Chapter 1 #7
Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy walked ahead, discussing things Kitty did not comprehend, while the ladies followed at a more leisurely pace.
Georgiana walked with Jane, listening with rapt attention as Jane described the new parsonage people were building near Hawthorn House. Lizzy and Kitty brought up the rear.
They walked silently for a time, their breath making clouds in the cold air. Then Lizzy said quietly, “Have you decided what to do about Lydia’s letter?”
“I have written a reply. Of sorts. It is not very satisfactory.”
“May I ask what you said?”
“That I cannot come to Newcastle, and she cannot come here. That I wish her well.”
Lizzy nodded slowly. “What else?”
“Nothing else. That is all I could manage. I tried to explain, but every explanation sounded like an excuse or a lecture. So I simply stated what is true.”
“That sounds perfectly satisfactory to me.”
“Does it?” Kitty looked at her sister anxiously. “It seems so cold. So final.”
“It is honest. That is more important than warmth or finality.” Lizzy paused, choosing her words deliberately. “Not long ago, you would have replied immediately with whatever you thought you should say. You have spent three days determining what is true. That is not nothing, Kitty. That is wisdom.”
Kitty felt tears prick her eyes. “I do not feel wise. I feel as though I am abandoning her.”
“You are not abandoning her. You are simply declining to visit with her. There is a difference.” Lizzy’s voice was gentle but firm.
“Lydia has made her choices. You did not make them for her, and you cannot unmake them. All you can do is make your own choices. And you are choosing not to fund her entertainments, as I suspect she has demanded, or to pretend that nothing has changed between you. That is not abandonment. That is self-preservation.” She paused for a moment before saying, “Jane and I shall make certain she is not destitute, if that helps put your mind at ease.”
They walked on in silence. Up ahead, Jane said something that made Georgiana laugh, a sound so rare and delightful that they all paused to listen.
Mr Bingley turned back and smiled impishly at them.”What is so amusing?”
“Jane is telling me about the time she tried to rescue a baby bird, and it flew directly into her hair,” Georgiana said, still giggling. “She had to cut it free with scissors.”
“I looked like a plucked chicken for weeks,” Jane added.
“I had never seen a lovelier plucked chicken,” Lizzy said wryly.
Mr Bingley’s gaze turned to Jane’s, and there was something so heated in it that Kitty could nearly read his thoughts. She felt herself blushing and turned her eyes to the ground. Lizzy must have taken pity on her, for she said nothing of it.
Instead, the conversation turned to other childhood disasters.
Mr Bingley confessed to once falling into a fountain while trying to impress a young lady.
Mr Darcy, after much prodding, admitted to attempting to train a very stupid sheepdog to perform tricks, resulting in him having to rescue the dog from the lake.
“What about you, Kitty?” Mr Bingley asked. “What was your great childhood catastrophe?”
She thought of flying bonnets and fishponds, of shrieking and giggling and thinking herself so sophisticated. But she also thought of yesterday, of tending to the Harper child, of making Lizzy laugh, of sitting peacefully with Georgiana. The old catastrophes seemed very far away.
“I once put salt in the sugar bowl,” she said. “Cook was very cross, and Papa refused to take tea for a week.”
It was a small story, insignificant really, but they all laughed appreciatively. And Kitty realised she did not need to put her past foolishness on display for their entertainment. They wished to laugh with her, not at her. Another difference.
When they returned to the house, cold-cheeked and in excellent humour, they found someone had transformed the drawing room.
Flowers were everywhere. Hothouse roses and winter greenery were draped elegantly about the room, and the tea table was laden with delicacies.
Mrs Reynolds must have been working all morning.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Kitty said as she gazed around the room. “You should not have gone to such trouble.”
“I did not,” Lizzy replied. “Though we planned it together, the execution has been all Mrs Reynolds and the servants. I believe they are fond of you.”
And indeed, as the afternoon progressed, various servants found excuses to appear.
Mrs Reynolds brought in a fresh pot of tea and wished her happy birthday again.
The footman who served the sandwiches gave her a solemn nod of congratulation.
Even the scullery maid peeked around the door and bobbed a curtsey before fleeing in embarrassment.
“You are very well liked,” Jane said. “That says much about your character, Kitty.”
Kitty felt her throat tighten. At Longbourn, the servants had gossiped about her and Lydia with barely concealed disdain. Here, they seemed to genuinely approve of her, and she found she desired their approval.
The gift-giving came next. Jane presented her with a beautiful leather-bound journal with Kitty’s initials embossed on the cover.
“Oh,” Kitty said, running one finger down the cover.
“For your thoughts,” Jane said. “I know you have been reading and studying more, and I thought you might like to record your observations.”
It was so thoughtful, so perfectly suited to who Kitty wished to be, that she could barely speak. “Thank you, Jane, Mr Bingley. It is beautiful.”
Lizzy’s gift was a set of drawing pencils and a sketchbook. “I have noticed you examining Georgiana’s drawings with interest. I thought you might like to try your hand at it yourself.”
“I am not artistic,” Kitty protested.
“You do not know that yet,” Lizzy replied. “Besides, one need not be accomplished to enjoy something. Trust me to know that.”
Mr Darcy chuckled. “I think your watercolours are lovely.”
Lizzy’s cheeks pinked just a bit. “You need not flatter me, Mr Darcy. I shall pour your tea regardless.”
Mr Bingley presented his caricatures with great ceremony, and they all spent a merry half hour examining them and laughing at the absurdities of political figures. Even Mr Darcy smiled at a particularly pointed image of the prime minister as a self-important rooster.
Then Georgiana, blushing furiously, held out a small package wrapped in tissue paper. “It is not much,” she murmured. “But I hope you like it.”
Inside was a wide ribbon, beautifully embroidered with delicate flowers and Kitty’s name worked in careful stitches. It must have taken hours, all those tiny, perfect stitches. Kitty felt tears threaten, but she would not embarrass everyone when they had made such a lovely day for her.
“Georgiana, this is exquisite. Thank you.”
“You are always reading now,” Georgiana said shyly. “I thought you should have something to mark your place.”
These gifts were not just objects. They witnessed something. Each person in this room had seen her changing, growing, becoming someone new. And they approved. They wanted to encourage her along this path.
She was not alone in this transformation. She had support, even cherishment.
“I do not deserve such kindness,” she said, her voice wavering.
“Nonsense,” Jane said firmly. “You deserve every bit of it and more.”
The dinner that followed was an elegant affair, the dining room glowing with candlelight and the table laden with all manner of delicacies.
Cook had outdone herself. There was soup and fish and roasted pheasant and vegetables prepared in ways Kitty had never encountered.
Each remove held more delicious food than the last.
The conversation flowed easily, moving from books to music to the latest news from London. Mr Bingley kept them all entertained with stories of their recent visit to town, and Jane contributed gentle observations that somehow made everyone feel clever and interesting.
Kitty found herself participating more than usual, offering opinions, even making a joke that landed well.
Then, when they cleared away the last course and everyone was sipping wine and feeling pleasantly full, Mr Darcy rose to his feet.
“I am not much given to speeches,” he began, and Mr Bingley immediately called out, “Hear, hear!”
Mr Darcy gave him a quelling look that made Kitty smile. “However, I feel that Catherine’s birthday warrants a few words.”
Kitty felt her face flame. Everyone was looking at her.
“When you first came among us, I confess I did not know what to expect. But you have set yourself to every small duty with a steady purpose; you have borne yourself with sense and discretion. You have made all of us proud.” He raised his glass.
“To Miss Catherine Bennet. May her nineteenth year bring her every happiness.”
“To Catherine!” They all chorused and drank.
Catherine. She liked it so much she could not speak, but she managed to smile at them all.
Dinner ended then, and Lizzy stood to lead the women out to the music room.
Jane drew her aside while Lizzy and Georgian discussed the music. “Walk with me a moment?”
They strolled into the hall, Jane’s arm linked through Kitty’s.
“Lizzy told me about Lydia’s letter,” Jane said gently. “I hope you do not mind.”
“No, of course not.”
“I want you to know that I am proud of you. Prouder than I can say.” Jane squeezed her arm. “It is not easy to love someone and also recognise that they are not good for you.”
Kitty considered that.
“Lydia may not understand your decision. She may never understand it. But that does not make it wrong. You are allowed to want more for yourself than she wants for you.”
They returned to the music room, where Georgiana was playing the pianoforte while awaiting the men.
“They will not be long,” Lizzy said. “Mr Darcy is anxious to hear your duet.”
Kitty settled into a chair near the fire and let the music wash over her.