Epilogue
April 1819, three years later
The Darcys subscribed to the Hanover Square Rooms, a fashionable concert venue, and arrived late one afternoon for a very special recital. They were accompanied by Georgiana and her husband Mr Strachey, the heir of a wealthy baronet whom Darcy knew through his club. The two couples had come directly from a shopping trip in nearby Regent Street, including a covered area called Burlington Arcade opened just a month before.
Georgiana had danced with Mr Strachey at Almack’s during the 1818 season, and married him later that year. He was a man of enthusiasms: music, fortunately, but most of all botany—he served as an advisor to the royal gardens at Kew. The family had an estate in Sussex and several houses in town, one of which was being decorated at this moment for the newly-weds.
The shadow of 1816 had lingered. Darcy had passed the entire winter at Pemberley, to ensure tenants and cottagers were looked after. It had been a struggle: in other parts of the county, law and order had broken down as desperate people resorted to theft and poaching. 1817 had been wet again, with frosts damaging the harvest, but grain from the Americas was flowing again, and by extending the moratorium on rents Darcy had averted another crisis. In 1818, at last, a long hot summer put an end to speculation that the climate was ruined forever.
Meanwhile, the Bennets prospered. Mrs Bennet saw another daughter wed as Mary became Mrs Westerfield, mistress of Longbourn. Her good-natured husband was happy for Mrs Bennet and Kitty to move back to their old home. A room was kept free for Jane as well, but she lodged most of the time with the Darcys, before meeting a charming young gentleman with an estate in Bishop’s Stortford and deciding that she would not be an old maid after all.
To cap it all, Kitty was betrothed to a merchant sea captain. Mrs Bennet’s cup ranneth over.
An announcer walked on stage, and conversation faded as he introduced the British premiere of the Grand Sonata for Hammerklavier by Ludwig van Beethoven, to be performed by the distinguished pianist Countess Rietberg. Georgiana took Elizabeth’s arm, and they leaned forward for a better look as a lady they knew all too well strode on to the platform. Proud bearing. Auburn hair, regally arranged. High-waisted dark green gown in the latest French style. Half-sleeves leaving hands and wrists clear.
The sonata opened with a bold attack, and Elizabeth was awed, even a little afraid for her former friend. How could anyone play this without stumbling? Looking round the auditorium, she noticed most people listening intently, rather as one watches a trapeze artist or tightrope walker. A scherzo followed, then a slow movement of extraordinary length. Around them, people were fidgeting. At last came the final movement, a fugue so complex it sounded as if two or three pianists were playing at the same time. As a technical feat it was miraculous. Yet at the end, the applause was muted.
In the interval the auditorium emptied as people moved to adjacent lounges where drinks and sweetmeats were laid out. Elizabeth looked around anxiously for Lord and Lady Selborn, whom she had not seen since Vienna. Instead, the pianist herself appeared, with an entourage of German-speaking companions. Justina’s eye passed over Darcy and Elizabeth before she espied Georgiana, and waved.
Georgiana rose. ‘I must give her my compliments.’
Elizabeth was left alone, while Darcy and Mr Strachey continued speaking about a horse-drawn railway in Derbyshire. An elegant gentleman came to sit opposite, and she found herself face to face with Count Rietberg.
He smiled. ‘We meet again, sweet Fraulein.’
‘Frau, to be precise.’
‘Of course. All over Europe there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. The fair Miss Bennet is taken.’
‘The impertinent Count Rietberg too, it would appear.’
‘What could I do, after seeing you so obviously in love with my rival? Desolate, I sought a shoulder to cry on, and in her final days in Vienna, Lady Justina took pity on me.’
‘Nonsense.’ Elizabeth checked no-one was near enough to eavesdrop. ‘I saw the truth directly I heard of your engagement. It was always Justina that you wanted. You pretended to like me as a tease, to provoke her.’
He drew himself up in mock defiance. ‘All is fair in love and war, my sweet one. And what of your conduct? Laughing, joking, dancing the L?ndler twice, under the brooding gaze of Herr Darcy? Think what you like of me, but don’t pretend you are any different.’
Elizabeth blinked, taken aback. ‘I was never aware of any such artifice.’
‘Yet with the innate cunning of your sex, you played your hand to perfection.’ He threw a glance at Darcy. ‘Your quarry seems content with the outcome.’
‘We are both content.’
‘I am glad.’ Rietberg pointed to the opposite side of the room. ‘Would you like to speak with the countess?’
‘If she wishes.’
‘I will ask.’ He rose. ‘Au revoir, Madame Darcy.’
From close up, Justina was if anything even more beautiful than before. She pulled a chair closer to Elizabeth so that they were only inches apart.
‘Hallo, Lizzy.’
Elizabeth recognised a hint of despondency in her manner. ‘Your performance was amazing.’
‘You actually enjoyed it?’
‘The piece is so original, a landmark. I could listen to it over and over again.’
Justina took a deep breath, her eyes moist. ‘You always had taste, Lizzy. In spite of being a snake.’
‘A very recent work, is it not?’
‘Herr Beethoven has been working on it for two years. It will be published soon, and he has given a few private performances. But most pianists won’t touch it.’
‘They surely appreciate its quality.’
‘It’s too hard. Nobody can play it.’
‘You did.’
Justina smiled wrily. ‘I left out some notes in the fugue.’ She paused. ‘If you really want to hear it again, I will be in London until the end of the week.’
Elizabeth shivered, moved. ‘I am—forgiven?’
‘You always were, although I could not give you the satisfaction of admitting it. But it would be best if you stayed away from Curzon Street. Father would be happy to meet you again. But mother …’ She broke off.
‘I see her point of view. I was disloyal.’
Justina snorted. ‘What vexes her is that you did not follow her advice. In her mind you were to marry Mr Lindale, while I was to marry Mr Darcy. In a single impetuous act you sabotaged both plans.’
‘She ought to be happy, now you are a countess.’
‘It still rankles. Father was delighted.’ Justina laughed. ‘Through me he has a spy in Prince Metternich’s camp.’
‘Aha! This is a match with implications.’
‘We are based in Vienna, naturally. It is where we both want to be. But Leopold is building a reputation as a diplomat, and has come to London as an emissary.’
‘Do you have children?’
‘I need to focus on music. It has taken me six months to learn the Hammerklavier.’
‘We have a one-year-old, Thomas. If you grant us a visit you can admire him, as well as playing to a more appreciative audience.’
Justina smiled. ‘I fear my call might cause—embarrassment.’
‘To my husband?’ Elizabeth laughed, before continuing in a whisper. ‘William never shows embarrassment. He has perfected the art of looking dignified.’
‘Husbands!’ Justina grinned. ‘A topic on which we could have long conversations.’
‘True.’ Elizabeth calmed down. ‘But are you happy, Justina?’
‘Oh yes. I always wanted Leopold, you know, from the first time I saw him teaching you how to dance.’
‘What, just to outshine me?’
Justina sniffed. ‘It requires no unusual talent to outshine you, Lizzy Bennet. Credit me with some ambition.’
They glared at one another, then burst out laughing.
‘So can I be friends with Justina?’ Elizabeth asked.
It was past midnight as she lay beside Darcy, discussing the events of the evening.
He shrugged. ‘Why ever not?’
‘I thought you might still feel just a little guilty …’
‘If the countess is comfortable, so am I.’
‘We’re all happy now. But it could have ended so differently.’
‘That is true of every second of our lives.’
‘In theory. But probably all will turn out well tomorrow, and the day after. We will live comfortably. Love one another. Enjoy our child. Keep engagements; read the books we have started. But that summer of 1816 we were like leaves in the wind, having no idea where we might fall.’
‘Ultimately we have Lord Stewart to thank.’
‘The drunken ambassador?’ She dismissed Stewart with a flick of the hand. ‘Key moments are so unexpected. One day in 1812 I burned your letter, triggering a tragedy for my family. Four years later I fled during supper and stumbled on the path to recovery. In neither case had I any control over what I was doing. It was all emotion and impulse.’
Darcy nodded. ‘Will Rietberg accompany his wife when she visits?’
She dealt him a little punch. ‘Jealous?’
‘Jealousy has nothing to do with it, but Mr Strachey and I will have to entertain him while you are engaged with the countess.’
‘I should have realised that a gentleman of your distinction would never stoop to so vulgar a vice.’ She grinned. ‘Handsome man though, don’t you think?’
‘Just as the countess is a handsome woman.’ Darcy blew out the candle. ‘Now that we are in pitch darkness, it hardly matters whether we are handsome or not.’
‘True …’ She sighed as his arm came around her, and the talking stopped.