A Match for Mary Bennet (4 page)

Not until the following day did Mrs. Philips relay to Mrs. Bennet what she had learned from Mrs. Long about Grantley and Mary. Mrs. Bennet called Mary to ask the nature of their conversation, but Mary could recall little. “He just criticized young ladies who dance, as if they all were setting their caps for a husband.” Even as Mary remembered it, she realized that his conjecture fit the young ladies' mothers more than them, but of course, she did not say this.

“What an odious man! He comes to assemblies to talk of government and pass judgement on dancers, does he? Well, he ought to follow Mr. Bennet's example and stay home if he feels that way. Why punish himself and the rest of us by deliberately coming to watch what he abhors?”

Mary had no answer but that did not keep Mrs. Bennet from going on about it for twenty minutes.

Colonel Fitzwilliam left the next morning for Derbyshire, bearing Mr. Bennet's letter for Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet's note for Jane, the assurance that the Bennets meant to be in Derbyshire for Elizabeth's lying-in, and a certainty concerning his own plans. He hoped the news he carried from Hertfordshire would soften the blow of what he supposed he carried from Kent. Within his hearing, Lady Catherine had never spoken a kind word about “that upstart girl who stole Darcy from my Anne,” and he feared that the note he carried to Elizabeth Darcy would bring her little joy. He mused on the possibility that the same formidable lady may soon feel equal rancour toward Miss Caroline Bingley, assuming that Miss Bingley accepted him. Mary Bennet's fortunate advice had settled his hopes on Miss Bingley who, he immediately realized, would welcome his attentions more readily than would Georgiana Darcy, who perhaps still thought of him as a guardian.

As he travelled, he wondered how the stylish Caroline would like his modest Norfolk village, and they her. But he firmly believed that she would welcome having a home of her own, no matter where. Could any woman really fancy dependence on a brother or her married sister for a lifetime? Better for Caroline, he trusted she would feel, to have her own home and family than to be attached to a brother, be he ever so amiable. As for the younger Georgiana, she would have many suitors, especially if she grew out of her shyness; and even if none were found suitable for her, Pemberley could supply the needs of many family members with little loss to anyone's privacy.

When he had mentioned Elizabeth's condition to Lady Catherine, he wondered if she had thought, as he did, of Anne de Bourgh's frailty. Could she ever endure or survive a pregnancy? More likely, a husband to Anne might well be little more than caretaker of his wife and of her property. Of course, he assured Lady Catherine that he and Darcy would always do whatever they could for Anne, thinking seriously that she might be better off by forgoing marriage entirely.

At Lambton he left the post house and found Billum, the horse Darcy had promised to leave at the livery stable in time for his return. Mounting, he raced to Pemberley, the hour being late. Almost as soon as he arrived, he was greeted by Georgiana, who had waited up hoping he would come. Upon his enquiry, she assured him that Elizabeth was fine. “There is no sign that the baby will come early. The doctor reckoned it will come by Martinmas or a little earlier but surely no sooner than late October,” she said as she led him to the small parlour.

“You will be happy to know,” said the Colonel, depositing his packet on a low table, “that you need no longer refer to the child as ‘it.' Lady Catherine has pronounced it a boy.” He tried to imitate the dowager's regal tones. “The Darcys
always
had a boy first.”

Georgiana laughed. “Lady Catherine has decreed: a boy it must be.” Then she posed the serious question she had waited up to learn. “Did Aunt Catherine soften toward my brother? Has she forgiven Elizabeth? Will she be able to come this year for Christmas?”

Fitzwilliam squirmed a bit, wishing for an assurance he would dearly love to give her. “At first, I had greatly hoped so. She took Mrs. Darcy's note calmly, nodded at the invitation as if it was to be expected, and enquired about Elizabeth's health. But later, when she grew stronger, she turned her whole attention to Anne, as if nothing mattered but to take care of Anne, although Anne seemed fine to me.” He did not feel free to mention the note he held for Elizabeth, and he certainly would not bring up the offer Lady Catherine had made concerning her daughter. Briefly he wondered how the Darcys would have accepted such a project, which would prevent Darcy from ever inheriting Rosings Park.

Georgiana had ordered a substantial, cold collation, which two footmen now brought him. “My brother has persuaded Elizabeth to retire early, and he thought you would be tired. He will meet you at breakfast to discuss your visit.” The Colonel was grateful for this.

***

In the breakfast room the next morning, after hearing of Lady Catherine's concern for Anne and of her suggestion to the Colonel, Darcy chuckled. “Really? Do not decline for my sake, I pray you. I never coveted Rosings. Even if I have many sons, I would not wish to send any as far as Kent. Consider your own future.”

Fitzwilliam opened to Darcy that he had indeed considered his future, one in which he did not function as agent to another's property. He rather thought about a woman willing to attach to him and his own property, modest as it was, and he ventured to mention aloud the name of his choice: Caroline Bingley.

Darcy raised his eyebrows at this. “I believe that such a proposal would meet with pleased acceptance, not only with Caroline, but with Charles and Jane as well. My only concern…” He paused to express it as carefully as possible. “Do you feel she would brighten your home?”

Fitzwilliam briefly reflected. “I do. Surely she will be happier as mistress of her own home than as a dependent sister, and she is bright enough when happy.”

Darcy nodded thoughtfully. They turned then to consider the apparent failure of the reconciliation Elizabeth's note to Lady Catherine had invited. Darcy showed little enough concern. “She cannot forgive my breaking a promise my mother made for me. Did you assure her that, but for Elizabeth's being with child, I would have attended her in her illness?”

Fitzwilliam acknowledged that he had done so, and he also recounted his hopes in her relenting during the worst of her illness. “Only with her returning strength did she dismiss all concerns but for Anne, for whom she showed the deepest anxiety for some reason. She seemed to want to only see her provided for.”

Darcy responded with something like amusement. “Poor Lady Catherine! She has grown so fond of running other people's lives that a brush with death serves only to affront her with the vision that, when she is gone, others may decide for themselves.”

Fitzwilliam, glad to see that Darcy did not suffer greatly from the disappointment, disclosed his errand to Mrs. Darcy. “Lady Catherine sent a written reply to Mrs. Darcy's invitation. Perhaps all is not lost.”

Darcy, visibly surprised, considered this. “You may be right. She has not written one word in reply to Lizzy's other letters. I will see Mrs. Darcy later, when she rises. Shall I tell her you will come to her sitting room for tea this afternoon? I fear we have much business to consult about before then.”

The Colonel, always glad for Pemberley's hospitality, agreed readily. He rose from breakfast, walked to the window, and admired the yellowing witch hazel shrubs near his favourite trout stream. Perhaps he would visit it later that morning. His fingers touched the notes in his pocket, and he turned back as Darcy sliced another piece of ham from the sideboard. “Oh yes. I also stopped at Longbourn. Mr. Bennet sent a note for his daughter, which you may wish to give her.”

Darcy replied that both missives could wait until afternoon, when Fitzwilliam may present them himself. The Colonel relaxed. “The Bennets assured me they would be here in mid-October—that is, Mrs. Bennet and Miss Mary will attend Mrs. Darcy's lying-in, while Mr. Bennet and Miss Catherine will stay with the Bingleys until the Christmas holidays. Mrs. Bennet claims she stayed with Jane for her firstborn, and she wishes to be with Elizabeth for hers. And she seems to like having Mary with her.”

For Darcy, this furthered his wish for the reconciliation Elizabeth worked so perseveringly to obtain. Miss Mary Bennet, at her last visit, had expressed dismay at “such a gross rift in a Christian family.” Mrs. Bennet, he had to admit, made little of it. And though she tended to speak a bit too much for his taste, he welcomed her coming to be with Elizabeth. He daily found himself becoming more concerned about the coming event, remembering too often that his own mother had not long survived Georgiana's birth. Fortunately, Elizabeth came from hardy stock, and it could not hurt to have the advice of Mrs. Bennet, who seemed lively enough after five births. Jane too, he recalled, had grown strong after Beth's birth, even consenting to a strenuous move from Hertfordshire to Nottingham—he took this as further encouragement that all would be well.

The Colonel went looking for fishing tackle, and Darcy mused on the coming visit and on the visits of the two previous holidays. Having grown more accustomed to his acquired family, he acknowledged that he liked them far more than he had ever anticipated. The first year, they stayed but a fortnight because Jane was still at Netherfield and Mrs. Bennet insisted on seeing the new year in with the Bingleys. Mr. Bennet had spent the entire time watching his “beloved Lizzy” as if trying to discern any hint of unhappiness. Darcy had grown anxious lest Bennet notice her discomfort at hostessing so large a gathering, mostly neighbours she had hardly met before. But on the whole, Bennet had left content.

By the second Christmas, Bennet had stolen a few intermediate visits on his own and had opened up to Darcy, who warmed to him as he had previously warmed to Mrs. Bennet's brother, Mr. Gardiner. In fact, on one occasion, the three of them had fished together most companionably. Mrs. Bennet, whose concern for the Bingleys had occupied her first Pemberley visit, relaxed for the second one, when the Bingleys, having settled in nearby Nottingham, were present at Pemberley's Christmas ball. Consequently, Elizabeth's mother spent her time exploring Pemberley, exclaiming like a child over each luxury. “Oh Lizzy! The avenue!” “Oh Lizzy! The silver!” “Oh Lizzy! The carriages!” Later they learned that she had returned to Longbourn with a sizable list of items to describe for all of her Hertfordshire neighbours. Also, by that second Christmas visit, young Catherine no longer pouted over the dearth of military men in the area. Having visited the Bingleys often in the meantime, she had gained a touch of Jane's serenity, and she found delight in surveying the grounds on fine days and exploring the grand house on wet ones. And by that time, Darcy had found Mary a bit less rigid. Perhaps, having spent some months at Longbourn alone with her garrulous mother during Catherine's Nottingham visits, she had come to read and ponder less. He had to admit too that Georgiana warmly welcomed Mary, who shared her joy in music. He hoped for a deepening of that friendship in the longer visit that had been proposed that year. While Mary had been with Georgiana to listen and play duets with her, Georgiana had not so frequently hovered dreamily at her instrument, fingering a melody she seemed to strain over. He did not recognize it himself, and once he'd asked her if she composed it. Georgiana then shook her head, saying it was in her memory somewhere, but she could never finish it. At least with Mary, they both played tunes they knew or had music for, and Georgiana's moments of quiet melancholy over the lost song disappeared.

It was Georgiana who pointed out that, on the whole, the Bennets treated the servants with respect and appreciation for their extra holiday duties, and in that, they did far better than did Bingley's sisters, who seemed to operate on the premise that ordering around servants established their superior elegance. And, amused as Darcy was at Mrs. Bennet's counting stairways and touching furniture to assess materials, the whole family had worked their way into his heart. The one comment he had bristled at was Mrs. Bennet's, “Oh Lizzy, you have done so much better than Jane—except that Jane has given us a grandchild.” Well, this Christmas that annoyance must disappear. Theirs would be a long stay at Pemberley, and he determined that Pemberley would welcome them heartily.

Delia interrupted his thoughts, as she looked in at the breakfast room to tell Darcy that the mistress was up and breakfasted and awaiting him in her sitting room. He jumped up. “And how does she look today?”

Delia giggled. “Bloomin,' sir.”

Upstairs, Darcy tapped at Elizabeth's door and entered. Elizabeth, her head bent over her needlework, waved him over. He kissed her cheek, saying, “You can look at me, Lizzy, unless you fear such a sight may turn the child ugly.”

Elizabeth smiled at him. “I may as well—it is probably too late to worry about such things. It has been kicking for days.”

“Your mother arrives soon. Shall we pamper her in the grand orchid room?”

“What a capital idea! She will spend all her time memorising it to describe for the astonishment of Mrs. Philips and Lady Lucas.”

“And Mary?”

Elizabeth thought awhile. “She would like something not too handy to Mama and very handy to the library. The blue room?”

“Fine. I'll tell Mrs. Reynolds.” Darcy pulled up an ottoman near her chaise, sat on it, and told her of Colonel Fitzwilliam's trip. “He has some letters for you, and he desires to see you himself.”

Elizabeth set aside the white christening robe she worked on. “Since you forbid the stairs to me, he will have to come up here for tea. Or would you prefer to carry me down?”

Darcy surveyed her girth with a look of exaggerated dismay. “I will send him up. I may even join you.” He pulled his perch closer. “Lizzy, I need your advice. Until yesterday, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted for Kympton's new vicar. Like my late father, I looked for a gentleman of good character, settled in marriage, experienced in divine services, unconcerned about tithes, and able to afford three thousand pounds for the living. I interviewed six young clergymen and had practically settled on Edward Smythe, who answered all my requirements. Now, as it nears the time Reverend Wynters means to retire, I become unsure.”

Elizabeth met his eyes, her own eyes sparkling and her mouth a playful upturn. “You had not listed indecision among your vices before we married.”

His gaze echoed hers. “If I had enumerated them all, would you ever have relented and agreed to marry me?”

Elizabeth looked down, red-faced. “Now you remind me how worthless my opinion must be on important matters. I was at first so wrong about you.”

“Not at all.” He admired her fine eyes, thanking God he'd had the good sense to love her.

More serious now, Elizabeth asked, “And yesterday, what happened?”

“There came young Steven Oliver, the son of an ostler educated by a sympathetic vicar. He has been but two years in orders and has spent the whole of it as curate at Ramsgate under Reverend Leighton, who grew up near Kympton and recommended that Oliver try for the post. But Oliver is unmarried, has saved very little toward the living, and sorely needs the tithes. Also, none of his letters of recommendation mention his sermons or his knowledge of ritual.”

Elizabeth waited patiently for him to define his dilemma. He continued, “Yet, this man spoke lovingly of his parishioners at Ramsgate and was sympathetic to their needs. Unfortunately, he saw little opportunity there for a vicarage. His letters say chiefly that the people will miss him greatly, and he acknowledges that he will miss them. He asked about the people of Kympton, had already visited the church and the village, spoke enthusiastically about my collection of early church Fathers in the library, told of some young people he had met in Kympton—the Langley girls and Fred Hooks, by his descriptions—and when he left, Mrs. Reynolds took his cause as her own. How can I ignore him?”

Elizabeth did not know. “So… are you changing your requirements?” Mentally, she recalled that his father must have done the same when he proposed young Wickham for the post, but she did not care to mention that name.

Darcy frowned. “As soon as he left, it struck me that Mr. Smythe had never asked about the villagers nor did his recommendations contain the warmth I discerned in Oliver's. He had been far more assured than was Oliver, yet he appeared to have noted nothing of Pemberley, and he had not even visited Kympton. Oliver's manner, more tentative and halting than Smythe's, may better fit the country people he seeks to serve. He also mentioned a desire to serve for a time under Reverend Wynters, whose reputation the Reverend Leighton had esteemed.”

Elizabeth reached again for the christening robe and the lace she meant to attach to it. “Mr. Smythe may have reasoned that competence was your only concern. Or he may wish to meet the people and judge them for himself. Surely some of his references came from ordinary parishioners?”

Darcy stood and paced the room. “They were, comparatively, most literate ones… and Mrs. Reynolds said he sat waiting for me while she dusted the foyer, and he never said a word to her.”

Elizabeth looked up smiling. “You have Mrs. Reynolds's opinion, and that should suffice. After all, it was Mrs. Reynolds's praise of you that first caused me to question my prejudice against you.”

Darcy's eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? I must raise her salary.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Elizabeth felt his quandary. She knew that deep-seated convictions about requirements for a position—as for a husband—altered only with great effort. Darcy frowned. “When I invited him to question me, Oliver asked about the elderly and how they were served, and he wondered if the young people had ready means of involvement. Also, he hoped, if chosen, to spend some hours in my fine library.” He studied Elizabeth's calm face as she worked deftly. He went on. “Oliver is not yet thirty and is unmarried. I question whether he is mature enough. What do you think, dear?”

“That he could get over it.” She pressed with her fingers the embroidery and lace at the hem. “And he knows the rites of the church, surely?”

Darcy nodded. “And now you seem to favour both.”

“Observe how I have reformed. My prejudices now tend toward the favourable.” She smiled as she held out the robe to admire her work. “But, Darcy, if you know what you prefer in a vicar, choose the one more likely to accept your influence and grow. Does that help?”

Darcy stopped pacing and regarded her with pride and love, looking for all the world as if she had made his choice. “Very much. I will write to him.” He left for his study.

Elizabeth wondered at his sudden decision, musing on whether Bingley's penchant for precipitate choices had been contagious. Then she watched the late morning sun filter into the upper chamber she had grown, perforce, to enjoy. Was it her mother's five pregnancies, she wondered, that had taught her to spend times of crisis in her sitting room? It could not improve upon a walk in the woods, but the place had nevertheless a calming, meditative effect. What manner of mother would she make? She had achieved no great obedience as a wife, for twice last week fine weather had enticed her down the forbidden stairs and out to the gardens. Even in the yellowing autumn, a walk invigorated her, as a walk—or in her case a waddle—had always done. Elizabeth mused also on the pros and cons of confinement. She had been spared some months of hostessing her at-homes, a blessing she would have loved in those first trying months of receiving Darcy's neighbours and acquaintances, most of whom dropped in out of curiosity to see his bride. She vaguely remembered stately, white-haired Lord Exbridge and jolly Lady Exbridge, who had amused and teased her into relaxation on one of her first at-homes. They had finished by inviting her to their country residence some ten or fifteen miles west of Pemberley. She and Darcy never returned that visit, as not long after that first meeting Lady Exbridge and her son were killed in a carriage accident on an icy bridge. Excepting only the funeral, even Darcy had not seen Lord Exbridge since then. He had vacated his country house for his London seat with its better memories and had remained in solitary mourning ever since, discouraging all visits. For a while, Darcy worked to bring him out of his sadness but was always refused entrance by a sympathetic but solemn servant. Lizzy deeply regretted the loss of those neighbours who had been the lone bright and saving grace of her first days as mistress of Pemberley.

She turned her thoughts to more familiar neighbours who had come to be regulars: Mrs. Langley of Kympton had seemed as nervous as Lizzy on that first visit. She stayed only long enough to present the new bride with a jar of excellent plum jam. How Lizzy praised it when next she came, until she noticed that poor Mrs. Langley accepted her praise most uneasily, making Lizzy wonder how the mistress of a manor should comport herself. She simply broke down and told Mrs. Langley of her own nervousness, assuring her guest that she never intended to spread her unease around. Then they laughed, relaxed, and became friends.

It was harder with Lady Elliott, Georgiana's mentor and friend in London. When she first visited, Elizabeth detected some jealousy, possibly arising from Georgiana's praise of her new sister. Or perhaps Lady Elliott feared that Lizzy would usurp the lady's role in Georgiana's life. Elizabeth sighed. She hoped by now Lady Elliott, whom she liked well, saw that Lizzy meant to be a sister to Miss Darcy, and certainly no companion in London, a place Lizzy had never learned to appreciate. She knew that Lady Elliott could teach Georgiana far more about fashion and manners than she ever could.

Had she ever grown accustomed to being mistress of Pemberley? She felt so, but still she did enjoy these weeks of respite from the social duties, and she was glad Georgiana had agreed to act in her stead. She would like to be able to peek in on her as hostess, fearing that Georgiana must miss the help of Mrs. Annesley since her coming of age. Now she must offer refreshments while Mrs. Reynolds provided protection when Miss Johnstone visited. Oh, Alicia Johnstone had been an education indeed for Lizzy.

Elizabeth adjusted the pillows at her back and stretched a bit as she thought of that fateful first visit from the rosy-faced, lumbering, and strange Miss Johnstone. To this day, she wondered how Miss Johnstone's voice would sound if she did not mutter, head down, in an apologetic whimper, “Oh, the fortunate Mrs. Darcy… I knew him first, you know. He might have married me.” There had been no one like Miss Johnstone in Hertfordshire. And how many “souvenirs” of Pemberley had the lady managed to sneak out in her oversized reticule before Mrs. Reynolds caught on? By now a harmless game had developed, the sharp-eyed Mrs. Reynolds following the wandering visitor into nearby parlours to see her chubby hand snatch some small ornamental piece and later cueing Lizzy to retrieve and replace the item as she quietly showed the lady to the door. There was never a hint of shame, nor did that strange neighbour resist being shown out. But always the inevitable, “It might have been mine, you know. I saw him first.” Elizabeth had offered to let Delia do the search-and-retrieve act, but Mrs. Reynolds, noble soul, insisted that she did not mind at all, that in fact, it somewhat enlivened the day.

“How have I managed to get used to all this and even learn to enjoy it?” Lizzy asked herself. Darcy, that was how.