January 1810
“Pweeze weed it again, Wizzy.”
“No, Eddie. It is my turn to choose the book. She already read yours twice.” At four years old, Bella insisted rules and order must prevail, and she was losing patience with her two-year-old brother’s disregard for the system on which she relied.
“Eddie,” Elizabeth said to the little boy on her lap. “I will read your book again after I read Bella’s. Would you like to listen, too, or would you prefer to play with blocks for a few minutes?”
“I stay.”
He remained snuggled on Elizabeth’s lap for a few minutes before slipping to the floor to build a tower.
Bella remained intent on the story, impressive in her focus.
The oldest Gardiner child, Mandy, was now six and had read her own book as she sat on Elizabeth’s other side, but she now listened to Bella’s choice.
She had flourished under her governess, who had come to the house the previous autumn.
With her determined nature, Elizabeth knew it would not be long before Bella learned, but she would continue reading to all her cousins for as long as they would let her.
One of the biggest parts of Longbourn she missed was listening to her uncle read aloud, either to her in his study or to the family in the drawing room after dinner.
It felt luxurious now to listen to another person read to her.
Uncle Gardiner occasionally read aloud a news article, but only Uncle Bennet had ever read books to her.
She was finishing Bella’s story when the governess returned and thanked her for allowing her a respite.
Elizabeth asked Eddie if he wanted her to read his book one more time, but he was far too busy with his blocks, so she departed the nursery.
She went to check on her aunt, who was again with child and had been ill an unusually long time but was feeling better most days.
“Lizzy,” her aunt said, “have you decided yet whether you wish to attend balls again this Season? The invitations have begun to arrive.”
“Already? The Season has not even started yet.”
“No, but Parliament will be in session in less than a fortnight, so matrons will be prepared. Do you wish to wait until after your birthday or go to some smaller events sooner?”
Elizabeth sat next to Aunt Gardiner in her sitting room. “I do wish to dance and hear the music, but I wonder what the purpose in it will be when I cannot marry for three more years.”
“You could make friends, Lizzy, other young women. I worry about you. You had Miss Bingley for a time, and I know you find joy in Jane’s visits, but would you not like to have friends of your own again?
You devote so much time to the Foundling Hospital that I wonder whether you have forgotten what girls your age generally do all day. ”
Elizabeth laughed. “If the way I spent my time with the Bingleys when I was fifteen is the way I should live now that I am nearly eighteen, I am afraid I will be a disappointment.”
“I do not mean your days should be filled with frivolity, but you are also permitted to enjoy your youth. Your uncle and I are proud of you for your hard work for those children. You are making a difference in their lives. Only be sure you are considering your own interests, as well.”
Elizabeth had joined her aunt on a few parish visits, but most of her spare time since the spring had gone to the Foundling Hospital.
Her twice-weekly visits stretched further into the afternoons once Jane left London and often became three visits in a week.
Her sewing for the hospital also increased as she saw the children’s needs firsthand.
On dry days, she took her exercise in the yard with the children, finding it far more enticing than walking among the fashionable set in the various parks nearer the Hursts’ home.
“You know I have not ceased my own reading, drawing, or painting. I still play the instrument each day.”
“Yes, and the girls love your pianoforte lessons. But Lizzy, have you considered…I do wish you to know friendships with other girls, and that would be a fine goal for this Season. Your Uncle Bennet told me I should not push you to find a suitor at all until you are of age, and I will not, but I do not think you must avoid society and young men entirely until then. Look at Jane. She and Mr. Bingley met when they were too young to marry, yet they have continued to meet and will be married within another year or two, I suspect.”
“That is likely. However, Jane is away the greater part of each year, so we cannot tell how constant Mr. Bingley is while she is gone.”
“They have made no commitments, but do you suspect him of courting other young women?”
“I have not even seen him or his sisters in many months, though Jane was happy at Christmas, do you not think? She and Miss Bingley write as much as ever, so I assume all is well.”
“That is good. And Lizzy, I mentioned Jane and Mr. Bingley because you could also meet the man you will marry in several years. Do not be in a hurry to select one, but you really are allowed to dance every night this Season.”
Elizabeth laughed with little humor. “I do not believe I will have many men to select from. I wonder at my uncle’s strictures. With my low birth, how can he expect a gentleman to choose me?”
Aunt Gardiner looked uncomfortable. Elizabeth had never referred to her illegitimacy before, and she realized too late she should not have mentioned it.
“It is of no consequence,” she continued, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.
“As both of my uncles have assured me they will supply funds for gowns, I intend to delight in dancing, cards, and good dinners wherever I am admitted. I may not attend nightly balls before Jane comes in April, but I will not say no to a few dances.”
“I am glad you are in such good spirits, Lizzy. I worried about you last Season.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I know, Aunt. You have dealt with many of my moods and low spirits in the past three years, and I thank you. I will not say I anticipate a carefree Season, but I do hope the worst is behind me.”
“Our invitations are on my desk in the back parlor, and you may look them over when you are ready. We have only a few for now, but I will put more there when they arrive.”
“Thank you. I will begin reading them this evening, but unless you need me for anything else, I will go work on my painting now.”
“Oh! It must be nearly finished.”
“It is, but do not try to come up to the attic, as it will fatigue you. I will bring it down once it dries.”
“I look forward to it.”
The next day, Elizabeth’s father was much in her thoughts as she worked at the Foundling Hospital.
Throughout the months she had been there, many of the younger children, boys and girls, had asked her or other volunteers in her hearing whether they knew their parents.
She had heard another such conversation that morning.
These children had lived with families for a few years, but they had not known their own families.
Had they been made to feel unwelcome, as Aunt Bennet had done to her?
She knew Uncle Bennet and her cousins had given her a blessed childhood.
Mrs. Legg had told Elizabeth months ago that a foundling child could be reclaimed by the mother, although it was rare. Records were kept, however, so it was possible the children could someday learn who their parents were.
Elizabeth had still not asked Uncle Bennet about Mr. Asbury.
The topic could not be written in a letter, and he did not come to London, sending Jane to Gracechurch Street with servants.
She had tried during each of her Christmases at Longbourn.
She really had, several times. But it had been nearly impossible to speak with him alone during her brief visits.
After her most recent holiday, she wondered if her uncle could read on her face that she had a serious topic to discuss and he had purposely thwarted her.
Sometimes she felt it was not worth learning the truth.
If she did not know for sure who Mr. Asbury was, she could pretend he was Papa Oliver.
From the time she was five until she was fifteen, she had believed Mr. Asbury to be Papa Oliver and that he was her real father, who had always loved her.
While she had been unable to ask questions, that dream could remain unshattered, even though she had not believed it for years.
She knew Papa Oliver was not her father, and she strongly suspected Mr. Asbury was.
That evening after dinner, as she and her aunt sewed in the drawing room while listening to her uncle read the newspaper, she decided to boldly take the next step in accepting who she was.
The children at the Foundling Hospital had no choice but to accept what was told them, but she had other sources of information. Jane had not known, but perhaps…
“Uncle?” she started when he had finished reading an article.
“Yes, Lizzy?”
“You grew up in Meryton, did you not? With Aunt Bennet?”
“I did. I was not there for long, though, except for visits, as I went away to school when I was about eleven and was apprenticed to a shopkeeper a few years later. Why do you ask?”
“Did you ever know anyone by the name of Asbury? Maybe not someone who lived there but perhaps a gentleman passing through? Or perhaps even a local family.”
“Asbury…Asbury…Have you asked your Uncle Bennet?”
“No. He mentioned the name in passing once, and I was wondering today.” It was not precisely a lie, but Uncle Bennet had told her never to reveal the truth.
“Asbury…You know, I think your uncle had a cousin by that name, a Miss Asbury. I remember seeing her at Fanny’s wedding, not long before I left for school.
Though I was young, she made an impression because she was the oldest woman I had ever seen, or she seemed to be at the time, and I was confused as to how she was Miss Asbury rather than Mrs. Asbury.
“An elderly female cousin? Were there other Asburys at the wedding?”