Chapter 5
Longbourn
I remember quite vividly the first of those letters where Mr. Darcy sought Papa’s advice.
I found it strange that he could bare his heart to a man he had only met once, and then for only a half hour of conversation about poets, histories, and Greek mythology.
I suspect he too was a lonely man, having lost his wife too early.
Papa let me read the letter, for he wished to reply, and felt that a woman’s perspective might be of use.
Georgiana is the most unassuming of people, Mr. Darcy wrote.
Her words are as soft as her mother’s had been, her laughter a rare treat but ever so welcome.
But on the evening of Lady Matlock’s much-anticipated dinner party, something strange came over her.
If I have not said so before, Lady Matlock was my sister by marriage—the wife of the Earl of Matlock, the brother of my wife Lady Anne.
The first sign of Georgiana’s disturbed mind was small. When her cousin, Viscount Milton, tried to tease her about her practising the piano-forte to the exclusion of all else, she answered not with her usual blush, but with a pointed, ‘Perhaps you have not the ear to appreciate it.’
It was so out of character—Lady Matlock’s fork paused mid-air. I caught Georgiana’s eye, but she looked away.
If that were all, I would have let the matter rest. Sometimes, all of us forget to be polite, and there may have been something of which we were unaware troubling her. But, as the meal wore on, Georgiana’s boldness grew.
It shames me to list how she embarrassed me and Fitzwilliam, who was also at table: she contradicted Lord Matlock about the quality of the wine; she laughed too loudly at a story Lady Catherine told; and, worst of all, she interrupted Lady Matlock—a countess!
—to exclaim, ‘But surely that cannot be true!’
I love my daughter dearly, but I cannot fathom her conduct.
Fitzwilliam was all for locking her in her room until she apologised.
But I could not countenance it! She is so like her mother, whom I miss dearly, that I cannot bring myself to admonish her.
I cannot speak of it to Lady Matlock, nor to Lady Catherine, whose character is so opposite to her sister’s, Lady Anne.
They would have her sent away—or worse, turn her into a simpering young woman of the ton—nothing but polite smiles, vapid and insincere.
You live in a house of women, Bennet. Perhaps you could seek some guidance from your lovely wife, or daughters, who are of an age with Georgiana. For myself, I do not know what to do!
We sat for a while, considering young Georgiana and Mr. Darcy’s dilemma. Then, together, we composed a letter in return.
My dear Darcy, Georgiana is at a difficult age. You must be gentle. Yet—her manners of the night were, we accept, most unlike her. I and my daughter Elizabeth, with whom I shared your letter, truly understand why you are at a loss.
It put us in mind of the Greeks—of Persephone, who was quiet and obedient until Hades stole her away, and then, forced to grow, became a queen. Perhaps Georgiana is not stolen, but something has awakened in her.
Of course, she is no queen of the underworld—she is your child. But Greek mythology teaches us that even the meekest can surprise us. Persephone’s mother, Demeter, tried to protect her from all harm, but in doing so, she kept her daughter from the sunlight and the storms that make a person strong.
What would we have you do?
Do not scold her harshly, nor lock her away in shame.
Let her explain herself. Perhaps she is testing her boundaries, as Persephone did.
Guide her, but allow her the dignity of her own choices.
Remind her that respect for others is a virtue, but so is honest reflexion.
Tell her the story of Athena, wise and bold, who spoke her mind but listened, too.
My Elizabeth believes you have sheltered her, possibly too much.
Yet, it is perhaps easier for a daughter, such as Elizabeth, of independent spirit with a mother to guide her, to find her way in the world.
And you have the greater burden, for all such parenting falls to you. You must engage with her, Darcy.
Tell her you trust her to do better. Let her know that her words have weight, and so must be chosen carefully.
The Greeks understood that every virtue has a shadow.
Help her find balance. Speak of Persephone and Athena and let her see there are other ways of expressing her growing independence—that she has become a woman in her own right.
If you will allow it, my Elizabeth offers to write to her.
Not to condemn, but as one young lady to another, perhaps as sisters would, in confidence.
Elizabeth has no knowledge of the ton, of the circles which you and Georgiana inhabit in London.
The plays and concerts that Georgiana has attended would lift her spirits as much as they must have lifted those of your daughter.
You danced with Elizabeth at the assembly; it would not be unreasonable for you to suggest a correspondence.
Papa went on to talk of first editions, travel journals, and Lord Wellington’s latest victories in Portugal.
I, on the other hand, thought of poor Georgiana Darcy, caught between her brother—clearly stern and reserved for having wished to lock Georgiana in her room—and the strict social etiquette and rules of an earl’s table.
Unconsciously, I thought of Lydia—brash, impulsive.
At Longbourn, if Lydia had made the comments attributed to Georgiana, Mrs. Bennet would have praised her liveliness and good humour! Dear, sweet, tiny Lydia.
* * *
There was little time for conversation with my sister, for when Mr. Bingley was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else.
It was not certain that his sisters approved of his attention to her; yet, while they held some sway over their brother, it was clear that Mr. Bingley was of his own mind and would not be deterred from the course he had set.
I was pleased, for surely Jane’s future happiness was assured.
One day, Jane and I were invited to tea at Netherfield. The gentlemen—Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst—were to dine with Sir William and other gentlemen of the neighbourhood.
“I have heard, Miss Eliza,” said Miss Bingley, “that you correspond with Miss Georgiana Darcy. She is very young, you know, and quite sensitive. I am not sure it is appropriate for her to be writing letters to, after all, a country Miss of little consequence.”
“How kind of you to think of her, Miss Bingley. But her father, Mr. Darcy, felt that, as the mistress of Pemberley—their estate in Derbyshire—she should have some knowledge of country manners. He was concerned that the ton treated the lower classes with altogether too much condescension, that they were viewed simply as scenery, labour, or commodities. Here, as you no doubt know, merchants, farmers, and cottagers are the very backbone of our wealth. We are not all so fortunate as to gain our income from manufactories, water mills, and steam engines, as I understand that is where the Bingley fortune comes from.” I dissembled, for certainly Georgiana’s and my correspondence never talked of such things.
“Lizzy dear!” said Jane softly, touching my arm. Perhaps I had, indeed, gone too far. But to be disdained by Miss Bingley, whose family came from trade, whereas the Bennets had been landowners for over one hundred and fifty years, was not to be borne.
“I believe you danced with Mr. Darcy at the assembly, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Hurst, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. “He is an altogether pleasant gentleman, is he not?”
“Oh, most charming. He has begun a correspondence with Mr. Bennet, who takes great pleasure from it, our father being constrained to his library due to the arthritis.”
“Mr. Darcy has invited us to stay at Darcy House in Grosvenor Square,” interposed Miss Bingley. “I believe our family are a great favourite of his. Mayhap, in the spring, we should also visit Pemberley.”
Would she do for Mr. Darcy? She was likely of an age with Mr. Bingley, perhaps a year or so younger.
Her dowry of twenty thousand pounds was certainly an advantage, particularly as Mr. Darcy was in good health and likely looking to buy an estate for his son Fitzwilliam, when the latter achieved his majority—for I assumed the son was only a few years older than his daughter, Georgiana.
Yet Miss Bingley was so different from what I had learnt of Lady Anne.
Lady Anne was the daughter of an earl, her bloodline of the highest nobility.
Surely Mr. Darcy could not marry lower—though a gentlewoman of good lineage would suit—and Miss Bingley’s fortune was new money—latterly become acceptable in society, but not welcomed.
Lady Anne, as Mr. Darcy’s memories revealed in his letters, was a paragon of grace, kindness, and amiable temperament.
Could I say the same of Miss Bingley—certainly elegant, but there was little else to commend her to a man of Mr. Darcy’s good nature. In this, I thought the man safe.
“We hope to leave Hertfordshire for London,” Miss Bingley continued.
“Charles has completed his improvements to Netherfield, and the season calls us to Town. Of course, we should regret leaving, but my brother is eager to renew his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy, and particularly admires his daughter Miss Darcy. Louisa and I are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare to entertain of her being hereafter our sister.”