about.

Georgiana had kindly spent her mornings with Phoebe, continuing music lessons and reading with the child, and Phoebe’s nurse gamely tramped about the grounds with the child in the worsening weather. But now without Miss Bennet or her Aunt Georgie, Darcy realized the girl was rather tetherless when it came to how to spend her days. Therefore, he determined it was right to interview Phoebe. He made his way to the nursery and upon entering, found Nurse Susie at work mending something in the corner while his daughter muttered to herself over some papers. Both stood to curtsy to him, and he responded with a bow. “What do you do here, child?” he asked his daughter.

“I am reviewing my correspondence, Sir,” Phoebe answered, and Darcy fought not to chuckle at the seriousness of her expressions.

“What correspondence have you?” Darcy said, sitting down. Nurse Susie curtsied once more and removed herself from the room, but left the door between the schoolroom and Phoebe’s bedroom open, should the master call for her.

“Well, here I have my letters from Grandmama, and here I have my story from Miss Bennet. I believe I ought to have a box for my papers. Aunt Georgie said there was likely one to be found in the attics, so perhaps I shall ask Mrs. Reynolds. I expect I will get a lot of correspondence at Christmas,” she answered, still sorting the papers.

Darcy was surprised. “You have letters from your Grandmama? And from Miss Bennet?”

“Yes,” Phoebe answered simply, but allowed him to look at her papers. In astonishment, Darcy saw Lady Catherine’s spidery, old-fashioned scrawl on the elegant hot-pressed paper she had always favored. Without reading each missive, he could see there were stories about Anne, and descriptions of Rosings, and questions about Phoebe’s studies. Shockingly, there was even praise for a drawing Phoebe had sent. This was a Lady Catherine he had never known before – kind, encouraging, bordering on sweet natured. He handed the stack back to Phoebe, who laboriously tied them back together with a light pink ribbon.

“That is very good, Phoebe. I am glad you have been writing to Lady Catherine. It is hard for her to be all alone, and your letters must give her a great deal of pleasure,” Darcy said.

“Thank you, Sir. That is what Miss Bennet often said,” Phoebe said, still not looking up from some pages she had removed from a vellum folder.

“What is it you have there?” Darcy asked.

“This is the first chapter of The Daring Adventures of Phoebe, Princess of Pemberley Kingdom, as told to her Faithful Companion. Miss Bennet is writing it for me. I can read it all, because I have practiced it many times, but it is pleasant to hear it read aloud. Will you read it to me, Papa?”

Something cracked open in Darcy’s chest at the sweet, plaintive request, and his voice was thick when he responded, “Of course, my dear. Let us go to the sofa.”

So they did. Darcy read the start of the story of Pemberley, the Kingdom in the clouds of the North. They sat and speculated on what might happen next in the story, if there would be dragons, or merely mortal villains, and what might happen with Princess Phoebe’s silly but brave companion, Sir Charlie the Knight. They sat together until it was time for tea, and Darcy invited Phoebe to join him in the Library, where they talked about other stories they could read together until Miss Bennet’s second chapter arrived.

When Darcy went to bed that evening, there was a slight lightening of his heart, which had been heavy for so many weeks now. Miss Bennet had been a light to his child, and she was still there, in her own way, guiding Phoebe. He heard Miss Bennet’s voice in his head once more – "How would you know what anybody around here feels, Sir? What pains do you take to know them, to understand their cares, to please them?"

Darcy began to see that he had never even genuinely understood Miss Bennet, or known how to value her kindness. She was right. Darcy was only beginning to understand what his own child felt, but it was a gratifying business to learn it. Although the bothersome companions of malaise, anxiety, and melancholy were still hanging about, gratitude began to make its presence felt, for having known Miss Bennet at all.

 

With Georgiana gone and nobody to teach Phoebe until a replacement for Miss Bennet could be found, Darcy overrode any misgivings he had and began to spend a few hours a day with his daughter. He was surprised to find her quite good company when she opened up.

He taught her to play chess, and although she was not yet a patient player, he saw she had a good mind for strategy. There was something to cultivate down the line. It would serve her well as she grew.

She taught him what she believed to be the Pemberley fairies’ best hiding places all about the grounds. Darcy confessed to her that he did not know that there were fairies on the grounds, and tried not to take offense when Phoebe looked at him as though he was a halfwit. Instead, she explained how fairy rings worked, and said that Mrs. Hudson told her that sometimes there was a thirteenth full moon in a year, and on that night, you could hear fairy music if you listened. Darcy promised to help her consult an almanac to see when the next such year might be.

Phoebe’s seventh birthday arrived, and with the help of Mrs. Reynolds, they arranged for the child to join her father at the dining room to celebrate. She looked around the room with big, wide eyes, and for the first time, Darcy saw Phoebe betray a little blush. Perhaps she was embarrassed, or a little overcome. But he pulled out her chair stationed next to his own at the head of the table, and the footmen brought out her favorite courses, and the evening ended with Phoebe’s favorite dessert, a flummery topped with raspberry preserves. Her eyes lit up when it was brought out, and she gasped, “Just for me?”

Darcy laughed, and chucked her under the chin. “Who else? Happy birthday, my dear.”

Phoebe was again shy, tucking her chin to hide her smile. The two happily ate their flummery and removed to the drawing room, where a roaring fire had been set. Darcy pointed out the window as they settled into the chairs by the hearth. “Look, it snows,” said he.

Phoebe scampered up to the window. The brightness of the snow against the moonlight made it possible to see something of the little snow squall in the darkening night. Darcy joined her and he said, “It snowed like this on the day you were born.”

“Did it really?” Phoebe asked, and moved away from the window. Darcy led her back to the wingback chairs, and to his astonishment, Phoebe climbed up into his lap.

“It snowed a very great deal that day, and for much of the week. You were very much a little winter babe,” he said, patting her back somewhat awkwardly.

“And then my mama died,” she said, quite matter-of-factly.

With some difficulty, Darcy responded, “About a week after you were born…would you like me to tell you about her?”

Phoebe did not answer, but turned to face him with a look of such hopeful anticipation that Darcy felt anew his regrets of inattention toward the little girl. But regrets helped her none. Instead he said, “Then I shall tell you all about her, and show you something, too. Will you run and pull the bell?”

A footman was summoned to retrieve the framed drawing of Anne, and well past Phoebe Darcy’s bedtime, her father told her stories of her mother, and all that she liked and all she disliked. Her favorite foods, her favorite books. How she loved to drive her phaeton around Rosings Park, and how perhaps someday Phoebe would learn herself. How happy Anne deBourgh Darcy was to have a little child, and how Phoebe nestled up so contentedly against her mama in the short time they did have together.

After she was handed off to Nurse Susie in a drowsy, happy state, Darcy went to his study for a brandy. He looked out over the snow grounds of Pemberley, and thought about redemption and absolution, and how after thirty-two years of life, he was beginning to understand them.

Notes:

In case you're wondering what on earth a "flummery" is: https://greatbritishrecipes.com/flummery/#recipe

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Hertfordshire
December, 1814

It had been a cold winter so far, perhaps colder than the last, which had been quite brutal. The only comfort Elizabeth could take from the stagecoach on her journey south was that she was nestled safely inside amongst two women on her side of the bench, and one of those women had her two young children with her. Elizabeth gladly offered to hold the babe, who did little more than sleep. She wore her warmest pelisse, and over that a shawl into which she had wrapped the infant. From there, both she and the babe were wrapped in her cloak. Lydia had once abused it as plain and ugly, to which Elizabeth had laughingly retorted, “Better ugly and warm than beautiful and freezing!” Elizabeth smiled down at the child’s little face peeking out of the top of the cloak. They were keeping each other comfortable.

She was with that particular woman and her children for most of the journey, until they reached Luton. Elizabeth helped carry out the babe for the woman when it was time to change horses and let passengers on and off. She longed to stretch her arms and legs, but held on to the baby as the woman situated her older child, and then herself. Elizabeth had not quite twenty miles left in her own journey, and could hardly even prevent herself from bouncing on the balls of her feet. Home! In less than twenty miles, she would be home. In her joy, she bounced the little babe and hummed.

“Bless you, Miss, ‘twas kind of you to hold little Nate,” the woman said, snapping Elizabeth back into the present.

“Oh, it was my pleasure. We kept each other warm, did we not, Nate?” Elizabeth began to disentangle the child from her shawl and cloak. A man and boy had come for the woman and two little children, who had apparently been visiting her mother in Leicester. With the man and their oldest child come to collect them, Elizabeth could see they made a fine picture of prosperous trade, for the man and boy were well-turned out, and made to load the woman and two younger children into a tidy donkey cart. Elizabeth finally handed over young Master Nate, and the woman curtsied to her.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you, Miss?” The woman asked her, transferring the babe into her own shawl and cloak.

“Oh, yes, I have only twenty miles to go, and then I shall be home at last!” Elizabeth said, unable to help the smile that bloomed on her face.

“Well, good on ye, Miss, you seem very glad,” the woman said, smiling in return.

“I could not be more so, Madam, I thank you,” Elizabeth said, finally discreetly stretching her limbs. She dipped her head to the family, and quickly made for the retiring room, as she had one quarter of an hour before the stage departed.

Inside the inn she purchased a cup of tea and saw to having one of her flasks from Pemberley filled with more. She still had quite a few provisions from Mrs. Hudson – that good woman had loaded a basket with enough hand pies to feed a small militia, and there were apples and pears from the cold cellar. There were even enough biscuits to share at after dinner tea at Longbourn that evening. Elizabeth took the opportunity to sit at a table near the window and eat one of the ham, cheese, and apple pies from her basket, sipping her tea and watching the busy comings and goings of the Luton stop. The woman and her family were finally loaded into their cart, and went away to their lodgings. Elizabeth watched them roll away and wished Baby Nate well.

She finished her pie and tidied her things away, and let out a sigh. All of the planning, all of the management of her ample provisions along the way, all of the cuddling of babes, and chatting with amiable strangers were necessary to dampen down some of the anxious anticipation Elizabeth had been feeling. She went back out to the stage, where the driver handed her up and she awaited her new seatmates, holding the hot metal flask in her gloved hands beneath her cloak, taking pleasure in the slow heat that, while it did not equal a warm little infant, kept her feeling toasty while the coach door remained open for newcomers.

Her nerves on returning to Longbourn – shades of Fanny Bennet and her poor, aggrieved nerves! – had been few when she left Derbyshire, but with each mile she passed, they grew a little harder to subdue. An older couple came and took the family’s space on the bench, giving her a polite nod. For what seemed like the thousandth time that morning, Elizabeth calculated the remainder of her travel. Luton to Redbourn, seven miles, less than an hour. Collect passengers, no change of horses. Redbourn to St. Albans, four miles, disembark, change for Meryton. She would have an hour at the inn there, then the coach toward Meryton would come.

The time should have dragged, but instead it flew as the coach drove over hard frozen roads and the familiar landscape rolled fallow past the windows. It was nothing to Derbyshire’s dramatic beauty, but the gentle slopes of the fields and clusters of beautiful woods began to tranquilize Elizabeth’s spirits. She ate a biscuit at Redbourn, finished most of her tea along the road to St. Alban’s, and when she disembarked at the inn there, she stood waiting for the men to pull down her two trunks, when a patch of cerulean sky showed itself through the clouds. The men carried her trunks to the waiting area of the yard, and she handed them a few small coins. Elizabeth looked at the stagecoach as it pulled away, and there, across the way, standing in front of a carriage, was Jane, who began to wave at her.

Elizabeth brought her hand to her mouth to cover a sudden sob that had come out. Waiting in the carriage was Uncle Philips, beaming broadly, and a handsome little boy who must be Jamie. Jane’s cheeks were covered in tears, and after assuring there were no conveyances barreling down the road, the two sisters ran to each other.

They embraced in front of the inn, all of the people in and about the White Hart stared at the two pretty ladies who cried in each other’s arms, and clumsily wiped away each other’s tears with their winter gloves. They watched as an older gentleman came and embraced the dark-haired girl, and a young lad found himself caught up in an embrace from that lady as soon as she was released. They none of them could talk fast enough, about how long it had been, how they simply could not wait for the coach to bring her to Meryton, and how very handsome the young boy was.

A few sticklers sniffed at the lack of propriety in such a display, particularly since the greeting party was dressed in mourning, but most smiled and went along their way. On such a cold day as this, it was nice to see a bit of warmth from people who clearly loved each other.

The traveling woman was gathered up into the carriage across the way, and her trunks strapped to the back by the groom and footman. They were gone, and the patch of blue sky opened a little wider and the sun came through, as if in approval.

 

When Elizabeth opened her eyes the next morning, they were bleary, as they often were after such a deep, dreamless sleep. She began to rub them clear, and to try and come to awareness. She knew she was not in her room at Pemberley, for the smells of the linen were different – at Pemberley, the smells of the bedclothes were rosemary and mint. Her eyes cleared and she opened them to observe the bed canopy and curtains around her, and took in the faint, pleasing smell of rose petals and lavender. Her heart leapt in her chest – Longbourn!

She sat up stiffly. The coach had been fast – a journey of three and a half days was extremely good given that it was winter, but then, she had only spent one night on the road. The coach prioritized speed over comfort, and now her limbs paid for it! She leaned over to open the bed curtains and saw that a blazing fire had been set. Jane had kindly let her sleep in, for it was well past ten. What a slugabed, she thought to herself. When there was so much to see and do!

Elizabeth rang the bell and in short order, their housekeeper Hill had brought a large pitcher of warm water and a cake of finely milled soap. The dear woman helped Elizabeth with her toilette herself, and soon her hair was dressed, her hands and face were lotioned, and it was time to choose a gown.

Their maid Sarah – miraculously still with the family, despite the Collins men’s miserly behavior – had unpacked and pressed her gowns late yesterday afternoon, nearly as soon as she arrived, setting Elizabeth up in what was Mary’s old room. Jamie had Jane’s old bedroom, and Rosie had Elizabeth’s. Jane had offered to move the children, but of this Elizabeth would not hear. Mary’s room was beautiful, if slightly smaller than Elizabeth’s former bedroom had been. The fine dentil moulding ran around the bedrooms where the ceiling met the walls, which Elizabeth noted had all been updated to warm yellows upstairs, and a pale sage green downstairs. The shelves and mantel in the bedroom contained many of Elizabeth’s old things – a pretty vase she had used to favor and a small globe that she and Jane used to play with took pride of place on the mantel. Later Elizabeth would unpack and arrange her personal effects, and believed Mary’s room would soon cease to feel like Mary’s, and become Elizabeth’s own.

Elizabeth was lost in these pleasant thoughts, when she was roused to attention by Hill, who walked over to the closet and said, “Oh, my, Miss Lizzy. These gowns are all so dark, aren’t they? I suppose that’s well, as you’re in mourning,” Hill said with some doubt in her voice.

Elizabeth had thought about this. She had to wear deep mourning for Mr. Collins for six weeks, then could move onto grays and lilacs for the remaining six weeks. It was fortunate that all her clothes already looked like they belonged to a mourner, for it would be difficult otherwise for Elizabeth to comply. She did not mourn William Collins, and she never would.

She walked over to Hill and linked arms with her as they looked. “I can save the lighter gray gowns for half mourning, but this dark navy will do well to be dyed, if Sarah and Penny would help, and then I believe this older gown Mary left behind can be reworked and dyed. It only needs to be let out a bit, and the hem does not have to come up much. I shall wear the dark gray until the other two are ready. Perhaps I can trim my bonnet with some crape, if there is any leftover?”

Hill agreed with these plans and moved to help Elizabeth into the dark gray. She suddenly said, “How I hate to see you girls in mourning!”

Elizabeth reached back and squeezed the older woman’s hand. “As do I, ma’am. But all will be well. All is well, Mrs. Hill.” Mrs. Hill squeezed back and got on with Elizabeth’s stays.

Elizabeth had prayed over her lack of sympathy at Collins’ demise. But she could find it nowhere in her heart to mourn such a man. Instead, she saved all her proper feelings for Jane and her children and how the loss might affect them. If God would judge her for it, well, she could hardly hide her real thoughts and feelings from Him anyway.

Hill finished helping Elizabeth dress, and she went downstairs in search of breakfast, thinking about the first full day of the rest of her life. There were letters to write to the Gardiners and her sisters, who knew nothing of her return to Longbourn, and old friends in the neighborhood to visit. There were children in the household to get to know, and hours and hours of talks with Jane to be had. There was a whole household to get to learn, with its own concerns, its own ways, some of which must be new to her, as it was no longer the Bennets’, but the Collinses’. Elizabeth walked downstairs, admiring the changes Jane had made to the house and trailing her fingers along dear old fixtures. There were the small scratches in the wainscoting from a particular spirited game of tag when the girls were all quite little, the ornate frame holding the portrait of their great-great grandfather, Mathias Bennet, who had always struck Elizabeth as delightfully owlish. Among the newer pieces in the house, Elizabeth recognized a watercolor of Mary’s hanging near the top of the stairs, and on the small cushioned bench in the alcove on the landing, Elizabeth observed a small pillow that she had seen Kitty embroider at Miss Wellington’s.

Her reveries over what was the same and what was new were interrupted by a little voice saying, “Aunt Lizzy, at what do you look?”

Elizabeth turned and smiled, finding little Rosie at her side. “I am looking at Longbourn, dearest. It has been many years since I have been here, and I am remembering it, and also seeing how it is different.”

“You have been gone since before I was born,” Rosie said, very matter-of-factly.

“That is correct. I left Longbourn when I was fourteen, about ten years older than you are now,” Elizabeth answered. Elizabeth gestured toward the bench on the landing, and she and her niece walked down the stairs hand-in-hand to reach it.

Elizabeth sat down, settling her skirts and watched as Rosie climbed up on the bench. The little girl was dressed in a dyed black gown with black ribbons holding her plaits in place. Elizabeth studied her features and it was plain as day that the girl was Jane Bennet’s child. Though her hair was slightly darker than Jane’s, she and Rosie had the same straight nose and sweet little pouting mouth. They shared the same cornflower blue eyes. Rosie had a sweet look about her, just as Jane had – in both their expressions, there was patience and interest in what was about to be said. She waited for Elizabeth to speak once more.

“It was very sad for me to leave Longbourn, even though I had a very good time at school. It was important for me to go out and learn a great deal of things, but now I am come back to help your Mama with you and Jamie, now that your Papa is gone,” Elizabeth said.

“Mama said Papa will never come back,” Rosie said.

“That is true, dearest. But we can remember him as a way to keep him alive in spirit,” Elizabeth said. Rosie looked confused and slightly horrified, so Elizabeth went on to explain, “To keep a person alive in spirit means that you keep the feelings they gave you alive, even if they are dead. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Rosie said. “I did not know my Papa very well. He liked visiting, and he liked his carriage.”

“That is a good beginning,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps when visitors come to Longbourn, you can remember how your Papa liked to host them?”

“Yes,” Rosie said, and was about to continue when they heard Jamie come up from the bottom of the stairwell. He had been listening to them talk, and he offered, “Papa also liked to read from the Bible every night. He read out loud while Mama sewed. Sometimes I sat with them.”

Internally, Elizabeth grimaced, remembering Mr. Collins’ distaste for novels and satires, calling them the work of the devil, but aloud she said, “See, that is quite a nice memory, Jamie. Perhaps when you hear scripture, you will think of your Papa.”

Jamie nodded. “He did not like Gulliver’s Travels.” His handsome little face was the male version of Rosie’s, and it was currently screwed up in earnest regret at this piece of intelligence.

Elizabeth kept her voice light and said, “Well, to each his own!” Thinking it wise to move along, lest she feel compelled to say something about only a buffoon not liking Gulliver’s Travels. She asked, “Tell me. Do you think Cook will be very angry if I go into the kitchen and gobble up all of the rolls, jam, and butter? I find I am as hungry as a lion this morning!”

The children giggled and imagined Aunt Lizzy eating all of the rest of the week’s baking as they pulled her along to the kitchen, where Elizabeth was happy to learn that dear Mrs. Randall presided, and still made the best apricot preserves in all of England.

The three sat in the corner of the kitchen and enjoyed their rolls with milk and tea while Elizabeth shared stories of her travels, and asked the children about life at Longbourn. They determined that there was much to show Aunt Lizzy. There were kittens in the barn, and Mama had promised Jamie his father’s horse come spring, so it was important that Aunt Lizzy meet Gideon as soon as possible.

They chatted happily for a quarter of an hour when Jane came upon them. “So this is where you two have run off to! Nurse Daisy said she has been searching high and low for you, my loves.”

Jamie and Rosie began talking over each other excitedly about what they’d learned so far and how Aunt Lizzy was starving and therefore needed to be taken to Mrs. Randall immediately. Jane listened with a mild, indulgent expression on her face, then said, “Well, it was very good of you to care for your Aunt. But now you must run upstairs, for it is time for your lessons with Mr. Jennings, Jamie. He is just come. And Rosie, I do believe that you have left all of your dolls strewn about. Will you go help Nurse put them away?”

Both children stood and bowed and curtsied to the ladies, then ran off, Jamie calling, “Bye, Aunt Lizzy! We shall go to the barns after my lessons!”

Jane smiled, and when Elizabeth stood, she threaded their arms together. “Come. Now I have met with Mrs. Hill and the steward, and you have slept nearly fourteen hours. We have both done our duties, and it is time for me to hear everything and tell everything.” Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s arm, and said, “Lizzy, I cannot believe you are really here!”

A few moments later they were in the drawing room, with its soothing sage green walls and comfortable furniture. Jane had the poor box on the floor between their two chairs near the hearth and Elizabeth smiled to see her own work basket already placed on the table. Apparently this was to be her own spot. They sifted through to see what could be mended and repurposed for those in need and began to stitch, pleat, and dart while they picked up where they had truly left off. No more careful editing of feelings, no more evasion of certain topics. They spoke about Mr. Collins' death, and Elizabeth could hear that Jane was sad in the sense that she had lost her children's father, but not that she had lost a lover or a great friend. She would mourn and honor him as such. They spoke about Elizabeth's novel to be published shortly, and how she now had to begin thinking of a second. No subject was left uncanvassed in those first weeks back together, and Elizabeth was delighted to learn that Jane was still her own dear, good Jane, but perhaps even better than she once was. Wiser, less starry-eyed about mankind, but ultimately still gentle and correct in her manners.

Elizabeth had wondered what Jane would think of her, the wandering sister. How were the two of them different, and what would they be like had Mr. Collins never come to Longbourn, had their parents never died? Vain questions, for they could both only be the sum of all their various experiences, both good and bad. They turned out infant gowns and shifts from Longbourn’s old linens, mended old socks with the same old finial knob their Mama had used to keep the shape, and Elizabeth started to feel the coming together of the two halves of her life.

 

There was much to catch up on in Meryton, of course. All condolence calls had been paid by the neighborhood, but with Elizabeth’s return, some of their closest friends made additional calls to see the long-lost Bennet daughter, despite the household being in deep mourning.

Among the first of these friends was Charlotte Morley, formerly Lucas. Although Elizabeth had not kept closely in touch with Charlotte, the two had always had an affinity for each other. Through letters from the family still in Meryton, Elizabeth knew that Charlotte had married a widower in the year twelve, and the two were reported to be very much in love with each other. The gentleman was a cousin of the Longs, and had brought his two little girls for a visit. Charlotte had come to his notice, and within weeks the pair had fallen in love and married, something she had never dared to hope for herself. Charlotte had given birth to Mr. Morley’s son, and the family had settled into a small estate between Meryton and Ware.

Charlotte and Elizabeth sat side by side on the sofa while Jane sat and spoke quietly with Lady Lucas who had accompanied her oldest daughter. “So it would appear that some romance was in your future when we last saw each other,” Elizabeth laughed. “That must have happened right after I left Hertfordshire on my last visit.”

Charlotte gave a low laugh and said, “Yes, you have caught me out. For although you have ever known me as a practical person, Mr. Morley is quite a romantic soul, and I confess, he has made me so as well.”

Elizabeth reached over to squeeze Charlotte’s hand and said, “Well, I am very glad of it. I always knew you would make an excellent mother and wife, and here you are.”

“I confess, I was quite wrong in my lack of estimation for romance. It is almost impossible for me to remember my old feelings,” Charlotte continued.

Elizabeth smiled at this. “I am happy to see that you did not marry yourself off to the wrong man, for you would now be missing the bliss in which you currently live.”

Charlotte smiled as well, but she spoke seriously. “I would have. The only reason I did not was that an opportunity never arose. Marriage is a woman of meager fortune’s pleasantest preservative from want. I always meant to be married, though I had not much to recommend myself to a man. No fortune of any significance, no beauty to speak of. I would have tried for any single gentleman.”

Elizabeth felt differently, but then, she knew it was easy for her to feel differently. She had the support of the Gardiners to do as she wished, and to grow her own fortune, and family who would take her in at a moment’s notice. It mattered not, however. What was to be gained by telling Charlotte that independence was more valuable than marriage? And who was Elizabeth to say it was? She had never been married, and therefore could only tell what she observed of the married state, which Charlotte was intelligent enough to see for herself.

“Well, to me, you are a lovely, clever creature full of good conversation. It is no mystery to me that an intelligent man of sense and education would seek to wed you,” Elizabeth said.

“And you were never tempted, Eliza? No man ever caught your eye in your travels?” Charlotte smiled and leaned in with a teasing expression.

“No, my dear Mrs. Morley, I cannot say that I have. I have seen enough of the married state through the years to know that I do not like the odds of happiness for myself,” Elizabeth said, rather pertly, but with a playful smile.

“Well, there you are correct, my dear. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance, is it not?” Charlotte said in teasing rejoinder. They laughed quietly again, and the conversation turned to other things – Elizabeth’s plans, Charlotte’s son and stepdaughters, Longbourn’s prosperity. When Charlotte and her mother departed, Elizabeth was well satisfied at having their acquaintance renewed.

 

About six weeks after she returned to Longbourn, her own portion of deep mourning over, Elizabeth made the journey to London to visit the Gardiners. Kitty had been wed to Mr. Bradley in late October, and the pair were well settled into his home on the edge of Paddington. Mr. Bradley apparently liked the location as an advantage to his dear new wife, as her lungs were not strong, and the fresh air was better for her constitution than the sooty foul air of town. Lydia was still with the Gardiners, and as the Longbourn carriage rolled toward town, Elizabeth grew more and more excited to see her youngest sister. She had not spent any appreciable time with Lydia since she left her post at Miss Wellington’s where Lydia was a student. Elizabeth was excited to get to know her little sister once more.

And, perhaps most excitingly, she and Uncle Edward were to meet with her publisher, Mr. Henning. The details of the contract had all been worked out, and Elizabeth was to go and sign with Uncle Edward as her representative. She wished that she had something more fashionable to wear, even being in mourning, and thought she might ask Aunt Maggie for something to borrow.

Lydia and Aunt Maggie also had plans to take Elizabeth to the modiste so she would be ready and fashionable when mourning was done. It had been so long since Elizabeth had looked at a fashion plate and not calculated how to make it look plainer. She found herself looking forward to visiting the warehouses to choose bright colors, and the milliner’s for a bonnet that was not so plain. She would feel like spring personified when the time came to pack away the dark clothing. She absolutely must visit Hatchards for a few new books, and Jane had requested a stock of tea and coffee to be brought back to Longbourn.

When the Longbourn carriage turned onto Gracechurch street, Elizabeth was nearly bouncing with excitement. It was still so dreadfully cold in town, and the hot bricks in the carriage had long since lost their heat, but her excitement kept her warm. The carriage pulled up to the house, and Elizabeth saw a flash of movement at the curtains of the morning room. Suddenly the door was flung open, and rather than the butler, Elizabeth saw Lydia come flying down the stairs. She was wrapped in no more than a shawl to guard against the terrible cold, and Elizabeth found herself fondly “tut-tutting” at the sight. The carriage stopped, and Elizabeth felt the bounce of the groomsman hopping down to let down the stairs and hand her out. He barely made it in time before Elizabeth flung the door open and hopped out and into Lydia’s arms.

The two of them embraced and swayed side to side for a moment, exclaiming over each other, and laughing before they heard Aunt Maggie at the front door where she stood with their man Thorpe. “Come now, you two. You may hug, laugh, and cry as much as you choose indoors!” she called, and the sisters ran up the steps into the house.

If Elizabeth had one word for her aunt and uncle’s house, it would be golden. Everything in the house exuded warmth and comfortable luxury. It always put her in mind of a golden afternoon of sunshine. She had not been to Gracechurch Street since departing for the north to work with the Hobson Family back in the year nine. She was guided inside to remove her outer things and come warm herself by the roaring fire that popped and crackled just as noisily as her gathered family. Aunt Maggie and Uncle Edward exclaimed over her, and the children – all so much more grown up than she could have dreamt – crowded around and asked their questions about traveling on the stage, and what she intended to do in town. The menagerie, certainly, and most definitely the museum.

Lydia laughed and gestured to the tea service that had just arrived, raising her eyebrows at Aunt Maggie, who nodded, with clear permission for Lydia to begin pouring. The children all found places to sit, and Elizabeth went over to the sofa to sit between her Aunt and Uncle.

“It is so good to have you home, Lizzy,” Aunt Maggie said, threading her arm through Elizabeth’s. “Our brave, beautiful heroine returns.”

“Oh, pish,” Elizabeth said. “Nothing of the sort.”

“How do Jane and the children?” Uncle Edward asked.

“They are quite well. Jamie and Rosie have their moments of confusion and sadness, but they are so young. With guidance, they are remembering good things about their father, and their mother soothes whatever cannot be talked away with hugs and kisses. They are well. Jane is well,” Elizabeth said, accepting a cup of tea from Lydia. It was prepared exactly to her liking with a dash of milk and one sugar.

“That is excellent news,” Uncle Edward said. “Do you think they would appreciate a visit from us on your return?”

Elizabeth smiled, and as they all enjoyed their tea and cake, a plan unfolded for a joyful, if quiet, visit to Longbourn. Unspoken was the fact that the Gardiners went but rarely, as Mr. Collins’ company could be onerous.

They chatted more about the family and news from friends, when Lydia finally found a break in the conversation. “Now that we are all caught up, Lizzy, let us get to the most important task of your visit to town. Your hideous wardrobe needs a complete replacement!”

Though the words were harsh, and the Gardiners’ oldest girl Sophia gasped, the adults could all see Lydia was joking. Lizzy observed the arch playfulness in her littlest sister’s expression. There was intelligence and humor in Lydia’s looks, and a great deal of spirit. How she must delight and fatigue their dear aunt in equal measure!

“Very well, Lydia, you shall finally have your way with my wardrobe, within reason,” Elizabeth answered.

Lydia raised one eyebrow and smirked, “Reason. Certainly.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in return and cocked her head at Lydia. They did not last long before dissolving into giggles. Aunt Maggie merely sighed and said, “Never mind, Sophia. You see, the Bennet girls have an amazing talent for teasing.”

They all laughed and the rest of the day passed away with great happiness.

 

That night, when Elizabeth finally lay her head down on the other bed in Lydia’s room, it took some time to fall asleep, as she was still riled up from the excitement of the day. Lydia had only needed to pull the covers over herself and she was snoring lightly (“For I am still so fagged after last night’s party at the Emersons – I danced every dance!”). Elizabeth let her mind wander for a while before trying more seriously to fall asleep.

The wardrobe issue really was one that needed to be remedied. Elizabeth would borrow Aunt Maggie’s elegant wine-colored pelisse and her winter bonnet trimmed with forest green ribbon when Elizabeth and Uncle Edward went to meet her publisher in the morning. The contracts were prepared and agreed upon, and Mr. Henning was already engaged to publish The Misses Bell, but Elizabeth did not wish to look like a poor country mouse as she began her relationship with the man. “It is always best to approach from a position of quiet strength, even when the relationship is amicable,” Uncle Edward said, and so Aunt Maggie had gone about pulling out appropriate attire for Elizabeth.

She let her mind meander down a few more avenues – the delightfulness of her young Gardiner cousins, the Rosetta Stone at the British Museum, the warehouses they would need to visit for fabric.

Finally, as she always did when she was relaxed and not quite yet sleepy, Elizabeth told herself a story. It was often of the characters she was writing about, or a fantasy of the perfect house, or the windfall of an inheritance. But this time, it was of a little Princess in the northern kingdom of Pemberley, and what adventures she might have now that the whereabouts of the evil troll king had been discovered. Elizabeth planned out the next installment of Phoebe Darcy’s novel, and wondered how the little girl was doing, whether she was still exploring the grounds with whomever had come to replace her, if she was wrapping up warmly, if she had improved at all on the pianoforte. Elizabeth’s eyes grew heavy as she imagined a battle scene, and Phoebe’s daring rescue of a pack of cottagers being menaced by the Troll King.

Chapter 15: Chapter 15

London
January, 1815

Mr. Hennings’ offices were strewn with papers and books on nearly every surface. The man himself was well-dressed, though hardly a slave to tidiness. Based on the ink on his cheek, Elizabeth credited his wife to getting him out the door and hoping for the best. His clerk had ushered Elizabeth and Uncle Edward into his inner chambers, where they sat to tea and discussed fonts for the book as well as the initial print run. They had also decided to keep her name anonymous, simply using “By a Lady” as the credit. As they sat and finalized details, a great feeling of comfort stole over Elizabeth. She was thinking of her Papa’s book room, and how cluttered and cozy it always was, and thought he would be delighted by this turn of events.

“You are set, then, Miss Bennet, on publishing on commission?” Mr. Henning said. They were reviewing the sums that Elizabeth would need to put up in order to publish the run of 500 copies. It was a risk – it would cost her and Uncle Edward nearly £130 to print such a large run.

“Yes, Sir. Kind as you strike me, I cannot give away The Misses Bell to you, any more than I could give you my child,” Elizabeth smiled at him and he laughed.

“In your shoes, Miss Bennet, I dare say I would not, either. Nay, we are delighted to have you as a part of Diana Press, and I am certain you will be a great success. Your uncle tells me you have another novel in progress?”

“I do, Sir. This one is about a naval family, set mainly in Portsmouth,” she answered.

“Well, then I hope you will remember your friends at Diana when it is time to put it out into the world,” he said, smiling.

“Of course I will, Sir,” she said, and they stood to take their leave. As they were about to walk through to the antechamber, Elizabeth turned and asked, “Is not Diana the Roman version of the Greek goddess of intellect, Phoebe?”

“Yes, we owe that to my wife. She is a great reader of all mythologies, but does prefer the Romans to the Greeks,” he answered.

“I have a Phoebe who is very dear to me. I shall take it as a good sign,” Elizabeth answered. They said their goodbyes, and she and Uncle Edward made their way back to Gracechurch street, where a great sense of rightness continued to envelop her.

 

Derbyshire
February, 1815

A knock came at Darcy’s study door. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was about time for his daily visit with Phoebe. “Enter,” he bid, and the new governess Miss Owen escorted the child in.

“Good day, Papa,” Phoebe curtsied, and Darcy stood and bowed to the ladies. Miss Owen nodded her head and turned to leave. Darcy would deliver his daughter back to her lessons in two hours, after they had a bit of luncheon together and a talk or adventure.

Miss Owen was not as fond of the outdoors as Miss Bennet was, but she had an open mind when it came to educating his child. She believed many of the same principles that Miss Bennet practiced with Phoebe, and it made sense, as she was also an alumna of Miss Wellington’s school. Darcy thought her to be perhaps in her mid-thirties, and well suited to Phoebe. Perhaps less playful than Miss Bennet, perhaps less indulgent of a child’s imagination, but by no means a bad choice. He had made certain.

“Shall we continue our chess game after we dine?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, yes – I am certain I shall beat you!” Phoebe answered.

“We shall see, little Titaness,” Darcy answered, smiling. They sat down to play, and indeed, the child had progressed well. In order to encourage her, Darcy made a poor move that allowed him to win the game in 7 moves rather than the 4 it would have truly taken.

He reached over and shook her hand after check mate, and complimented her on her skill. “Perhaps in a few more weeks, you shall have me soundly beat,” he said.

“Perhaps I shall. Will we go see Aunt Georgie today?”

“No, my dear, she is gone with Mrs. Annesley to Bakewell for the last of her gowns to be fit,” he answered.

“And then she will leave us?” Phoebe asked, her mouth turned down in a rather glum little pout.

“Yes, she will marry from Lambton, and then be on her way down to Devonshire,” Darcy answered. His heart twinged a bit at the thought of Georgiana finally grown and gone, off to become Mrs. Ambrose Wright. He knew his feelings would be tenfold worse had he and Phoebe not begun to know each other better.

“Will we see her again?” Phoebe asked tremulously.

“Of course we will. She will always be your aunt, will she not?” Darcy asked, attempting to sound more jolly than he felt.

“Yes, I suppose. I do not like it when people leave Pemberley,” she answered, and began resetting the pieces on the board with tidy precision.

“Nor do I, my dear. But we always remember them, do we not?” He asked.

“Yes, that is so,” she said, beginning to chew her lower lip. Still looking down at the board, she asked “And you will not leave me, Papa?”

“No, I will not,” he said firmly.

“That is well,” Phoebe said. “Perhaps another game?”

“With pleasure,” he said, and gestured to the board, a tolerable, powerful feeling of peace in his breast.

 

London
March 1815

Lydia was indefatigable when it came to discussing fashion. She adored sewing and embroidery, and had a remarkable talent for making over bonnets and gowns. She had learned most of her craft with Miss Partridge at Miss Wellington’s school, and the lady had shown Lydia many of her particular tricks.

Elizabeth was bound for Meryton once more, after several weeks of time well spent in town. She had loaded herself down with goods for Longbourn, everything from the best tea and coffee to toys and books for the children. Lydia had been insistent that an entirely new wardrobe was necessary, and in truth, she was correct as both mourning for Mr. Collins and her time in service were now complete. Therefore, they had spent the past three months purchasing fabric at Lydia’s favorite warehouses, reviewing the fashion plates and patterns Lydia delighted in saving, and finding the perfect ribbons and embroidery thread colors to match what they had commissioned from the modiste.

How odd it was to be out in society again purely as a gentlewoman! Elizabeth began wearing her new gowns, whatever was most recently completed, and was sure among the Gardiners’ social circle she was earning herself a reputation as a spendthrift. Elizabeth had reentered civilian life as one coming back from a long sojourn, but the sojourn had been like a shadow alongside a life she might have otherwise lived. Had her parents never died, would Elizabeth even now be married to a gentleman or well-to-do merchant, and the mother of a little child or two? It was impossible to say. Still, she often pondered it as young men attempted to flirt with her at the Gardiners’ dinners, or when she called on acquaintances with Lydia and Aunt Maggie. She could not repine, for nothing equaled the feeling of complete control over her own destiny, limited as her options were.

Lydia was helping Elizabeth pack her trunks. “Now, see, Lizzy, this Saxon Blue gown should never be paired with any spencer but the Russian Flame, but I daresay it would be all the crack should you pair it with the ponceau ribbons.”

“Yes, of course, Lyddie, I thank you. I have noted it in my diary,” Elizabeth said wryly.

“Well you need not be in a snit about it! I am only concerned that we show you to best advantage,” Lydia said, leaning over and giving Elizabeth a light pinch on the arm.

“Ow! Little fiend. Nay, I am thankful, Lydia. I tease because of course I shall remember your brilliant recommendations. You have numbered them to me so often I begin to think they are my own idea, which may have been your purpose,” Elizabeth said as she folded another pair of stockings.

Lydia was quiet for a moment as she began carefully coiling ribbons up for travel. “Are you sure you will not stay in town?”

“I believe I am needed at Longbourn. Planting season is coming soon, and whatever Mr. Collins was or was not, this is Jane’s first planting season without a master at Longbourn. At least I can help with Jamie and Rosie while she manages,” Elizabeth answered.

“I wish you would stay. It has been so long since we have been able to be together like this. Even at Miss Wellington’s, you were often tired from teaching in the evenings,” Lydia said.

Elizabeth’s heart gave a little squeeze and she put down the things she had been folding and walked around the bed to Lydia, drawing her into an embrace.

“Oh, Lizzy, come now, my hair!” Lydia laughed, feigning to push her big sister away, but Elizabeth squeezed her even tighter.

She finally relented and loosened her hug, leaning back to look at Lydia. “These have been some of the most delightful weeks of my life, Lyddie. How I have loved getting to know you again, and seeing what a talent you have for color and fashion. And being the beneficiary of that knowledge!”

Lydia sniffed playfully. “Well, it was not hard to improve upon your wardrobe, Lizzy. It was quite dreadful!”

“Yes, yes, so you have said. Rather frequently. Well, we certainly cannot say that now. I appreciate you allowing me to still choose some practical colors,” she said, turning back to her packing.

“You saw that Mr. Carver could not take his eyes off you at dinner the other night,” Lydia offered, returning to the ribbons.

“He is a pleasant acquaintance, but no more,” Elizabeth said.

“Really, you still will not marry?” Lydia said.

“If I would not marry before, I would think it very odd to capitulate now,” Elizabeth said in rejoinder.

“No, I suppose it would be strange. In truth, I would not wish to marry any time soon, either. I have only been out since last spring. Aunt Maggie says that is hardly any time at all to enjoy the life of a lively young woman with the good fortune to live in town.”

“Those are wise words,” Elizabeth said, nodding. “Soon enough you shall marry and be responsible for a household and eventually children. That is, if you wish to. You need never marry at all if you do not like.”

“You are quite radical, Lizzy Bennet. What would Mama say?” Lydia smiled.

“Oh, she would have been beside herself. But with Mary and Kitty so well-settled and Jane as the mistress of Longbourn, it does relieve some of the pressure from the family. We will always have a home,” Elizabeth said. She suddenly became violently sick of packing, and gestured to the small sofa near the window in the room. She and Lydia flopped down on it with great exaggeration.

“That is true. Did you become a governess to relieve some of the financial burden on the Gardiners? They always hated that you did not stay,” Lydia said, moving some of her fair, fluffy curls out of her eyes.

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. “No, not truly. I just could not bear to be dependent on anybody. Not to rely on their goodness, or not making them cross. A woman has so few choices. If independence is an option, she ought to try it.”

“And now your novel! That will only give you greater independence, for I believe it will do very well. Did you know that Kitty told me that her neighbor brought the title up to her? Lord, how she laughed! She said was already quite familiar with the book, and anybody who wished to be fashionable would read it. No doubt her neighbor told that tale up and down Paddington. It will be good for sales, and requests at the libraries.”

Elizabeth looked over at Lydia with a great deal of fondness, and squeezed her hand. “What would I do without my dear sisters? I shudder to think!”

 

Derbyshire
April 1815

“Damn me, what a time to be out of action!” Richard hissed. He had been a guest at Pemberley for several weeks, having grown weary of his mother’s attempts at settling his life. Darcy had offered him refuge.

They were at breakfast, reading over the papers, and taking in the latest news of Napoleon’s doings. Richard threw the paper down onto the table in a huff. His arm was not better, but neither was it worse, and with this he must be content.

“Do your contacts fear a land invasion?” Darcy asked.

“Is that not what we have always feared and fought against? When the varmint will not go away, it certainly fans the flames of that fear. But no, certainly the navy will protect our shores closely at such a time. Although, I do wonder…” Richard trailed off.

“Can you bear to be away from your brethren right now?” Darcy asked. He sounded teasing, but in truth he wondered if Richard could bear it.

“I will have to find some way. Damn. I would be on my horse to the home office right now, if I could,” he said.

“I know it, cuz,” Darcy answered, tempering his voice for the sympathy Richard did not wish to hear. After a beat, he said, “It is hardly a call off to war, and it is something I cannot believe I am voicing, but…”

“What?”

“We have not been to visit Aunt Catherine in many years –”

“What? No!” Richard cried out.

“She is Phoebe’s grandmother,” Darcy said.

“Well of course she is, but she is also the fire-breathing dragon of Kent!” Richard answered.

“I hardly think it is so anymore. She is so mild now,” Darcy said. “She could use our company, and we can break our journey in town. Perhaps you will be able to gain some intelligence about the military’s next moves?”

Richard was quiet, considering. Darcy had offered because duty to their aunt provided a convenient conduit for Richard’s desire to be closer to some activity or some news, rather than tucked away safely while the little Corsican attempted to claw his way back to power.

“Come, let us go. Did you know Phoebe has been corresponding with Lady Catherine?” Darcy said.

“Not at all. Perhaps we ought to go. After all, it is only right that we give our aunt time with her granddaughter,” Richard said. “And perhaps I can call in at the home office, to see if there is any way I might assist.”

“Just so,” Darcy said.

And a short few days later they were off to London with Phoebe, who most excitedly followed along with her map of England. “Miss Owen, did you know that Miss Bennet taught me how to use a map? Miss Owen, did you know that Miss Bennett is from Hertfordshire? I wonder if we are passing her house even now. Miss Owen, do you know any more conundrums yet? Miss Bennet was very good at them.” Darcy could hardly blame the child. He thought often of Miss Bennet, too.

In town, he escorted Phoebe and Miss Owen to the menagerie and Gunther’s while Richard visited army contacts to learn more of their plans and what they thought Boney was up to.

After a month, they made their way to Kent, Phoebe’s beloved map out and present for all to follow along as they wended southeast.

In a rather shocking turn of events, as the carriage pulled into the circular drive of Rosings park, Darcy could see the front door open, and instead of merely the butler and housekeeper, Lady Catherine was brought out.

Darcy could see her leaning on her cane, which had always been merely for show in times past. She was supported by her maid, but Darcy could see the proud lift of her chin, despite looking so advanced in years.

“Look, it is your grandmama,” he said, leaning over to Phoebe, who suddenly seemed very shy. She folded up her map and furiously tapped one leg.

Darcy reached over and took her hand. “She will be very glad to see you, you know. Grandmama will probably wish to show you your Mama’s room and any of her old things, and tell you stories about Rosings. One day it will be yours, you know.”

“I know. She told me in a letter,” Phoebe answered.

“Are you nervous?” Darcy asked.

“No,” Phoebe said, clearly very nervous indeed.

“Courage, dear girl,” Richard said from his seat in the carriage, while Miss Owen smiled.
“Do you know your Grandmama never once met me or Cousin Richard out on the steps?” Darcy said.

“Really? Why not?” Phoebe asked.

“She was always glad we were come to visit, but she was never so very excited about it. And now look at her. She is so pleased you are here that she cannot wait inside the house.”

“Really,” Phoebe said. “She is happy to see me?”

“I promise it is so,” Darcy said.

Phoebe looked thoughtful and her leg calmed. She peered out the window past Darcy and watched as they drew closer to Lady Catherine’s front steps, and Richard caught his eye to smile.

When the carriage stopped and Phoebe was handed down, she raced up the steps and curtsied to her grandmama. Lady Catherine did something rather undignified. She smiled, laughed, and bent to allow Phoebe to throw her arms around her.

And so passed the most pleasant weeks Darcy had ever spent at Rosings. They rode in Anne’s old phaeton and Darcy allowed Phoebe the reigns at times. Richard had managed to find some equilibrium between the papers and correspondence from a network of military connections to feel sufficiently in the know so as not to feel completely blocked out from the happenings across the channel.

And Aunt Catherine was quite a different creature. Darcy marveled at the lady’s indulgence toward her grandchild. Lady Catherine had slowed. Time and tragedy had made her more feeble in person, but somehow she had rallied enough to open her heart to Anne’s child. The two spent hours together in the salon and conservatory, as well as in the garden. Lady Catherine was prevailed upon to recall any fairy stories she knew of Kent, and even learned “Lizzy Lindsey” and “The Jolly Young Waterman”. Darcy stood outside the music room one day, listening to Miss Owen playing the ebullient chords to many of Phoebe’s favorite songs. He peeked through the door in awe as he heard his formidable aunt sing, “For this jolly young waterman ne’er was in want of a fare…”

He wrote to his Aunt Matlock while they were installed at Rosings, and expressed his wonder at Lady Catherine’s state. “It is almost as if she is a different person, I wonder if she is ill?” He mused in his letter.

His Aunt Matlock’s response put any such worry out of his mind. “My dear Darcy, what a mother would never tolerate in a child she often welcomes and encourages in a grandchild. It is the way of things, be not alarmed, and let Catherine enjoy her play with Phoebe.”

They were pleasant days, indeed.

 

Hertfordshire
May 1815

Elizabeth had long since reacquainted herself with the fields around Longbourn, as well as all the paths and trails around Meryton. Though she had ridden a few times, her preferred way of traveling would always be on foot. However, whenever she accompanied Jane, they were most often out in the gig. Jane had too many responsibilities to take long walks, particularly when there were tenants to be met or matters of the estate to which she must tend.

The weather had turned quite fine over the last few days, making the roads connecting Longbourn’s farms quite good for quick travel. They were off to visit the Fletchers, who had been tenants on the estate for most of Jane’s life. Old Mrs. Fletcher was poorly, and the vicar mentioned she was not likely to survive many more weeks. Young Mrs. Fletcher had just had her fifth baby, and therefore Jane and Elizabeth were coming to see if the family was in need of any assistance, as planting season was about to get underway.

Jane drove the gig skillfully, taking them past the path to Oakham Mount and along the home farm’s apple orchard. A gust of wind came by and a sweet barrage of apple blossom petals rained over the two of them. They laughed, and Elizabeth looked down at the little dots of pink now adorning their skirts. Jane had moved into her grays and lavenders, but Elizabeth wore color and rejoiced in the feeling of being able to indulge a small amount of vanity.

“Do you find you mind all the work, Jane?” Elizabeth asked.

“What do you mean?” Jane spied a rut in the lane some yards ahead and guided the horse slightly right on the path.

“Of running Longbourn. It is a great deal of work, attending to the needs of the farmers, to the home farm, and to say nothing of raising two children and running the house. Do you wish things were different?” Elizabeth asked.

Jane was thoughtful, as always. She appeared to be pondering Elizabeth’s rather forward question with great consideration, and no sign of annoyance. Jane knew Elizabeth’s greatest desire was to understand the world around her, and those in it. So after a moment’s reflection, she said, “I do not mind the work. There are days and weeks where it often feels like too much, but I remind myself that I am capable, and likely just need a small respite. So those are the days where I ask the steward to see to an extra task or two, or where I delegate the hiring of some extra help to Mrs. Hill.”

Elizabeth knew her next question was extremely impudent, but asked it nonetheless. “Do you find things are easier or more difficult without Mr. Collins here?”

Jane was quiet again and Elizabeth began to apologize, but Jane placed a hand on her arm. “You were not wrong all those years ago, Lizzy. Mr. Collins was not an intelligent man, but had the misfortune of believing himself to be one. He did not necessarily have the respect of many of our neighbors or the servants. I pitied him for that, and it is never a good thing for pity to be a part of marriage. Sympathy, certainly.”

She let out a great heaving sigh. “The truth is, things are not so different with Mr. Collins gone. Most of the work already fell to me.”

“Dear Jane!” Elizabeth placed her hand over Jane’s where it already sat on her arm. “Is there nothing that can be done? Perhaps an understeward?”

“Dearest Lizzy, I did not say that I was unhappy that the work mostly fell to me. Now there is simply no pretence that it is any other way,” Jane smiled. “Papa was a somewhat lackadaisical master of Longbourn, and much more could have been done to strengthen the estate. I think we all knew that. Mr. Collins knew so little about how the estate worked that he was happy to leave the inner workings to others.”

“I believe Aunt and Uncle Gardiner told me as much. They say that you’ve increased the yields and have been saving a great deal of the income ever since Old Mr. Collins died.”

“It is true. We were able to save more than half of the profits every year, and to increase the profits as well,” Jane said. “Uncle Edward has rather aggressively invested the portion intended for Rosie’s dowry, along with the £200 pounds saved for me out of Papa’s accounts, and my thousand from Mama. I intend to use those funds for my old age. You know we built a dower house last year? Would that we had it when our parents were alive, it might have set Mama’s fears aside. Right now it is being rented, so it is helping to add to our savings until we need it. All told, we have £5,000 set aside so far for Rosie, then I have nearly £2,000 for myself, and that will certainly grow over the years. I add more to Rosie’s dowry than my own funds. And of course, the rest is for Jamie and Longbourn.”

Elizabeth was quiet. “Jane, that is a marvel. Well done! Perhaps all estates should be run by women.”

“Perhaps they should! Though I do not mean to boast, I feel proud of what I have managed to do. I was so young when I accepted Mr. Collins. I would never wish away any choice that brought me Jamie and Rosie, but certainly I might have made different decisions if I was a few years older when it all happened. I did all I could to respect and esteem him as a husband, but I never loved him. I do not think he really understood how to love me, either. You and I always wished to marry for love.”

“Those are a child’s romantic notions, Jane. However, it is a neat logical lock: I will never allow myself to fall in love, therefore I will never marry. Safe as can be!” Elizabeth laughed. “And what of you? When you are out of mourning we shall have set up a moat around the house, for we shall be set upon by lovesick men from all over the county.”

“Very amusing, Elizabeth,” Jane said wryly as they turned onto the road for the Fletchers’ place. They pulled up in front of the house a moment later and gratefully accepted the help of the Fletchers’ oldest boy in being handed down. Jane spoke kindly with the spindly, blushing youth while Elizabeth gathered a basket they had put together of some restoratives for Old Mrs. Fletcher and a few treats from Longbourn’s pantry for the rest of the family.

They spent a quarter of an hour visiting with the family, holding the newest babe and hearing how poor Old Mrs. Fletcher did. Young Mrs. Fletcher did confess that she needed a bit more help in nursing her mother-in-law as well as caring for the child and the rest of the family. Jane offered the suggestion of Sally Miller, a young girl who Mrs. Hill had been training at Longbourn. “Sally is a very hard worker, and we would be glad to send her over from Longbourn for a few hours a day, Mrs. Fletcher.”

The relief that washed over Mrs. Fletcher’s face seemed to lighten the very atmosphere of the room. She and Jane discussed the details while Elizabeth picked up the babe and began to bounce and walk with her.

How interesting to see her dear, sweet Jane as the manager of such a little kingdom as Longbourn! And to see how she had made it more than her husband or father or even grandfather had been able to do. She saw the care in the increased yields and stores for difficult times ahead, and the careful planning of the purchase of one of Netherfield’s parcels of land. The very building of a dower house!

Elizabeth walked the baby over to the window and thought about the rest of the day’s work. They would return to the house in time for luncheon and a happy chat with the children. Elizabeth would spend a couple of hours teaching them lessons, and then she would take a short walk and write until dinner. The days had developed their own pleasing rhythm, Longbourn thrumming all around them like a content little hive.

She adjusted the blanket around the baby and leaned down quietly to say, “Oh, yes, I stand my earlier supposition. More women could manage estates. The world would be quite a different place, Little One!”

 

Devonshire
July 1815

“And so the married state pleases you, Georgie?” Darcy asked as they rode their horses out before the heat of the day set in. As they were already in the south visiting Lady Catherine, Georgie had offered to host them for a few weeks before they returned to Pemberley. Darcy tried not to be overeager in his response, but he was more than pleased for the opportunity to check in on his little sister. Therefore from Kent to Devonshire they had gone, Phoebe with her faithful map on her lap through every mile.

Wright’s estate was built in the Stuart style, and well kept, though nowhere near in size to Pemberley. They rode their horses to the mount of a hill, and Darcy was able to look back at the house. He could see prosperity all around him, and it made him glad for his little sister, and any nieces or nephews to come.

“It does, I confess. Ambrose is an excellent husband, and he says he wishes to make me happy in all things. And he does, Will! I am so very fortunate.” She was beaming, and Darcy smiled back. He could hardly help doing so in the face of such felicity.

“I am very glad to hear it, dearest. You deserve nothing less,” he said, and Georgie inclined her head in thanks.

They began to make their way back to the stables, a fine breeze cooling them and their mounts. Georgie seemed to be forming a resolution to speak. As they passed a grove of walnut trees, she finally said, “Do you ever think of marrying again, Will?”

He winced as he remembered the scene of his proposal to Miss Bennet. He had ceased to think of it daily, but every now and then, something would remind him, and he would feel his regret anew. It had been badly done. Sometimes he wondered if he had perhaps spoken more eloquently, or with greater feeling, whether she would have accepted him. But such thoughts were useless.

“I have thought about it in the past,” he finally said.

“Do not you think Phoebe could use a mother, or some siblings?” Georgiana said very gently.

“I believe she could. But she and I are happy right now, and we managed to become so without a wife’s help,” he answered evenly.

“I have noticed that the two of you seem more at ease. I think Miss Owen quite good with her, but you must admit so much of Phoebe’s progress was due to Miss Bennet. I daresay much of my recent progress was due to her!”

“I could not agree with you more. Miss Bennet was a singular woman,” Darcy answered. A low branch blocked the path and he trotted ahead to hold it up for his sister as she passed.

“Do you know I had a letter of congratulations from her? She must have heard about my marriage from Mrs. Reynolds, or perhaps Mrs. Annesley.”

Darcy’s heart leapt in his chest. “I hope she is well?”

“Very well. Her sister has been most grateful to have her back at the family home again, and it sounds as though her return to what she calls ‘civilian life’ has gone along very happily. She said she is glad to be able to help with her niece and nephew, but also to mix more with the world again. How very solitary she must have felt. How all governesses must feel,” Georgiana said. “Still, she never seemed unhappy with her lot in life.”

“No, I think she is the sort to make the best of things. I wish her very well,” Darcy said. And it was true. He did. He refrained from voicing aloud how he felt Miss Bennet’s presence whenever he was with Phoebe, that the woman’s charming intelligence was working its way into his child’s mind. How ironic that he had once feared Miss Bennet’s influence over his child! Now he was not certain there was any way to thank her enough for it.

They rode on in companionable silence until they reached the stables. Darcy dismounted then came around to help his little sister down. She looked very grown up to him all of a sudden. Georgiana was less timid, more confident now. The months they had spent apart saw her lose a little bit of fullness in her cheeks, the last of her girlhood gone, womanhood fully arrived.

They handed their mounts over to the grooms and went inside to change for breakfast. As they entered the house, they began to part, she for the family wing, he for the guest wing, but something stopped Georgie.

“You admired Miss Bennet,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. Darcy could see how she was squeezing them together.

Darcy was still, but then he nodded.

“I think she would be an excellent mistress of Pemberley. People would talk, because they simply cannot help themselves. But I think she would make you happy, and that could overcome any true discomfort of feeling foolish,” she said, her hand on the banister, her voice gentle.

He let out a long, loud sigh. “She is gone now, Georgie. Best leave it lie,” he said. She inclined her head and merely said, “See you at breakfast, Will.”

That had been surprising. Darcy had hidden his regard all too well from the object of his affection, but his little sister had apparently been able to see right through him.

After breakfast he sat down to some correspondence. They were planning a visit to the seaside tomorrow, as they were not an hour from Ilfracombe. Darcy intended to complete as much as he possibly could today.

He had a great list of details to go over in a letter to Mr. Greenup. That had been a most satisfactory placement– the man was nearly as good as Mr. Wickham senior. He and Greenup had been debating the purchase of some new equipment and Darcy felt the time was right. Then there were letters to the Matlocks to answer, as well as a reply to a doctor in town he hoped to engage for Aunt Catherine. She had made some comments about aches in her joints, and Lady Catherine did not complain of illness, so Darcy knew it was rather serious.

Then there was a letter from Bingley. Darcy saved it for last, as a treat to wonder over. Breaking the seal, he wondered how many readings it would take before he understood Bingley’s meaning. The man’s handwriting was atrocious.

Darcy murmured to himself as he read: "Have…rented? Yes, rented, an estate in Herefordshire. No, Hertfordshire. In fact, it was Goulding’s daring. No, Goulding’s doing. He mentioned Nether…something…Park, thought it would be ideal for me…Will you come this Autumn?"

Darcy’s memory was prickled by what he was able to make out from Bingley’s letter. Goudling had known Miss Bennet as a child, back in Hertfordshire. Had not he and Bingley discussed an estate for let there?

He went cold, knowing that this estate must be near Miss Bennet’s home. Dare he go? Dare he intrude upon her notice once more?

Darcy stood up suddenly and paced, weighing the decision back and forth over and over again. Finally, he sat once more and pulled out another piece of paper.

Bingley,

I applaud you on your decision to lease an estate. It shall be an ideal way to learn how to be a landholder, and the situation sounds most eligible. If I understand your handwriting (Good God, man, when will you hire a secretary?), you are to take possession on Michalmas. If you are amenable to Phoebe and her governess and nurse joining me, I would be quite glad to join you in October. We are for Pemberley until the Harvest takes place, then we are at our leisure. Do write and let me know if this will suit.

If memory serves, Phoebe’s former governess, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, lives not far from the property you are leasing (I cannot understand your scratch, Nether-something Park? Pray write the name clearly in your next before I attempt to navigate my way thither). Miss Bennet left us to rejoin her family after her brother-in-law unexpectedly died. Perhaps she would be a good guide to establishing yourself in the neighborhood?

I am yours, etc.
Fitzwilliam Darcy

Notes:

In case it's of interest to you, the £130 Lizzy and Uncle Edward are going to put up to print her book comes out to about $14,000. I know it's hard to do an easy conversion of money then to money now, but one of the best articles I ever read about it said that you could consider the value of a 1810s pound to be about $108 today. Granted, that was before the world went haywire, but there you have it.

Chapter 16: Chapter 16

Notes:

Dropping a day early as tomorrow is Halloween, and my little one is so excited about it that I'll probably forget ;)

Hertfordshire
September, 1815

 

“Lizzy, did you hear that Netherfield Park is let at last?” Lydia asked. She was making her annual visit to Longbourn and by the fourth day, she was better informed about the latest doings in and around Meryton than either Jane or Elizabeth.

“I had not, from whom did you have it?” Elizabeth and Rosie were at the pianoforte working on chord exercises. Rosie showed a talent and interest in the instrument, and it was likely she would be a good player as she grew up. Elizabeth stood and stretched her back, gesturing for Rosie to continue.

“From whom do you think?” Lydia laughed, sitting down near the fireplace, indicating the other chair to Elizabeth. “Aunt Phillips, as always!”

Elizabeth smiled fondly. “Papa always said she and Mama were like bloodhounds for neighborhood news. Apparently a trait you inherited?”

Lydia stuck out her tongue and blew, causing Rosie to giggle. “Well, one does wish to be well-informed about the goings-on in the neighborhood. But I can see that you are above that, are you not? Therefore I shall keep the details to myself.”

“Clearly you wish to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it…” Elizabeth smiled.

Lydia laughed. “Well, then. It is taken by a young man of large fortune. A single man. You know Uncle Phillips is the agent for the estate, so he knew all about it. The gentleman sounds very amiable. The reason I asked whether or not you knew if the estate had been let was that Uncle Phillips said the gentleman claimed an acquaintance with you.”

Confusion marked Elizabeth’s brow. “Me? What gentleman could I possibly know who would take such a large house as Netherfield?”

“A Mr. Bingley?” Lydia offered, her eyebrow lifted and her head cocked.

Elizabeth’s face went from confused to surprised. “Oh!” she said. “Heavens, yes. Mr. Bingley. A very pleasant, charming gentleman. I recall he was looking for an estate and believe it or not, Ned Goulding – do you remember I told you how I saw Ned?-- said that Netherfield was available. My goodness, how interesting!”

“Aunt Phillips said he is handsome, was it so?” Lydia asked.

“Yes, a very handsome young man. Perhaps seven-and-twenty years old? Oh, I cannot imagine he will not take up residence without his wretched sister. I had the misfortune of meeting her, too,” Elizabeth said.

“Well! What a fine thing for local society, wretched sister or no. Surely he will attend the assemblies and other gatherings,” Lydia said. “With Jane still in mourning, perhaps the Lucases will escort us if the Phillipses will not.”

Elizabeth was quiet as the tinkling sounds of Rosie playing her chords filled the room. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, then once again parted her lips to say, almost to herself, “I wonder…”

“Hmm?” Lydia asked, reaching over to pick up her workbasket. “What do you wonder?”

“‘Tis nothing,” said she. But what Elizabeth actually wondered was how good a friend Mr. Bingley was to Mr. Darcy, and whether or not that gentleman would come to Meryton to visit his friend. Her spirits were in somewhat of a flutter at the idea, then they settled. It did not seem likely, and even if he did, what occasion could they have to cross each other’s paths? Jane was in mourning for another few months yet, and they lived quietly and comfortably at Longbourn. No entertaining, nor many parties beyond those with the longtime neighbors.

She walked back over to the instrument and praised Rosie’s work on the chords, then they sang to Lydia, who laughingly joined in. She gave Mr. Bingley not another thought.

 

It was all the more astonishing, then, when not a fortnight later Mrs. Hill came and found Elizabeth in the dining room where she and Lydia were cutting out patterns for infant gowns out of Longbourn’s old linens. These would be dispersed among several of the Longbourn tenants with babes through the Boxing Day baskets. Elizabeth and Lydia were laughing over the latest letter from Gracechurch Street, describing a most absurd conversation Aunt Gardiner had entertained with a young dandy at a ball.

Hill came in with a card and said, “Beg your pardon, Miss Lizzy, Miss Lydia, but there’s a gentleman here to see you in particular, Miss Lizzy.”

Both girls exclaimed, and Elizabeth reached out for the card. “My goodness, it is Mr. Bingley! That is well, Hill, I met him in Derbyshire, a most respectable young man. Will you let Jane know we have a caller? And perhaps a tea tray,” she said, and Hill bustled off.

The two began to take off their aprons, and Lydia in particular went over to the mirror above the fireplace to ascertain that her coiffure was still perfection. Elizabeth gave herself a glance and decided she was fit enough.

Mr. Bingley was standing at the window looking out over the gardens, which had always been particularly fine at Longbourn. To his credit, Mr. Collins had been a very good gardener and he had taken the rose garden under his particular care. Though it was now October, the rosehips were striking against the trellises near the house, and one could see the lovely little meandering paths through the tidy plantings of the rest of the garden, all preparing to sleep for autumn and winter. Elizabeth interrupted Mr. Bingley’s presumable admiration of the garden with a pleased, “Mr. Bingley, what a surprise to see you!”

The gentleman turned, his face bearing a large smile. “Miss Bennet! What a pleasure to see you again. And now as neighbors, you may have heard.”

“Yes, it was a very pleasant surprise to hear it was so,” Elizabeth said, rising from her curtsy as Mr. Bingley lifted from his bow.

Elizabeth performed the introductions between Bingley and Lydia, and they sat, engaging in the pleasant happy chat of young people disposed to like one another. Mr. Bingley was explaining his decision about leasing an estate in the southern counties versus the north when the tea tray was brought in, Jane entering just behind.

Lydia went to the tea table to assist the maid in setting down the tray, therefore Elizabeth was at liberty to see a man begin to fall in love before her very eyes.

Jane was beautiful, and always had been. The years had done nothing to lessen that. Bloom was all well and good, but Elizabeth had come to believe that every hardship, every vexation, had been not unlike the patina that a beautiful piece of gold takes on over time, despite any dings or nicks. Ten years with a foolish husband, and nearly as many being mistress of an estate she had personally taken from middling to thriving, several years as a loving mother, an entire lifetime as an excellent sister. These were all evident in Jane’s face. The fullness of her once youthful cheeks had given way to a handsome angularity, there were very faint laugh lines around the corners of her eyes, and her figure was lush and womanly. All of these little things had taken a beautiful girl and made her into what Elizabeth considered to be a rather stunning woman.

But there was also kindness and graciousness in her countenance. There always had been. There was much to captivate a man about Jane’s person, but it was truly the wise man who noticed her honorable, steadfast character.

She walked up to Mr. Bingley with a welcoming expression on her face and Elizabeth checked her laugh as Mr. Bingley shot to his feet, nearly losing his balance. “Jane, pray, may I introduce you to Mr. Charles Bingley?” Jane nodded and Mr. Bingley’s face went from dumbfounded to pleased. “Mr. Bingley, this is my elder sister, Mrs. Collins. She is the mistress of Longbourn.”

“Mrs. Collins, it is a pleasure. I am aware Miss Bennet returned to Longbourn because of the passing of your late husband. May I offer my condolences to you and your family?” Mr. Bingley said, subtly taking in her lavender gown.

“Yes, I thank you, Sir. It was last November. It has been such a blessing to have Lizzy back with us. And right now Lydia is with us, too, on her yearly visit from town, where she lives with our aunt and uncle. It is wonderful to have two of my four sisters back with me, for however long we will be lucky enough to have them,” Jane said. “Pray be seated.” Jane made to move toward the tea tray, but Lydia offered to pour, and Jane nodded her acquiescence with a fond smile toward her baby sister.

“Four sisters in total, you say?” Mr. Bingley had moved over on the sofa, and Jane chose to sit beside him. “My word, that must have been a merry household when you were all growing up.” Mr. Bingley entered into the conversation with all the charm and interest of a well-bred gentleman. Lydia inquired into how he took his tea and brought him a cup, as well as a little plate of cake and fruit.

“Oh, merry is one word for it, is it not, Jane?” Elizabeth said, smiling.

“Merry, and certainly quite loud,” Jane laughed gently. “We were certainly an exuberant bunch.”

Lydia came over and handed both Elizabeth and Jane their cups of tea, then returned to prepare her own. “Oh, no, Mr. Bingley. Do not allow Jane to accept blame for any of the noise or exuberance as she so kindly calls it. She was the shepherdess stuck attending to four little wild lambs.”

Mr. Bingley laughed. “How charming to picture it. I believe I understood from Miss Bennet that she and by extension all of you ladies grew up here at Longbourn. It seems a very well-managed concern. We share a boundary of fields, the Netherfield steward has told me, though I have not yet had a close tour. I have much to learn from you.”

Lydia joined them with her own plate of cake and cup of tea. “So you chose Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley. Was it Ned’s recommendation that inspired you after all?” she asked.

“It was. He and Miss Bennet spoke so well of Meryton and when I toured the house and park it seemed a most eligible place to begin my own education as to being a landed gentleman. My father had intended to purchase an estate, but did not live to do it, so it falls to me,” Mr. Bingley answered.

“Ah, I am very sorry to hear that you have lost him, Sir,” Jane said, giving Mr. Bingley another opportunity to gaze upon her.

“Yes, thank you. We lost him when I was but nineteen years old, and my elder sister was one-and-twenty. My younger sister was seventeen. We had my mother for only another two years after that,” he said.

After the ladies murmured more sympathetic noises at that additional loss, Lydia said, “It is very good your sisters had you. We have no brother, but we all always wished for one.”

Mr. Bingley inclined his head and took a bite of the seed cake, one of their cook’s specialties. He let out a little noise of pleasure at which Jane smiled.

“Believe me, with my sisters managing me, I always wished for a brother as well,” Mr. Bingley said conspiratorially, and the ladies all laughed.

“Perhaps a brother would have found himself quite out with all us girls,” Elizabeth said. “At any rate, here we are now. Jane has one dear little boy and one dear little girl, so Longbourn’s future is quite balanced at present.”

“I hope I shall meet the children one day,” Mr. Bingley said, and asked Jane about them, a question sure to be met with approval from any affectionate mother.

They spent the rest of the visit chatting about family, and points of interest in the area. If out of politeness Mr. Bingley’s eyes had to be on either Elizabeth or Lydia during conversation, just as soon as possible they were returned to Jane, whom he asked several questions about managing an estate, and the local practices in the area. He asked her opinion about the main crops Netherfield and Longbourn produced (wheat, oats, and barley, though Netherfield was also known for its sheep while Longbourn had its apple and pear orchards). Elizabeth could feel Jane’s pleasure at being taken seriously as the manager of Longbourn.

Mr. Bingley’s call pushed the edge of propriety – he certainly stayed past thirty minutes, but they were all so well pleased and entertained that not once did any of the ladies glance at the clock to ascertain the time. Finally, though, it must have occurred to him to be moving along, and therefore he stood, prompting the ladies to also rise and walk him out.

“Miss Bennet, I am so delighted to have renewed our acquaintance,” Mr. Bingley said as Mr. Hill returned his hat and riding gloves.

“As am I, Sir. I hope we shall meet often,” Elizabeth said, and Jane and Lydia both nodded. Elizabeth checked her smile of amusement at how Mr. Bingley’s eyes once again found Jane.

“We certainly must!” Mr. Bingley said. “This week I will return to town to escort my sisters and brother-in-law back to Netherfield. You have met Caroline, Miss Bennet, but it would be a pleasure to introduce you to my elder sister and her husband. I expect several other friends to stay with me over the next months.”

They could hear a horse being brought around to the drive. Unwilling to part with the amiable gentleman, the ladies saw him out to the drive, pulling their shawls a bit tighter around their shoulders.

The groom led Mr. Bingley’s chestnut over to the mounting block, and they watched him mount, then turn the horse back around to say one last farewell.

“Oh! Miss Bennet. I do not know how I could be so scatterbrained. Beyond Caroline, there will be another visitor quite well known to you, if you would consent to see them. In a fortnight, we expect Mr. Darcy. I am sure he will be delighted to see you.”

At this Elizabeth could only give a faint nod and weak smile. Jane and Lydia waved Mr. Bingley off, and watched him make his way down the drive. They turned to go back inside, but Elizabeth took a moment to get her wits about her, and to attempt to coax her stomach back up from the vicinity of her feet.

Mr. Darcy in Meryton!

The hour was only two of the clock, and therefore it would be rather unseemly to ask Hill for a glass of restorative. Therefore she rushed inside and called out to Lydia and Jane that she was going to take a walk.

“Another one?” Lydia asked, to which Elizabeth could only cheerfully affirm while running up the stairs to get her outerwear. Better another walk than winding up in her cups by dinnertime.

 

“There, is not that lovely?” Lydia asked as she weaved a ribbon through Elizabeth’s hair. Jane’s maid had helped both Bennet girls with their dress for the assembly, but Lydia insisted upon attending to Elizabeth’s hair herself, for she had just the thing – “a style I saw at a ball with Aunt Gardiner. When I saw it, I knew it was the perfect thing for your type of curls.”

“It feels quite strange to be attending an assembly after so many years,” Elizabeth said, smiling at Lydia in the mirror. “But you have turned me out creditably. I do not think we shall disgrace our Aunt and Uncle tonight.” Elizabeth looked at the contrast of Lydia’s pale violet gown against her own buttery yellow gown.

“I should say not! Do you think Mr. Bingley’s party will be in attendance?” Lydia asked.

“I certainly believe Mr. Bingley will be in attendance. He is very fond of society, and this will be the best opportunity he could want to become acquainted with the neighborhood. Whether any of his friends shall be in attendance, I could not begin to guess. Perhaps his sister,” Elizabeth said, reaching up to adjust a curl as Lydia tied off the ribbon into a strong, neat little bow underneath her chignon.
“And you say she is unpleasant,” Lydia said.

“Unfortunately yes. Perhaps more unfortunately, she despises me, for I made sport of her when she was attempting to attack me,” Elizabeth admitted.

“Well! There is a story I should like to have in full some time or other. But come, I think I hear Uncle’s carriage come for us, let us go downstairs,” Lydia laughed.

A mere half an hour later Elizabeth and Lydia were standing in the assembly hall ballroom with the Phillipses and Sir William and Lady Lucas, who were expressing their bittersweet feelings about their younger daughter Maria having lately married an attorney in Brighton, where the family had gone two summers ago.

They were beginning to discuss whether or not the Lucases would spend the Christmas season with Charlotte, at home with their son and his wife, or in Brighton when the musicians could be heard to begin La Belle Assemblée March, to signal the dancers to line up. Samuel Lucas came for Lydia and a moment later Matthew Goulding arrived to escort Elizabeth to the line.

As more couples joined the line, and Mr. Goulding and Mr. Lucas engaged in happy chat with herself and Lydia, Elizabeth took the opportunity to look around the ballroom. It had been refurbished since she had last seen it in the year between school and heading off to work for the Hobsons in the north. It spoke of the general growing prosperity of Meryton – the walls were painted a soft cream with verditer blue trim, and the chairs grouped around the edges of the room looked comfortable for the older folks and those sitting out the dance. The chandeliers were the same, Elizabeth thought, but they seemed to have been polished and cleaned, and refracted the candlelight against the warm paint. The wall sconces all shone brightly, and there was a pleasant little breeze coming in through the windows.

Elizabeth felt a little thrill of pleasure to be able to enjoy uncomplicated society once again. She’d had some tastes of it on her recent visit to town, but here she was home in Meryton. She could imagine her life if she had never left, if her parents were still alive. It must be how a migrating bird feels – born in one land only to migrate far away, and return home, if lucky.

The musicians struck up the first notes of the dance, and they were underway. Elizabeth held her hand out to Matthew Golding, smiling as she stepped into the first figure.

 

On the third dance, Elizabeth was hopping a lively sauteuse when she saw Mr. Bingley’s party enter.

First, of course, there were the Bingleys. Mr. Bingley’s open, smiling face recommended him to the room immediately, and Elizabeth saw him nod to several gentlemen gathered near the entrance. On his arm was the haughty and absurd Miss Bingley, who was dressed as if it was an evening at Almack’s, rather than a small market town’s assembly comprised of a mix of local gentry and the more well-to-do merchants in town. Her gown was full satin and she wore a turban stuffed with ostrich feathers, to say nothing of the diamond earbobs and necklace that twinkled in the well-lit ballroom.

Elizabeth’s partner turned her, and next she was able to see another couple following behind the Bingleys – another very well-dressed woman (who had somehow managed to recall it was a small town assembly and she would not be meeting Countess Lieven or Lady Castlereagh that night), slightly plumper and shorter, but clearly related to the Bingleys. She was on the arm of another gentleman whose ruddy face implied he had already started his celebration at home or in the carriage.

Elizabeth turned away from the door and engaged with the gentleman next to her for a figure of the dance. When he turned her again, she saw Georgiana Wright and her husband, Mr. Ambrose Wright. A smile lit up Elizabeth’s face at the pleasure of seeing the former Miss Darcy once again – she never thought it likely that they would meet again. And still, Elizabeth’s heart beat its mad little wings, because there was one more person behind Mr. Wright…

Elizabeth turned her attention back to her partner, scolding herself while simultaneously attempting to calm her speeding heart. A few pleasant words, and she was spun back to her original partner. They joined hands, and when Elizabeth spun around once more, Mr. Darcy’s eyes were on her. It was useless to try and slow down her heart, with such an expression as that.

 

After the set was over, Elizabeth had curtsied to her partner and declined his offer of punch, excusing herself to the ladies’ retiring room. It was mercifully empty, save a maid in the antechamber, therefore she was free to mutter an entire monologue to herself in solitude.

“Oh, why did he come here? He had to have known from Mr. Bingley that I was in the area. What does he want here? What on earth shall I do?” she muttered to herself.

It seemed impossible that he would arrive to seek her out specifically, and yet all signs pointed to his presence meaning just that. Did he come to renew his addresses? It was highly unlikely after that setdown she had delivered at their last meeting. Did he come with some news of Phoebe? That she would gladly hear and more, for she still missed the little girl. Did he come to tell her off, now that his friend’s presence gave him a convenient way to do so? It seemed a long way to travel just to satisfy one’s bruised ego, particularly after nearly a year.

Elizabeth walked up to the mirror to take stock of herself. Her eyes did not seem as wild as her mind had felt, nor did she betray unsettled feelings in her expression. She took a few more breaths, tucked a curl that had come loose from dancing behind her ear, and made her way back out to the dance.

She was walking back to the Phillipses and Lucases when she was stopped by Mr. Bingley. “Miss Bennet, how very well you look this evening,” he began. “May I enquire after your health, and all your family at Longbourn?”

Elizabeth dimpled into a smile at such poorly concealed interest. “We are all well, Sir. Lydia and I are here with our aunt and uncle this evening, as Jane will avoid entertainments for another month yet. And you? I see you have a great deal of company here with you this evening,” she said.

“Indeed. You know my sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, and of course, Darcy and Mrs. Wright and her husband. But I will be glad to be able to introduce you to the Hursts, my older sister and her husband. But I certainly shall not do so until I have secured a dance with you,” he smiled.

“What you ask is hardly a sacrifice on my part, for I dearly love to dance. I have the next free, if you wish?” Elizabeth offered.

“What might Mr. Bingley wish, Lizzy?” Lydia said, coming up next to them. She curtsied in return to Mr. Bingley’s bow.

“Prepare yourself for something shocking, Lydia. Mr. Bingley set the price of introduction to his party at one dance. He does not seem like he will be moved, either, so I offered him my next,” she said.

“That is shocking, and terribly sly. But what can one do? I suppose I shall also have to trade a dance for an introduction if I am to enjoy any of the society from the Netherfield party,” Lydia said, her face all mock seriousness, handing Mr. Bingley her dance card.

“I am sorry to have to be so hard, but how else am I to obtain dances with the loveliest ladies in the room? Needs must,” Mr. Bingley said, smiling.

Elizabeth could see Mr. Darcy standing with the rest of the Netherfield party over to the side of the room near the punch, which Mr. Hurst seemed to already be enjoying. Mr. Darcy was watching Mr. Bingley with some curiosity, and his eyes were frequently on Elizabeth. Miss Bingley clung to his arm like a limpet, looking about the rooms in distaste. Mr. Wright had already led Mrs. Wright into the dance, and looked as though he could imagine no greater happiness than dancing with his wife.

Well, whatever would come, would come.

Lydia and Mr. Bingley were discussing the assembly and the general amusements of the neighborhood. Elizabeth brought her attention back to the pair of them until the current dance finished, and it was time for Mr. Bingley to lead her onto the floor.

Mr. Darcy had taken the opportunity to request a set from his sister, and they somehow managed to get themselves into Elizabeth and Mr. Bingley’s square for the quadrille. Mr. Darcy now stood directly across from Elizabeth, and it occurred to her that soon they would be touching hands, and spinning about each other. Therefore, she must stop being such a ninnyhammer, and meet the awkwardness of the situation with bravery.

Mr. Darcy nodded to her in greeting, and gave a bow. “Miss Bennet, it is very good to see you again,” he said. He gave an uncertain little smile, and something eased in Elizabeth’s chest. He was not here to make any trouble for her, but merely to visit a friend.

Mrs. Wright chimed in, “We were so very excited to learn that Mr. Bingley had taken an estate near your family home, it is wonderful to see you again!”

Elizabeth was finally able to smile and calm herself, understanding that the Darcys came in peace. “It is a great pleasure to meet you both again. I hope you will enjoy your stay in the area. You have entered society at a merry time, it being our first assembly of the autumn.”

Mr. Darcy nodded. “It is a well appointed set of rooms. It speaks to the affluence of the town,” he said.

“Yes, the decor is very elegant,” Mrs. Wright said.

“I will be sure to pass on your compliments to Sir William Lucas. He has been most involved with the recent improvements here and throughout the town,” Elizabeth said. “May I inquire after Miss Phoebe? I have missed her a great deal.”

Mr. Darcy smiled. An actual, full smile. “You may do more than inquire after her, Miss Bennet. She is here with me at Netherfield. Do I ask too much to bring her to your home for a visit? She has missed you a vast deal, and would like nothing better than to be in your company again.”

The musicians began to play, and Elizabeth said, “I cannot think of anything I would like more. Perhaps we might see you at Longbourn in a few days? Mr. Bingley knows the way.”

Mr. Darcy smiled and said, “I thank you, Miss Bennet.” The dance brought the two of them toward each other for a small curtsey and bow. Mr. Darcy then held his hands out toward her, and Elizabeth placed hers in his, allowing herself to be spun, hardly knowing what to think next.

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Netherfield, Hertfordshire
October, 1815

 

Netherfield was a good property. On his first ride around the grounds, Darcy noted the well-maintained house, the now dormant but attractive gardens, and the orchards and fields where the crops had lately been harvested. It all had the makings of a fine investment, should Bingley choose to do so. The estate brought in a respectable £3,000 a year, and from what Darcy saw, much could be done to increase those returns. The land suffered from a want of investment and dedicated care from a good landowner. There were good cottages that could be updated and rented out, neighboring fields to purchase. Bingley could do very well for himself indeed, should he choose it.

In the few days Darcy had been at Netherfield, he had felt a constant thrum of anticipation, as though something not only was going to happen, but that something needed to happen. Now he stood in the drawing room, looking out of the window, waiting for Miss Bingley’s morning at-home to begin. Darcy felt sure the Bennets would make an appearance. Now that Bingley had a hostess in his sister, the Bennets could make their welcome visit and that would free up a social intercourse between Netherfield and Longbourn.

The refreshments had been placed in the room by the competent staff, and the pleasant smells of cake and tea wafted about the room. Miss Bingley was officiously presiding, pouring out cups for their family party when carriage wheels and hooves could be heard approaching the drive. Darcy forced himself to accept a cup of tea and sit, rather than to skulk around the room.

An older couple, the Lucases, were ushered in. Darcy checked his disappointed expression and sat with the jovial and slightly silly Sir William as the man expounded on the history of Meryton and its environs. Another family was announced, the Longs. Darcy bowed to the elderly Mrs. Long and her recently married visiting niece, but continued to offer a few sentences here and there to Sir William as he rattled on.

That feeling, again – that something had to happen. Darcy could not account for the excited, nervous energy he felt.

But then, it happened. Miss Bennet and her younger sister Miss Lydia were seen into the room by the butler. The gentlemen all stood and bowed and the ladies made their curtsies and allowed Mr. Bingley to guide them to a sofa just a few feet away from the one where Darcy sat perched listening to Sir William. Miss Bingley snidely inquired how they took their tea. After she swanned away to the tea table, Miss Bennet turned to look at him. In her expression there was cautious curiosity.

Darcy nodded to her, and forced himself to offer a small smile, overriding every instinct just to stare at her lovely face, or sink deep into her eyes.

Something had to happen. But what and how? How did a man who knew nothing about the art of pleasing go about pleasing the most worthy woman he had ever met?

“Mr. Darcy?” he heard Sir William say. “Sir, are you quite well?”

Darcy turned back to his companion in some confusion. “I beg your pardon, I was lost in thought, Sir.”

“Oh, it is nothing. I was saying that I believe you know our Miss Lizzy, do you not?” Sir William said, opening the conversation to include Miss Bennet.

“Not as such, but rather as Miss Bennet, yes, of course I do,” Darcy said, and was about to continue to speak on their shared history when Miss Bingley walked up to hand Miss Bennet and Miss Lydia their saucers of tea.

“Yes, we certainly do know Miss Bennet, do we not? For it was only recently that she left your house where she was in service,” Miss Bingley smirked, and Miss Bennet merely lifted an eyebrow while accepting her tea.

“Yes, Miss Bingley, it is wonderful to find your memory so intact,” Miss Bennet said. She took the opportunity to ask, “And how is dear Miss Phoebe, Mr. Darcy? I had rather hoped I might see her today.”

Ah, here was an opening! “Yes, of course. I mentioned to her that we might have a visit from you today and she was thrilled. Perhaps I may take you to her after you’ve enjoyed your tea?”

“That would be most welcome, I thank you, Sir,” Miss Bennet said. She paused to take a sip while Miss Bingley flounced away, and Darcy saw a little wince cross her face. “I believe Miss Bingley may have added a bit too much sugar for my taste,” she murmured in explanation. Sir William bowed himself out of the conversation and went over to his wife to begin making their departure. Miss Bennet abandoned her cup of tea on the side table near her sofa, and turned her body toward Darcy.

“We did not get much of an opportunity to speak at the assembly, but I must say it was a great surprise to see you there,” Miss Bennet said.

“I confess I do not generally enjoy the activity, but it was quite pleasant to dance with you, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, and watched as a little flush crept up her neck. It gave him a bit of a thrill.

“I do not mean the assembly in general, Sir. Rather it was a surprise to see you here at all,” Miss Bennet said quietly.

Darcy was silent for a moment. “Miss Bennet, will you take a turn with me?” His relief at her subsequent nod was enormous.

They stood and Miss Bennet clasped her hands behind her back, preventing him from offering his arm. They walked over to the windows, and when they were both staring out over the gardens, Darcy said, “I hope my being here did not distress you. When I learned where Bingley had taken this estate, it allowed me to do something that has been plaguing me since we last spoke.”

“Oh?” Miss Bennet said. Darcy could see the trepidation in her expression, and therefore he rushed to say, “Netherfield’s proximity to your home has given me the opportunity to put myself in your way to apologize. I deeply regret my extremely offensive behavior, Miss Bennet.”

She turned her head to look at him, her beautiful, plump lips shaped into a surprised “oh”. Darcy resisted the urge to stare at Miss Bennet’s mouth and continued. “It was very wrong of me to speak to you as I did, on the subject that I did. It was some time before I realized the impossibility of the position in which I placed you. And I realize you had little choice but to leave Pemberley. I only wished to say I regret every insulting word I spoke to you, and to thank you for all you did for Phoebe.”

Miss Bennet took in a deep breath, her expression still surprised. She shifted her gaze to the outdoors once more and said, “I thank you, Sir. Apology accepted.” She paused and then said, “Perhaps the less said about the occasion, the better.”

Darcy knew that this was a critical moment. The one where he could begin to shift Miss Bennet’s opinion of him for the better. To show her that he had attended to her very perceptive reproofs. To gain a foothold and make a beginning.

“I cannot be so eager to never talk about that evening again, Miss Bennet. It was the night I began to understand myself. Whether or not you despise me for that night, I wish for you to know that you gave me a gift when you spoke honestly to me. I have endeavored to make use of that gift by acting in greater accord with the values and principles I have been taught to cherish,” Darcy said, speaking quietly. It was not lost on him that they were in a drawing room full of people, and he had just confessed the most vulnerable truth of his adult life to her.

“Once again, I am imposing upon you,” Darcy said, smiling ruefully. “You merely came to welcome your new neighbors and enjoy a cup of tea.”

Miss Bennet turned to him and smiled, “I do not know that anybody could enjoy that cup of tea, Sir. I believe there are no fewer than six lumps of sugar in it.” Darcy laughed, and Miss Bennet looked at him in wonder.

“What is it,” he asked, suddenly self-conscious, looking about the room.

“It is just…I do not believe I have ever seen you smile, Sir,” Miss Bennet said, her cheeks pinking.

“Thanks to you, I smile a great deal more these days, for you were the catalyst for me to improve my character,” Darcy said, aware that he had likely pushed things as much as he ought for the day. “May I take you to see Phoebe?”

“I should like it above anything, if our hosts may spare us?” Now it was Miss Bennet who was smiling, managing to hide her astonishment very well.

Miss Lydia accompanied them to the nursery, claiming a great desire to meet the famous Miss Phoebe Darcy. When they climbed the stairs to the nursery, Miss Lydia offered many comments on Meryton and the best places to ride – she was mad for riding, she explained, but was able to do very little of it in town. Darcy thanked her for her recommendations and suggested they all ride out together one day, if the fine weather held.

Then they were at the door. Darcy knocked and heard Miss Owen’s well-modulated voice call, “Enter!” Then there was a little ball of muslin hurtling itself at the party. Darcy stood aside and watched in wonder as his daughter sobbed in Miss Bennet’s arms. The lady knelt down to open her arms and pull them tightly around Phoebe, and was murmuring, “There, there, dearest – I am here and so are you! No need to cry, we are together.”

Miss Lydia stood to the side and watched with a thoughtful smile. After a few moments of watching the tearful reunion, she said, “I never liked to be parted from Lizzy, either!” she said laughingly. “I assure you I cried a great deal whenever I left her and whenever we met again.”

This made Phoebe look up and pause mid-sob. “Who is that lady, Miss Bennet?” she whispered.

“She is my youngest sister,” Miss Bennet smiled at his daughter. “Lydia, may I introduce you to my very great friend, Miss Phoebe Darcy?” Miss Lydia nodded and smiled. “Miss Lydia, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Miss Darcy.”

Miss Lydia dropped a very deep and respectful curtsy. “I have heard a great deal of very good things about you, Miss Darcy. What an honor to make your acquaintance!”

Miss Bennet held out a handkerchief and Phoebe wiped her face and nose. She curtsied in return, “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Lydia. I have also heard many stories about you and the trouble you caused.”

Miss Owen murmured, “Miss Darcy…” and Darcy was about to issue a little scold when Miss Lydia threw her head back and laughed. “I can well believe it, Miss Darcy! Only what my sister has not told you is that I learned how to make trouble from her.”

Phoebe’s tears were forgotten now. “Really?” she answered with great interest, slipping her hand into Miss Bennet’s.

“Truly! Will you do us the honor of introducing us to your governess?” Miss Lydia asked, and Darcy marveled at the younger woman’s social acumen, helping to bridge any awkward gaps between the old governess and the new, including Phoebe in on any questions, and offering suggestions to further their acquaintance while the Darcys were in Meryton. Several times, Darcy saw Miss Bennet look back at him in curiosity.

Each time she did, hope fluttered in Darcy’s chest.

 

It was settled that Darcy, Georgiana, and Phoebe would go to Longbourn for a visit in order to see Miss Bennet’s family home and to meet her niece, nephew, and other sister. When Bingley heard about the visit that was to occur two days hence, he insisted upon being one of the party. “Do nursery games interest you so much, Bingley?” Darcy asked.

“They do when they occur in the home of a beautiful, charming widow. I should very much like to know Mrs. Collins a great deal better,” Bingley answered earnestly, and so all was arranged.

When the day finally arrived, Phoebe was nervous about meeting Miss Bennet’s niece and nephew. “What if they do not like me?” Phoebe wondered at breakfast. Darcy had allowed her to join him and the Wrights in the dining room instead of the nursery that day.

“Remember Miss Bennet’s advice, Phoebe, and just ask them questions about themselves. They will like you soon enough!” Georgiana laughed. Darcy could see a fullness in her cheeks. He noticed she was eating voraciously, and began to suspect he would be an uncle in the spring.

“That is true,” said Phoebe. “Miss Bennet gave very good advice about making friends.”

Darcy buttered a second muffin and said, “What was this advice of Miss Bennet’s?”

Phoebe answered, “She said that if you are nervous to make a new acquaintance, you simply ask them questions about themselves, because people love to talk about themselves. And it is true!”

Georgiana said, “That is more or less the advice she gave me, but with a well deserved reproof: if I want to be proficient in conversation with others, I must practice. It is no different than the pianoforte or the harp.”

Darcy took in this information with interest. “What other things did Miss Bennet teach you ladies?” A plan was beginning to form.

 

When they arrived at Longbourn, Darcy admired the well-kept property. The fields they passed on their way were in excellent condition, as were all of the buildings on the tenant's plots. Longbourn House itself was a tidy dwelling of more than comfortable size. It was framed by oak trees whose leaves were turning color, and a pretty little park could be seen behind the house. Everything communicated a steady prosperity and loving stewardship. When the carriage pulled up, the ladies of the house came out to meet the party. Darcy dismounted and handed Georgiana and Phoebe out of the carriage. Phoebe immediately broke rank with her own party and ran to Miss Bennet, who promptly picked her up and gave her a kiss. The simple gesture made Darcy’s heart twinge.

Holding her gangly burden, Miss Bennet awkwardly curtsied to the visitors and laughingly made the introductions to her eldest sister. Bingley was immediately at Mrs. Collins’ side, and Darcy managed to check his laugh.

Mrs. Collins was a beauty, and appeared to have a fair character. After all, it was she who cared for Longbourn and her children in her husband’s absence. Darcy briefly admired her looks, but mostly to see if he could trace a resemblance between Miss Bennet and her eldest sister. He saw that Miss Lydia and Mrs. Collins bore a close resemblance to each other with their fair hair, cornflower blue eyes, and height. Neither of them possessed Miss Bennet’s bewitching eyes, but he could see some resemblance in their movements and expressions. He forebore the desire to remark what a handsome family they made.

Mrs. Collins led them into the house where the servants divested the visitors of their outer garments. When they went into the drawing room, two handsome children stood from their play on a map puzzle and paper dolls to greet the newcomers. They observed the girl brought in on their Aunt Bennet’s hip, and watched her with undisguised interest.

Miss Bennet walked right up to the children and set Phoebe down next to her, still holding her hand. “My dears, I would like to introduce a young lady who I believe will become a great friend to the household. Here is Phoebe Darcy, come to see us all the way from Derbyshire. Miss Darcy, please meet my dear nephew Master Jamie Collins and my niece Miss Rosie Collins.” The children all bowed and curtsied to each other, and the Collins children were introduced to the rest of the party.

Darcy walked over to the children and with a bit of a gambit, took Phoebe’s other hand and said, “This seems a very complicated puzzle, Master Collins,” he said to Jamie.

“Yes, Sir, it is all the countries of Africa,” Jamie confirmed.

“Is geography a great interest of yours?” Darcy asked, and the boy’s face lit up as he described his current project of memorizing all the capital cities of the continent. Darcy gave Phoebe’s hand a squeeze and she turned toward Rosie and began to ask about her paper dolls.

Behind him, he could hear Bingley and his sister speaking to the ladies of the house and asking how they did. Although Darcy was very aware of Miss Bennet’s presence in the room, he allowed himself to relax into the conversation with the boy, and then allowed it to widen to a conversation with all the children. Once Phoebe seemed comfortable with them, he excused himself and went over to the sofas where the adults were gathered. He entered into the conversation by asking Mrs. Collins about matters of the estate, and listening to her thoughtful, measured answers about Longbourn’s history and future goals. Bingley ventured enthusiastic observations about land ownership he had made thus far.

Miss Bennet and Miss Lydia were engaged with his sister, discussing amusements in town versus amusements in the country. He could see Miss Bennet peeping over at him as he spoke to Mrs. Collins, and it made Darcy wonder again at his own manners where she was concerned. He had been implacably stiff when he had known her before, he knew. His own admiration for her had confused him so in the early days of their acquaintance that he was in the middle before he knew it was admiration at all. Darcy knew he could tend toward haughtiness, and that his shyness often seemed like disdain. Because of Miss Bennet, it was the first time in his life he had a desire to correct these things.

 

After some time spent indoors, Mrs. Collins offered to show her guests the gardens and park around the house. The Collins children excitedly began to tell Phoebe about the swing that had been put up in the summer, practically setting the girl off vibrating with excitement for that was something they decidedly did not have at Pemberley. Once the party set out, they fell into groupings – Miss Lydia guiding the children and Georgiana to the swing, Mrs. Collins on Bingley’s arm, then Miss Bennet walking alongside Darcy.

He observed once again that Miss Bennet’s hands were clasped behind her back, but he noted that her facial expression was open. They strolled in silence for a moment, then finally she offered, “You seem quite different, Sir. I believe you and Phoebe have furthered your relationship in my absence. That is a delightful thing to behold,” said she.

“It is a delightful thing to experience, Madam. After her mother’s death, I did not know how to begin with the child, and so I never did. I felt a great deal of guilt, for I suspected her mother might not be able to withstand such a physical trial. Phoebe certainly suffered for it. I owe you a great deal for showing me the error of my ways,” Darcy said.

Miss Bennet seemed embarrassed, but she managed to say a quiet thanks. They walked together in silence for a spell, observing the children running about the grass and pushing each other on the swing.

“Why did you come here, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bennet finally said.

They were ambling past a prettyish kind of wilderness. There was a little stone bench nestled into the edge of the pines and birch trees, and Darcy imagined it was a favorite spot of the ladies to sit and read or wile away an hour of pleasant chat. They stopped and watched as a strong breeze grasped dozens of yellow leaves from the birch branches and carried them away in a flutter.

Without turning to his companion, Darcy answered, “I told you that I regret how I spoke to you, but I want you to know that I do not regret asking you. If the notion ever becomes a welcome one, I shall ask again. However, I did not come to Hertfordshire to press you. One word from you would silence me on the subject forever.” He cleared his throat and continued, “I believe I am here because despite what my actions may have communicated, I respect you a very great deal. And I cannot bear to think that you are alive in the world and thinking ill of me.”

The wind stopped its ransacking of the birch tree, and the air around them calmed and warmed. Miss Bennet merely gave a little smile in the style of Mona Lisa and murmured, “I see.”

That she did not run screaming toward the house, that she did not then and there tell him no taught Darcy to hope. He smiled in return and gestured to their party. They walked back, each of them deep in thought.

 

When the Netherfield party was ready to depart, the ladies exchanged many ideas about further activities in each other’s company. Miss Lydia ran out of the room and returned with a beribboned stack of books she had evidently promised to lend to Georgiana. Mr. Bingley extended an invitation to dinner at Netherfield in two weeks’ time when Mrs. Collins’ mourning was at an end, with the stated goal of acquainting her with his sisters. Darcy grinned when he saw Miss Bennet tuck her chin with a little sardonic smile. Sisters indeed.

As the gentlemen mounted their horses and the footman handed Georgiana into the carriage, Phoebe wrapped her arms around Miss Bennet’s waist almost as if she were afraid to let her go. Miss Bennet allowed it for a moment, then broke the embrace and knelt down to Phoebe, whispering something. The little girl nodded and ran over to the carriage, where she said something to her aunt. She then ran over to Darcy on his horse, asking, “Papa, may I ride with you?”

Darcy acquiesced and the groom who’d brought the horses around lifted the child up to him. They said their goodbyes once more to the Longbourn family, and began the journey back to Netherfield. Once they had made it a few hundred yards away, Darcy’s curiosity won out. “What did Miss Bennet tell you, dearest?”

Phoebe yawned, worn out from the delights of the day. “She said she was very glad you and I had come.”

Chapter 18: Chapter 18

Hertfordshire
November, 1815

 

When Elizabeth was a child the blacksmith in Meryton, Mr. Creevy, received a most dreadful concussion. He had been working as usual in the smithy when some tools hanging from a beam fell and clouted him severely, and he was unconscious for nearly a week.

When he came to, Mr. Creevy could scarce remember how to shoe a horse or even make a nail. But he was suddenly able to paint and draw as though he had been doing it all his life. He became known in town for creating inexpensive pencil sketches of the merchants and tradesmen in town, and for a reasonable fee would paint portraits of some of the genteel families in the area. The Bennets had one made of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet hanging in the upstairs hall and it was a very creditable rendering. Finally, Mr. Creevy made off for town and was last heard to be making a fine living as an illustrator. It had astonished Elizabeth that a knock on the head could change the entire course of a person’s life and livelihood, but she’d thought little of Mr. Creevy beyond that.

However, when considering the complete change of Mr. Darcy’s character, Elizabeth was once more put in mind of Mr. Creevy. Could Mr. Darcy have received a knock on the head? How else could one explain such a complete reversal of character?

Miss Owen had brought Phoebe over to Longbourn several times, and Lydia and Elizabeth had returned the visits, despite the snarling Miss Bingley’s clear displeasure at their presence.

Whenever Elizabeth visited with Phoebe, Mr. Darcy made an appearance. He was warm and kind, and it was obvious in the year since Elizabeth had left them that he had put a great deal into his relationship with his own child. Phoebe’s opinion of the man had obviously improved greatly, and that went a long way with Elizabeth.

Was this reversal truly due to her rebukes last autumn? Or had Mr. Darcy merely had a knock on the head? Could one more knock send him right back the way he came?

Elizabeth shook off these unhelpful thoughts and urged herself to return to her writing. She had promised Jane to work with Jamie on his lessons this afternoon, as his tutor had a rather bad cold. She returned to her notes about Portsmouth and the middle brother of the naval family, who was turning out to be her favorite. A handsome, overbold young man with no prospects who must go out in the world and make something of himself. Elizabeth found she liked his confidence in himself very well.

 

The inhabitants of Netherfield were often found visiting at Longbourn, not just Phoebe Darcy. Now that Jane was officially out of mourning, Mr. Bingley’s calls were quite marked. Under the guise of escorting Phoebe and Mrs. Wright to enjoy the congenial company of the Longbourn family, Mr. Bingley had made himself most agreeable. He gave pickaback rides to Rosie and taught Jamie some finer points of horsemanship.

On one such visit, Elizabeth had caught Jane staring out the window at Mr. Bingley as he guided Jamie around the paddock with a lead. She was sliding the small pendant cross she always wore back and forth on its chain, and holding her other arm pressed firmly against her torso as she stared out. Elizabeth opened her mouth to offer a tease, but then thought the better of it. Poor Jane had so little romance in her life up until now. Perhaps nothing would come of it, but Mr. Bingley seemed to enjoy the Longbourn family so very much, and they him, that to Elizabeth it seemed fine to let things take their course. She had retreated quietly down the hallway, allowing Jane to keep her feelings to herself.

 

As it turned out, it was Lydia who brought to light the admiration that seemed to be growing between Mr. Bingley and Jane.

They had lately paid a visit to Netherfield, where Miss Bingley continued to preside in simmering indignation, and were expecting a return call from the Netherfield party at Longbourn. Lydia was embroidering a wide satin ribbon with a complex vine and bead design, which she intended to wear at the next assembly, when she looked up from her squinting at the window. Observing some distant noises, she said, “Ah, Jane. I think I hear the carriage coming. As the Longs and Gouldings have already been, and the Lucases are visiting Brighton, I am quite certain it’s your suitor.” Lydia peered through the window. “Yes, all the gentlemen are riding alongside the carriage, there is Mr. Bingley’s blue coat. He is leading the charge, to be sure. His horse is nearly at a gallop!”

Jane was a twenty-seven year old woman of great experience in life – she was running an estate and raising two children on her own. She had seen the early and unexpected death of both of her beloved parents, and watched a husband die as well. But at that moment, their big sister blushed like a young maiden first out in society.

“Ohhhhhh!” Elizabeth and Lydia both said as they saw the color rise on Jane’s face. “Is not that interesting, Lizzy?!” “Why, yes, Lydia, I daresay it is quite interesting!”

Finally Jane threw a pillow at Lydia in the window and said, “Oh! You two. You are no different now than you were as children.” But she smiled.

The carriage pulled up and the sound of the party disembarking could be heard. Quietly, Lydia moved to the sofa where Jane sat and said, “I tease, but truly, Jane, you like him, do you not?”

Jane said, “I do like him. It is far too soon to have such thoughts about a man, but I confess that there is great joy in admiring a man for his own character. We need nothing from each other, and therefore, I believe it has been possible for both of us to enjoy getting to know each other without any pressure.”

Lydia smiled at this and quickly popped out to check on the tea service before the new company came in.

Elizabeth had never thought to ask Jane whether or not she would marry again – what need had Jane to tie herself to another man? But now she found herself wondering. Would Jane accept a proposal from Mr. Bingley? If not Mr. Bingley, was she interested in another marriage in general?

Lydia raced back into the room just in time for Mrs. Hill to bring in the visitors. She announced Mr. Bingley and his sisters, the Wrights, and of course Mr. Darcy and Phoebe, who beelined right to Elizabeth’s side where she nestled in for cake.

Mr. Darcy made conversation with herself and Lydia, but Elizabeth took care to watch Jane and Mr. Bingley. Jane was no green girl, but it was clear to Elizabeth that in Mr. Bingley’s presence, she felt something like a girlish pleasure in a handsome man’s attentions. Her serene countenance was engaged and clearly happy, and Mr. Bingley’s was open and besotted. Careful there, Jane, Elizabeth thought to herself.

Vowing to take up the subject later that night, she turned her attention back to Phoebe, Lydia, and Mr. Darcy. Apparently, they were all planning to spend Christmas at Netherfield, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was to come down at the end of November. There was talk of Mr. Bingley hosting a ball in early December to thank the neighborhood for such a warm welcome, and apparently Phoebe had more tales of Hertfordshire fairies to add to her store of knowledge. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst attempted to engage Mrs. Wright’s attention all to themselves, but were thwarted by that lady’s desire to discuss the novels she had borrowed from Longbourn.

Mr. and Mrs. Wright chatted with Lydia about books while Miss Bingley interjected comments intended to display her own superior taste – “Oh! No, I never read novels. I prefer a more elevating type of book.” Mrs. Wright chose to ignore that comment while Elizabeth turned her head and rolled her eyes.

“Miss Bennet, we like novels, do we not?” Phoebe asked her quietly.

“Yes, of course we do,” Elizabeth replied.

“Do you know that my Papa has been reading The Daring Adventures of Phoebe, Princess of Pemberley Kingdom with me?”

Elizabeth felt her face heat up, and could not look at Mr. Darcy. She managed to say, “Oh, my, I did not know. I hope you are both enjoying it.”

“Yes! It is the best novel in the entire world!” Phoebe said.

“I must agree,” Mr. Darcy said. “I do not often read novels, but I admit it is my favorite so far.”
He spoke with such kindness and warmth that Elizabeth was finally able to look at him.

She checked a gasp at the fond expression in his eyes, and said, “I remember that there were few novels in the library at Pemberley. I am glad to hear my contribution to the genre meets with your approval.”

Mr. Darcy thought for a moment and said, “It is true that there are not many novels in the library. But most of the ones we have at Pemberley are in my study, or the mistress’ study. My late wife was very fond of them. Because she enjoyed them so much, I began to read them myself. Somewhat slowly, but still.

Something about this idea touched Elizabeth. “You had a great respect for your wife’s intelligence,” Elizabeth said.

“I did. Mrs. Darcy was a great reader. She would have thought the person who could not enjoy a good novel must be intolerably stupid,” he said quietly, with almost an impish smirk, and a slight incline of his head toward Miss Bingley.

Elizabeth could not help the smile that bloomed on her face at this. “I must say, she and I were of the same mind, Sir.”

“What is it that you are telling Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet?” Miss Bingley asked. “I take it that you are a reader of novels?”

“Yes, indeed, Miss Bingley. We here at Longbourn are fond of a good novel. It is how we pass nearly every evening, with one of us reading aloud after dinner,” said Elizabeth. Before the conversation could devolve into something that would embarrass the gathered company, Elizabeth said, “But if you will excuse me, I was going to offer to take Miss Darcy up to see Jamie and Rosie.” Phoebe eagerly jumped up from her spot and Elizabeth rose and extended her hand for the girl to grab.

As they walked past Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth leaned over and conspiratorially whispered, “I have another chapter of The Daring Adventures to share with you both. I shall send it home with you today.”

Mr. Darcy winked at her, and this time, Elizabeth could not check her astonishment at his direct and open flirting. Nor in truth could she check her reaction. It was rare to find herself tongue-tied, and she endeavored all the rest of the visit to regain her composure.

 

Elizabeth had despised Mr. William Collins more than any other man she had ever met, perhaps with the exception of his father, Mr. Hiram Collins. And yet, she did have her moments of guilt about the pleasantness of life at Longbourn. Elizabeth knew her happiness was bought at the expense of Mr. Collins’ demise and her guilt came from the fact that she experienced so little remorse toward him for her current happy situation.

That night Elizabeth was very much aware of her good fortune and happiness. They laughed so much with Lydia at home, and that evening they talked a good deal of their neighbors’ news, the idiosyncrasies and delights of human behavior, and over a recent letter from Mary, who was now in an interesting condition and in need of advice from Jane and Aunt Maggie.

They retired to the drawing room for tea and whatever struck their fancy. Jane ran up to check on the children while Lydia saw to the tea board and Elizabeth sat and played for a bit. Lydia began to slice up the apple cake and pour when Jane came back in. Elizabeth was quite certain that now that they were free of any servants in the room they would begin to talk about Mr. Bingley. She received a surprise, however, when Jane settled in near the fire with her knitting, lifted her eyebrow and said, “So, are we to understand that you and Mr. Darcy admire each other, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth began to sputter and Lydia laughed heartily. “Come now, do not deny it. The gentleman clearly likes you a great deal. Whyever else would he come so often?” she asked.

Elizabeth’s face flamed, and she continued playing, determined not to be engaged upon the subject. She had never told a soul about Mr. Darcy’s proposal, nor the remarkable turnabout in his character – it did not seem right to share their history for conversational sport. She had made her peace with it, or at least she had before the Netherfield party took up residence. She was not certain how to reconcile the two halves of his character, or about her confusing feelings regarding the man. She could now say she thought much better of him, and only a fool would deny that he was handsome and clever.

Elizabeth got control of her emotions and finished the song. She stepped away from the pianoforte with a haughty expression upon her face and flounced to her chair with her chin held aloft. In a most peevish accent, she said, “I have not the smallest idea of what you are speaking. Care to elaborate?”

Jane and Lydia laughed at the display and Jane said, “We do not mean to force any communication on the subject –”

“Oh, yes we do!” cried Lydia.

“No, we do not,” Jane said. “But it is rather striking, is it not? That he admires you is no surprise, but whether or not you admire him is a more relevant question. I would know how you feel so that I might assist you in whatever your wishes might be regarding that gentleman, if you would share with us.”

Elizabeth was quiet for a few moments. She reached for her cup of tea and looked down at the pattern, studying the floral pattern on the saucer and thinking what she wished to say. “It is a long story, but it will suffice to say that Mr. Darcy has told me he admires me. He wishes to marry me.”

This confession met with silence, so Elizabeth looked up from her study of the tea set’s pattern to see the expressions of dumbfounded shock on Jane and Lydia’s faces. Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “Close your mouth, Lydia, you look like a trout,” she teased.

“Well that is rather decided, is it not?” Lydia said. “He wishes to marry you!”

Jane had a better understanding of how vehemently set against marriage Elizabeth was. “I take it you have rejected him, or put him off?”

Elizabeth said, “More or less, yes.”

“And yet he continues to visit,” Lydia said slowly. “Does he have any hope?”

Elizabeth stood up abruptly, and set her cup and saucer down. She walked over to the window and looked out into the dark night. There was enough moonlight that she could see the ghostly shapes of the shrubbery in the garden. Mr. Darcy had brought Phoebe back to her, and was showing her an attention that she found intriguing. He had completely changed his behavior toward his child, and Elizabeth could not say she found it unattractive. She had not encouraged or discouraged his interest in her, but she found that if it were to be turned onto somebody else tomorrow, she would miss it. Maybe even regret it.

It was terrifying.

“I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “I have been so determined to not be dependent on a man for security that I did not comprehend the danger of being dependent on one for his affection.”

At this Jane let out a sympathetic hum. She came and stood next to Elizabeth at the window and said, “You will never let yourself get into a bad situation, Lizzy. You are very wise and cautious in all the right ways. But I always thought it was funny that such a brave girl could be so very fearful about such a thing as love.”

Elizabeth turned and looked at her big sister’s kind face. “Do not you regret marrying Mr. Collins?”

Jane put her arm around Elizabeth and said, “One always has a choice, and although he was not the ideal I had created in my mind, I chose to be as happy as I could about our situation. He was not a vicious man, only a silly one. He gave me great freedom to run Longbourn, and to make decisions about Jamie and Rosie. There were enough good things. And though I was not in love with Mr. Collins, I was in love with much about the life we made together. It was enough,” Jane said. “And now something new may come. Perhaps with Mr. Bingley, perhaps with nobody. But I can hardly regret the stepping stones I walk during the path that is my life. Each has something good and bad.”

Now Lydia came up and insisted on her share of the conversation, nudging herself under Jane’s other arm. “Do you think you could marry, Lizzy? After all these years of thinking you could not?” she asked.

“I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “And that in and of itself is rather remarkable, for normally I would be able to say no before you finished your sentence.”

“Well,” Jane said. “Something to think about.” She squeezed both of her sisters’ shoulders briefly and firmly, then let go, moving back to her chair.

“Will you keep playing, Lizzy?” Lydia asked.

“Of course, dearest,” Elizabeth answered. She sat back down at the pianoforte and began a Pleyel piece, leading herself off on a meandering mental journey while she listened to Lydia tease Jane about Mr. Bingley, and the two shared ideas for the Gardiners’ visit to Longbourn for Christmas. Elizabeth played song after song until her mind was quite tranquil, despite its state of limbo.

Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Notes:

It was my birthday on Friday, so I didn't post until today. But I'm pretty excited about this chapter, and I hope you will like it!

Meryton
December, 1815

As he sat in the elegant, if understocked, Netherfield library, something was bothering Darcy. It was the same little irksome feeling of not remembering whether or not one had stuffed out the candle before leaving a room.

There was a good fire crackling in the hearth and the housekeeper had obliged him with a pot of coffee. He had an excellent view of the prospect from the large northerly windows, which looked out onto the Netherfield woods where they meandered toward the boundaries of Longbourn’s woods. A dusting of very light snow graced the landscape and gave everything a pleasing cleanliness.

All was well, and yet something was nagging at him. For the fourth or fifth time now, he placed a finger inside the volume of a novel he was reading and rested the book upon his lap. It was a new work, released only this year, and yet the well-bound tome already looked as if it had been through several hands. It was on loan from Longbourn House, one from the stack Miss Lydia had given to Georgie. Darcy had run out of new works to read and so had resorted to sharing the stack with his sister.

He looked away from the book in his lap over to the window again. There was something about The Misses Bell that was completely familiar and yet frustratingly elusive.

Darcy’s reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Miss Owens delivering Phoebe to her father for a chess game. He placed a bookmark in the pages and set the novel down, heading over to the chessboard and his little girl with a smile on his face and a nod to Miss Owens, who left the pair to it, the plight of The Misses Bell temporarily set aside.

 

That evening after dinner, the Netherfield party all gathered in the drawing room. Darcy’s letters of business were complete for the day, and he desired some music. When he suggested the notion to the ladies, Miss Bingley rushed to the pianoforte, not bothering to offer the opportunity for her guests to exhibit first. Darcy caught Georgiana’s eye and gave a barely perceptible shrug and lifted his eyebrow. His sister disguised a giggle with a cough, and Wright looked on with amusement.

Miss Bingley had become somewhat subdued in her efforts to attract Darcy’s attention. Perhaps after these many years it had finally occurred to her that it would not happen? The two had been introduced many years ago, well before Darcy’s marriage to Anne, back when he and Bingley were both at Eton, and then again when Bingley came to Cambridge, not long before Darcy left it. A warm friendship had grown between the men through a steady correspondence while at school, and then in the early days of Darcy’s widowhood and Bingley’s early independence. Darcy depended on Bingley’s amiability and dedication to happiness while Bingley drew strength and steadiness from Darcy’s sense of duty. He had invited the Bingleys and Hursts to Pemberley about two years after Anne’s death, and it was there that he encountered the now grown up Miss Bingley. Certainly if it was going to happen, it would have happened by now.

Miss Bingley was a beauty, there could not be two opinions on the subject. She possessed a very fashionable wardrobe that showed her figure to great advantage. Her neck was long and her shoulder sloped elegantly. She was tall and somewhat slim, though she had an incongruously full bosom for all that. Darcy suspected the work of an excellent seamstress and aggressively tied stays. When Bingley had handed her out of the carriage on the family’s first visit to Pemberley, Darcy saw the calculation in Miss Bingley’s eyes, and she immediately set about pleasing him to the best of her abilities. She deferred to his opinions, wore the finest silks and dressed her fair, reddish hair with sparkling gems, and attempted to insert herself wherever possible – with Georgiana, with leading the ladies out at dinner, with taking his arm, particularly in company.

Over the years since, Miss Bingley had cooled her attentions slightly. She had not had any success with her methods toward Darcy, and she was growing older. She was no fool, and certainly knew she must look elsewhere for a husband. And yet, no suitable husband had been found. With a dowry of £20,000, Miss Bingley would never really be in danger – a husband could be found at any time, or she could live comfortably forever in an establishment of her own. And yet she was not above attempting to engage Darcy when she had the opportunity. At this point, it was likely more reflexive than anything.

Darcy watched as Miss Bingley played and sang. She was proficient, technical, effective. Elegant, graceful, and educated in a highly specific manner, and always in vogue. All the things he had been raised to look for in a woman. Her character may not have been palatable to him, but everything else about Miss Bingley, save her background in trade, would have made her a suitable wife for a man of Darcy’s standing in the eyes of society.

But now for the first time ever – as a man of nearly thirty-three years! – he understood that the thing he wanted most was life. He wanted Miss Bennet, who was all lifeforce, all magnetic energy, all constantly disarming genuineness and charm.

When he had attempted his first proposal, Darcy was not sure he even understood what he was asking. In the first days of their acquaintance, he had been left speechless by Miss Bennet’s lack of deference, the pursuits that bordered on hoydenishness, and what that would mean for Phoebe. After she left, Darcy began to understand what he had done. Miss Bennet had never been his to lose by any means, but when he no longer had access to her, Darcy knew that he had made a mistake of epic proportions. A rare and precious thing had been known to him. It was as though he had held an unmined ruby in its host rock, and all he had bothered to say about the matter was that the rock was offensive to him, though it was the thing that made the ruby.

That Miss Bennet had not banished him from Longbourn, that she did not avoid him, that she had blushed at his overtures of flirtation and attention, well. Darcy felt as though he finally understood the secrets of the universe. The point was to cleave oneself to that which made one feel alive.

Miss Bingley played for too long, then offered the bench to Georgiana. She fluttered her eyelashes at the applause and settled on the sofa nearest Darcy. Poor Miss Bingley, he thought. She was as blind as he had once been.

As Georgie began to play a favorite of his, Darcy settled in and thought about the next time he would see Miss Bennet, how else to gently forward his cause, to present his flawed but sincere offerings.

 

A few days later the family at Longbourn was holding a small dinner party for their neighbors, as a sort of re-entry into local society for Mrs. Collins. Among the Netherfield party, Darcy noticed Sir William and Lady Lucas, Mr. and Mrs. Goudling and their youngest daughter, Mrs. Long and the Phillipses. Darcy continued his campaign to show his improved character by chatting with the company he did not know very well. He was a changed man, and yet it still took some inner reserves to not turn away from Mrs. Phillips’ talk of Brussels lace nor Sir William’s absurd questions about their comparative opinions about St. James’ Court.

Darcy felt Miss Bennet’s eyes upon him as they moved from the drawing room to the dinner table, where he was stationed across the table from her, a couple of seats up. When Mrs. Collins led the ladies out of the dining room, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars, Darcy and Miss Bennet caught each other’s eye as they parted, and his heart sang at the expression on her face: open, wondering, perhaps even a little tender? He gave her a small smile and turned back to her Uncle Phillips, who was now talking about the latest news of parliament with a flushed red face, and made to listen as though the man was not a bit foxed.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies again three quarters of an hour later, it was clear they had walked in on some tension. Miss Bingley’s face was red, and Miss Bennet’s was amused while both those ladies’ sisters looked ill at ease.

Mrs. Collins looked up as Bingley came over to her smiling, and stood up to say, “What shall we have this evening? Cards? A bit of music? We have so many fine musicians here that it seems a shame not to ask them to display.” Bingley nodded in agreement and sat on the sofa between Mrs. Collins and her Aunt Phillips.

“Ah, yes, Miss Bennet, perhaps you will grace us with a song or two?” Miss Bingley said. “I seem to recall you knowing a great many through your need to teach simple tunes to so many children.”

Miss Bennet raised an eyebrow ever so slightly and answered, “Why certainly, Miss Bingley. I would be happy to attune anything I play to your tastes, therefore ask for any childish song you wish.”

Darcy could not understand why Miss Bingley continued to fling so many ineffectual arrows at the impenetrable Miss Bennet. Whatever insult any fool chose to lob at the woman, she was ready with an elegant shield. Miss Bingley’s face and decolletage went red and blotchy while Miss Bennet floated her way to the pianoforte.

“Here now. Lydia, why do not you come up and sing with me? You remember this old song, I am sure,” Miss Bennet said, smiling and settling herself at the keyboard. Miss Lydia fairly sprung from her seat and wedged herself into the curve of the instrument. Miss Bennet played a lavish opening bar, then began to play “Lavender’s Blue,” which inspired the room to join in.

Giggling, the Bennet sisters finished their song to great applause. Miss Lydia curtsied and returned to her seat, but Miss Bennet sat for one more, and said to the room, but mostly Miss Bingley, “There, you see? I am never afraid to take out my childish things, nor to do what gives me pleasure, no matter how undignified. And if a gentleman was offended by such a thing, well. We could hardly have cause to regret each other, could we?”

Miss Bingley said nothing, but her complexion had become less chaotic, and she listened with a neutral face as Miss Bennet began a pretty waltz. Darcy watched her fingers dance over the keys, and let the sounds of her beautiful playing tranquilize and enchant him. It was worth any number of awkward dinners, of bumbling conversations, to have such a pleasure.

When they rode home that evening, the Netherfield party was split into two carriages. Darcy mercifully found himself with Georgie and Wright while Bingley rode with the Hursts and Miss Bingley and was at leisure to find out the source of the tension among the ladies.

“Oh, nothing but foolishness!” Georgie answered vehemently. “Miss Bingley has no notion of how to behave in a civilized manner, I am convinced of it!”

Wright patted Georgie’s hand, which was threaded through his arm. “I know she vexes you greatly, my love. Do you wish to end our visit sooner? I do not like to have you distressed,” he said.

“No, no, Ambrose, it is nothing so serious as all that. Besides, I do not wish to leave Mrs. Collins and the Miss Bennets just yet. They are such delightful company,” Georgie said. “Before the gentlemen came into the drawing room, Miss Bingley was needling Miss Bennet, that is all. It does vex me, but it should not. Miss Bennet swats Miss Bingley away as though she were little more than a gnat!”

“That is certainly true. Anybody foolish enough to cross swords with Miss Bennet will certainly be put in the place in short order,” Darcy agreed. “What did Miss Bingley say to her?” he urged.

“Oh, she said that it was a shame Miss Bennet had been obliged to go into service, for what gentleman of any dignity or standing could ever marry a woman who had worked. ‘Gentleman being the operative word, of course,’” Georgie finished in a credible imitation of Miss Bingley’s haughty voice.

Darcy felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, remembering how he had implied the same during his terrible proposal. Though he had never said marrying Miss Bennet would be beneath his dignity, he had certainly said everything else around it. He thought of the words she spoke that night to Miss Bingley, but certain had meant for him and the whole world beyond to hear: “If a gentleman was offended by such a thing, well. We could hardly have cause to regret each other, could we?”

He wondered if Miss Bennet still believed those were his feelings and thoughts. And then for a moment, he wondered, in the deepest darkest part of himself: were they? Was that the last rubicon they must cross?

 

Preparations at Netherfield were in full force for Bingley’s ball. In two days, the ballroom would be full of blazing candles and arrangements of hothouse flowers. Ladies and gentlemen would be adorned in their finest, dancing and mingling with friends Bingley had invited from town. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst enumerated the entertainments they had designed over and over again, while repeating the the exalted guest list like an incantation.

“For in addition to your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy, we are to have a few other noble guests,” Miss Bingley said. “I only hope they will not find the guest bedrooms here at Netherfield lacking. Charles refused the notion of refurbishing them in the latest fashion, and now we are to look like a pack of bumpkins.” She sighed heavily, and Mrs. Hurst tutted in sympathy.

Georgiana took the opening to ask, “Oh, yes, when does Richard arrive, Fitzwilliam? He promised to bring some books from Matlock House for me.”

“Tomorrow, I believe. Oh, by the by, Georgie, I still have a couple of the books Miss Lydia lent you from Longbourn. I just have one to finish today, then we can return them,” Darcy said, accepting another cup of coffee from a footman.

“Oh, are you reading The Misses Bell?” Georgie said, brightening. “It is excellent, is it not? There is something about the author’s way of narrating. I wish we knew who she was. The tone is so pert and witty, yet there is great feeling there. We shall have to buy a copy for our own library, Ambrose. And put the next volume on order at the bookshop back home.” Wright merely nodded enthusiastically, looking besotted at whatever he might do to please his wife.

“Indeed, it is an excellent work,” Darcy said, hiding his smile at the Wrights’ enthusiasm, differently directed though it was. “I think you have put it well, Georgie. There is a lightness to the story, though the themes that run through it are quite deep.”

“Oh, I shall have to borrow it, then,” Miss Bingley said, claiming her share of the conversation. “If you enjoy it, Mrs. Wright, then I am sure the novel is quite good.”

“Thank you, Miss Bingley, I am sure Miss Lydia would not mind if we kept her copy for a while yet,” Georgie answered. Darcy finished his breakfast and considered a long ride or walk through the grounds, anything to keep him out of the line of fire for the ball’s preparation. When Mrs. Hurst once again began to debate the inclusion of ivy in the bouquets set out at the dining tables, Darcy selected a walk as it required no preparation beyond grabbing his great coat, hat, and gloves and sprinting from the house.

As always, he found himself heading for the boundary between Longbourn and Netherfield, hoping for a glimpse of Miss Bennet. When he approached the confluence of two horsetrails, he saw bootprints in the snow that must have been Miss Bennet’s. No other lady he knew was as intrepid of a walker to come out in the snow on such a cold, windy day. The steps were headed toward Oakham Mount, where he had ridden once or twice, and so there he pointed his boots as well.

Following her tracks all the way to the summit of the hill, there Darcy found her on a little bench she had dusted free from snow. The sound of his approaching footsteps caused her to turn, and Miss Bennet gave him a thoughtful look, gesturing to the empty spot on the bench beside her.

Darcy bowed and accepted the seat, wishing he could pull her against his side and keep her warm and safe against the occasional gust of wind. “Good morning, Miss Bennet. I hope you are well today?” he said instead.

“Quite well, Sir, I thank you. And yourself?" She nodded at his "Yes, indeed." She then said, "I was obliged to go for a walk to avoid Lydia’s preparations on our ballgowns. She loves to play with fashion. Fortunately, our family from town has arrived, and this is to be our eldest cousin’s first ball, so I have sacrificed the poor girl to Lydia’s rapaciousness for trimmings,” Miss Bennet said. Darcy laughed openly, and she looked at him in wonder.

“What is it, Miss Bennet? Why do you stare so?” He asked.

She shook her head and once more smiled that little enigmatic smile of hers, the one that told him she was thinking about how much of her inner self to reveal. “It is only that for most of our acquaintance, I never heard you laugh, Sir, nor did I see you smile. So when I see you do it now, I must wonder if it is real,” she said.

Darcy turned his body toward her and said, “Miss Bennet.” He reached out for her hand, praying she would place hers into his. After a few seconds she did, and he immediately gave it a gentle squeeze. “I promise you that my admiration of you has only grown with every passing month since we have met, and I promise you that any positive changes in my character are due to your extremely accurate assessment of my character last year,” he said. He could hear the earnest pleading in his voice.

Miss Bennet turned to him, and he allowed himself the indulgence of staring into her beautiful dark eyes, and admiring her pretty features. After a moment she said, “You say you love me, Sir. I cannot understand why.”

“I cannot understand why, either, Miss Bennet. I cannot say why a person falls in love with another. I have certainly known couples who profess to love each other, but we can see nothing of how they arrived at that state. Do we love each other because we admire each other? Or do we learn to admire each other because somehow we fall in love? If you would allow me, I could spend several hours explaining all that I find admirable about you. But were I to attempt to explain why I love you, I cannot properly express myself. I can only say that I know it as well as I know when a storm is coming in Derbyshire. I just know it. I know it here,” he said, thumping his open hand against his chest. “I just know you are for me, Miss Bennet.”

Then the most remarkable thing happened. Miss Bennet squeezed his hand back, and she looked quite searchingly into his eyes. She then brought her face toward his, titled her head to the side, and kissed him.

It started small. Just a gentle pressure, with her full, lovely lips. They pillowed around his lower lip, and stayed there for a moment, curious. Darcy let go of her hand and moved his arms around her upper body, to embrace her, to keep her warm, to hold her where she was. Their mouths hovered near each other for a moment, then his heart sang when she brought her lips back to his. This time the kiss was more inquisitive, and Darcy wondered if she could feel his heart racing from where both her hands were braced on his chest.

When she pulled back from the kiss and he loosened his embrace, Darcy could only look at her inquiringly. “What does it mean, Elizabeth?” he whispered.

“I…I do not know, Sir,” she said, almost as if she was waking from a dream. “I supposed I wanted to see what that was like, for once in my life. I said I would never marry, you know. I have had opportunities over the years, but I just…I was afraid of being taken over, of not being allowed to be myself, or not being honored for my own self. Independence has been my greatest triumph, because it has allowed me to be my own sovereign. That is not common for a woman.”

“You have been your own Queen Elizabeth, it would seem,” Darcy said, smiling gently at her, his arms still around her.

She laughed softly and looked down at her gloved hands on his chest. “I am a peculiar woman, Mr. Darcy. I have interests and pursuits that might not please a husband, and as much as I would like children of my own, as much as more kissing might please me, a man married to me would have to be more accepting and supportive than most. He would have to agree to being my helpmeet as well as I would be his.”

He was about to scream to the skies that whatever she meant, he could do it, but Miss Bennet abruptly stood up from the bench, breaking the light hold of his arms.

“One last question, Sir, and I do not need your answer now, only your promise that you will give it consideration. Could you honor me for who I am, not for what society tells you I should be? Could you lower yourself to be in a marriage with a woman whose salary you once paid, and not act as if you were lowered at all?” She was standing with all of Hertfordshire at her back, the view from Oakham Mount spread out behind her, more queen-like than ever. "Are you proud enough to be my husband, Sir?"

Darcy was quiet as she began to move toward the path, but he managed to call out, “Miss Bennet, may I have your first dance?”

She stopped and nodded. “You may, Sir.”

“And your supper dance?”

Now she smiled. “That you may, Sir.”

He refrained from asking for all dances in between and after, and she walked away, Darcy set about thinking of her questions.

 

Later he, the Wrights, Bingley, and Hurst had sequestered themselves against the final campaign of preparation for the guests and ball. He settled himself into the comfortable chair he had come to favor, relinquishing the loveseat near the fire to Georgie and Wright.

Phoebe came in bearing The Daring Adventures of Phoebe, Princess of Pemberley Kingdom. Darcy knew they would be reading the whole work from start to finish, but fortunately the treat of reading the story in Miss Bennet’s fair, flowing hand was enough to satisfy him and make up for the repetitiveness of what must be their hundredth re-reading.

The little girl climbed into his lap and nestled herself against his chest, warming him, and giving him a deep sense of rightness. He read through the first few chapters, then came to the part that particularly resonated with Phoebe, where Princess Phoebe and Good Sir Charley were tasked with finding the missing scepter of the King of Pemberley. “The pair went forward into the forest with great bravery, for there were many lanes in which even the most fearless of wanderers could lose their way,” Darcy read. And he stopped.

“Papa?” Phoebe asked, lifting her head.

“Yes,” Darcy said, shaking himself internally. He paused a moment then said, “Phoebe, I believe my throat is dry and I could use some tea. Can you ask Aunt Georgie if she would be so kind to prepare me a cup?”

Phoebe bounced up from her spot and went to her aunt. Darcy went quickly to the stack of books from Longbourn, pulling The Misses Bell from the middle. He thumbed through the book until he reached the section where the oldest Miss Bell was out walking and met an unwanted suitor. “Miranda, familiar though she was with the wood near her aunt’s home, knew there were many lanes in which even the most fearless of wanderers could lose their way. Therefore it was a great object to not allow Mr. Henderson to herd her toward the paths.”

Darcy looked down at the novel. It was brilliant—the sentences, the situations, the word choices. They had a deftness and quickness that he had only seen in one other work: The Daring Adventures of Princess Phoebe.

He stood staring at the spine: The Misses Bell, by A Lady.

He looked up through the darkening window toward Longbourn, his mind all astonishment. Miss Bennet was the author of The Misses Bell.

Notes:

One of my favorite lines from Pride & Prejudice is when Bingley and Darcy come to Longbourn the day after Darcy and Elizabeth get engaged, but the family doesn’t yet know. Bingley says, “ "Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?” I always found that so charming and cute, so I’m paying homage here.