Chapter 52 Life At Pemberley #3
“Very well, Lizzy. Go and see what you can do for Kitty. She and Lydia were exceedingly close.”
Elizabeth returned to Kitty’s chamber in time to receive the posset. She carried it inside and set it upon a table.
Her sister was still weeping, and Elizabeth feared she had worked herself into hysterics. She sat upon the bedside and laid a hand upon Kitty’s shoulder. “Kitty, I have brought you a posset. It shall help you rest. Can you sit up and drink it?”
Kitty continued weeping without restraint.
Elizabeth tried again. “Kitty dear, try to govern yourself. You shall bring on a headache or perhaps a cold if you continue until your nose swells from weeping.”
Kitty wept on as though she had not heard a word.
Elizabeth feared she had left her alone too long; now she verged on the edge of hysteria. She bent near and spoke in a firm voice. “Kitty, you shall sit up now. You shall drink this posset before you make yourself ill.”
The younger girl turned toward her sister. “Are you angry, Lizzy?”
“No, I am not angry, but I do expect you to listen to me. Sit up and govern yourself long enough to drink this posset.” Elizabeth reached for the glass.
“What is it?”
Elizabeth sniffed the contents. “It smells of milk, vanilla, lavender, and brandy. Sit up and drink it. It shall help calm your nerves.”
“Must I? I have no desire to eat or drink anything.”
“I am sorry, but I cannot have you falling ill because I allowed you to descend into hysterics. Sit up, Kitty.”
Kitty rolled onto her back and pushed herself upright. Elizabeth handed her the glass. “Drink it all, dear.”
Kitty tasted it and made a face. “It is dreadful. I cannot drink this.”
“You shall drink it. You shall feel better once you have taken it. Hold your nose so you need not taste it.”
Kitty obeyed and swallowed. The brandy made her cough, but she had taken it all.
“You did very well. You may lie down again if you wish. Do you want to speak of Lydia, or would you rather sleep?”
“I want to hear about Lydia. Tell me of her husband. What did he look like? How old was he?
Elizabeth began to speak. “Mr. Adams is twenty years old. He stands as tall as Uncle Edward. In fact, he is a client of our uncle’s. He is very kind and exceedingly handsome. I can well understand why Lydia felt attracted to him. He was quite taken with her beauty.”
Kitty sighed. “Yes, Lydia already stood taller than all of us except Jane, and she was nearly as beautiful. I always knew that once she lost her baby fat, she would become a great beauty.”
The two sisters spent the next hour speaking of their lost sister. Elizabeth mostly listened while Kitty recounted stories of their exploits, many of which made Elizabeth cringe inwardly. Had that child not eloped with Mr. Wickham, she would likely have met ruin at the hands of another.
She said nothing to Kitty, but inwardly blamed both herself and her parents for failing to keep closer watch over the youngest Bennet sister.
They had narrowly escaped ruin. Elizabeth would not now stand as Mr. Darcy’s wife, nor Jane as Sir Gareth Beaumont’s, had Lydia succeeded in destroying them all.
When Kitty finally drifted into sleep, Elizabeth left the chamber with a heavy heart.
The loss of the youngest sister might have been entirely prevented had the family exercised proper care over her.
She had been a beautiful, impulsive child left too much to herself and her own whims, and she had lost her life through a succession of misfortunes.
When Elizabeth entered her room, she found her husband asleep in their bed.
She prepared herself for the night in her dressing room, and when she joined him, she lay beside him and studied his profile, his tousled hair, the even rhythm of his breathing.
By what providence had she been spared and allowed to become his wife?
And what of her sister? A mere child, gone too soon.
Elizabeth lay awake a long while in the darkness, contemplating life and death, fortune and misfortune, fate and choice, until at last sleep claimed her.
The following morning, Elizabeth woke to Darcy’s gentle kisses.
“Fitzwilliam.” She rolled onto her side to face him and wrapped her arms about his neck. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
He dried them with the edge of the sheet.
She stretched up to kiss him and ran her fingers through his thick curls before drawing back to study him.
He was beautiful. Even with the heaviness in her heart, she smiled.
He pulled her into his arms and held her against his warm strength.
His touch, his kisses, and the love he gave her worked to soothe her bruised spirit.
They afterward drifted back to sleep. When Elizabeth woke again, he still lay beside her. She remained silent and peaceful, studying him while he slept.
When he opened his eyes, he said, “You are sad, Elizabeth. How can I help you?”
"I cannot help thinking our family was too careless of my little sister, and she lost her life because of it.
Had my parents exercised greater restraint over her, had we, her elder sisters, watched over her more closely, she would still be alive.
Had I taken proper care of her, she would still be alive. "
She pressed the sheet to her eyes.
He listened as Elizabeth reproached herself, her parents, her sister. “Jane and Mary were there too. Both are sensible women, yet none of us lifted a hand to save our sister from ruin and, in the end, an early death.”
When she had emptied her heart to him, he did not immediately know how to answer.
No words of comfort or absolution came readily to him.
She lay nestled against his shoulder, gazing upward at the canopy while he studied her face and the shifting emotions passing over it. At last, she met his glance.
“What think you, Fitzwilliam?”
“I scarcely know how to answer you, darling. Your sister was but a child, yet at age fifteen she had already acquired some experience of the world.”
“Your parents took her to church, I imagine. She grew up surrounded by worthy elder sisters. But she possessed a lively and spirited nature, and from all you describe, she was greatly indulged and never learned restraint over her impulses. She made choices that ended badly. I do not believe there exists any simple answer to this. No one person bears all the blame for what has happened. What is your opinion?”
They remained in bed conversing far longer than their usual habit. When at last they rose to meet the day, Elizabeth wrapped her arms about his waist and held him for a long moment.
“Thank you, darling, for listening to me. Though there are no answers, I somehow feel comforted.”
He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “I am glad you came to me, Elizabeth. We no longer stand alone. We now bear each other's burdens.”
He rested his cheek against the crown of her head for a moment before releasing her.
She sighed. “Once I am dressed, I shall go see how Kitty fares. I may miss you at breakfast.”
“I shall spend the day upon the west side of the estate with my steward, but send one of the Miller brothers if you have need of me.”
He kissed her once more and then departed.