Chapter 23
Pemberley
I could well imagine Georgiana not wishing to leave Pemberley, for who would willingly give up a brother like Fitzwilliam for a husband whom one might have known no longer than a twelvemonth?
Charlotte Lucas maintains that happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance; if the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always contrive to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation.
If this were so, then I would gladly forgo connubial bliss in exchange for the pleasure of an attentive brother.
The weather had turned to rain; coincidentally, Mr. Pettigrew declared my foot nearly healed, so I was allowed to exercise without it being bandaged like an Egyptian mummy at the British Museum.
I had hoped to walk out to see the rose garden that Mama and Mr. Darcy had spent so many days restoring, but I was confined to indoor pursuits once again.
After finding a First Folio edition of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing in the library, I persuaded Fitzwilliam and Georgiana that we should act out several scenes.
Fitzwilliam wished to demur, saying there were tenant leases to be reviewed, but Georgiana and I prevailed—more precisely, I pleaded, grovelled, and finally agreed to sing Handel’s Lascia ch’io pianga that evening, even though, to my ear, my soprano could scarcely do the aria justice.
Thus, we assembled in the drawing room after a light nuncheon. Of course, I was to play Beatrice, Georgiana was Hero, and Fitzwilliam was Benedicke and Claudio, and any other such part as required.
“Lizzy, whatever does it mean?” asked Georgiana.
Beatrice had just recited the lines: ‘for heare me Hero, wooing, wedding, a measure was a formal court dance—the wedding ceremony—dignified, decorous, and steeped in tradition; afterwards, reality sets in—a cinque-pace was a physically demanding dance, and regret starts moving faster and faster, until, crippled by misery, it finishes in exhaustion.”
“I cannot believe, sweet Beatrice, that you believe it.” Darcy was not reading the script.
“Truly, Benedicke, I have not thought long on marriage,” I replied. That was for the future. Yet, Beatrice’s views coincided so closely with Charlotte’s. Could there be some truth to their assertions?
“Oh, you are impossible, cannot you keep to the lines!” cried Georgiana.
Fitzwilliam smirked. “If I must be Benedicke, let me at least have the chance to defend matrimony. ‘For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.’”
“You are quoting the end!” I protested. “We’ve not yet begun the sparring.”
He bowed with mock gravity. “Then I await your wit, Beatrice, for I am armed and ready.”
Georgiana clapped her hands. “Please, Lizzy, do not let him triumph so soon.”
But my triumph was destined to wait, for we were interrupted by the sound of a carriage, and perceived a chaise and four pulling up at the portico.
“By God!” muttered Darcy. “Lady Catherine! Whatever is she doing at Pemberley?”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”
“Indeed, Elizabeth, she is my aunt, sister to Lady Anne. Have you heard of her?”
“A coincidence, indeed. She is the patroness of my cousin, Mr. Collins, who inherits Longbourn under the entail. He holds the living of Hunsford.”
We arranged ourselves in the room with some care. Georgiana and I took up our embroidery and sat by the window, where the light was best notwithstanding the rain and gloomy sky. Darcy went to his station by the mantel.
The door was thrown open, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh entered.
“Where is George? Why hasn’t he come to greet me, the sister of his wife? I am most displeased!”
“Lady Catherine, welcome to Pemberley. Would you like refreshments after your journey?”
There was some disturbance in the hall; Mrs. Reynolds came to the door. “My apologies, Master Fitzwilliam, but there is a Mr. Collins, who says he travelled with Lady de Bourgh?”
Darcy gave me an enquiring look, but I shook my head. Whatever was the man doing in Derbyshire? He should be in Meryton, taking up his inheritance.
“There she is! There is the jilt!” Mr. Collins barged into the room, shouting at me, his face red and sweating as it had been in the parlour at Longbourn when I first met the man.
“Enough, sir!” Darcy beckoned to a footman who had come to the door. “One more word, and Jacob will remove you. Am I clear?”
“B—but…” He spluttered, then slammed his mouth shut as Darcy stepped forward. I had never seen him so menacing. He turned to Lady Catherine.
“Aunt, why have you brought this man here? I will not have a guest at Pemberley slandered. I am disinclined to allow him to remain.”
“Darcy, it is I who demand an explanation. Why is this woman staying at Pemberley? It is not to be borne. And in the company of Georgiana, no less.”
Sometimes, my good sense deserts me—actually, more often than I would wish. “Lady Catherine,” I said, “Perhaps you wish to speak with Mrs. Bennet; she, by marriage, is Mr. Collins’s cousin.”
“Be quiet, girl! I have not given you permission to speak!”
‘She speaks poniards, and every word stabs,’ Mary muttered. Darcy smirked, for the words had been spoken aloud.
‘If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her,’ continued Darcy. “Miss Bennet, mayhap we should learn from Shakespeare, for I believe this brouhaha is much ado about nothing, as you have so aptly quoted.”
Lady Catherine stared at Darcy in confusion. “Darcy, I have not travelled two hundred miles to be laughed at!”
“Then, why have you come, Aunt? And why is Mr. Collins here? I can assure you that Mr. Wainwright, the vicar of Kympton, is quite able to administer to our souls.”
The lady slumped into a chair, then abruptly turned to Mr. Collins. “Where is Anne? Surely you did not leave her in the carriage?”
The poor man looked mortified, but was saved from further embarrassment when a young lady, presumably Miss de Bourgh, entered the drawing room on the arm of Mr. Darcy.
“I found my niece shivering in your carriage, Catherine.” He led Miss de Bourgh to a seat by the fire. “Georgiana, please make Anne comfortable.”
Georgiana immediately went to her cousin, while I requested Mrs. Reynolds, who had remained near the door, to bring tea and some extra shawls for the young woman.
“Well, Catherine, this is most unexpected.”
* * *
The lady glared at him, but having known her for thirty years, Mr. Darcy had her measure.
The room was silent except for the muttering of Mr. Collins and the sparks flying from the hearth as the fire was built up by a maid.
The young girl departed, and Mr. Darcy indicated to the footman, Jacob, that he should leave also.
“You dissemble, George. You can be at no loss to understand the reason for my journey in this disagreeable Derbyshire weather—when I am about in Kent, it never rains.”
“Fortunate indeed, Catherine. But neither Fitzwilliam nor I can account for your journey, leaving behind the exemplary weather of Kent to visit us here.”
“George, I never understood my sister marrying so low. And you have brought yourself lower, no doubt. But, however insincere you may choose to be, you will not find me so. A report of a most alarming nature reached me at Rosings.” Lady Catherine glanced at Mr. Collins, who was nodding—what was the man about?
“It is widely known—what is the town near your estate, Mr. Collins?—in Merryham, that you have a widow and an unmarried woman living under your roof—a scandal, George, you the husband of my sister, and Fitzwilliam her son. And what of Georgiana? She will be ruined in the eyes of society.”
I winced; put so boldly, it did carry a whiff of scandal. Yet Mr. Darcy merely smiled. “Why, thank you, Catherine, for taking the trouble to travel so far and risk a taint yourself. Your coming to Pemberley to visit me and my family is rather a confirmation that you approve of it.”
“You make a joke of scandal? The report, George, has already reached London.”
“By whose hand, I wonder.” Mr. Darcy turned to Mr. Collins. “And why, sir, are you here? Is my niece’s health now so precarious that she requires the constant attendance of a clergyman to pray for her?”
Miss de Bourgh gave a sudden start and snivelled into her handkerchief. “Papa!” cried Georgiana, “Anne is already weary from the journey. You should not upset her more.”
“Anne, do you wish to retire? Elizabeth, could you speak to Mrs. Reynolds about preparing rooms for Lady Catherine and her daughter?” He glared at Mr. Collins.
“I have it in mind, sir, that you should sleep in the kennels. I heard you disrespect Miss Elizabeth—one of the best ladies of my acquaintance.”
I exited the room, meeting Mrs. Reynolds in the hall, where she was assisting a maid carrying the tea tray.
I relayed Mr. Darcy’s request and asked that fires be lit and built up to warm the chambers as quickly as possible.
She looked toward the drawing room with some apprehension.
I took her arm. “You have known Mr. Darcy for a long time, Mrs. Reynolds. Lady Catherine may be a termagant, but one with blunt fangs, I believe.”
She allowed a careful smile to crease her eyes. We had known each other now for upwards of five weeks, since Mrs. Bennet and I had come to Pemberley. She was an excellent housekeeper and, more importantly, becoming a friend, just like Mrs. Hill.