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Chapter 21. His Own Master.

Posted on 2010-09-30

July 1818

Anne de Bourgh stared listlessly out of the carriage window at the passing countryside. She had hoped that this trip-- her first outside of Kent in nearly twenty years-- would bring back some of the excitement that she vaguely remembered from childhood, but it had not. Outside there seemed to be nothing but field after field, interspersed with the occasional dirty little market town. They had spent six nights in six different coaching inns and, despite her mother's loud demands for the innkeeper's finest, to Miss de Bourgh's eyes the conditions had been atrocious. Anne missed her own comfortable bed (even with Rosings linens she feared to rest her head on a strange mattress; who knew what vermin might be there?) and her meals prepared just as Cook knew she liked them.

Most of all, Anne ached from the constant jolting and jostling of the carriage. The barouche box was stuffy and smelly with heavy colognes attempting to mask the odours of three women who had been cooped up in a small space together for nearly a week. Anne turned slightly so that she looked at her companions. Her mother had not ceased lecturing since they had entered the carriage that morning. In truth, it seemed as if Lady Catherine had not stopped talking since they had departed from Kent. Perhaps she was always like this, but at Rosings Anne could retreat to her rooms or some other hiding place. Here, there was no escape and her head ached from her mother's strident voice.

"Anne! Sit up straight, girl. The future Mrs. Darcy must not look like some rag doll flopping about with no spine."

"Yes, Mother," responded Anne by rote. She pressed herself back into the cushions so that it might look as if she were sitting straighter.

Mrs. Jenkinson took note of her charge's pallor and dared to venture a soft protest. "Lady Catherine? Might we stop for a bit of a rest? Miss Anne is looking rather peeked."

The older woman glared at her employee. "Don't be ridiculous. Anne is perfectly well. Indeed, we shall reach Matlock within two hours and it would be nothing short of indolence to delay."

Anne muffled a sigh and returned to staring listlessly out of the window. Since Easter when her Cousin Darcy had attempted to inform Lady Catherine that her dearest wish of a Darcy-de Bourgh alliance was not to be, Anne's mother had displayed something of an astonishing shift in attitude. For several days after the departure of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, Rosings had been oddly quiet. Visitors had not been admitted and the servants had tiptoed around the house to avoid catching their angry Mistress' notice.

Then, a week after her nephews' departure, Lady Catherine's foul mood had seemingly evaporated overnight. She had summoned her pet doctor and demanded that he re-examine Miss de Bourgh. Unsurprisingly, the plump little man had confirmed his employer's proclamations that her daughter was now fully and miraculously recovered from whatever had previously ailed her. He did not, however, say anything about discontinuing her laudanum, powders, and physics, so Mrs. Jenkinson had continued her weekly visit to the Hunsford apothecary and Anne spent the spring in her usual, opiate- and alcohol-induced haze, even as her mother declared to all and sundry that she was the very picture of good health.

There had been several other, more significant changes. Lady Catherine had summoned a dressmaker from London to create a new wardrobe for Anne. However, upon seeing Madame Claudette's designs, Lady Catherine had promptly proclaimed them to be indecent and sent the poor woman packing. The best local seamstress from Hunsford was summoned to Rosings and given exacting instructions to follow and constant oversight to make sure she did so. It was probably lucky that old Mrs. Simpkins had little imagination and no knowledge of current London fashions, for the patterns she was given to follow were thirty years out of date.

Nevertheless, Anne was rather pleased to have so many new dresses and was particularly fond of a pink morning dress that seemed to de-emphasize her plump, squat figure. She was less pleased with the importation of a dance instructor, also from London. Mr. Wimpole was a tall, spindly, and rather elderly man whose vanity prevented him from wearing the spectacles that would have lessoned his extreme near-sightedness. The only part of his visit that Anne enjoyed was his music boxes; he had brought several that played appropriate tunes for the dance steps he taught and their tinkling melodies rather pleased her.

Unfortunately, Lady Catherine's proclamations of Anne's perfect health did nothing to help a girl who was not accustomed to doing anything more active than descending and ascending a single flight of stairs each day. More than five minutes of a cotillion or quadrille left her panting and too light-headed to continue. Fearing to lose the grand lady's patronage should she check on her daughter's lesson and find nothing happening, Mr. Wimpole made the happy discovery that his pupil's companion was both light on her feet and delighted to join him on the floor in whatever dance he called. As a result, a happy compromise was reached wherein Mr. Wimpole and Mrs. Jenkinson spent a great deal of time "demonstrating" the steps, while Miss de Bourgh settled back on a comfortable settee with eyes half-shut and a vacant expression.

When Mr. Wimpole left at the end of the month, the best that could be said was that Miss de Bourgh could probably differentiate La Bouolangere from a reel. In a letter to a friend, the dance master remarked, "Heaven help her partner if some poor gentleman is ever forced to stand up with her, for the girl knows not right from left nor cares to learn."

Anne had been disappointed to learn that the departure of her dance master did not translate to a resumption of her normal, indolent schedule. Instead of her usual habit of eating pastries and hot chocolate in her room upon awakening and then napping until luncheon, Lady Catherine now expected Anne to join her at the breakfast table at nine o'clock in the morning (!!!). Her mother also increased the frequency and duration of her lectures on everything from Trollope's order of precedence for various titled personages at a dinner party to methods for making sure one's housekeeper was not cheating on the accounts.

Luckily, Anne had long since perfected the ability of letting her mother's words wash over her while appearing, if not attentive, then at least awake. Lady Catherine's newfound devotion to educating her daughter merely made Miss de Bourgh increasingly grumpy. She had absolutely no interest in the relative importance of a bishop to a baron when seating guests at table any more than the necessity of performing a random census of the pantry once a month. Anne would much prefer to spend her time in the comfort of her bed with a plate of sweets and a penny dreadful smuggled in by Mrs. Jenkinson under the guise of "school books."

Such was the state of Anne's preparation to assume the mantel of Mrs. Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley and Rosings, when the de Bourgh coach finally jolted to a halt in front of Matlock House on a hot July afternoon.

After brushing out her own skirts, Lady Catherine made a few critical comments on the state of her daughter's dress and hair before allowing the footman to open the carriage door and descending to the ground with head held high. She nodded approvingly when the Earl and his wife appeared to welcome her themselves.

"Brother, Lady Eleanor." The latter was noted in a slightly cooler tone. Catherine had never particularly liked her younger brother's wife, whom she considered to have a surfeit of opinions and a disappointing lack of respect for her older and obviously wiser sister-in-law's superior understanding.

The Countess greeted Catherine crisply and then turned to assist Anne and her companion from the carriage, leaving the Earl to handle his sister. She was immediately concerned by her niece's pallor and obvious exhaustion. Miss de Bourgh had descended the carriage steps only by leaning heavily on the footman and was now holding Mrs. Jenkinson's arm as if she might collapse without the support.

Clucking her tongue, Lady Eleanor immediately set about getting the girl inside. "Anne, it is so good to have you here at Matlock again. Come--let me show you to your rooms and get you settled. After such a long trip, I am sure that you will be wanting a cool bath and some rest." She had linked arms with her niece and the pitifully thankful expression that the girl responded with nearly broke the kind lady's heart.

Giving her husband a pointed look, Matlock's mistress guided the girl into the house and up the stairs to the guests' chambers. The Earl responded with a slightly exasperated look of his own but was left behind to listen to his sister's strictures on all the mistakes she had already observed that he was making in the management of their late father's estate. Eventually, Lord Henry simply began taking steps toward the house; in order to continue lecturing him, Catherine was forced to follow and eventually he was able to deposit her in her rooms and escape.

Henry Fitzwilliam met his wife at the top of the stairs and noted her worried look. Eleanor shook her head grimly. "I have not seen Anne since we visited Rosings four years ago, and I am sorry to see that her health seems so poor. Hopefully it is just the effects of travel and she will improve with rest."

"Should we call the doctor?"

Eleanor looked thoughtful. "Perhaps tomorrow. Let her rest, and for heaven's sake try to convince your sister not to trot her about like a prize filly until she has." The Countess took her husband's arm. "Henry, you heard Catherine proclaim that Anne was the picture of health, just as I did. I don't know if the woman is blind or simply so deluded that she honestly believes she can bend reality to conform to her fantasy."

The Earl grunted. "I'm afraid that it happens all to often at Rosings, regardless of how off-kilter her demands are."

Lady Fitzwilliam sighed. "If there was some way for Dr. Macmillan to examine Anne, or even speak with her companion about her symptoms…"

"You don't think she has been looked at by a physician?"

The Countess gave her husband a withering look. "Do you really believe that Catherine would tolerate a doctor who would dare disagree with her opinion?"

Thinking of his sister, Henry let out a loud "humph" and stopped at the landing to give his wife a serious look. "If you think it necessary, summon him and I shall deal with Catherine." With a look of mutual understanding, the Fitzwilliams parted in the hall.

Although Anne was allowed to rest for the remainder of the afternoon, at six o'clock her mother promptly marched into her rooms as if they were her own and immediately began ordering the maids about dressing her daughter. A soft peach gown that might have actually complimented Anne's colouring was rejected in favour of a lavender confection that made her already sallow complexion appear even more so. The tight, elbow-length sleeves were trimmed with lace that matched the tiered ruffles upon her skirts, all of which only emphasized her pear-shaped figure and rather stumpy fingers.

Lady Catherine had calculated their arrival at the drawing room for maximum impact. In this, she succeeded, for all conversation ceased when she and her daughter entered. However, though her mother might be oblivious, Anne sensed that their appearance was met with something other than the reverence and admiration to which she was accustomed at Rosings. Indeed, her female Fitzwilliam cousins appeared to be suppressing laughter when their aunt demanded that they admire Anne's fine new gown.

Miss de Bourgh was somewhat overwhelmed by all of the introductions to her various cousins (few of whom had ever visited Rosings) and their spouses (none of whom she had ever met). Eventually, she managed to avoid her mother's pointed attempts to attach her to Darcy and instead settled into a comfortable sofa off to one side of the room.

When Lady Lucy Wallace gracefully sat down beside Anne, the look she received from her cousin was not terribly welcoming. However, the youngest Fitzwilliam daughter was too good-natured to be frightened off. "I am Lucy, if you don't remember--that was rather a lot of introductions; I can't recall when we were all last together! But then, you probably remember my older brothers and sisters from your visits to Derbyshire when you were young?"

Unaccustomed to such lively conversation, Anne managed only a half-hearted shrug but it did nothing to dampen Lucy's spirits. "Did you have a chance to rest this afternoon?" At Anne's small nod, she continued, "It's so nice to be in the country. I quite despise London in summer. Sometimes I feel as though the air is so thick I cannot breath, and that is to say nothing of how dirty one's clothes get."

Lucy paused long enough to decide that Anne was not going to respond more than another small nod. "That is a very pretty colour. Is it a new dress?" There! she thought. Mother would be proud of me; I didn't lie--it is a pretty colour, even if it does nothing for Anne-- and I said nothing about the dress itself, which is hideous.

Mrs. Wallace had chosen her compliment well. Miss de Bourgh smiled with obvious satisfaction and idly smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt. "Thank you. Mother had a new wardrobe made for me before we left Kent."

"What fun! Did you have one of the modistas come out from London?"

Anne grimaced. "We did, but Mother decided that her patterns were inappropriate."

Lucy could not repress a smile. "My best friend in seminary had the same problem with her mother. She was the only daughter and when she arrived at school our first term, all her dresses were completely out of date; her mother had them made in the styles of when she was a girl, can you believe?"

Miss de Bourgh blinked several times and in her slow way, finally identified what had bothered her before. The dresses that she and her mother wore were quite different in style and cut from her cousins. Surely as the daughters of an Earl, they could purchase fashionable gowns? She looked more closely at Lucy's clothing. "Yours is much… simpler than mine."

Lucy was kind enough to recognize that the other lady was simply tactless, not purposely offensive. "I do love these shorter sleeves, and these looser, high-waisted styles are so agreeable to wear, particularly in the summer. I had to wear a corseted dress with crinolines like yours when I was presented to the Queen, of course, but I am very glad not to wear them every day." Lucy stopped there; it was the closest she felt she could come with fashion advice to a cousin she barely knew.

Anne had just enough time to note how much more comfortable the other lady's clothes looked compared to her own long, tight sleeves cuffed with irritatingly stiff ruffles of lace before Lady Catherine's strident voice demanded the attention of the entire room.

"But Henry… You must listen to me. I shall not be gainsaid in this!"

The Earl was obviously holding back his temper by a thread. He took her arm and turned her toward the door. "Come, Sister. This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. Let us enjoy a pleasant evening with family."

Catherine allowed herself to be lead into the dining room and was slightly mollified when he guided her to the seat of honor at his right hand.

Anne trailed the group with Lucy, who whispered, "I wonder what your mother was speaking of. Darcy looks furious."

It took little imagination for Miss de Bourgh to guess that her mother had brought up her plans for a Darcy-de Bourgh marriage. She remained quiet, however, and soon found herself seated between Lucy and the Countess. They were positioned at the opposite end of the table from her mother, but Lady Catherine's words were still clear.

"Rosings is doing extremely well, of course. We had an excellent harvest, though some of the tenants tried to ask for relief from their rents. The cheek of those peasants! They are poor because they do not work hard enough!"

Anne noticed Darcy and Colonel exchange looks. When Richard discretely rolled his eyes, she was suddenly struck by the new idea that her two cousins did not agree with the way her mother ran the estate, though they visited so faithfully every Easter and ostensibly reviewed it.

While Miss de Bourgh was grappling with the concept that her mother was not omniscient, the Earl was speaking. "How is your new vicar getting on? Old Brooks passed on two years ago now, correct?"

"Yes, the Bishop recommended a young man named Collins. I've taken him on as a curate for Hunsford."

"And is he doing well?"

Lady Catherine took a sip of her soup. "Reasonably. He takes direction well enough."

Lord Henry was beginning to realize just how autocratic his older sister had become. His younger son and nephew had commented on it after their annual visits, but he had always dismissed their judgment as that of young men disappointed when their recommendations were not accepted. He began to wonder just what sort of condition Rosings truly was in. To hide the direction his thoughts had taken, the Earl asked what he hoped was a neutral question.

"And is this Mr. Collins married?"

Lady Catherine motioned for the footman to remove her dish. "He was not when he arrived, but he is now."

"He married a local girl?"

"Certainly not. I would never allow that; it would have bred familiarity among his parishioners. Mr. Collins has cousins in Hertfordshire, of all places. I sent him to choose a wife from among them, but he came home engaged to one of the neighbors' girls."

"How long have they been married?"

"Since December. Mrs. Collins is a sensible woman; she will make him a proper wife. Quite unlike her father or younger sister--they visited Kent at Easter. Sir William Lucas is a bumbling fool and the girl a useless simpleton." Catherine sampled a bite of fish and was forced to nod approvingly. She might not particularly like her brother's wife, but she was forced to admit that the Countess set an excellent table.

Remembering her other guest, Lady Catherine added, "Mrs. Collins' friend also came as part of the party; Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a pretty, genteel sort of girl, intelligent though far too outspoken for one so young."

Luckily, Lady Catherine did not notice the Earl suppressing a smile. "Well that is a relief. Insensible guests are certainly a trial."

Rosings' Mistress sipped her wine and nodded approvingly at her brother, not catching his irony. "Indeed. The girl had a quick wit about her and was quite well-bred, though she never had a governess. Can you imagine? Five daughters in the family and no governess! She claimed her father taught her, but I have my doubts."

As might be imagined, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were paying close attention to their aunt's words. William was only stopped from defending Elizabeth when Richard kicked his ankle under the table. This turned out to be a good thing, as the Earl was enjoying himself immensely. To have Catherine praising Darcy's fiancé with what was, for her, effusively warm approval, was simply too amusing. He pushed the thought of her eruption when she learned of the betrothal out of his mind.

"No governess! Had she any accomplishments at all?"

"Miss Bennet plays and sings with a great deal of native, raw talent; her voice is very expressive, though, as I told her myself, she needs to practice more if she ever desires to attain some level of technical competence." Lady Catherine was silent for a moment as she sipped her wine again. Her brother caught sight of a look in her eyes that was almost wistful.

When she spoke again, it was in a softer voice just to the Earl. "She reminded me of when Anne would play. Do you remember? Mother would tell her that she must practice more, but she always preferred to go dabble with her watercolours. But when she did play, it was as if she opened her heart."

Henry reached over to touch his only remaining sibling's hand. "I miss her, too, Cathy. Even after all these years."

Uncomfortable with such emotion, Lady Catherine began speaking on the first safe topic that occurred to her. "I offered to allow Miss Bennet to practice on Mrs. Jenkinson's instrument where she would not bother anyone, but I do not believe she took my advice. Unfortunate. I might have been able to find a respectable position for her as a governess or companion, though she would have to learn to control her outspokenness, of course."

The Earl only managed an "of course," in response. More would have betrayed his amusement.

Oblivious to her brother's emotions, Catherine continued. "In some ways, it would be unfortunate to see her bundled off and broken down into an obsequious little governess. She did have a bit of wit about her."

Henry couldn't resist. "Why, Catherine! You sound as though you positively admired the young lady!"

His sister straightened her shoulders and waved off a footman offering to serve her potatoes. "Don't be ridiculous, Henry. She is a nobody--no wealth or connections. Now, what are the Clintons doing? Lady Ferris wrote to me that her daughter is betrothed to Lord Gregory. Does he gamble as dreadfully as his father?"

The dinner conversation shifted to other families in Derbyshire whom Catherine recalled from childhood but did not bother to keep in touch with. Anne remembered little else about the evening; exhaustion soon overwhelmed her and she thankfully allowed her aunt to override her mother's protestations and send her to bed.

The next morning, Anne lingered in her rooms. The long rest had lessened the fatigue brought on by so much travel, but the thought of facing such a large group of relative strangers made her weary. When Mrs. Jenkinson came from her adjoining room and offered to fetch Miss de Bourgh a tray, she agreed gratefully and hoped her mother would be too busy to miss her at the breakfast table.

Indeed, Lady Catherine did not notice her daughter's absence, although her thoughts were theoretically focused on matters related to her offspring. She had allowed her brother to put off their discussion of Darcy and Anne's marriage on the previous evening, but she was determined to establish his support for her plans that very morning. When he finally finished his coffee, the Earl wearily led his sister away to his study, giving William a pointed glance that told the younger man to stay close in case his uncle send for him.

Lord Henry had barely settled into his chair before his sister began her speech. "Henry; as I wrote you, it is high time that Anne and Darcy announce their engagement. Fitzwilliam is nearly twenty-eight and can have no excuse for further mourning his father." Catherine only barely refrained from commenting on how little she thought George Darcy had deserved mourning, but recognized that it would not further her cause with her brother.

"Georgiana shall need a female relative to prepare her for her debut and direct her ascension in Society. I have already made inquiries regarding appropriate matches for her, but we can discuss that at another time."

The Earl had kept quiet until then, feeling it was better to listen to his sister and see what she was about before addressing Darcy's marital plans. This last statement was simply too much, however. "Georgiana? The girl is barely sixteen and you are already searching out a husband for her?" He conveniently forgot that he himself had been considering a possible match between his niece and son as recently as the previous evening.

Lady Catherine gave him a withering look. "Really, Henry. One can never begin too soon with these things. Obviously I shall take charge."

The gentleman thought it extraordinary how arrogantly his sister had just brushed aside the Earl and his own wife (a couple well-known in Society and who had successfully launched four daughters, all of whom had married well), in favor of herself, whose own daughter was nearing thirty and had never even been presented at court. A flicker of indignant anger lit his normal equability.

Oblivious to her brother's thoughts, Catherine continued. "But that is neither here nor there. For now, we must focus on our nephew. I fear that the boy has had too much freedom of late. When I attempted to discuss his betrothal to Anne at Easter, he claimed that he had no such obligation! Can you imagine? As though they were not designed for each other from their cradles. We must sit him down and make sure that he understands his duty to the family. I have had my solicitor draw up a marriage contract and Perkins assures me that once Darcy signs it, he shall be legally bound to Anne. Of course, he may not wish to, but between the two of us we shall know how to work on him."

Had the Earl of Matlock been a lesser man, his mouth would have been hanging open. He had known of his sister's wish for Darcy to marry her daughter, of course, but he had had no idea that her thinking had gone so far as to believe that she had the power over him to force the issue.

"Catherine," began her brother carefully. "You seem to forget that our nephew is a man full-grown and dependent on no one. As you noted yourself, he is eight-and-twenty and has been running Pemberley by himself since his father's death." Seeing that his sister was about to argue, he spoke over her. "Although I care for him as much as for my own sons, we cannot order him to marry where he does not wish."

Lady Catherine could no longer restrain herself. "Pish tosh. He is a Fitzwilliam and will do as he is told. With the two of us united, the boy will do his duty to his family."

Hearing his sister speak in words so similar to those he had used to argue with his wife on the previous evening startled the Earl. He was suddenly struck by how correct Eleanor had been. "Cathy, he is not a Fitzwilliam, however his parents decided to honor our family when choosing his Christian name. He is a Darcy--a family with a more ancient history and impressive connections than our own, might I remind you--and he has been head of the Darcy family for nigh on seven years now."

Sir Lewis de Bourgh's widow stared at her brother as though he had suddenly begun speaking in tongues. Unable to contend with his facts, she dismissed them and retreated to the point that was most critical to her. "Don't be ridiculous, Henry. Our nephew--Darcy, if you insist--is promised to my daughter and has been for all of his life."

Henry raised his eyebrows, wondering how far his sister's single-mindedness could continue. "How odd that I never heard George Darcy speak of it then, or our sister for that matter."

"Anne and I decided it on her deathbed. It was her dearest wish!"

"I find that difficult to believe. The sister I knew might have asked you to watch over her children and do all in your power to see to their happiness, but I cannot believe that Anne would have arranged William's marriage when he was but a boy of ten. She believed in a marriage of affection, not just convenience; you know that, Catherine."

The eldest of the Fitzwilliam siblings was flushed and there was something very like guilt in her eyes. "You dare suggest that I would lie about our sister's final hours!?! How dare you! Anne knew that a match connecting Pemberley to the heiress of Rosings Park would be to the benefit of all! She asked me to look after him!"

Something itched at the edge of Henry's mind. It had never occurred to him to inquire if his youngest sister had left any final bequests or messages in her last hours, but Catherine's manner was making him suspicious. Before he could question her, however, there was a knock at the door followed by the entrance of Matlock's very stately butler.

"Sir, Lady Ellen wished you to know that the others are gathering for tea in the Turkish sitting room."

The Earl nodded and rapidly made a decision. After dismissing the servant to tell his eldest daughter that they would be there in a few minutes, he came around his desk and leant back against it so that he looked down at his sister.

"Catherine, all of this is irrelevant. William has already spoken with me and his plans for marriage do not lie with Anne." He continued quickly before she could begin her arguments again. "I am sorry if this disappoints you, but I expect you to temper your displeasure and not embarrass the family. Darcy has made it clear that, while he desires our blessing out of respect for our connection through his mother, he is well aware that he is his own master and does not require our permission."

Lord Henry studied his sister for a minute. Her hands were fisted in her skirts and he was struck by how old they looked. He sighed; it was hard to believe how many years had passed. Their youngest sister had been dead for nearly twenty years and her son was preparing to marry. Suddenly he felt ridiculously ancient.

Pushing himself away from the desk, Henry held out his hand. "Come, Cathy. It is time for tea." He missed the venomous look that his sister directed at him before she followed.

Miss de Bourgh had quite a different morning than her mother, although surprisingly it was focused on similar matters. After enjoying her solitary breakfast and allowing her maid to dress her, Anne had settled in the small sitting room that was part of her guest apartment. She was deep in her novel when a knock came at the hall door and it took several moments until she recollected herself and hid the book beneath a pillow before nodding at Mrs. Jenkinson to answer.

Anne was somewhat relieved to see her companion admit Lady Eleanor and Lucy instead of her mother. The Countess spoke immediately.

"Anne, dear. We were concerned when you missed breakfast. How are you feeling, Niece?"

Miss de Bourgh had never been called 'dear' in her life and she did not know how to respond to her aunt's easy affection. "I am well, thank you. I did not mean to trouble you," she answered softly.

Lady Eleanor looked over her niece carefully while Lucy chattily ascertained that the tray sent up from the kitchens had been to the other young lady's liking. The Countess' goals for this visit were twofold. First, she wished to determine if Anne would benefit from an examination by the Fitzwilliam family's physician. Her experienced eye, informed by the raising of six children to adulthood, told her that although the girl did not look particularly healthy, she was no longer in a state of near-collapse.

Thinking rapidly, Eleanor decided that her niece was in no immediate danger and turned her mind to the other matter she wished to discuss. After speaking quietly to Mrs. Jenkinson and suggesting that Anne's companion might wish some time to herself while the Countess discussed family matters with her niece, Eleanor turned back to the two young ladies.

Eleanor could not imagine two more unlike women than those who sat before her. Though of similar height and colouring, her youngest daughter was lithe and full of good-natured vitality, while Anne's features were pasty and she appeared to do no more than tolerate the company. What was odd was that where Miss de Bourgh might seem to have everything a young lady might wish--heiress of a fine estate and large fortune, significant connections, and a mother determined to arrange a great match for her--she seemed decidedly melancholy. In contrast was Lucy; only twenty-six but already a widow, just out of mourning but still missing her gallant young husband, Colonel John Wallace, who had died in India a hero. His bravery in battle was cold comfort to his widow, yet Lucy was determined to embrace life while her cousin seemed to have little interest in anything around her.

A pause in the conversation brought the Countess back to the present and she exerted herself to speak. "Anne, your uncle asked me to speak with you while he met with your mother."

Lady Catherine's daughter visibly shrank back into her chair and her aunt sighed, seeing that her directness had only made her niece retreat into herself.

"I am sorry if my frankness causes you distress, Anne."

The young lady shrugged but did not meet her aunt's eyes. "What do you wish to know?"

The Countess smiled encouragingly. "You know of course of your mother's wish that you and Darcy marry."

Anne nodded briefly but did not speak, fearing what was to come next.

Eleanor continued, "William spoke to us last night. He said that he had talked to you and the two of you agreed that you did not wish for the match."

Miss de Bourgh suddenly felt as though she could breath again. "He did?" She was stunned that her cousin had not only confronted her mother at Easter but appeared to be continuing his disobedience.

Guessing her feelings, Lucy reached out to touch the other young lady's arm. "William is as stubborn as he is honorable. He shall not be bullied into it if he knows neither of you wish it."

Anne was beginning to feel light-headed. "But Mother said that…" She trailed off; her mother had said so many things.

Eleanor caught a hint of the girl's confusion. "Anne, William is his own master; your mother has no power over him except the respect due his late mother's sister, and honestly, even that seems to be wearing thin at the moment." She considered her niece for a moment. "Anne, we would like to know what your wishes are. What do you want?"

Anne de Bourgh finally raised her eyes and studied her aunt for some moments. She knew little of this lady except for a distant memory of a gay young woman who had made her feel welcomed at Matlock when she was a child, but whom her mother disliked. Glancing at Lucy, she decided to take a chance.

I… I… don't think I wish to marry at all." To her surprise, both of the other ladies nodded supportively, as though such a desire was not at all unexpected.

Lucy asked quietly, "Your health?"

Startled, Anne nodded. "Mother has tried to instruct me on managing a household, but I can never remember any of it. I just haven't the energy…" She trailed off, slightly mortified for being so open.

Eleanor immediately put her concerns to rest with a warm, comforting smile. "Anne, what if you were to come to London with us? We could arrange for a doctor with more… experience with your particular illness. Perhaps even a specialist. Would you like that?"

"My mother would never allow it," breathed Anne, overwhelmed by even the idea.

The Countess thought carefully before speaking. "Anne, you are my niece, and though we do not know each other well, you are family and I believe in family looking after each other." She took a breath. "Catherine is very… decisive… in her opinions, but you should remember that you are a woman full-grown. Nearly thirty, in fact, which makes you legally independent of your mother. I do not know the details of Sir Lewis' will, but surely your father did not leave you completely dependent on her?"

Sir Lewis' daughter was clearly dumbfounded by the concept. "Mother… Mother has always said that I am the heiress of Rosings Park… but I do not know… She has always taken care of everything..."

Eleanor looked seriously at her niece. "Anne, I do not mean to come between you and your mother, but it is important for a woman to know the facts of her own situation." Seeing that the girl looked flummoxed, she smiled slightly. "I would suggest that we speak with your uncle. He will know the solicitors who handled your father's estate and can request the details of your inheritance."

Lucy understood the look in her cousin's eye. "Papa shall explain it so that you understand. And if he doesn't, then Darcy will. William helped me with all the legal matters when John died."

Suddenly Mrs. Wallace realized what she had just intimated and looked at her cousin in horror. "Not that I am suggesting that your mother is about to die, or anything like it!"

Anne managed a small smile that held more warmth than either of the other two women had seen her express before.

Before any more could be said, a light tapping at the door revealed Mrs. Jenkinson. "Excuse me, your Ladyship, but I wanted to check if Miss Anne wished to take her tea here or would be joining the family downstairs."

Checking their watches, Lucy and her mother exclaimed over the time and soon Anne was being bustled downstairs in a flurry of skirts and female camaraderie that she had never felt part of before. They entered the sitting room just behind the Earl and Lady Catherine and Eleanor was sad to see Anne shrink visibly upon reentering the presence of her mother.

Lady Catherine looked somewhat shell-shocked from her conversation with her brother. However, the sight of Darcy standing at the window seemed to revive her. Leaving Anne in Lucy's care, the Countess stepped forward and quickly guided her sister-in-law's attention to the tea and cakes, distracting her with questions abut Rosings' cook and her abilities with pastries.

Giving his wife an appreciative smile, the Earl moved to the window so that he might speak with Darcy for a few moments privately. Eleanor had just begun to hope that tea might be conducted without any major outbursts when the door opened again and two of her sons-in-law entered, trailed by Richard.

Lord Percy Hyde, Baron Pelham of Stanmer in Sussex, was in fundamentals a good man and his marriage to Lady Margaret Fitzwilliam (Maggie to her family and closest friends) was a happy one. Unfortunately, it was a running family joke that he had no sense of discretion whatsoever and was forever announcing whatever secrets someone had made the mistake of revealing to him.

The moment that Colonel Fitzwilliam walked into the sitting room and saw his entire extended family gathered for tea, he knew precisely what was about to happen. As if in slow motion, he watched Pelham notice Darcy by the window and had but an instant to shoot his cousin an apologetic look before his brother-in-law called loudly, "Darcy! What is this excellent news that Richard tells us--you are engaged?!? When are we to meet the girl?"

Pelham looked around the room as if he expected Darcy's fiancé to suddenly appear from behind a curtain. The rest of the party held their breath; even those who had not been present the previous evening for William's announcement knew to expect some outburst from the direction of that gentleman's aunt.

Lady Catherine did not disappoint. Looking positively apoplectic, she sprung up from the settee so quickly that her tea cup was tipped to the floor. With a pointed look to Darcy the Earl moved to his sister's side and placed his hand firmly enough on her shoulder that she was rocked back down into her chair. "Mind yourself, Cathy!" he whispered curtly in her ear before turning the practiced smile of a politician on his family.

"Pelham, you are slightly premature as Darcy was planning to save his happy news until after the celebration of my birthday. However, now that the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, I suppose now is just as well." He turned to William and was slightly concerned at the closed look that his nephew had turned on the group. "William?"

Will blinked at his uncle, still rather stunned at how rapidly the general announcement of his betrothal had come about. However, he was a clever man and quickly discerned the respect that the Earl was paying him by putting his nephew forward rather than making the announcement for him.

William smiled slightly and nodded at his uncle before looking around the room at the many familiar faces; some curious, some obviously happy for him, a few disinterested. He avoided looking at his Aunt Catherine altogether, hoping that the Earl would be able to maintain some control over her behavior.

"Thank you, Uncle." He took a deep breath. "Aunts, uncle, cousins… it gives me great pleasure to inform you, my dear mother's family, of my engagement to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire."

It was lucky that he had no longer speech planned for he was immediately surrounded with hugs from his female cousins and handshakes and backslaps from the men. He was surprised when even Anne slipped up to him and pressed his hand, whispering, "I am very happy for you, Cousin."

As the crowd around him dispersed and his relatives returned to their tea and conversation, William moved to stand before Richard who immediately looked guilty, like a little boy caught out in some prank. "It wasn't me! Wyndham and I went out for a ride this morning and we got to talking about his wedding to Livie, and that naturally led to your wedding this fall."

Darcy raised his eyebrows in an excellent imitation of the Earl. "And one of your horses overheard you and told Pelham?"

The Colonel actually blushed. "Well, actually he was riding with us. I may have momentarily forgotten that he and Maggie had not arrived in time for your announcement last night." He brightened. "But really, Darce. It's all turned out perfectly well, hasn't it?"

At that moment, Lady Catherine's shrill voice soared over all the other conversations in the room. "NO! I will not accept it! He is engaged to my daughter! I don't care what arts and allurements that little country chit used to infatuate him; I will not stand for it!"

Recognizing that it was time to face the dragon, William leaned closer to his cousin and murmured, "Richard, for all of our sakes, when you resign your commission, choose politics, not military intelligence." He walked away before the Colonel could muster a response suitable for mixed company.

Darcy reached his aunt and uncle just as the Earl was heard to say, "But Catherine, I thought you liked the girl? Just last evening you were praising Miss Elizabeth Bennet to the skies!"

Sighing to himself, William caught their attention and was immediately targeted by his aunt's vitriol. "You fool! You tricked me into praising that… that…"

Darcy spoke before Lady Catherine could think of a term that properly expressed her consideration of Miss Bennet. "Aunt, Uncle, perhaps we should continue this discussion in privacy?"

The Earl nodded resignedly and the three adjourned to his study. What followed were nearly three hours during which attempts at reason were met only with furious demands for obedience and increasingly wild proclamations of consequences. Finally Lord Henry simply pushed his sister out of his study, saying, "There is no further discussion on this matter, Catherine. Darcy has made his decision and the Fitzwilliam family shall support him; I am head of the Fitzwilliam family and I declare it to be so."

Shutting the door, he went directly to the sidebar and poured himself a whiskey. After downing it in one gulp, Henry thought to offer one to his nephew, but Darcy waved him off. The Earl poured himself another glass and went to slump bonelessly in his favorite armchair.

"I don't drink this early as a rule, but good Lord…" He took a small sip and looked over at his nephew who had not spoken a word since finally exploding at his aunt, just before the Earl had ended the meeting. "William, I owe you an apology. I have sent you and Richard out to Rosings each year to check over the estate, but I didn't listen to your comments regarding Catherine. "Good Lord, she is practically fit for Bedlam!"

Darcy's shoulders seemed to relax slightly and he sighed. "I should not have spoken to her so. I apologize for loosing my temper, Uncle."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake William! She deserved all that you said and more! And I am glad I was here to witness it. Had I not been, I might have actually believed some contorted version she told me."

The two men sat silently for some minutes. The Earl had just finished silently apologizing to Anne and George Darcy for not taking the time to know their son better when he heard a surprising sound, almost like a soft chuckle. Turning to his nephew, he saw that the anger and hurt that had been there before had lifted slightly and been joined by a hint of amusement. Lord Henry raised his eyebrows.

William looked almost embarrassed by his merriment but then shrugged and explained. "When I first proposed to Elizabeth--we were both in Kent, you understand--and for some reason I felt it necessary to mention the great sacrifice I was making in attaching myself to such a family as the Bennets. Mrs. Bennet is rather silly, you see, and her youngest daughters take after her, though they are young so there is some hope they will grow out of it."

He sighed. "It did not occur to me that I had relations of whom I should be ashamed. More so, really, for Mrs. Bennet is not vicious, only a foolish gossip."

The two men were silent for some more minutes before the Earl spoke again. "You should send an announcement to the Times immediately. Express, in fact. And warn Miss Bennet and her family of Catherine's reaction. I am not sure what she will do, but I can't imagine that she will just sit back quietly and accept it." He was silent for a moment before adding, "And please send my good wishes to Miss Bennet and her family. Say that Eleanor and I look forward to meeting her, invitations, and so forth." He sighed and then waved his hands in the air. "Bah, just make it clear that not all of your family is like Catherine!"

William smiled. "Thank you, sir; I shall do so." He was about to stand and find writing materials when a knock on the door announced the arrival of the Countess, followed by a terrified looking Anne de Bourgh.

Lady Eleanor eyed the two men and, though she raised an eyebrow at the glass in her husband's hand, decided that they did not look too much the worse for wear. "Well, I shan't ask how your little chat with Catherine went. She burst out of here like an avenging angel. Henry, I am afraid that the blue vase your great-aunt gave us is no longer for this world."

The Earl rolled his eyes and unconsciously rubbed a small scar above his left eyebrow. "Cathy always did like to throw things when she was in a temper."

The comment seemed to break the tension in the room and Miss de Bourgh was left standing wide-eyed in amazement as her relatives burst into easy laughter around her.

When Lord Henry finally calmed, he looked over at his wife who smiled and nodded. He turned to his nephew. "William, use my desk to write your letters while your aunt and I speak with Anne."

He turned to his niece and watched as his wife guided the pale girl into a chair. He sighed and began. "Anne, I am not certain what your mother has told you, but there is no binding contract requiring you and William to marry. I realize that Cathy has spoken of her desire for such a match quite often--in truth, I must apologize for I did not realize how much of an obsession it had become--but regardless of her wishes, Darcy is not bound to you by duty or honor. As you have heard this morning, he is so bound to Miss Bennet of Hertfordshire. Do you have any questions?"

Thoroughly intimidated by this powerful bear of a man, Anne only managed to shake her head.

Seeing that her niece had retreated into her shell again, Eleanor spoke up. "Anne and I spoke this morning while you were with Catherine. At this time, she does not wish to marry at all, which I agree is probably the best course given her uncertain health. We discussed the possibility of her going to London to see a specialist, but Anne is uncertain as to her… independence. Financial and otherwise."

The Earl's eyebrows rose. It had never occurred to him that his sister would not make her adult daughter aware of the specifics of her inheritance. "Well, you are over twenty-one, so you are no longer subject to Catherine's authority, at the very least." He looked thoughtful for a few moments. "I am not aware of the details of your father's will, and rather than speculate I will have my solicitor contact yours and request the details."

To himself, Henry was mentally slapping his forehead. It was becoming clear to him that his sister had withheld information so as to maintain control over her daughter, Rosings, and whatever fortune Lewis de Bourgh had left. Noting that his nephew had ceased writing and was sealing the envelope, Lord Henry Fitzwilliam levered himself up out of the chair and moved to the desk.

"If you will delay for just a few minutes, Darcy, I shall have a second letter that the express rider can carry to London. The sooner that my solicitor learns the details of de Bourgh's will, the better, I think." The Earl looked up and caught his niece's eye for just an instant. "Anne may be her own 'Master' as well."

Chapter 22. Lady Catherine Demands Satisfaction.

Posted on 2010-10-07

July 1818

Needless to say, Lady Catherine was most venomous in her condemnation of Darcy and his supposed betrothal to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She had brought Anne on the long, uncomfortable carriage ride from Kent to Derbyshire with the conviction that at Matlock, family seat of the Fitzwilliams, her nephew would finally do his duty and announce his engagement to her daughter. Instead, he had declared his plan to marry an impertinent little country nobody. Worse, the family had greeted his news with not condemnation but congratulations! And they had laughed at her when she had claimed it to be impossible because he was to marry her Anne!

The Earl's elder sister had spent nearly three hours trying to make her nephew see what was right, but the boy had displayed a stubborn willfulness that made her wish to bend him over her knee. He had even tricked her to into praising Miss Bennet! At the dinner table, before all the family, no less!

Lady Catherine was beyond displeased. She was outraged… incensed… apoplectically furious!

When Catherine was unable to make Darcy bend to her will, she went back to work on her brother. First, Henry had laughed at her, saying "But I thought you said you liked the girl, Catherine?" But it had not taken many hours of her insistent and increasingly vitriolic demands for him to become serious. Before the day was out, the Earl had finally risen to his full height and informed her that she had no hold over Darcy except that resulting from his respect for her as an elder relation, and that if she continued to act in such a way, he would not blame any in the family for avoiding her as her own incivility had prompted it.

After three days at Matlock, Lady Catherine decided that a different tactic was necessary. Early the next morning, she bundled her daughter into their carriage and directed the driver to make for Hertfordshire with the utmost speed. Mrs. Jenkinson had the temerity to protest that Miss de Bourgh was still too exhausted to endure another long carriage ride, but certainly her mother knew better and so Anne's companion was left behind to repack their trunks and follow with the other servants.

It took nearly two days to reach Hertfordshire and Lady Catherine's temper increased with every mile. When they finally arrived in Meryton, she had her footman discover directions to the Bennet estate and drive there directly, though it was mid-afternoon and they had not stopped for luncheon. Anne's mother had worked herself into such a fury that she practically leapt from the carriage, wholly focused on confronting the flip skirt who had enthralled her nephew; she did not notice that she had left her daughter alone in the carriage. While Lady Catherine marched into the house and then the gardens to harangue Miss Elizabeth, Anne was left unsupervised.

With the help of a footman, Miss de Bourgh cautiously emerged into the sun. Looking around, she saw a large house, on a much smaller scale than Rosings but still impressively solid. The red brick and simple façade seemed welcoming, unlike the cold, ornate exterior of her own home. Anne noticed that the gardens surrounding the house were extensive but not as rigidly formal as those surrounding Rosing. Some sections were devoted to flowers, another to roses, and a large herb garden that caught her attention when the breeze wafted the scent of lavender to her nose.

Turning to look in that direction, Anne saw the Bennets' stableman standing at the horses' head and then did a double take.

In a voice that sounded oddly like her mother's, she called, "You there. Yes, you." She looked him full in the face and was struck again by the resemblance to a portrait she had often studied in the gallery at Rosings. "What is your name?"

The man blushed slightly at being noticed so by a well-bred young lady, but replied. "Davey Hill, Ma'am."

"Have you always been at Longbourn?"

"No ma'am. I lived in London 'til I was near grown." Seeing the lady wished to hear more, he offered. "Me mum and I were in service to Mr. Bennet's brother-in-law, Mr. Collins, you see. When Mrs. Collins passed on, he offered us positions here. Mum has been housekeeper at Longbourn ever since, and I look after the stables. The Bennets are a good family to work for." He was not sure why he added the last bit. Anne suspected it had to do with the raised voices they could hear coming from the copse of elms on the far edge of the gardens.

"I apologize for being so forward, but do you know anything about the rest of your family?" Seeing the man stiffen, she scrambled for an explanation that would reassure him. "You see, you look just like the portrait of my father."

At that point, Davey looked up and saw his own mother, usually a pillar of strength in his life, standing behind Miss de Bourgh and looking white as a sheet. "Mum!" Leaving the horses in charge of the de Bourgh coachmen, he moved to his mother's side and helped her to a bench in the shade. Angrily, he called over his shoulder "What are you trying to accuse her of?! Me mum's the best there is."

"Davey." All heads turned to Mr. Bennet who had come out of the house just in time to hear the last. "I do not believe that the young lady is accusing your mother of anything." He looked at the two women and, indeed, Anne was instantly contrite.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry. It is just that the likeness surprised me. I am so rarely gone from Kent, and I know so little of my father's family. I thought… Oh, I don't know what I thought. I've been reading too many silly novels, I suppose."

Mr. Bennet chuckled slightly, seeing Miss de Bourgh for what she was; a quiet and rather simple young woman with little escape from her domineering mother except through books and fairy stories, leaving her ill-equipped to deal with the real world. "Ah, of course. My daughters have long been devotees of the genre. You thought perhaps that young Davey was kidnapped at birth and is, in fact, the missing heir of a long and noble lineage."

Even as Mr. Bennet exercised his wit to the point that Anne giggled and Davey smiled, he looked toward Mrs. Hill. The master of Longbourn had great respect for his housekeeper and felt that he owed her a great deal as well. For many years, the woman had been his sister's only friend during a miserable marriage. When he caught her eye, Martha looked down to her lap, then took such a breath that rocked her shoulders before looking up at her employer and nodding slightly.

Just as Mr. Bennet was suggesting that the odd group adjourn to his study, Elizabeth burst from the copse of elms and strode angrily across the yard toward the carriage. Trailing several steps behind her, practically trotting to keep up while shaking a very ornate walking stick, was Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her words could be heard clearly across the garden.

"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but depend upon it I will carry my point."

In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, until they were at the front drive, when turning hastily round, she added,

"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased."

Reaching the door of the carriage, the Lady turned her frustration on her daughter. "Anne, what on Earth are you doing?! Get back in the carriage immediately. These people are not fit to be seen, much less addressed."

A moment later, the unimaginable happened. Lady Catherine de Bourgh turned, looked Davey Hill full in the face, and fainted dead away. Oddly enough, it was Elizabeth who was closest and able to catch her Ladyship before the woman fell to the gravel like a sack of potatoes. Davey moved to aid her and with one young person under each arm, they carried the older woman straight through to Mr. Bennet's study and laid her on a comfortable sofa. Not knowing what else to do, Anne sat beside her mother and mechanically held her hand as Elizabeth directed.

Mrs. Hill prepared a cool compress for the woman's forehead. After several minutes, Elizabeth returned to the study and closed the door behind her, explaining that she had told her mother that the de Bourghs had some business to discuss with Mr. Bennet. "Mamma is taking my sisters to visit Mrs. Phillips." She then turned to Miss de Bourgh and inquired after Lady Catherine's condition with far more grace and compassion than Anne thought her mother deserved from the young lady.

Mr. Bennet was highly amused by the motley group gathered in his study, although he quelled his chuckles after a pointed look from his daughter. Lady Catherine gradually regained consciousness but refused to speak, sipping obediently from a glass of brandy that Mr. Bennet poured for her while staring at Davey Hill with a look that, had one not known her, might have been taken for fear.

After some minutes, Anne turned to the other people in the room. "Would someone please tell me what is going on?" she wailed in frustration.

Mrs. Hill couldn't help but move from the corner where she had been standing to pat the young lady on the shoulder. "There, there, Miss. She's just had a shock; she'll be herself in no time, you'll see."

"But what shocked her? I don't understand!"

Martha Hill sighed, looking at the young lady, then at her own son, and finally to Mr. Bennet. She suddenly felt very old. "I will tell you my story, if your mother and Mr. Bennet agree. But I warn you it is not a pretty one. I told it to Davey when he turned sixteen and to Mr. Bennet when we came to Longbourn." The two men in the room nodded which she took as encouragement enough to continue.

Mr. Bennet motioned Mrs. Hill to sit and poured her a glass of brandy as well, which she took with a nod of thanks. "Take your time." He said quietly to her as he returned to his own seat. Mrs. Hill took a long sip and let the memories of her youth wash over her; she had worked so hard to forget that they seemed like another person's life. She sighed again.

"When I was eight, Mum got me a position as scullery maid at the London townhouse of the family she served. She passed on when I was twelve, but the lady of the house had liked her so much that, before my mum died, the Mistress promised to keep me on and let me train up as a lady's maid if I showed any talent. She herself had two daughters, so between the sewing and dressing they were always needing help. The only family I had left was my aunt--she'd married a butcher earlier that year--and the housekeeper had been a good friend of my mum, so it seemed like a good place for me." Mrs. Hill paused for another sip of brandy to prepare herself to tell the difficult part of the story.

"I… well… Oh, this is hard. One evening, I was taking some clean sheets I'd finished ironing to the linen closet in the family wing. I'd just turned fifteen and was doing everything I could to keep on Lady Harriet's good side--I was doing well in my apprenticeship to her lady's maid and had great ambitions."

At the mention of that name, Lady Catherine stiffened and let out a small moan, curling over as if she had a great pain in her stomach.

"It was past eleven at night and the family was out at a party, except the two eldest sons who had come home early and were preparing to go out for some other entertainment. They had never been very nice boys, but I hadn't realized how vicious they had become as young men." Martha Hill took another sip of brandy in the hope it might soothe her roiling stomach.

"Master George and Master Lewis had obviously been drinking and were dressed to go out, though not to anyplace respectable, you understand? They…. well… they came across me in the hall and pushed me into a guest room, laughing like it was a game. I swear to God I never gave them any encouragement. Quite the opposite, in fact." She took a deep breath and tried unsuccessfully to keep her voice steady. "They took turns, one holding me down while the other had his way with me. I'll hear their evil laughter to my grave. They was laughing when they told me to clean up the room before they left."

By now, Elizabeth was feeling ill, but she still moved to the older woman's side and wrapping an arm around her.

"What did you do?"

"Well, odd as it may sound, I straightened up the room as best I could--I wasn't thinking too clear--then went down to the kitchens. I was desperate to clean myself--all I could think of was finding some hot water and scrubbing myself with the strongest soap I could find.

"I tried to keep quiet but the housekeeper always knew what was happening in that house, day or night. So Mrs. Peters found me, standing in a bucket of cold water and scrubbing myself raw while crying my eyes out. Bless her soul, she took me off to her sitting room and bundled me up in her own robes and blankets. She called the cook, a steady old woman who had seen it all, and they fed me a few cups of tea laced with cooking sherry. I told my story and then fell sound asleep right there in her chair."

"I woke late the next morning, aching everywhere, hurting in places I never knew I could hurt. I was lucky, I suppose. Any other girl would have been thrown out on her ear with nothing but the clothes on her back. They had liked and respected my mum, and known me long enough to know I would never be flipping my skirts at the young gentlemen. Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Flint met with the mistress, then brought her down to see me. She wasn't quite so shocked at my bruises as a gently bred lady might be expected, so I suspect her husband might be a bit more like his sons than she wished anyone to know."

Lady Catherine moaned slightly and seemed to grow even smaller in the corner of the sofa.

Mrs. Hill eyed her sympathetically before she drew a deep breath and continued. "But anyway, we agreed that I could no longer work in the de Bourgh's house. Lady Harriet paid me six months wages and wrote me a sterling letter of recommendation. I went to live with my aunt and her husband, first to heal, but then I found out I was with child and it weren't an easy pregnancy. Sometimes I hated that babe growing within me, but the moment I saw my Davey's face I fell in love with him."

The old housekeeper held out her hand to her son; he knelt by her seat and wrapped his arms around her, their devotion obvious to all in the room who cared to see.

Anne de Bourgh was feeling most unlike herself. Having had a most mind-opening conversation with her Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Henry regarding the possibility of her financial independence and now faced with the utterly foreign sight of her mother shocked into silence, Anne felt… free. Although her sense of morality might have been informed more by the plots of her romance novels than the bible, the result was oddly similar in this instance. Clearly her father had been a Very Bad Man, deserving of some terrible fate, regardless of what her mother had always proclaimed regarding the brilliance of her ancestry.

It was into this strained atmosphere that a maid showed Mr. Darcy.

William had been out for a morning ride when the de Bourgh carriage had departed Matlock and, enjoying the solitude, had not returned until near luncheon. When he had finally entered the house, he had been met by a worried sister and his cousin Lucy. The two young ladies had practically dragged him into an empty sitting room.

"William--you must do something! We just spoke with Mrs. Jenkinson; Aunt Catherine left this morning… she is going to Hertfordshire to see Elizabeth and her family!"

Before he could recover enough to respond, the door had opened and Lady Eleanor entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Quickly reading their faces, she sighed. "So, you already know about Catherine."

At that moment, William recovered his voice and snapped in a tightly controlled tone, "Do I understand correctly that Lady Catherine is planning to confront my fiancé and her family?" No one missed the fact that he had ceased referring to his relative as 'aunt.'

Seeing that her niece and daughter were too distressed to be sensible, the Countess took control. "Yes, and I shall not tease you by pretending that her intentions are anything remotely pleasant."

When Darcy turned to storm out the door, Eleanor caught his elbow and forced him to remain. "William, please listen to me. Clearly you must travel to Hertfordshire immediately; I do not contest that. However, Catherine has less than half a day head start and she travels in the large, closed coach with Anne, both of which will slow her down. In addition, she made no arrangements for fresh horses to be sent ahead, so unless she wishes to run her own team to exhaustion, they shall be stopping often enough to rest."

His aunt's logic calmed Darcy enough to prevent him from running out the door and racing off on the first horse he came upon. Still… "If I leave immediately, I may be able to catch them before they even arrive at Longbourn."

The Countess squeezed his arm until he met her eye. "Darcy, you must listen to me carefully. Catherine took Anne but left her companion behind; nor did they take any maids. I fear she is out of her mind; if she cannot force the marriage then she will have little care for whose reputation is destroyed. If you catch up to them on the road and end up staying a night in the same inn or even travel in the same carriage, I have little doubt that she will try to arrange it to appear that you have compromised her daughter. You and I both know that, though she has appeared little in London Society in recent years, she still has it within her power to make her version of the event very, very public, regardless of the consequences."

William flushed with fury. His eyes wandered over to his sister who was quite obviously stunned by her aunt's frankness. He turned and stared out of the window for a minute, doing his best to pull his wits together. Finally he pounded his fist against the casement and spoke in a low voice, "Aunt Eleanor, all I can think of is to take the fastest horse in the stable and fly to Hertfordshire to protect Elizabeth from that insufferable woman's vitriol. You clearly have other ideas. Please tell me."

Eleanor nodded approvingly. "I have spoken with the Earl and he is furious as well, particularly as he agrees with me regarding Catherine's lack of scruples. As you have already sent an announcement of your engagement to the London papers and it is known to any number of people here in Derbyshire, there would be scandal however we tried to solve it." She sighed before continuing in a more controlled voice.

"First, we have sent horses ahead to the coaching inns with strict orders that they are to be held for you alone; with fresh teams and your own carriage, I would not be at all surprised if you were able to catch Catherine before they reach the Bennets' estate.

"Second, Mrs. Jenkinson, Mrs. Annesley, your valet, and Georgiana's maid are all packing. Traveling with two companions and your sister will make it nearly impossible for Catherine to work some contemptible plan and have you and Anne 'accidentally' discovered alone."

Darcy nodded, beginning to appreciate his Aunt's care.

The Countess paused before plunging into her final point; the one which might be most difficult for her nephew to accept. "Finally, Henry and I agreed that the best defense is a good offense. We both fear that, regardless of the outcome of Catherine's trip to Hertfordshire, she will do everything in her power to blacken the Bennet name, particularly your Miss Elizabeth."

William caught his breath and turned pale with fury. "If she does… if she even attempts such a thing…"

Eleanor squeezed his arm again. "William, listen to me. Fighting her on this will require cunning. You and Henry have spent hours arguing with her and we all know that it has only made her more obstinate."

Darcy shut his eyes in an attempt to control his temper and was forced to agree with the Countess. "What do you recommend?"

Eleanor smiled mischievously. "Your uncle, Ellen, and I have spent the past hour catching up on our correspondence. Namely, writing to all of our friends and acquaintances with the wonderful news of your engagement to Miss Bennet and how much we approve of the match." Her eyes twinkled. "We may have also included a slightly comical summary of Catherine's ridiculous proclamations that you have been betrothed to her daughter since birth."

Lucy could not help but release a small giggle; Georgiana's eyes were very wide.

The Countess continued in a self-satisfied tone. "Within the week, all of Society will know of your engagement to Miss Bennet and that the Fitzwilliams fully support you. They will also know that the Earl and I believe that Lady Catherine has gone slightly daft after years of isolation in Kent."

Darcy barked a laugh. It was absurd to realize that Lady Catherine's behavior had been the impetus pushing the Earl to throw all his support behind Darcy's marriage. Had his aunt not acted in such a way, William had no doubt that Lord Henry would have proceeded far more cautiously before publically declaring his approval of Elizabeth.

Will turned and met his aunt's eyes, bowing slightly, his his gratitude clear. "It seems you have thought of everything, Aunt. What am I to do now?"

Eleanor smiled with satisfaction. "Go wash the horse off and change for luncheon." Catching her nephew's wrinkled brow, she explained further. "I promise it will be a short meal and by the end of it, your carriage will be ready to go. For now, Henry and I believe it would be good for you and Georgiana to dine one last time with our extended family. The Earl has every intention of letting all and sundry know of his disgust at Catherine's actions. With so many at table, I have no doubt that his disapproval shall be known far and wide within days."

Darcy kissed her cheek and hurried upstairs to follow her orders.

Unfortunately, even the best-laid plans can go awry. In mid-afternoon on the second day, the Darcy carriage made what was to be its final stop to change horses at Hertford. Unfortunately, they arrived to find no fresh horses awaiting them. After questioning the stablemen, it became clear that the messenger from Matlock had never arrived; later William would learn that a miscommunication had sent his uncle's man to Hatfield--their usual coaching stop on the road to London, but beyond the turn toward Meryton.

Darcy was even more frustrated when he learned from the innkeeper that the de Bourgh carriage had paused there less than an hour prior. However, William was not the sort of man who would abuse his animals for any but the most grave of reasons and he was forced to admit that, whatever he feared from his aunt, it was unlikely to be a matter of life or death.

William's demeanor told his sister a great deal when he joined her and the two companions in the inn's private dining room. After serving him a cup of tea, Georgiana asked quietly, "What has happened?"

Her brother took a sip, trying to tell himself that his worries were unnecessary. After a moment, he answered her shortly. "There are no fresh horses; we shall have to wait for our own to be watered and rested." He forced himself to relax his hand before he crushed the crockery. "Lady Catherine and Anne were here less than an hour ago, and we are but fifteen miles of good road from Meryton." He sighed.

Georgiana was silent for a moment. "Is there a saddle horse you might rent and ride to Longbourn? I will be perfectly well here with Mrs. Annesley and Mrs. Jenkinson; we will follow you in an hour or so in the carriage when the team is rested."

When her brother gave her a considering look, Georgie bravely met his eye. "Wills, I have no doubt that Elizabeth is strong enough to match wits with Lady Catherine, but I fear what our aunt will say to her and her family… she is so… angry." She ended on a slightly faint note but could see that her brother understood.

William reached across the table and squeezed his sister's hand briefly. With a small smile, he said, "Thank you. I shall go check to see if there is a horse."

Not much later, Darcy found himself on a nondescript brown gelding with a hard mouth and a penchant for pulling the odd little buck now and then in the hope of unseating his rider. Much to the horse's disgust, William was experienced enough to quickly put an end to such hopes and they were soon well along the road to Meryton.

When William turned down the drive to Longbourn, he was dismayed but not surprised to see the de Bourgh carriage standing before it. The stoic driver barely blinked when Mr. Darcy handed him the reins of his rented horse and demanded the location of Lady Catherine and her daughter.

Prepared for a furious row, William did not know what to think when a timid young maid admitted him to a nearly silent house. When he entered the library, the grouping was nothing like what he had expected.

His eyes immediately found Elizabeth, her arm around an older woman whom he was fairly certain was Longbourn's housekeeper; at her feet kneeled Longbourn's stableman. William's cousin Anne was seated beside a crumpled, fearful version of his aunt that he would never have believed had he not seen it himself. Finally, Mr. Bennet stood by the window, observing the group with a particularly diverted look on his face.

In a gay, jovial tone completely at odds with the mood of the room, Mr. Bennet called, "Ah, Mr. Darcy; how good of you to join us."

William saw his fiancé direct a look of disapproval at her father, but before she could interrupt, Miss de Bourgh spoke in a similar tone. "Yes, Cousin, you are just in time. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Davey Hill, my half-brother, and his mother, Mrs. Hill." Anne let out a slightly hysterical giggle.

The reactions were varied; Mr. Bennet looked vastly amused; Lady Catherine moaned and hunched further into the corner of the sofa; the stable boy's cheeks reddened, and the housekeeper looked pained.

And Elizabeth… Elizabeth stood and took charge of the situation, looking every inch like England's queen of the same name. With a look of apology toward Davey and Mrs. Hill and one of pity tinged with censure directed at Anne, she turned to him. "Mr. Darcy, I am afraid that your aunt and cousin have received a shock and shall need a bit of time to recover."

In short order, Lady Catherine and her daughter had been assisted upstairs to guest rooms. Darcy was at a loss for what to do when his aunt grasped his hand and refused to let go until Mrs. Hill came and said softly, "I shall sit with her, Mr. Darcy. I expect we have some things to talk about."

Lady Catherine had turned wide eyes on the housekeeper but obediently released her nephew's hand.

When William exited the room and closed the door behind him, he turned just in time to see Elizabeth doing the same across the hall. "Anne?" he asked in a low voice.

Lizzy nodded; "I think she fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. Your aunt?"

"Your housekeeper is sitting with her." Darcy had so many questions that he didn't even know where to begin.

"Oh, William," Elizabeth said softly and stepped into his arms, burrowing her face into his chest and inhaling his comforting smell.

"What on Earth happened? I am so sorry; I came as soon as I could--she left Matlock without telling anyone, but I tried to catch up with her…"

Elizabeth sighed into his chest and took a last moment to relish the strength of his embrace before stepping away and taking his hand. Leading him toward the stairs, she checked her watch and was startled to find that only an hour had passed since the de Bourgh carriage had arrived so unexpectedly.

"Come, I shall tell you all about it, but this is not the place." Still holding his hand, she led him straight out through Longbourn's front door, across the yard, and toward the same ancient copse of elms where she had recently exchanged words with Lady Catherine.

Settling on the old stone bench, Elizabeth rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. When Darcy sat beside her and wrapped his arms around her waist, turning her so that she might lean back against his chest and feel his breath tickle her ear, she sighed in contentment and felt that she might fall asleep then and there.

"Elizabeth?" Her actions had reassured William that his beloved was not angry at him, but he was still desperate to know what his aunt had said and done… and what had prompted his cousin's bizarre pronouncement. He felt rather than heard her take a deep breath.

"I'm not even sure where to begin."

"At the beginning?"

Lizzy managed a short laugh. "Lady Catherine arrived and asked to speak with me alone. We went over to that 'prettyish little bit of wilderness' as she called it. She demanded that I renounce any claims I have to you and explained why we should not and could not marry. I shan't go into detail as I am sure that you have already heard most of her reasons."

William hugged her more tightly to his chest. "I am so sorry that you had to endure her vitriol. The rest of the Fitzwilliams support our union but their opinions had no effect on Lady Catherine except to make her more angry. Uncle Henry and Aunt Eleanor believe that she may be losing her sanity, and I begin to agree with him."

Elizabeth turned her head slightly and was rewarded with a kiss. "I feel more pity for her now than anger."

"Why?!? You have given little detail but I am certain that her words were insulting at the very least!"

His lady tucked her head against his chest and laced her fingers through his. "From what I heard earlier, I suspect that she has not had an easy life." Elizabeth was quiet for a moment before summarizing Mrs. Hill's story. Both were silent for some minutes as they considered the implications for how Lady Catherine had been treated during her marriage.

Finally, Will tightened his arms around Elizabeth. "My father disliked the de Bourghs. He didn't particularly like Lady Catherine, but he truly despised Sir Lewis. He must have known." He was silent for a moment, thinking. "I suppose that was why we weren't at Pemberley during the epidemic; Aunt Catherine and her family came to visit after Georgiana was born. Father took me to Matlock before they arrived; supposedly to help Uncle Henry with a drainage problem, but I wonder if the real reason was because he could not stand to be in the same house with that man."

Lizzy turned so that she could see his face. "That was when your mother died?"

Will's eyes were staring into the past, trying to make sense of a child's memories in light of his new adult understanding. Lizzy felt him kiss her brow before speaking. "Sir Lewis and his sons were ill when they arrived at Pemberley; I remember hearing that they probably caught the pox at a coaching inn where they had stayed the night before. That town was quarantined the day after they left, but by then it was too late. Grandmother Darcy kept Georgiana safe at the Dower House and somehow Aunt Catherine and Anne survived at the main house, but Uncle Lewis and my two de Bourgh cousins died… and Mother, and so many others.

"Father and I were at Matlock for nearly two months before the quarantine was lifted, but it felt like years. Father was a changed man; he had always been jolly and easy tempered until that summer; after that, it was as if all the laughter had been burnt out of him. I remember him having roaring arguments with Uncle Henry that he should be at Pemberley, not sitting on his thumbs at Matlock."

"He felt guilty that he was safe while so many were ill." Elizabeth summarized, feeling a deep compassion for the father-in-law she would never meet.

William was silent for some moments before speaking in a gruff voice. "Yes. I'd never understood it rightly before. When I was a boy, I simply thought that he was sad because Mother had died, but it was more than that. He felt responsible for so many and there was nothing he could do except make sure that supplies were sent in and wait for the disease to burn itself out."

Will's mind whirled with a new understanding of his father. George Darcy's changed demeanor and melancholy were suddenly more comprehensible to his grown son, considering what he himself might do and feel in a similar situation if it were Elizabeth at Pemberley.

Guessing where his mind had wandered and not wanting him to brood on a future that was in God's hands, Elizabeth spoke softly; "Did you know of the de Bourgh brothers'… proclivities? I suppose I should not have been surprised after Aunt Madeline's story of her parents breaking the connection, but, still… It one thing to hear of them seducing some nameless young lady at a country house party, quite another to hear such a story from Mrs. Hill. She has been our housekeeper at Longbourn since before Jane was born, and she is all that is good and kind and proper."

William shook his head. "I don't think I saw Sir Lewis more than two or three times in my life, and that was always in town. He had never come with Aunt Catherine to Derbyshire before that summer, and I don't remember him being at Rosings the times I visited Kent with the Fitzwilliams." Will's mind was wrestling with new found understandings. "Freddy and Herbert--Anne's elder brothers--were older than me. When we visited, they were either away at school or…" his brows settled in a grave expression, "… or they were out with Cousin Edward."

"Edward?" questioned Elizabeth, still trying to work out her fiancé's family tree.

Darcy sighed. "The Earl of Matlock's eldest son and heir, Viscount Ashbourne. Richard's older brother."

"Oh, of course; Lord Edward Fitzwilliam. I met him in London," commented Elizabeth without thinking.

William's entire body tensed and he released his arms from her waist so he could turn her to face him. "You met Edward?" He asked carefully, well aware of his cousin's predilection for 'taming' beautiful women with Elizabeth's spirit.

Lizzy eyed him, uncertain of his motivation. "We were introduced at the Carlisles' ball in April. I doubt he remembers me; we exchanged little more than a few sentences."

Darcy shook his head slightly at the coincidence. "I attended that ball--how odd that we did not see one another."

"It was quite a crush." Lizzy grinned at him knowingly; "And I don't suppose you were dancing?"

William rolled his eyes. "And of course you never left the dance floor. I spent most of my time lurking in corners and danced but one dance… with Edward's wife, Lady Almida." His face became serious again. "Though I hate to bring up another example of my family's poor behavior so soon after Lady Catherine's display, I must warn you; do not trust Edward--he is my cousin, but he is not a moral man, particularly around beautiful women."

Elizabeth's eyebrows had risen at what, from William, amounted to a sweeping condemnation of one of his closest relations.

Will sighed. "Hopefully you will not have to be in his company often, and I will do everything I can to protect you, but… just don't allow him to get you alone under any circumstances. You understand?" When Elizabeth nodded seriously, he continued in a strained voice, "There was a good reason why my father appointed Richard as Georgiana's second guardian, though most would have expected him to choose Edward, as the Earl's elder son and heir."

Lizzy did not have Jane's sunny view of the world's innate goodness, but she was still disturbed by William's certainty of his cousin's faults. "Is he really so…"

"Dissolute? Unfortunately, yes." Before Darcy had time to explain further, the sound of a carriage arriving made it clear that their bit of solitude was over. They held each other for some moments, each drawing comfort from the other, before sharing an understanding look and walking arm in arm toward the house.

When they turned the corner, Elizabeth realized that it was a good thing that they had returned promptly. Not one but two carriages had arrived. Georgiana had just descended from the Darcy coach with Mrs. Annesley and a worried looking Mrs. Jenkinson, followed almost immediately by Mrs. Bennet and four of her daughters from the Bingley carriage.

With his taller vantage point, William was able to catch sight of Bingley himself, caught in the melee of skirts and bonnets. He spoke softly to Elizabeth, "Charles must have brought your mother and sisters back from Meryton. I shall talk to him about staying at Netherfield."

Lizzy smiled, pleased to see her sister's suitor. "Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh are welcome to stay here; it might be simpler as they are already settled in guest rooms."

William nodded and the pair stepped forward and began to gently disperse the mob. Mr. Bingley was happy to offer his hospitality to the Darcys and Mrs. Annesley and in short order the two carriages were in motion again.

Mrs. Jenkinson insisted on staying with "Miss Anne" and Elizabeth was pleased to see that Miss de Bourgh's companion, while quiet, appeared to have a deep and honest concern for her charge. After explaining to Mrs. Bennet that Lady Catherine and her daughter had been overcome from their extensive travels and were resting, Elizabeth guided her mother into the house.

Once Mrs. Bennet had retreated to her own rooms, Elizabeth had a quiet word with her sisters explaining the situation. After showing Mrs. Jenkinson to Miss de Bourgh's chamber, she returned downstairs to find dinner organized with surprisingly little effort on her part. Kitty had arranged some late summer flowers prettily in the dining room while Jane determined the seating and Mary spoke to the cook about the unexpected dinner guests.

For a first dinner with such portentous (and potentially volatile) company, Elizabeth was surprised when the first course proceeded with little out of the ordinary occurring. She had been somewhat concerned to see that Jane had seated Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh to Mrs. Bennet's right and left, respectively. However, Darcy's aunt had not yet regained her voice and seemed oddly reassured at having Mrs. Jenkinson seated beside her.

Miss de Bourgh seemed to actually enjoy Mrs. Bennet's friendly fussing and happy chatter that required no response beyond an occasional nod or smile. When the matron's attention was distracted, Mary Bennet's serious demeanor demanded little of her. For the most part, Anne simply enjoyed the good food that was placed before her and observed the interactions of a family unlike any she had ever seen before.

When the fish course was served, Elizabeth finally allowed herself to relax and enjoy the conversation at her end of the table. She was pleased to see her father making an honest effort to get to know Mr. Darcy. At the center of the table, Georgiana and Kitty had their heads together and Lizzy suspected that her sister's sketchbook would be brought out after dinner to receive a critique from the more accomplished young lady.

Perhaps most amusing was Lydia's behavior, bracketed as she was by the two lady's companions. After exchanging a few polite words with Mr. Bingley at her right, Mrs. Annesley appeared to have taken charge of the youngest Miss Bennet. The spoiled child did not look especially happy, but at least she was quiet. Lizzy was forced to hide a smile in her napkin when the older lady rapped Lydia's knuckles smartly when the girl tried to reach across the table for a dish instead of asking for it politely.

"Elizabeth?" William spoke her name softly with a questioningly look in his eye.

Lizzy smiled mischievously and, after checking that her father was distracted by Jane and Mr. Bingley, replied in a similar undertone. "I was just wondering if you might loan Mrs. Annesley to us; she seems to be working marvels with Lydia."

Mr. Darcy looked uncertain if he should laugh. Luckily, he was saved when Bingley asked him a question about a professor they had both had at Cambridge and whom Mr. Bennet appeared to know.

The evening continued in a similar vein until the dessert was served. One of the guests must have complimented it, for Mrs. Bennet's clear voice was heard the entire length of the table. "Oh, thank you. 'Tis a recipe I copied from my brother's cook in London, though do I believe our Mrs. Jones is better with the pastry. But of course, you must know them! Madeleine was a de Bourgh before she married my Brother Gardiner."

Seeing blank looks on several of her guests' faces and missing the startled look that had appeared on some others, Mrs. Bennet continued; "Her father was only a vicar, but her grandfather was Lord Maxwell de Bourgh; it is such an uncommon name, are you related?"

After a moment of complete silence, Miss de Bourgh's soft voice was heard. "Lord Maxwell was my grandfather."

"Well, then you must be cousins! Have you never met?"

While Anne explained that she and her mother rarely left Kent, Elizabeth gave her father a sharp look.

Mr. Bennet could only shrug. "I had no idea that she knew!"

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bennet prattled on and revealed her source. "My Sister Phillips told me of Madeleine's connections when Edward announced his engagement. Of course we said nothing of it because her parents had broken from his family when she was just a child. Family disagreements are so unfortunate!"

Seeing his favorite daughter silently begging him to salvage the evening from his wife's wagging tongue, Mr. Bennet took the path that promised the least inconvenience to himself. Standing, he looked to the two gentlemen seated beside him; "Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley? If you are finished with your pudding, I have some brandy in my bookroom that you might enjoy sampling."

Even as Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley rose, Darcy eyed his aunt carefully. Although he had no great affection for her, he was sensible that she was an elderly lady who had endured not just one but two very great shocks in a few short hours. Lady Catherine had seemed to recover slightly toward the end of the meal, even managing a tepid criticism on the preparation of the mutton. However, this last revelation seemed to have reduced her to silence again.

William was still trying to decide what to do when he felt Elizabeth's hand on his arm. "Go. We shall look after her."

Looking at his fiancé, William wondered once again what he had done to deserve the love of such a woman. How many would care for a person who had abused them so roundly only hours before? Taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips, William spoke softly. "Thank you. I shall not be long."

With the gentlemen departing, it was relatively easy for the elder Bennet sisters to usher the other ladies to the drawing room. It was immediately obvious that the latest shock over her connections had left Lady Catherine nearly catatonic. After a quiet word to Elizabeth, Mrs. Jenkinson gently guided her employer from the room and put her to bed.

When Elizabeth finished serving out the tea, she was amused to see that Anne had seated herself beside Mrs. Bennet. It was obviously purposeful as there was an empty seat on the sofa beside Miss Darcy and Kitty, had she wished to avoid the matron.

Lizzy moved toward her mother just in time to hear Miss de Bourgh reply, "I see little of my father's family; he has been dead for nearly twenty years and Mother only stays in touch with our Fitzwilliam relations, as far as I know."

Mrs. Bennet made sympathetic noises; "You poor dear. And of course your mother would be closer to her own family."
Before her mother could say anything offensive, Elizabeth spoke up. "Mrs. Gardiner is a friendly, intelligent woman. I am sure that she would be pleased to meet you, if you wished to make the acquaintance." She noticed that Miss de Bourgh showed more interest in this offer than she had ever seen the lady express.

"She has a family?"

Lizzy smiled. "Yes, five young children--three boys and two little girls."

"So many!

Jane had drawn close and contributed, "They are adorable. I spent a great deal of time playing with them when I stayed at Gracechurch Street last winter, and I miss them immensely."

Elizabeth smiled up at her elder sister. "Do your own sisters not provide you with enough entertainment, Jane?"
"Oh, Lizzy…"

Before the eldest Miss Bennet could speak further, their mother began telling Miss Darcy of Kitty's new found artistic talents, her strident voice limiting the communication between Jane and Lizzy to a shared smile.

Miss de Bourgh had retreated to her usual silence, but she had not missed the affectionate look between the two sisters. After several minutes of observing the room, Anne finally identified the twinge in her heart as jealousy. What would it be like, she wondered, to live in a house where affection was shown so easily and openly? Where family members spoke as they found, whether by wit or folly?

Anne was not so slow as to be deceived by Mrs. Bennet's silliness or Lydia's spoilt nature, but neither was vicious and the others seemed to take their behavior with amusement rather than anger or condescension. The furnishings might be bare of the gilt and crystal ornaments to which she was accustomed, but the cheerful arrangements of fresh flowers were much more appropriate to the amiable company.

Anne sighed slightly and felt a little of the constant tension she had always lived with slip away. By the time that her cousin and the other gentlemen rejoined the ladies, she had made a decision on a quandary that she had not even realized she was contemplating.

Darcy moved to Elizabeth's side immediately, reassuring himself by her smile that all was well. After learning that his aunt had retreated to her rooms, he turned to his cousin and noted an odd expression on her face. "Anne? Are you well?"

Having been watching Mr. Bingley clandestinely brush the eldest Miss Bennet's hand and that lady's blushing response, Miss de Bourgh was rather discomposed when she suddenly realized that her tall, imposing cousin was now seated nearby and watching her intently.

Her squeak of surprise was met with an understanding smile from Miss Elizabeth, who moved to take the seat beside her that had been vacated by Mrs. Bennet (that lady having determined that she was needed to encourage her eldest daughter's suitor). Lizzy touched her hand. "What I believe Mr. Darcy is trying to ask is if you are comfortable here or wish to remove to Netherfield for the night? We are more than happy to host you, your mother, and Mrs. Jenkinson, but I understand if you would prefer Mr. Bingley's house, as Longbourn is rather more… boisterous… than to what you are accustomed."

At that moment, happy giggles were heard to erupt from the corner of the room where Miss Darcy and Miss Kitty had retreated to view the latter's sketchbook.

Miss de Bourgh would have been mortified to know that the longing she felt to be a part of their laughter showed clearly on her face. "I am not accustomed to such behavior, but my room is comfortable and I should prefer to remain here."

Elizabeth nodded, a pleased smile lighting her face. "Then it shall be so."

Already planning ahead, as was his usual want, Darcy questioned her further. "And tomorrow?"

Anne's face became shuttered. "Mother will wish to return to Kent."

Elizabeth reached out and held the other woman's hand in her own, marveling at how frail it seemed. "But what do you want? You are welcome to remain at Longbourn for a time, if you wish."

William added, "Or you and Mrs. Jenkinson could accompany Georgiana and myself to London."

His cousin looked at him for a long moment before speaking softly. "Lady Eleanor suggested that I might stay with them… that there might be a doctor I could see… but they are still in Derbyshire."

"Then you are more than welcome to stay with us at Derwent House."

Seemingly holding her breath, Anne looked from Darcy to Miss Elizabeth and back again. "Are you truly to marry?"

A look of heartfelt happiness flashed across her cousin's normally stoic face. "Yes, on the fifteenth of September." He turned to his fiancé and their connection was tangible. "I spoke with your father just now and set a date--Bingley kindly gave us some minutes of privacy--he said that he would leave it to you to inform your mother."

Elizabeth smiled happily, but there was a twinkle of mischievousness in her eye. "Ah, shall we announce it now, then? I could pass out bits of cotton for people to protect their ears with as I serve a second round of tea?"

She was pleased to see that William felt comfortable enough with her family to smile at her jest, but was soon aware that his relative was not so easy. "Miss de Bourgh, please forgive me my impertinence. I forget that you are not already a relative known to us; in this family, we each have our faults which the others are unlikely to let us forget. My mother is often extremely… boisterous… when confronted with a happy surprise (which my engagement to your cousin will most certainly be); we tease her but we love her for it."

After studying the young lady carefully, Anne looked around at the room. "I have never seen such a family." After a few minutes, she finally turned to her cousin. "If you are certain that my mother cannot twist it around so as to force us to marry, I should like to come to London with you and Cousin Georgiana tomorrow."

Chapter 23. Hearts Growing Fonder.

Posted on 2010-10-14

July 1818

Dear Elizabeth,

You know not how much joy it gives me that I am allowed to address you thus. Shall I count the ways? Once you asked who had discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love, but I shall remain firm in my belief that ours is a fine, stout, hearty love that shall not be starved away by some woeful sonnet.

That said, I shall not tempt fate with my own attempt at verse, for I know very well that my slight, thin sort of talent would not do your beauty justice. Instead, I will rely on your patience 'til my return, for I have been prowling the library, my love, and found some pages here and there which, if I am allowed to read them in your presence, might begin to express my feelings.

I am no good with words, Elizabeth. You must know that even while my body is here in London, my heart is with you. Georgiana has become quite impertinent in her remarks, reminding me to pay attention to the conversation when my thoughts have returned to Hertfordshire. However, I am doing my best to be diligent about my duties, for the sooner this business is completed, the sooner I may return to you.

I have just received a note from Mrs. Jenkinson that she and Anne will be joining us for dinner. They are settled in comfortable rooms near Georgiana's apartment. I believe that my cousin was more exhausted by all the travel than even we realized, for she retreated to her bed immediately upon our arrival and has not left it since. Georgiana is most eager to visit the Gardiners, but I have counseled her to delay for a day or two; I believe Anne would benefit from the acquaintance but she needs to recover what little strength she has, first.

We did not have time to speak about it, but I wonder if you plan to visit London before our wedding? My Aunt Eleanor has written with the news that they shall be returning to Town in the first week of August and wish to meet you. Lady Catherine's behavior truly horrified them and I would not be surprised if the Fitzwilliams attempt to rival your mother in the number of teas and dinners that they will wish to hold in our honor, in order to assure you that you are welcomed by the family. There was even some mention of an engagement ball. If such a gathering is in honor of my own fiancé, surely I should be allowed to dance every dance with her? If such is the case, I might be inclined to agree to the scheme…

But in all seriousness, my love, please tell me what you wish to do. Should you prefer to remain at Longbourn and do your shopping in Meryton, I would completely understand (and I will make my relations understand). Though I can no longer imagine Pemberley without you there, I do know that you have been gone from Hertfordshire a great deal these last months and might prefer to spend the time until our wedding with your sisters and parents and the home you have known since birth. Simply tell me what your preference is, and it shall be done.

I met with my solicitor this morning and he should have the settlement papers drafted within the week. (If he does not, I may not be able to control my longing to see you again… if you are awakened during the night by the sound of pebbles bouncing off your window panes, my love, do not panic for it shall be me, drawn by the desperate need to look upon your face…). I know you do not like to speak of money, dearest, but I shall ask you to read the settlement contract even as I give it to your father. I have every intention of sharing many long years of happiness with you, but bitter experience has taught me that it is best to be prepared.

But I am determined that this, my second letter to you, shall not be maudlin, particularly as my first was such a sorry excuse. I have informed the staff here that they shall soon have a new mistress. Our butler, Mr. Holmes, was pleased in his quiet, solemn way; he remembers your aid in April, I believe, which shall no doubt earn you his eternal regard. Mrs. Wilkins is practically bubbling with plans; I hired her but four years ago and I am afraid that she expected my household to be more… social. I shall leave her in your capable hands, my love, and pray you can convince her that we do not need to entertain every evening when we are in London.

Georgiana has just come and asked if I will send my letter before dinner, as she wishes to include notes to you and your sister. (She and Miss Catherine appear to have become fast friends--I am pleased. As you say, they each have something to offer each other in friendship.) If I do not end now, I fear I shall continue 'til dawn and then need a trunk rather than an envelope to contain all the pages.

Dearest Elizabeth, knowing you love me has given me the greatest joy of my life. Know that not an hour goes by without the thought of you and my every action is in the hope that it shall speed my return to you.

All my love,

William

Dearest William,

You, my love, are far too humble with regard to your talents as a wordsmith. I shall not require sonnets, for your prose is infinitely more satisfying. Though I hope not to receive many letters from you in the years ahead (as it implies that we will spend much time apart), I shall rest easy in the knowledge that when I do receive them, they shall give me nearly as much pleasure as your presence.

We are quiet here at Longbourn, or as quiet as a small house can be with my mother when she has recently been informed that her two eldest daughters are engaged to most deserving men. I shall not repeat to you what criteria she uses to determine that you and Mr. Bingley are deserving; just know that she means well. A bit of cotton for your ears the next time you visit Longbourn might not go astray, however.

But perhaps I get ahead of myself by assuming you already know that your friend is engaged to my dearest sister? I cannot imagine you do not, given that Mr. Bingley proposed the very day after your brief stay at Netherfield. If you are determined to keep your gentlemanly discussions a secret, I shall understand, though I shall not promise not to tease you mercilessly for the details.

Jane is incandescently happy, more so than I have ever seen her (which, for Jane, is quite a feat!). We spoke late into the night and I believe she was actually relieved that Mr. Bingley delayed his proposal, despite all the tension caused by the expectations of the neighborhood (and our mother) this last month. In her mind, he has proven himself to be reliable; since his return he has not wavered in his attentions to her and has shown a proper amount of dedication to his estate.

My love, Jane and I have hatched an idea. As with the questions in your own letter (which I will answer below, have no fear!), please tell me what your opinion is, not what you guess will make me happy. My sister and I have always assumed that the other would be present at our wedding celebration, but neither of us wish to delay our weddings 'til winter so that the other may return from her wedding trip in time. What would you think of sharing our wedding day with my sister and Mr. Bingley?

I admit that I like the idea very much indeed, for neither Jane nor I wish to leave the other behind at Longbourn. Jane is worried that someone of your family would not wish to share your celebration with someone of Mr. Bingley's station (I fear that Lady Catherine's entrance at Longbourn has been rather difficult for my sister to forget), though I have assured her it is not so. She is speaking with Charles (as my soon-to-be-brother insists I now address him), but we shall speak to no one else until I have ascertained your feelings on the subject.

My mother's disappointment in not having two weddings to plan would be easily overcome by the pride of presenting the grandest double ceremony that Hertfordshire has ever seen. My father would protest that he will miss his two most sensible daughters, but in truth he would be relieved to have all the wedding silliness (as he terms it) over as soon as possible so that he may return to his bookroom in peace. However, Jane and I shall take no further steps until I hear your thoughts on the subject.

Please thank your aunt and uncle for their invitations. I have spoken with my father and Jane and we are tentatively planning to come to London for two weeks in mid-August. Though my mother expects to be part of the party, I believe that my father shall convince her that she is needed here to supervise the wedding arrangements directly. I had expected Papa to be eager to send her with Jane and I so he might have a bit of peace, but I suppose he would have been left with Lydia, Kitty, and Mary, which makes even London in August appear attractive to him. I shall not tell him of your aunt's invitations for fear that in order to avoid society, he should refuse to allow any of us to go, let alone come himself.

However, once Papa is ensconced at Gracechurch Street, we should be able to lure him out occasionally as long as he is assured that there will be no discussion of lace! I look forward to seeing Mr. Holmes again; he was very kind to me when I visited in April. I shall do my best to fulfill Mrs. Wilkins' expectations for near constant entertainments when we are married. Shall six nights a week be acceptable, do you think? I should hope she understands that we must go out to call upon others or attend the theatre occasionally? But of course we would make it up by having two entertainments on some other day; perhaps a garden party in the morning followed by a grand ball at night?

But seriously, my dearest husband-to-be, it is neither the society nor the gowns that I look forward to (though I will, as per your request, read the settlement papers, I shall hope that I never have need to know their contents). I just want you… and forgive me for being forward, but I do not believe I shall wish to share you with anyone for some time, regardless of Mrs. Wilkins' desire for grand parties every night of the week.

I shall barely sleep for listening for your pebbles on my window, love, but I should much prefer to see your person on my doorstep, where I may jump into your arms without fear of breaking my neck!

All my love,

Elizabeth

My dearest Elizabeth,

Your letter is but a day old and already it is creased like parchment from another decade. Derwent House seems silent and empty, for I have dreamed of you here so often that it seems wrong when I wake and find you are not.

In an attempt to keep hold of some shred of sensibility, I went for a ride in Hyde Park this morning. (Need I mention that your phantom rode at my side?) I went early with the hope of solitude, and met Michael Trevor who was out with the same intention. Do you remember him? I introduced you at intermission that evening we attended the opera with the Gardiners and you made quite an impression. He sends his best wishes on our engagement, and made a suggestion for our wedding trip that I should like to discuss with you. With the title, Viscount Hampden, Trevor inherited a seaside cottage on Botany Bay, near Broadstairs in Kent, and he has offered us the use of it. Should you like that? It is quite isolated and with beaches, white cliffs, and woods to keep even you, my dearest dryad, content. There is a village not many miles away where we could go if we desire shops or other entertainments… Trevor informs me they even have assemblies on the first Friday of every month. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me for the first set? Perhaps all the sets, for the rest of our lives?

But I am getting ahead of myself. I did receive a note from Bingley, though I am glad to have your confirmation that it announced his engagement to your sister for his scrawl was even worse than usual. I heartily approve of your idea for a double wedding and there is no couple with whom I would like more to share our celebration with than your sister and my good friend. It seems only appropriate, given that we all met on the same evening, that we marry on the same day.

I am disturbed to hear that Miss Bennet is so distressed at the thought of my family's condescension, though in hindsight I understand it is well-deserved. Many of the older generation hold fast to their prejudices, and I fear that some of the younger generation (sadly, myself included) accepted their attitudes without considering the principles involved. I realize now that it produced in me a truly hypocritical attitude; I considered myself liberal and had no qualms over maintaining friendships with individuals not of my family's circle (such as Bingley), but then I would make general, sweeping statements on the inferiority of tradesmen and lesser gentry.

I must thank you again for taking me to task. The lesson was hard at first, but I quake at the thought of what I might have become had you not shown the light on my ridiculous attitudes and forced me to face my hypocrisy. I still have to fight my old habits, but I believe I am improving, thanks to you.

Georgiana and I shall be taking Anne to call on the Gardiners this afternoon. I sent a note to your uncle so that they have some understanding of the situation. I know that your aunt has no particular desire to reconnect with her father's relations (and I certainly respect her reasons!), but I believe that she and her family would be very good for Anne. Georgiana and I are so quiet (which is, I suppose, why we both look forward to having you join our little family!); I cannot but hope that the gentle amiability of your aunt and uncle and the joyful antics of their children will have a positive effect on my cousin.

Please forgive the disjointed nature of this letter, my love. The announcement of our engagement was published in today's newspapers (see enclosed clippings; I will admit that I sent a footman out to buy extra copies). As a result, there has been a steady stream of callers all day. Apparently my mother had far more 'dear friends' than I ever knew, for they all seem determined to visit today and attempt to dig out whatever nuggets of gossip they can. Poor Georgiana is quite exhausted. I finally put an end to it; Holmes is telling them all that we are not at home, though I have little doubt that there is a small mountain of cards accumulating.

Would it be so bad to hide away in Derbyshire for the rest of our lives and never bother with London Society again? I would happily bear the title of eccentric to do so... Though I admit that I am looking forward to showing off my new bride to a select few.

Dear Lord, Miss Bingley just paid us a visit. Alone--neither her sister nor a maid accompanied her and she barged right into my study without being announced and began screeching--there is no other word to describe her voice. Apparently the society page with our announcement came to her notice at the same moment as Charles' note regarding his own engagement. Let us simply say that she is not at all pleased and leave it at that, shall we? Holmes and a footman actually had to lay hands on her to remove her from the house. We have now locked the door.

Georgiana, Anne, and I shall be departing for Gracechurch Street in a few minutes, my love. I have many fond memories of that house; it is where I first learned to hope again that I might win your love.

All my love,

William

Dearest William,

Please sit down, my love, for I must inform you of a great calamity which has befallen us here at Longbourn. My mother fears that you shall forsake me should you learn of it; I, however, have more confidence in your fortitude and believe that you will be there when I reach the alter. I have several freckles on my nose, you see. I have attempted to tell Mama that they have always been there, but she is insistent that they have just appeared as a result of my walking in the sun this morning without a bonnet. All manner of treatments have been attempted, from vigorous washing with soap (hoping that they were only dirt, I suppose?), to lemon juice (I fear Papa will have to make due with cream in his tea for the next month), to some foul paste whose origins I fear to guess at, but which turned my nose quite red until the skin pealed off, leaving my freckles even more prominent, to my mother's great distress.

Shall you be able to stand up beside a speckled bride? I have noticed that you and Georgiana both have distressingly clear skin. Your aunt in Kent would no doubt attribute this divergence as a reflection of our differences in ancestry. Why is it that freckles on boys are regarded as adorable, and on men give character, while on a female they are to be avoided at all costs? I suppose that the only solution is to pray that our daughters all have your complexion while our sons may have mine.

All the fuss has had one benefit; Mama decided that it would not do to expose her red-nosed daughter to the general society of Meryton, so today I have been spared from the endless rounds of teas and visits that she deems necessary. Poor Jane is left to accompany our mother on her own but I am endeavoring to not feel very guilty, for just as my engagement was the joy of Mama's life last week, so now it is Jane's.

Ah, yes; Jane's engagement to Mr. Bingley has been announced to all and sundry. They both glow with such contentedness that I truly believe their feet may float up off the floor soon. Papa summed it all up rather well, when he spoke to Jane; "You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income."

Charles is growing daily in my estimation. Though I should not underestimate him after he managed to sort out so many of our misunderstandings in that one brief conversation last April, he has recently displayed a level of cunning I would not previously have guessed. Cunning is not quite the right word as it has connotations of malevolent intent, and Charles is quite the opposite. He truly wishes everyone to be happy and is generally willing to apply whatever machinations are necessary to make it so.

My mother is convinced that it was her idea that her two eldest daughters shall wed on the same day and is effusive in her pride on the subject. (Oh dear, I have neglected to tell you; I took your response to Jane and Charles and we all decided that a double wedding was just the thing, so it is done!) As I predicted, Papa grumbled a bit about losing his two favorite daughters on the same day, but was soon brought around to the idea. (I may have reminded him of the abbreviation of the wedding planning and diminution of funds necessary for a single event rather than two…). Regardless, it is done. On the fifteenth of September, you shall not only gain a wife and four new sisters, but a new brother. (Goodness--does this mean Caroline Bingley shall be my sister?)

I took the liberty of passing along your summary of Miss Bingley's visit to her brother. Jane was very quiet; she is still coming to terms with the concept that Caroline played her false and cannot be trusted. Charles, however, was refreshingly frank in his manner. Caroline is staying with the Hursts because her brother does not wish to have her in his house; he says he shall require her to make a full apology and treat Jane and the rest of the Bennets with respect if she is ever to live under his roof again. Charles has told us a bit more about his life and the death of his parents and elder brother, and I feel I understand him better.

For all the pain that Jane and Charles suffered from their separation this past winter, I begin to believe that both have grown from it. Jane has learned that not everyone can be trusted, regardless of her wishes or how pleasantly they smile at her. She shall always be inclined to believe the best of people, but I am relieved to think that she shall be a bit more careful. Charles truly appears to have developed a spine. That sounds overly harsh and I do not mean that I have not always liked him, but he is not quite so desperate for approval now. He seems much more content in himself and in his relationship with Jane.

But now I am rambling! I hope that your visit to Gracechurch Street went well. I believe that an acquaintance with the Gardiners would be a very good thing for Miss de Bourgh. I pity her; she seems to have lived such an insular existence and it cannot have been easy to be alone with such a strong-willed mother as Lady Catherine.

I have been reading several of my father's medical texts and came across something that you might discuss with the physician who examines your cousin. When they were staying at Longbourn, Mrs. Jenkinson was particularly concerned because your cousin had not had taken her medicines for nearly two days. When I inquired, she listed off a rather extensive inventory. Dr. Macpherson's recent monograph notes that several of these are little more than a very strong, alcohol-based liqueur infused with common herbs, and more than one of the syrups that Mrs. Jenkinson carried is a tincture made from the opium poppy.

Macpherson is a young man recently graduated from the university in Vienna (which has an excellent medical program, from what I have heard); his book was published only last year (my Uncle Gardiner brought it for us from town) and he is regarded as too modern in his thinking by many in the establishment. However, I like much of what he has to say regarding the importance of cleanliness and the harmfulness of bleeding. (I had the opportunity to discuss this with an army doctor once and he agreed wholeheartedly, saying that he had seen far too many men bleed to death from battle wounds to inflict it upon anyone in the name of treatment.)

Macpherson cites writings from medicine men of the Orient (and surely they, being the source of the opium, would best know its effects), saying that long-term use of laudanum can lead to a reliance in both mind and body, and a sense of dysphoria. In short, he cautions that, although a tincture will certainly provide immediate relief from physical pain, its repeated consumption over months or years (as I understand is the case with Miss de Bourgh) can weaken the person physically and cause what he terms an "addiction." From what I have read, he means that the medicine becomes a cause of sickness--the patient cannot sleep or eat without it and suffers severe melancholia. He describes situations in which otherwise honest people will resort to thievery and violence to obtain more of the medicine. Truly, his descriptions were quite disturbing.

Do not worry, my love; I am not becoming some hedge doctor or witch. I have simply found a topic to research, which distracts my mind from your absence. Jane calls to me; they have returned from their visits and I am needed. I miss you, though I know your presence in London is necessary. I believe I shall practice my riding for no other reason than so I may accompany you on your business trips and even tours of the estate. Shall I dress in a man's clothes and be your Portia?

All my love,

Elizabeth

Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,

I adore your freckles. The four on your nose have been my acquaintances for many months. I will, however, admit to a partiality for the one on your left collarbone. It has drawn my eye like the North Star for longer than I should like to admit, all the time begging to be kissed.

You are my Portia, love, ever ready to do battle with words and logic when your companions (or one fool in particular) is being a great lummox. You do not need to dress yourself in a man's garments, although, now that the vision is in my mind, I find it rather difficult to discard… rather… intriguing. But none of that until after we are married. (Then, my love, I shall encourage your imagination in whatever direction it wishes…).

It has been eight long days, dearest, since I looked upon your face, but it is nearly over. Tomorrow, I meet with my solicitor and, with luck, you shall see me not long after you receive this letter. My secretary has been giving me odd looks lately; apparently my behavior is quite strange relative to what he is accustomed. I fear that he is reassuring himself with the belief that I shall return to my old ways after the wedding (this is just some sort of engagement-induced euphoria). Little does he know that my condition is permanent!

You have not yet met John Harvin, but I hope you shall like him. He is the son of one of my tenant farmers and was brought to my attention by the teacher in the Lambton school (the one founded by Mrs. Gardiner's parents) as the most diligent and intelligent of any he had seen. I interviewed the boy and discovered that he had an honest thirst for knowledge and a great love of books. I decided to put aside my fear of producing another George Wickham and sent the boy to Cambridge when he was ready, with the agreement that when he had attained his degree, he would return to Pemberley and work as my secretary for four years, after which he might go his own way.

Harvin received excellent marks at university and did his term with me without a complaint. His four years ended September last, and I was most pleased when he came to me and asked if his position might be made permanent. I am relieved, really; he has a great talent for organizing and, in addition to handling my correspondence when I am away, I have put him in charge of the library at Pemberley (and the smaller one here at Derwent House). Harvin is responsible for the organization of shelves and the catalogue with which you were so impressed. I cannot imagine what sort of disorganized chaos my desk and the library might become without him.

Now that I think on it, we must introduce your father to my secretary. I know it might sound odd, but Mr. Bennet's knowledge and scholarship shall interest Harvin, and John is intelligent and has enough idiosyncrasies to amuse your father. Of course, both shall disappear into the library for days on end, but who am I to judge?

I thank you for your notes on the medications that Anne has been taking. I admit that I had no idea; when I brought the subject up with her and Mrs. Jenkinson, I was stunned by the volume and variety of tonics and powders she has been taking. They cannot be good for her health. I spoke of Dr. Macpherson to your uncle and he helped me procure a copy. (Anne's visit to the Gardiners went well--she was quiet and a little overwhelmed, but I believe she enjoyed it just as she enjoyed the more energetic atmosphere at Longbourn). I have only begun to skim Macpherson's text tonight, but I agree with you that much of his recommendations seem logical and well-substantiated by data and observations, as per the scientific method. I can well see how the establishment would not easily accept him and his views for many go against long-accepted practices, but regardless, I shall bring the issue up when we meet with the specialist.

Tomorrow afternoon, Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson shall move to my cousin Ellen's townhouse (Ellen is Richard's eldest sister, second only to Edward in age). She and her husband Parker (Lord Harry Parker, Baron Morley) returned from Derbyshire yesterday and came to visit almost immediately. They are both good natured and amiable, and quite accustomed to taking care of all the rest of us. Honestly, I believe their household shall do more for Anne than Derwent House can. Though Georgiana and I both care for her, we have had difficulty finding any common interests. Anne has no interest in music or literature or current events. Georgie drew her out a bit with some lady's magazine on current fashions, but to be honest, my sister has not much more interest in such things than myself. Ellen and Parker have two young daughters who are mad over bonnets and ball gowns right now and will give Anne the admiration she seems to need, in an undemanding and non-judgmental sort of way.

Honestly, Elizabeth, I do not know what Anne will do. She has been mentioning Rosings more and more often over the last few days. She may not have been particularly happy there, but the surroundings were familiar, I suppose. I shall not be surprised if she decides to return to Kent and her mother in a week or two. We shall make sure that she is seen by a physician and understands the details of her inheritance (my uncle wrote that he has an appointment with the solicitors the day after he arrives in London), but if we force her into living our vision of what is best for her, are we any better than Lady Catherine?

I apologize--this is no proper love note. I received a large packet from my steward at Pemberley today. It seems as if every time I solve one problem, three more pop up to take its place. Shall we go to the seaside, dearest? Just for two weeks or so, right after the wedding? From your letters I sense you feel as I do, that the world is spinning very fast right now and I would like to hide away for a little time alone… with you!

All my love,

William

P.S. Dearest, I have received a note from Richard just now and its contents are important enough that I shall append it here. He left Matlock for Brighton, where several regiments of militia and regulars were to overwinter. Unfortunately, the generally wet weather combined with a storm of historic proportions has flooded all the fields where they were camped. As a result, all are leaving immediately to remove to more favorable locations. I am afraid that this means that the militia shall be returning to Meryton within the week, my love.

In all the confusion, Richard was not able to speak with Colonel Forster directly, but he did receive a note responding to his request for information about Lieutenant Wickham. That man shall be remaining in Brighton with a small group of soldiers to do some sort of packing up. Regardless of why he remains, he shall not arrive in Hertfordshire for several weeks. Feel free to share this information with your father and anyone else you deem necessary. I don't know that he would cause trouble for you and your family because of your new association with me, but I would prefer to err on the side of caution, given our past. I shall be there as soon as I can, my love. -fd