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Chapter Sixteen
Charlotte had been relieved of her charge for the remainder of the afternoon as Aurelia had gone on an outing with Miss Darcy and her brother. Her two younger charges were still in the country enjoying freedom from their lessons and she was accompanied only by Mrs Pawson who was languidly lying on a divan with her pug curled up on a cushion beside her. For Charlotte it was an opportune time to do a bit of mending; there was a rent in the hem of one of her gowns that she had long been meaning to attend to.
"Ought we to have any hopes of Miss Darcy's brother for Aurelia?" asked Mrs Pawson in her thin voice. "I hear he is very rich, though I do not like the idea of my little girl marrying a widower."
"I think it is safe to say that Mr Darcy sees Aurelia as a good friend for his sister and nothing more."
"That is just as well. There was another gentleman caller of respectable fortune, was there not?"
"Yes, Mr Andrews," said Charlotte with composure. "He is well respected, kind and considerate, but I can't help thinking him a little old for Aurelia. She is, after all, only just turned seventeen and he is, at the very least, five and thirty."
"Indeed. But it is often the case that an older man makes a steadier, more patient husband. I think he ought to be encouraged."
"Aurelia has shown no preference for his company," said Charlotte firmly.
"Her preference is neither here nor there. Our job is to see her well established, not to cater to her whims. Left to herself she would fall in love with some earnest young man without a feather to fly with. She will listen to your advice - she sets great store by all you say."
"I could not advise her to go against her heart," said Charlotte.
"Miss Lucas! I did not think to hear such sentimentality from you. Remember your place in this household. You will do as I bid and not encourage my daughter in romantic nonsense."
"Yes Mrs Pawson," said Charlotte with a curt nod of her head. She bent more intently over her mending as her mistress transferred her focus to the pug. She had no intentions of encouraging romantic nonsense in Aurelia, but neither had she of encouraging an unequal match. Aurelia was a sweet and innocent girl, but a bit of a featherbrain, and though Charlotte knew Mr Andrews would make any lady the best of husbands, he was much too good for her. Besides, after his last visit, Aurelia had confided in her that despite the fact that Mr Andrews was a pleasant gentleman he was so very old and she hoped to meet some younger men at the ball on Friday. Aurelia's eyes had lit up at the thought of her first ball. Thinking back, Charlotte was convinced that there was already a prodigious amount of romantic nonsense floating about in her young charge's pretty little head.
After suffering a visit from two extremely self-important women and the unsophisticated young nephew they had dragged along in the hopes of meeting Miss Pawson, Charlotte was both pleased and disappointed when Mr Andrews was announced. Her heart leapt when she saw his cherished face and felt his smile warm her countenance, but sadness ran through her too that he was again setting his sights on someone who could not make him happy.
He did not appear too disheartened that he had not found Miss Pawson at home, and after a brief conversation with the mother, entered into discourse with Charlotte.
"Miss Pawson is on an outing with the Darcys, did you say?"
"Yes, she and Miss Darcy are becoming quite close."
"I understand he is a very good brother."
"He seems to take great care of his sister."
"I am pleased that he is a man of such good character."
"Yes, we need no longer be concerned for her."
They both knew they were no longer referring to Miss Darcy.
"We . . . should be content to know that . . . she now has a chance to grasp . . . that which she . . . longed for. I wish them happy. I do not see how they cannot be."
"Now what remains is for you to find that same kind of happiness for yourself." Charlotte's voice was low and soft. The deep compassion in her eyes spoke to him words that she could not.
Mr Andrews reached out and touched her hand. "Thank you." For a moment he was at a loss for something to say and then he recalled that this was Charlotte's first trip to London. He asked if she and Miss Pawson had yet visited the British Museum or the National Gallery, and together they organised an outing to view the Elgin Marbles the following Monday. After that there was no difficulty to converse on any manner of subjects, and the half-hour was over before either of them were cognisant of it. A cough from Mrs Pawson alerted Mr Andrews that it was indeed time to take his leave, and saying that he looked forward to Friday night with the hopes of obtaining a dance from Miss Pawson, he departed.
"You appear to be on rather friendly terms with the gentleman," said Mrs Pawson in a tone of disapproval.
"I have known him these seven years," said Charlotte with no hint of apology. "He is a very close friend of the Bennet family, my nearest neighbours, and has frequently been a guest in my father's home." She thought that a reminder to Mrs Pawson of her true status as a gentlewoman would not go amiss. The lady was wont to forget that her own background was no more elevated than that of her governess.
"Remember that I have designs on him for my daughter."
And do not send out lures to him yourself. It was unsaid, but Charlotte knew what Mrs Pawson was intimating. She was finding the yoke of service increasingly oppressive; though she was treated well for the most part she did not enjoy the condescension and constant reminders of her lowered position. Charlotte kept to herself any comment she may have been tempted to make and smiled mildly back. Mrs Pawson would not get the better of her. Charlotte's actions and reactions could only serve to show which one was the more truly well bred.
~
"I cannot present myself at Friday's ball without new slippers! The ones I have are all scuffed beyond repair from that horrid Mr Smorsley stepping on my feet."
"Lydia, if you wait a few hours I can accompany you, but I have promised Lily and Rose . . ."
"They would love to come shopping with us, would you not, sweeties?"
Lily and Rose stared at their auntie open mouthed and shook their heads in a manner that sent their curls bouncing around in abandon. Just then Lizzie returned from her walk and both Jane and Lydia turned to her in appeal.
"Lizzie," cried Lydia, "you can have nothing else to do. Come with me to the Pantheon Bazaar - I promise to buy you a present if you do. Jane is not very obliging this morning."
"If it means saving Jane from your pestering, I shall do it," said Lizzie, "but you need buy me nothing. If I see anything I like I shall buy it myself."
"How very sensible of you, for I should have asked you to forward me the money in any case." Lydia crouched down and smiled at her two young nieces. "Instead I will buy each of you a surprise to show I bear no resentment!"
Lydia ran off to fetch her bonnet and pelisse while Lizzie put hers on once more.
"Thank you," said Jane. "I know you can have no desire to be dragged all over the Bazaar by Lydia."
"Maybe I will manage to prevent her from making too many frivolous purchases," Lizzie said with a smile. "Anyway, I will endure anything for you."
When her sisters departed Jane sat down upon the settee with her little girls on either side of her. "What would you like me to read to you this morning?"
"I would like to hear that most very lovely poem," said Lily, her blue eyes large and sincere upon her mother's face.
"The most very lovely one," echoed Rose.
Jane kissed them each and sweetly teasing said, "It is your favourite poem because you are both in it."
They smiled and nodded as she opened the volume of Shakespeare in her lap and found the correct page, marked by a red ribbon.
"You can thank your Auntie Lizzie for this poem because she was the one who showed it to me."
"But you read it the very best," said Lily smiling up at her mother.
"Read," said Rose, her blue eyes beseeching. Jane read slowly, her voice soft and clear. So involved were she and the girls that they did not notice a gentleman being announced into their sitting room by a shy parlour maid.
"From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him,
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play."
When she was finished they still did not notice the gentleman as he stood on the threshold, lost in wonder at the charming tableau before him.
"Say my part again."
"Say mine."
"Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;"
Bingley could not help himself, but softly spoke the following lines - lines he had never heard before but were impressed upon him by the beauty of the reader and the sweetness of her voice.
"They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those."
Jane looked up and their eyes met. He almost faltered at the initial contact, but completed the two lines of verse before falling completely dumb. Silence stretched across the room until Lily spoke up clearly.
"Mommy, who is that gentleman?"
"Mrs Fairborn . . . I did not mean to . . . I was announced . . . you made such a pretty picture I could not disturb . . ."
"It is quite all right, Mr Bingley," said Jane once she collected herself. "I am most happy to see you. I would like you to meet my girls, Lily and Rose."
Bingley came forward, smiling a bit shamefacedly, and held out his hand. "You are fairer than the very flowers you are named for," he said, and that easily he won them over completely. It was not just what he said, but something in his eyes and the cheerfulness of his countenance that gained their confidence.
"You know our favourite poem too?" asked Lily.
Bingley drew up a chair and sat beside them. "I confess I don't read as much as I ought, but it was very beautiful and most apt."
"Would you like to read us another one?" asked Lily.
"Please," begged Rose, her head on one side, her curls spilling into her eyes.
"If I may," said Bingley holding his hand out for the book. Jane's fingers brushed his as she passed it and the thrill of contact made them nearly drop it. "Do you have any preferences?" he asked once he had found his voice again.
"A Fairy Song is another favourite," suggested Jane. "The yellow ribbon marks its place."
Bingley smiled his thanks and found the page. He cleared his throat, and then, with a valiant attempt to look at the little girls rather than their mother, began to read.
" OVER hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moone's sphere;"
His voice was joined by Lily's clear one and Rose's slight lisp.
"And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;"
He stopped, entranced and watched as they finished on their own from memory.
"Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear."
"Why did you stop reading, Mr Bingley?" asked Lily.
"Why?" asked Rose.
Bingley, who was quite unused to children, marvelled at their quickness and their inquisitiveness. He tried to pull his thoughts together. "I had no idea such little girls could be so accomplished."
"I am not so very little," said Lily seriously. "I am five years old."
"I'm little," said Rose, peeking enchantingly around her mother.
Bingley looked up at Jane and laughed. "Your daughters are utterly adorable."
Jane beamed. The one thing that had concerned her about forming a new attachment was how her girls would be received - they were a part and parcel of her life. Anyone who loved her must love them or, no matter how her heart reacted, she could never promise herself. And not only that, the girls' feelings towards her intended were also paramount. Here before her eyes everything was coming together, even better than she had ever dreamed. All the trials of her life were worthwhile if they had brought her to this moment.
~
Lydia had already purchased rose kid slippers, a spangled shawl, and inlaid silver hair combs. She was now debating on a half dozen silk rosebuds of a shocking shade of magenta. "Lizzie! They will add so much colour to my toilette."
"They are much to brassy," said Lizzie. "I am afraid they will make you look fast."
"No, it is the cut of my bodice that will make me look fast. Perhaps what I need is a pendant to help draw the eye." Lydia held up a shoddy bauble set with paste gemstones of unbelievable proportions.
"If it is the cut of your bodice then I suggest a double row of lace," said Lizzie taking Lydia by the hand and leading her to where there was a display of delicate trimmings.
"Oh fie, you are so very stuffy and prim. It is small wonder you have not yet caught yourself a man." Lydia tossed her head and then began to study the finest of the laces with some interest. She reached for a sample just as another hand stretched out to touch it and found herself vying for the same goods with a very dear friend of hers whom she had just met at a party the night before. "Louisa Farnham!" she cried.
"Lydia Bennet! Fancy!"
Lydia turned to Lizzie. "I know you have long been wanting to explore the bookshop. My dear friend can help me with the last few of my purchases and I will meet you there in half an hour."
Lizzie reasoned that Lydia would buy what she wanted regardless of her presence, so after greeting Louisa Farnham cordially, she headed for the respite of the bookstore. As she entered the shop she savoured the aroma of parchment and leather, and was soon perusing titles of her favourite authors. Caught by the flow and cadence of written words upon the page, she little noticed time or the approach of a gentleman to her side.
"Miss Bennet you are the answer to my unspoken dreams."
She looked up, startled, to see Mr Wickham's face very close to her own. She stepped back a pace and came up against a shelf. "Excuse me sir, I am just leaving," she said.
"I am hurt to the quick! Are you not even the tiniest bit happy to see me?"
"I have no time for your nonsense," she said firmly. "Could you please let me pass?"
"Not until you pay a forfeit," he said, reaching his hand out towards her cheek. All of a sudden he found his arm stayed by the firm pressure of another man's grip.
"You will do as the lady says." Fitzwilliam's voice cut like steel.
"Darcy." George Wickham turned and eyed his adversary. "What a pleasant surprise. How is your sweet sister?"
"My sister is very well, no thanks to you. I can see that I was much too lenient on the last occasion we met. I warn you that should you come anywhere near her or Miss Bennet again you will rue the day you were born." Fitzwilliam directed him with a firm push towards the door.
"Miss Bennet is it? So you two are acquainted," Wickham said, attempting not to lose any ground. "What a small world. She and I have a longstanding relationship of a most intimate nature."
Wickham found himself roughly carried out and almost thrown upon the paving stones.
"Do not test my patience. You had best leave London immediately." Fitzwilliam turned his back on Wickham and re-entered the shop. All he could see was Elizabeth, book in hand, leaning against the shelves with her head facing away. His anger against Wickham was dispelled to the far reaches of his conscious, his only thought was to offer comfort. He took three swift strides forward till he was by her side. "Did he hurt you?"
"No. He merely took me by surprise." She kept her eyes upon the wall of books.
"I know that what he said was untrue."
She finally turned to look at him. There were tears glistening in her eyes. "How can you be so sure?"
"I know him. I know what drove him to say that. But more importantly, I know you."
"What you know of me should only cause you to doubt," Lizzie said brokenly.
"I could never doubt you." The gentleness of his voice caressed her; she raised her eyes to his and they held. She felt like she was falling into their depths.
He took a step closer, raised his hand to wipe away the tear that had trickled down her face and then arrested this movement, instead taking his handkerchief from his breast pocket and placing it in her hand.
"Thank you." Lizzie wiped her eyes as reason returned. She had almost succumbed. Almost fallen into his arms in a bookshop for all and sundry to see. Almost shown how very brazen and wanton and totally lost to depravity she really must be that she could not even withstand a look of compassion from him. "You have no need to worry about me - I am much better now."
"I must tell you sometime my history with him, but this is neither the time nor the place." Fitzwilliam was only grasping for something to say. He had almost lost himself, but luckily had stayed his hand at the last moment. He knew that if he had let his finger touch the soft skin of her cheek he would not have been able to answer for himself - not with the way his feelings had raged within. Here - in a public shop - to take her in his arms meet her lips with his own, was unthinkable - and a thought he was determined to eradicate from his mind.
"I would say not," she said, forcing herself to smile. "I think I neglected to tell you that I was very pleased to see you. Thank you for your help."
"I am only glad that I turned into this shop upon a whim. I thought to buy my sister a book."
"Oh? Did you have anything in mind?"
"I was wondering if you could suggest something."
Lizzie looked down at her hands and realised she was holding a book. It was a new novel by a lady she found had the ability to depict life and love with such wit and truth that she could read her words again and again, always finding some new and delightful insight to the very type of world in which she lived. She was about to recommend it when Lydia burst into the shop.
"There you are, Lizzie! I have bought half the trinkets in the whole Bazaar and I am ready to leave. Oh! Mr Darcy - I did not see you standing there. I must apologise to you. I have just discovered you were so correct about Mr Wickham. He had Lizzie and myself half in love with him, but now I know it was nothing but lies. I saw him not five minutes ago, and he all but ignored me. If I had not run up and confronted him he should have walked right by. He looked at me with such disdain and when I questioned him about the truth he merely scoffed and said some very unfeeling things about you, Mr Darcy. Such language! I know he is a soldier but there is no pardoning it. Then what do you think Louisa told me Lizzie?"
"I have no idea," said Lizzie, momentarily stunned by such a barrage of words from her sister.
"She told me he is not a gentleman after all, and only the son of a steward. Nobody in London recognises him and he spends his time in gaming hells. This is the last time I will allow my head to be turned by a handsome face and a charming line."
Lizzie hoped that Lydia would remember the lesson she had just learned, but she doubted that it would be longstanding. However, that she was finally over her fascination for Mr Wickham was a blessing and only good could come from it. She turned to Fitzwilliam, wondering how he had withstood her boisterous sister and the brash and common expressions she had used.
"You will not hold any hard feelings for the impolite way I accosted you the other day, will you?" Lydia turned her charm full on.
"You are completely forgiven," said Fitzwilliam with the hint of a smile.
"Thank you. That proves you are not as bad as that wastrel said. I will only think good of you from now on. Well, Lizzie, the carriage is outside and all my packages are aboard so make haste - and if you are planning to buy that book, you should not because I have filled the box so much there is barely any room left for the two of us."
Lizzie turned to look for the gap in the shelves from where she had taken the book.
Fitzwilliam put out his hand. "May I?"
"Certainly," she said, giving him the book. He escorted the two ladies to the carriage and saw them off, then returned to the bookstore to make his purchase. He did not look in the shelves or ask to see any titles; he merely bought the work that was in his hands and watched absently as the merchant wrapped it securely in brown paper.
Chapter Seventeen
Lizzie was relieved to see that Lydia had indeed added two rows of fine lace to her décolletage; it attracted attention but it also added a semblance of demureness to her gown. However there was nothing demure about the expression on Lydia's face when she clasped a sparkling pendant about her neck that sunk gently into the folds of the delicate thread work. It was neither large nor garish, but it drew the eye and brought attention to her assets with more subtlety than she was usually wont to show.
"You see, your admonitions have not fallen upon deaf ears," she said to Lizzie with a wink as she reached for her satin stole. Then she looked at her sister appraisingly. "You have put a deal more attention than usual into your toilette - you actually look quite pretty."
"Thank you," said Lizzie, aware that Lydia, who usually noticed nothing other than her own concerns, was giving her a compliment of no small order. "Though I think we will both be outshone by Jane. Not even the dowdiest hairstyle or the plainest gown could hide the radiance of her countenance tonight."
Jane's hairstyle was simple but by no means dowdy. Her pale hair was put up in a smooth roll with a few shiny curls spilling forth. It was unembellished except for a tiny silver butterfly pin. Her gown was of layers of sheer lavender over a silver satin under-dress. She looked delicate and ethereal, like a fairy princess. Quiet joy spilled from her eyes and radiated about her as if she were bathed in magic dust.
"She is in love - it can't be helped," said Lydia matter of factly. "She does not worry me at all; she will be no competition for all the gentlemen will know that she is as good as spoken for."
"I will not be vying for any of your admirers either," said Lizzie.
"No - you have Mr Andrews to pay you attention and I have given him up these many years." Lydia eyed Lizzie speculatively. "I shouldn't be surprised if you attracted one or two others of the older set. There may be a chance for you yet, sister."
Just then the carriage was announced and the three sisters followed the footman to the door. Lizzie was glad that Lydia had been distracted - it was not a discussion that she had wanted to continue. She herself was filled with nervous apprehension. They were going to a ball where she would surely see Fitzwilliam again and dance with him. She wanted nothing more than to be in his presence and have the chance of conversing with him, but she feared her reactions to him - she feared dancing. Even through her gloves she knew the touch of his hand would be more than she could bear.
~
"Why my mother insists on me wearing white, I have no idea. Does not she realise all the debutantes will be in white and there will be nothing to distinguish me from the others?" Aurelia gave Charlotte such a plaintive look that she had to compress her lips to stop herself from laughing.
"Your sweet face and light figure will give you much distinction," said Charlotte, as she fixed the last rosebud to Aurelia's coiffure. "I also think the choice of yellow trimmings is singular. Most young ladies will be trimmed in pink or blue, and you will be like a breath of fresh country air." She stood back to admire her handiwork.
Aurelia giggled. "Will they not think me very provincial, then?"
"They will find you very refreshing."
"You look lovely yourself," said Aurelia. "Oh, Miss Lucas, I do wish you could find the man of your dreams while we are in London."
"I have no thought of that," said Charlotte, "and no one will be looking at a governess who is well past her prime when there are beauties such as you to be danced with."
"You do not look at all like a governess," said Aurelia. "Nobody should know it if they were not told - your gown is so very elegant and your expression is not forbidding in the least, like all the other companions and old maids. You shall be asked to dance by more than one gentleman, I'd wager."
"Come, no more of this talk about me. You know I am only attending the ball to keep you company. What would your mother say if I were to be frivolously dancing the night away with no thought to you?"
"Oh, pooh on my mother!"
"Aurelia!" said Charlotte reprovingly, but secretly she was pleased by her young charge's support. "We must hurry downstairs and show you off to your parents before we depart."
~
Georgiana looked about the crowded ballroom hoping that Miss Bennet would be there. She knew Fitzwilliam had met her again since the disastrous visit to Curzon Street and she had great hopes that any setbacks that occasion had engendered would be swiftly overcome. He had appeared quite distracted when he had given her the book he had purchased, and when questioned admitted that he had bought it upon Miss Bennet's recommendation. That same evening she had noticed him pick it up once or twice and absently stroke the cover.
He was now standing by her side with an expression of barely concealed anticipation on his face. She knew how much he disliked balls and at this close proximity she could feel all his nervous tension. Georgiana smiled thinking of the preparation he had gone to for this evening's event. He had been longer in his dressing room than she and when he had come downstairs she had been rendered breathless though he was her brother. She did not think there could possibly be a more handsome man alive. Only one person could put him in such a state, and as he surveyed the room she heard him let out a breath that was between a gasp and a sigh. She followed his gaze and beheld in a corner, smilingly conversing with Miss Pawson's companion, Miss Bennet herself. She was dressed neither more fashionably nor more elegantly than any other lady in attendance but she had an indefinable air about her that was at once both vulnerable and assured, and warmth of expression that emanated from the glow of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.
Fitzwilliam grasped his sister's elbow, his hand now sure and confident, and directed her towards that corner. He did not speak, but words between them were unnecessary. They both had the same object and crossed the room in one accord. As they approached, Miss Bennet looked up and Georgiana saw in her face all the expectation and wistful longing that she knew must be reflected in her brother's.
~
Lydia left Lizzie with Charlotte and lost no time in filling her dance card. She allowed Mr Greenly two dances - one being the dinner dance - so he was well pleased, and was able to watch her dance upon many another gentleman's arm without so much as a twinge of jealousy. In fact if his expression were to be analysed, it was one of wry amusement.
Jane was just as soon joined by Mr Bingley, and while not dancing they entered into conversation to the exclusion of all others. If any gentleman had the audacity to ask Mrs Fairborn for her hand she complied readily, but her attention was never long bestowed upon her dance partner. Her eyes soon strayed to the outskirts of the dance floor where Mr Bingley stood and watched her every movement, unknowingly dashing the vain hopes of many a young lady. There were numerous winks and glances in their direction from the gossiping tabbies who sat by the ubiquitous potted palms and fanned themselves, and before the night was out practically the whole of London was cognisant of an engagement that had not yet even taken place.
Mr Andrews arrived to this tableau: Elizabeth and Mr Darcy talking with that gentleman's sister while Charlotte Lucas looked on, Jane Fairborn and Mr Bingley oblivious of the throng about them, Lydia prancing happily upon the ballroom floor, and Miss Pawson surrounded by a group of very green looking youths. He did his duty by his hostess and then made his way through the crowds to Charlotte's side.
After the usual courteous greeting he said, "I suppose I am too late to find a spot on her dance card."
"Oh, no," said Charlotte with a smile. "I instructed her to be sure to save one for you."
Mr Andrews' expression was rueful. He would have rather the girl had saved one of her own volition. "Give me a moment to claim that dance and I will return to you," he said.
Charlotte watched sympathetically as he approached Aurelia. The younger gentlemen gave way for him and the girl smiled at him brightly showing her dance card and writing his name upon a line quite far down. After a few more words with her, Aurelia was claimed for the next dance by a young man with more air and address than those that had been clustered about her. Mr Andrews returned to Charlotte and sighed.
"She has become quite popular all of a sudden."
"Yes, she has turned a lot of heads," said Charlotte. "I am happy for her. She is very much enjoying the success of her first ball, but you know the novelty will soon wear off. Next week there will be a new young face all the rage and the greater part of her admirers will drift away."
"I do hope she will not be hurt by such fickleness."
"She does not want for sense, you know, though she is so very young and naive. I believe she will come to understand who her friends really are and appreciate steadiness of character above empty flattery and dashing charm."
"You have just painted a very boring picture of me - hardly appealing at all. Is that how you see me?" He smiled down at her teasingly and Charlotte felt her heart lurch. Did he actually care about her own opinion of him?
"I think of you as a much valued friend who could never be boring," she said.
"Well I do hope you are able to influence Miss Pawson then," he said lightly.
Charlotte smiled and looked away.
Mr Andrews watched her and noticed that she was wearing a most becoming gown. It struck him that a lady in a gown such as that would probably like to dance, and though he had not thought of dancing with Charlotte earlier, now he decided it would be a generous gesture - something that might even bring her pleasure. The thought of giving her pleasure was somehow gratifying.
"If you are not engaged would you do me the honour of joining me for the next set?" he asked.
Charlotte turned back towards him and spoke candidly. "Do not feel that you are obliged to dance with me."
"Not at all - I should very much like to," said Mr Andrews sincerely, realising all of a sudden that it was indeed so.
Charlotte agreed, and as he led her out to the floor at the start of the new set, he noticed Elizabeth and Mr Darcy coming away from the dance that had just been completed. She cast Mr Andrews a bright smile, which he returned with a bow as he cursed his foolish heart that still reached out to her. He would have to wean himself from that tendency. Her happiness was evident in her face, her bearing, her every move, and he told himself that he should be content to finally see her so. Yet he could not dispel that pang of regret or prevent the shadow that fell over his face for a moment.
Charlotte could not help but be aware of the exchange, and though it affected her it caused no deep pain. She understood that it would take time for Mr Andrews to overcome his attraction to her friend but she had great hopes that he would eventually emerge and see that what was before him could at least provide him some modicum of comfort. And, though the likelihood was slim, if she could be the person within his sights when that day dawned, all her dreams would not be in vain.
~
Lizzie had found it difficult to focus on anything other than Fitzwilliam from the moment she had been aware of his presence in the ballroom. She knew that despite her fears the only thing that brought her there was him. What she was so desperate to avoid was the object she most wanted in the world. With every passing day her desire for him grew stronger, so much so that at times she could not understand herself. The way he looked tonight did not help one bit. Not only was he very elegantly attired in eveningwear that showed his tall and vital figure off to advantage, but there was intensity in his gaze that was almost overwhelming. The presence of his sister at his side was a relief - a necessary distraction from the wayward direction of her thoughts.
They immediately fell to speaking of books since Georgiana lost no time in expressing her delight in the volume Fitzwilliam had purchased for her and shyly issued her thanks to Elizabeth for making the recommendation. It did take a while for the natural flow of conversation to develop. It had to overcome Georgiana's inherent shyness and the preoccupation of the two principals in the group. But the common interest of all three freed them from those constraints and before long Lizzie was able to give her opinions of Scott and Cowper without being rendered speechless by her contemplation of the plane of his cheek, the subtle spiciness of his cologne that wafted her way when he leaned towards her to hear her over the hubbub of the crowd, or the warmth of his glance. If at times her pronouncements seemed to lose track or she faltered and stumbled over the occasional word, it was no different with Fitzwilliam's responses. By the time that Georgiana was taken away to dance by an eager young gentleman they had progressed so far that Lizzie's wit had returned, and if Fitzwilliam had not already lost his heart to her years ago he would have forfeited it once again.
The moment had come, and with only a look from him and assenting smile from her he took Lizzie's hand and they made their way upon the dance floor. The warmth of his hand as it encircled hers caused Lizzie to cast her eyes down and hold her breath. As the music started she found that she was concentrating every functioning part of her mind upon the steps of the dance.
Fitzwilliam found himself in the same predicament and blessed the fact that years of observing correct etiquette were now coming to his aid, as he had to fall back upon social habits while he wrestled with the tumultuous feelings within. Her hand cradled in his increased his desire to pull her close within his arms; he ached to touch the silky smoothness of her cheek, to feel her sweet breath upon his face, her lips warm on his.
"We must speak," he said, knowing he was in need of a diversion.
Elizabeth lifted her eyes to his. "The room is uncommonly large," she said.
"It is fortunate because size is needed to accommodate such a quantity of couples."
"Yes, and a cotillion takes up so much more space than, say, a country dance would." Lizzie attempted to keep her countenance but could not help but suppress a small giggle.
"Now all I have left to say," responded Fitzwilliam feigning the utmost seriousness, "is that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones."
"Oh yes indeed." Lizzie pursed her lips. "Now that we have made such earth shattering observations we may be silent for a while." They shared a look of pure enjoyment before the figures of the dance took them away from each other.
When they were returned once again within conversation's range Fitzwilliam looked at her with eyes still full of laughter. "The necessary interruption of accommodating all the other dancers of this set has made me forget what we were speaking of - there is much to be said for dances such as the waltz that limit the interaction to one couple alone."
Lizzie blushed, thinking of the only time they had waltzed together, but matched his light, bantering tone. "Our conversation was surely enlightening - we touched upon two or three very stimulating subjects most successfully, but I cannot imagine what next we are to talk about. How does one improve on the sublime?"
"We can always fall back upon books."
"Talk of books in a ballroom? Sir! Do you take me for a bluestocking?"
"Then by all means let us talk of fashion, though I must admit that I am unsure if I can attain impressive heights of erudition upon the subject."
"It is quite above me as well," said Lizzie, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "so we must resign ourselves to the mundane and speak of literature and philosophy."
They ended speaking of neither but conversing warmly on a variety of diverse subjects. The half-hour ended with them feeling quite a bit more at ease in each other's company. As she was escorted from the floor, Lizzie noticed Mr Andrews leading Charlotte out and smiled warmly. It was her fondest wish for her two friends to come to an understanding and she hoped that now he would begin to notice Charlotte's true worth. She deserved as much.
Fitzwilliam went in search of refreshments while Lizzie joined Georgiana. When he returned he found them deep in a conversation about her family, something they had not yet touched upon. He knew nothing other than that she came from Hertfordshire, and he knew nobody of her relatives but the young cousin and two sisters he had met. He was also aware that she had an aunt and uncle living in Cheapside, the very aunt she had accompanied to Kent twelve years ago.
"Fitzwilliam, did you know Miss Bennet is one of five sisters? How I would have enjoyed to even only have one - not that you are not the best of brothers - but I have often longed for a sister."
"And I would have liked a brother," said Lizzie. "My parents particularly wanted a son because the estate is entailed to the male line, but it was not to be. Instead they were burdened with five very boisterous and wilful girls."
"I can see where that description might apply to your youngest sister," said Fitzwilliam, "but neither you nor Mrs Fairborn could have been anything other than perfect daughters."
"Dear Jane," said Lizzie. "She has been the biggest comfort to my mother with her calm nature, caring and clear-sightedness. My father and I have always been very close but to my mother I have been somewhat of a trial."
"I cannot believe that," said Georgiana.
"My mother will never forgive my spinsterhood."
"You are no spinster!" cried Georgiana.
"In my mother's eyes any girl of seven and twenty and still unmarried is doomed to a terrible fate."
"I am certain your mother will be relieved of such worries in the very near future," said Fitzwilliam softly, but not too softly for Lizzie alone to hear. She turned her head away, unable to meet his eyes, and he continued in a louder tone. "Your other two sisters - are they younger than you?"
Lizzie was able to collect herself though her pulse was beating irregularly. She did not want to read too much into his words, but really they could only mean one thing - it was as if he had declared himself right there in front of his sister and a room full of people. But he was not expecting an answer, only giving reassurance that his intentions were unchanged from what they had been twelve years before. Lizzie knew how she wanted to respond and how she ought to respond, but she also knew that for now she must continue the conversation as if the statement had not been made. She quieted her singing heart and answered with as much tranquillity as possible. "Mary is a year my junior and Kitty two years younger still. You met her, I believe, when she toured your estate with our aunt and uncle. I'm sure you will not recall the visit - you must encounter so many tourists."
Understanding dawned. Fitzwilliam could never have forgotten the young girl he had almost mistaken for her or that fateful day itself. "I remember her perfectly. She is very like you, but not nearly so . . . lovely." The word was inadequate, but any word he could say in this setting could not describe the true difference between the sisters, at least to his mind and heart. "For a moment when I came upon her on the landing I almost thought . . ."
Lizzie looked up at him and their eyes held. It explained so much - she almost laughed aloud now at the thought of all Kitty's vain suppositions. Something like relief coursed through her, not that she had ever doubted him, but that his words proved she had been right to believe in him all along. "They are both married now thus increasing my mother's dissatisfaction with my unmarried state." Her eyes twinkled as if with a private joke and Fitzwilliam responded with his slow, soft smile. They were unto themselves as an island in a sea of ball gowns and court cards, enchanted to discover that even more than the physical attraction and bond of true feeling that existed between them, there was a meeting of their minds opening up ever new vistas that broadened all their hopes and expectations. The only word to describe what they were experiencing now was awe.
Georgiana watched the two of them and felt a flush of happiness at the thought that her wish of having a sister would surely soon be answered.
Chapter Eighteen
Mr Andrews arrived promptly at 11:00 to escort Miss Pawson and Charlotte to the British Museum to view the Elgin Marbles. The Greek sculptures that had caused so much controversy for the past ten years, since their arrival upon British soil, had recently been procured by the museum and now were its most popular attraction. During the short carriage drive, Mr Andrews explained their history to Miss Pawson, telling her how Thomas Bruce, the seventh Earl of Elgin, had bought them from the Turks who were presently controlling Athens.
"But do you truly think," interposed Charlotte, "that his prime objective was to save them from being destroyed by the Turks and used as building materials?"
"By no means," said Mr Andrews. "He wanted to use them to decorate Broom Hall, but what with being taken prisoner by the French on his return trip and discovering his life here in England all in a shambles when he was finally released, he found himself in very straitened circumstances." He was careful not to mention the scandal of the Earl's wife leaving him for another man in the interim. "They were mouldering in packing crates for years until he was able to sell them to the British Museum, and many pieces had broken during transport and were beyond repair."
"Would that he had left them where they were," said Charlotte. "I understand that he incurred great expenses bringing them home that he was unable to recoup."
"He was asking seventy-five thousand for them originally, but after years of haggling finally settled for thirty-five. I understand his estate was completely bankrupt."
"Then he was justly served by fate, don't you think?"
Aurelia looked out the window, bored with the conversation. She hoped the museum would be better - so far the outing was no more than a dreary history lesson. Everyone in London was in raptures over the marbles themselves so she had been excited to see them, but this introduction was unpropitious.
Once in front of the display, Aurelia had to admit it was well worth the visit. She dutifully nodded whenever Mr Andrews informed her of some irrelevant fact, but if asked she could never have repeated what had just been said to her. She was not interested that the statues were created by the fifth century master, Phideas, or that they had originally formed fifty-six sections of the frieze and tympana of the Parthenon in Athens; what caught her attention was the grand scale of the sculptured forms of male and female physique - rippling muscles showed through the marble tunics and armour - soft curves through the filmy stone draperies. She barely noticed the missing noses and broken arms; she was struck by the virility and perfection of high classical Greek sculpture.
Charlotte was left breathless herself. Her usually practical mind was caught by the beauty of the ancient stone that resonated with myth and legend. "To have been able to see it as it was, intact, high above the columns of that magnificent structure." Her voice echoed the wonder of her sentiment.
"Warmed by the Aegean sun - the crowning glory of the Acropolis," agreed Mr Andrews. He looked over at her and thought how the light in her grey eyes enhanced her face. He had never before noticed, but she was actually quite pretty.
"Though I feel honoured to have seen them," she said, "I think that bringing them here was truly a travesty. Would the Turkish builders really have destroyed such works of art?"
"I cannot say. They do not respect these treasures and have laid waste to many temples. They may have sold them instead to another buyer. For some, money is of higher value than any other consideration."
"I would not put money highest on my list," said Charlotte.
"Nor I," he softly replied, wondering at the spell the statues had laid upon him. Charlotte Lucas was turning out to be a most enjoyable companion. He had always known her to be kind, sensible, and dependable, but he was now discovering that she was also sensitive and intelligent.
"What are your impressions, Aurelia?" asked Charlotte. She had almost forgotten the girl's presence and had to remind herself that it was because of her that Mr Andrews had accompanied them. As much as she enjoyed talking to him, her protege must be brought back into the conversation.
"They are indeed impressive. How lucky we are to have them here in England, for I should never have undertaken a voyage to Greece to see them."
"You do not like travel, then?" asked Mr Andrews.
"I have travelled but little," she admitted. "I should think it would be frightfully exciting but for all the hours spent bouncing in a coach and all the dust." She then turned her attention to Charlotte. "Miss Lucas, would we be able to move into the other room? I noticed Miss Burnley enter it. I met her at the ball and would dearly like to greet her."
Charlotte cast Mr Andrews a questioning glance and he politely took both their arms and led them from the grand display. She looked back one last time, her feelings still very mixed regarding the marbles. When they reached the other room, Aurelia pointed out a fashionably dressed young lady escorted by an elegantly attired gentleman.
"There she is with her brother."
Charlotte eyed Aurelia suspiciously as a faint blush spread across her countenance. She wouldn't have been surprised if this chance meeting of her new friend was not as accidental as it would seem. The couple turned just then and came forward to greet them. Charlotte watched closely as Aurelia made the introductions. Both she and the young man appeared quite conscious, and Miss Burnley herself a trifle over-eager. If Charlotte had been one for betting, she would have laid money on the fact that neither young lady was at all acquainted. She was quite annoyed with Aurelia for serving Mr Andrews such a trick, but did her best to conceal her displeasure.
Mr Andrews shook hands with Mr Burnley thinking that they must have met each other on some previous occasion, so familiar he was, and then he had a revelation of why he knew him. He was the very same gentleman who had claimed Miss Pawson's hand at the ball, and he was certain she had danced with him more than once.
It soon came out in their conversation that Aurelia's friends had not yet seen the marbles, so she begged to be allowed to accompany them. "I will be able to pass on all the information which I have already learned from you and Mr Andrews," she said guilelessly.
"I do not know that I want to see them again," said Charlotte. "They make me think too much. I would prefer to wait for you outside in the fresh air."
Mr Andrews looked from one lady to the other. He was ostensibly Miss Pawson's escort, but he could not allow Miss Lucas to go outside unescorted. His responsibilities lay to Mrs Pawson and he ought not leave her daughter in favour of her companion, but the Burnleys appeared to be well-bred, pleasant people and quite irreproachable.
Charlotte understood his dilemma. "Have no concern for me - I will do very well on my own. At my age there can be no impropriety in it."
That settled the matter for Mr Andrews. He had known Charlotte Lucas for many years and could not bear to see her speak of herself as if she were an ageing spinster. "I will accompany you, Miss Lucas," he said and then he turned to Aurelia. "I hope you will forgive me."
"Oh, I understand completely. My dear Miss Lucas must not be left alone - I would not have it. Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr Andrews. We shall not be above fifteen minutes, Miss Lucas, I promise." She smiled brightly at them both and then accepted Mr Burnley's proffered arm.
As they watched the threesome walk away, Charlotte said to Mr Andrews, "Thank you. I hope you do not mind too much."
"On the contrary." He took her arm and steered her through the crowds to the entrance. "I am glad to be in your company. I enjoyed our talk back there very much, and was hoping for more conversation with you. And I am very curious about one thing you recently said."
"What was that?"
"You stated that the marbles make you think too much."
They were now outside and found a low bench in the balustrade to sit upon. "I usually have such a sensible, rational nature," said Charlotte, "but in the presence of so much resonating history I felt as if I was being besieged by thoughts and visions of ages past. Oh! It sounds so foolish when I say it here in the light of day."
"It does not sound foolish at all. Those old stones struck me in much the same way. I was strongly reminded of my own mortality."
They sat in deep conversation hardly noticing that the fifteen minutes became half an hour. When the Burnleys eventually returned Miss Pawson to them, they both regretted that their discussion had to come to an end. The carriage ride home was silent, but it was a comfortable silence that none of the three wished to disturb.
When he left them at their door Mr Andrews went on to his club, mildly surprised at how contented he felt. He did not stop to question why he should when the intended object of his regard had not really paid him much attention, or he her. Instead, as he waited for the dinner he ordered, he ran his mind over what other excursions of interest he might escort the ladies on, his thoughts running more to things that would please a lady of two and thirty rather than a young girl of seventeen.
Aurelia immediately excused herself upon entering the house and went to her room to gaze out her window and wonder if, under that elegantly tailored morning coat, Mr Burnley looked anything like those most amazing sculptures. Charlotte was so lost in thought that she forgot to question her charge about the not so chance encounter with Miss and Mr Burnley and instead was happily grateful for the half hour of pleasure it had afforded.
~
Bingley nervously fiddled with his cravat as he waited for the door to open. He was hoping against hope that she was in. He had come to a momentous decision and had now finally screwed up the courage to put it into action. He was certain she loved him - well, almost certain. There was always room for a small doubt until she confirmed it. That he loved her was unquestionable. He had been falling in love since that day they had first met. No matter how much he had striven to put her memory out of his mind, the vision of her had never faded. If he thought Darcy tortured by love of a girl unknown, then he was even more pulled apart knowing he was in love with one who was married and completely unattainable. It was thoroughly perverse. How could one's mind, heart and soul conspire against one like that? But now . . .
The door finally opened and he was led again to the parlour where he had seen her the other day with her sweet little daughters. What a sight for his eyes that had been. It was all he could do to prevent himself from proposing then and there in front of Lily and Rose. They had charmed him even more, all three of them, showing him what a family he could have - what happiness could be awaiting at his own hearth every single day.
He was ushered into the room and to his delight she was alone. Fear pricked again. The fear that she would not have him and all that he now enjoyed would be lost. He would never be able to bask in her warm smiles if it turned out she did not care - that it was only her sweet nature that smiled on him and nothing more. He liked to think that she gave him smiles that were different than the ones she gave other men. Smiles that said she cared for him above all the others. In fact he was sure of it. This surety gave him resolve and he stepped forward.
Jane looked up from where she sat at Mr Bingley who had just been ushered into the room. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a butterfly looking to escape its confines. He did not move, just stood there slightly beyond the door that closed behind him and uttered not a word. The look on his face was unreadable - almost apprehensive. A sudden dread tugged at her. Was he about to say goodbye? She could not bear for him to leave, not now when everything seemed to be going so perfectly. Every minute spent with him had been magical. She was almost assured of his love - his every glance seemed to speak of it. Except right now. Instead his look seemed wary, unapproachable.
He stepped forward suddenly and his face opened. He smiled. With his smile the light returned to her soul. She smiled too and the warmth in his doubled, trebled.
Her smile had sealed everything. The way it lit up her delicate face, the way her cheeks rounded so becomingly and her eyes were infused with life. His breath was taken away by the sight of her and his greatest fear now was that he would be unable to speak.
"I had been hoping to find you alone." It had been his only thought and he still could not believe that it was reality. That the time to take hold of his destiny was now.
The emotion in his voice caused her to tremble. She looked up into his face and could not look away. He had not come to say goodbye - he had come to claim her as his own. Her whole being filled with gladness. It was as if somewhere deep inside a nightingale sang.
He knelt by her side and took her hand. She barely noticed his actions; all she could see were his eyes and she marvelled at how clear and blue they were.
"May I call you Jane?" He could not imagine proposing to her with the name Mrs Fairborn upon his lips. He would not say Mrs to her again until he could call her Mrs Bingley, nothing else.
She nodded her head, unable to speak.
"Dearest Jane," he said, his voice choking up. "I have longed for this day, and yet I have this fear inside me that only you can dispel."
"You need fear nothing." She spoke so softly it was barely audible.
"If I were to tell you how long I have loved you, you would not believe me, but I can name the very hour of the very day - the very location where I first set eyes on you - and say that I have loved you since that moment though I feel I have loved you forever. When I saw you again at Almacks my heart stood still. I knew not how I would live through the evening wanting you as I did and thinking you unattainable. You cannot imagine the joy I felt upon learning you were free." He reached out and stroked her cheek - a feather-light touch that sent warmth rushing through her.
"I felt that same joy upon seeing you again. I too can name the time and the place of our first meeting," she said. "I knew it was wrong of me - so wrong - but I could not help the feelings that suffused me that day."
"I hated myself," he admitted, "even as I loved you. But I never regretted the love. I never wished I had not seen you."
"I too."
He inched closed to her, his one hand still clasping hers, his other tenderly playing with the loose curls at her temple. "It would only have been wrong if we had acted upon it," he whispered. "I left as soon as I was able. It is the most difficult thing I have ever done."
"When I came indoors and you were no longer there I knew it was as it had to be, but I felt such sorrow just the same."
"My darling," he said, and kissed her hand. "But now there is room only for happiness."
They both knew there would be a time later when they would have to speak of her marriage, have to deal with the guilt they both felt at gaining their happiness through Henry Fairborn's death. But this was a time to speak only of love - the love they shared for one another.
Jane smiled and Charles longed to take her in his arms and discover how sweet her lips could be when joined with his own, but he needed to ask for her hand first - to commit himself to her, body and soul.
"My Love, my heart, my very angel." His voice was gently caressing. "I want nothing other than to marry you, if you will but say yes."
"And I want nothing but to marry you, my dearest love."
His hand slipped down and back, behind her head, caressing as it went. He leaned closer, and not losing contact with her eyes said, "I want to hear my name on your lips."
She sighed and reached her free hand to his curls. "Charles," she whispered. "My love, my own."
She could say no more for his lips had found hers. They kissed softly, slowly savouring the moment, then he rested his forehead against hers and simply held her close.
Chapter Nineteen
As soon as Bingley took his leave, Jane lost no time in sharing her joy with Lizzie.
"I wish you could have my happiness Lizzie," she said as her sister offered her congratulations with a warm hug. "I am beside myself with joy - I never knew such a feeling. He loves me!"
"Of course he does Jane," said Lizzie. "How could he help himself?"
"And he has always loved me, ever since that day I first set eyes on him. What I felt that day was not some prurient inclination but rather something pure and true. And he felt it too!"
"Oh Jane," said Lizzie, feeling tears rise quickly to her eyes. "This is what you have long deserved."
"Mr Bingley has left to go directly to Longbourn to speak to Papa. I feel as anxious as a schoolgirl."
"Papa is sure to be very taken with him, and Mama will be beside herself."
Jane laughed. "And no one there to protect poor Charles from her effusions. I must go and tell the girls they are to have a new father. How do you think they will take the news?"
"Very well," said Lizzie. She saw no problems there. Since they had met Mr Bingley, the two little girls spoke of him constantly, hoping that he would visit them soon. Lizzie watched her sister leave the room and remembered Jane's doubts as she entered into her first marriage. There was none of that this time - instead she was overflowing with light and laughter.
Lydia received the news well, if a trifle enviously. It seemed to her that although Jane and Mr Bingley had been smelling of April and May since that night at Almacks, it was still unfair that her sister should have been proposed to and accepted for a second time while she yet remained unclaimed. She consoled herself that at least she had received two or three very flattering and quite amorous proposals in her career, whereas Lizzie had only that disgusting proposal from Mr Collins to her credit.
~
Mr Bingley returned the following day and the announcement of the betrothal reached every house in London by the morning paper the day after. Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, of course, heard it directly from the man himself who was so deliriously happy he was almost too much to behold. His sister Caroline was having great difficulty showing her forbearance.
"If I again hear the story of how he first saw his angel descending the staircase at Netherfield, I swear I shall become ill. Is he not just too, too love-struck, Mr Darcy?" She leaned towards Fitzwilliam as she spoke, clearly expecting some fellow feeling. He was nearly overpowered by her cloying scent.
"I am very happy for him. Mrs Fairborn is a lovely lady."
"She smiles too much, but to be sure she is very sweet. I do find her sister rather shrewish, though. And such designing airs. I must warn you that she will seek to gain from her sister's good fortune."
"Indeed?"
"Have you not noticed Miss Bennet casting her lures your way? Be forewarned - she is out to garner a fortune, that one."
"If that were the case," said Fitzwilliam blandly, "she would have married that Andrews chap years ago."
"Mr Andrews? You are quite mistaken. He is mooning about after that Pawson chit like a callow youth. I wager he did not come up to the mark with Miss Bennet and now you are in some danger of her full attack."
Despite himself, Fitzwilliam's anger was piqued. "Desist in your slanderous remarks, Mrs Ellington," he answered stiffly.
Caroline could not contain herself. In her jealousy her spiteful tongue got the better of her good judgement. "There are some that call her pretty, but I see none of that. Her teeth are tolerable, her features merely passable, and her eyes, which are generally spoken of as fine, to me appear calculating. Her behaviour shows a certain disregard for propriety. It is small wonder that at the age of seven and twenty she has become quite desperate to marry, for who would want her?"
"She is the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance and very desirable," said Fitzwilliam, turning his back on Caroline and walking from the room.
He made his way up to the nursery and stood watching his own Elizabeth Anne as she slept, moonlight gilding the curve of her cheek. He reached out and touched her soft curls while his anger dissipated into the still air. After all these years he should have known better than to let Caroline Ellington's malice affect him so much. The woman would never forgive him for spurning her - would never leave off trying to impress him even though married herself. Her overtures had bordered on the improper more times than once. He wished fervently that her husband would come to London and rein her in.
"Brother, our guests are leaving," said Georgiana from the doorway. "Will you not come down and bid them goodnight?"
"I am so sorry for deserting you, dearest," he said, smiling at her expression of gentle concern. "I will be down directly."
Georgiana always knew where to find him when he was feeling out of sorts. Nothing calmed him like his little daughter. There was only one person in the world who meant more to him than her.
~
"If I am to be in the same room as those lovebirds all day, I swear I shall elope with the first man that asks me," cried Lydia.
"Then it is to be hoped that your gentlemen friends show more good sense than you," said Lizzie expressively as the young men who had come to call looked over at Lydia eagerly.
Mr Greenly only sat back in his chair and smiled. "Miss Lydia, do I detect a note of envy?"
"Not in the least," she was quick to return. "It is just so utterly boring. Lord, and to think we will have to suffer a month of this."
"A month is quite a short engagement, is it not?" he answered.
"Not short enough to my mind!"
"I think your sister and Mr Bingley are in agreement with you."
"W . . . will you not drive out with me?" ventured one of her younger swains.
"Oh, I should dearly love to. May I Lizzie?"
"And leave all your other callers dangling their heels here with me?"
"I should not mind in the least," said Mr Greenly gallantly.
"You see?" said Lydia, somewhat chagrined at his compliance. She had been hoping that Mr Greenly would offer to take her out for a drive himself. "There are no objections."
"But . . ." interposed the other young gentleman who was seated beside her.
"Mr Porter will not mind if you join us, Mr Uruquart, will you?" She bestowed a beseeching look upon the gentleman who had originally offered the invitation.
"N-not in the l-least," he managed, though he appeared far from pleased at the prospect. "Though . . . how would it be m-managed?"
"It would be highly improper, Lydia," said Lizzie.
"And we c-could not all s-squeeze into my c-curricle," said Mr Porter, casting Lizzie a look of gratitude.
"Oh fie! I was not suggesting anything so vulgar," cried Lydia. "Mr Uruquart came on horseback and he will ride by my side, once we reach Hyde Park. It is above reproach, Lizzie. Really."
"Then I see no problem," said Mr Greenly. "And it should alleviate any worries you may have had regarding elopement, Miss Bennet. I don't suppose your sister would undertake to elope with two young men at the same time."
Lizzie stifled a giggle in part at Mr Greenly's comment and in part at the look of deep annoyance that Lydia cast him.
"Miss Lydia, do not be concerned on your sister's and my behalf," continued Mr Greenly. "We shall be quite happy to stay here and chaperone the besotted couple. In fact I am looking forward to becoming better acquainted with Miss Bennet."
"Oh!" said Lydia. "Do not think that I care one single jot how you plan to spend your time, sir!" And she flounced out of the room, followed closely by the two young gentlemen, who were quite relieved to see that their most serious rival had worked himself into a position of disfavour. Neither thought the other a threat at all.
"I must apologise for Lydia's behaviour," said Lizzie hurriedly. "Sometimes she is a little rash."
"No need at all," said Mr Greenly shaking his head. "I understand her perfectly - and regardless of her very obvious faults I am quite taken with her. I know that deep down there lurks a girl who is very worthy of esteem and I plan to go the distance in securing her."
"You have my best wishes for success in your endeavour," said Lizzie. "Lydia will be very lucky to have you."
He nodded in acceptance of her compliment and answered in a voice that showed he truly meant all that he had said, "And I count myself lucky to have found her."
~
An excursion to Richmond Park was what Mr Andrews had eventually decided upon. Mrs Pawson accepted the invitation on behalf of both her daughter and Miss Lucas and it was decided to drive out the following Tuesday. Miss Pawson did all that was in her power to turn the occasion into a group outing but her plans fell through when the friends she desired to join them, Mr Burnley and his sister, admitted to having pressing family obligations that day.
The week that led up to the excursion seemed to drag for Aurelia. Mr Andrews visited three times and Mr Burnley only twice, and one of those visits coincided with his rival's. Luckily Mr Andrews seemed content to converse with Miss Lucas because, though he was quite handsome even for his age, his conversation was boring compared to that of the younger gentleman. His lacked the fulsome compliments and poetic utterances of Mr Burnley, and he never did gaze into her eyes with quite the same earnest devotion. He was rich, as her mother was intent on reminding her, but he was not her idea of an ardent lover. She was looking for passion, not intellect - romance rather than good common sense.
Tuesday arrived with cloudless skies of a bright spring blue. Even Aurelia had to admit that it was the type of day designed by nature expressly for enjoying a drive in a park. Richmond was like being in the depths of the country again, something that she truly did miss though she was delighting in the bustle of city life.
She enjoyed seeing the timid deer bounding off at the sound of the carriage into the depth of the woods. They stopped and picnicked by the side of a pond, sharing their scraps with the ducks that came up from the water in the hopes of a handout. The baskets Mr Andrews had brought contained a truly sumptuous repast. After they had their fill, they walked by the water. Aurelia lapsed into silence as she let her thoughts drift upon more fanciful lines than the plebeian conversation of her companions.
In her imaginings Mr Burnley came upon them on horseback. His muscles rippled beneath his riding clothes and as he rode by he bent down and scooped her up to sit before him on the saddle. They rode off into the dimness of the woods as he whispered words of love into her ear. What was to happen after that she had no idea - her fantasy just drifted off into pleasant, wistful feelings and then started from the beginning again where she detailed his appearance, his expression, the strength of his grip as he pulled her up, until they again rode away to explore that wonderful mystery of life together.
Charlotte noticed that Aurelia had a distant look in her eyes, but after two or three attempts at including her in the conversation she gave up trying. Mr Andrews did not seem to mind that the girl was preoccupied and soon Charlotte left off worrying about it as well. She was having too good of a time to spoil it with unnecessary concerns. In her mind the day was close to perfection. If she had been Mr Andrews' favoured companion for the day, and the outing arranged solely for her benefit, then it would have been perfect. But she cautioned herself not to forget that it was all for Miss Pawson's entertainment, and if Mr Andrews chose to converse with her while the girl enjoyed her surroundings it was just a measure of his kindness and hospitality.
For his part, Mr Andrews was suffering from a certain amount of confusion of mind. Miss Pawson was pretty and naively charming and he ought to find her company more interesting than he did, but her conversation was either insipid or non-existent. To all intents and purposes she was ignoring him, and yet he was having a most enjoyable time. He had always held Miss Lucas in esteem for her friendship with Elizabeth Bennet, but he had never really known the true depth of her character. She was a very entertaining companion.
His increasing disinterest in Miss Pawson disturbed him and it was difficult for him to discover why. He had committed himself to her in no way, so he knew that if he stopped his attentions towards her he would not be going back on any promises, in fact he was sure that her interest in him was marginally less than his in her. So if he stopped courting her he would be hurting no one. But the idea of no longer visiting her caused him regret.
He was enjoying himself now; in fact he was happier than he had been in quite a while. He was no longer a prisoner of unrequited love. When he saw Elizabeth Bennet in the company of Fitzwilliam Darcy he had slowly come to the realisation that loving her was futile. It was with much sadness that he had released her, and though deep down he knew he would always feel a tender regard for her, he no longer felt that burning need that he had carried around for so long until it had become a habit. He only recently realised that when, in the end, he had given all hope of her up he had really set himself free from a cage of his own devising.
And now, his second attempt at securing love had gone awry. He smiled at himself as he assisted Miss Pawson and Miss Lucas back into the carriage. He was finally able to see the foolishness of his own actions. His heart fresh and eager to love had rushed from his loss headlong into desire, but not desire of a lady for who she was. Instead it was the idea of loving again that had appealed to him so much. The idea that was as young and fresh as the girl he set his sights on. It could have been any girl, but for some reason he had chosen Miss Pawson. He was handing the ladies down from the carriage on their return when, as he held Miss Lucas' hand and looked up into her eyes, he realised that he had chosen Miss Pawson because of Charlotte Lucas herself. It was that plain and simple.
That was the moment Mr Andrews realised he had embarked upon his third attempt at securing love. And suddenly he was filled with such confidence as he had never before felt.
~
Fitzwilliam sat back in his chair and sighed. Bingley had been happily engaged for two weeks and yet he could not bring himself to the point of declaration. He had been in Elizabeth's company on numerous occasions, usually with the vision of Bingley and Mrs Fairborn's bliss before him. Somehow the spectacle of their openly expressed devotion caused Elizabeth to be shyer than she had been in his company before the event, and more withdrawn. When she looked at him her eyes were filled with an emotion that he could not quite read, and she looked away all too quickly. When they conversed she was more contemplative, less witty, and at times almost overcome with self-consciousness. This, in turn, caused his reserve to resurface - his fears to return.
Being in her presence was always a heady experience and that had not changed. Whenever he saw her he was again struck by his overwhelming love of her. But his heightened awareness helped him to feel the discomfort that radiated from her. He could not understand the cause. Every evening, upon his return, he would sit and contemplate - try to discover if he had somehow done or said something to cause her such unease. But he could not. Why her sister's happiness affected her this way he could not fathom. He was afraid it had something to do with their past, and he knew that though he was sure of their mutual love there were hurdles of a very complex and delicate nature that they would have to master. He just hoped that they were not insurmountable.
He got up from his chair and walked to the window, pulling back the blind. The street was dark, barely lit by the light of the crescent moon. Even blacker shadows were cast by the looming shapes of the close-built London houses. It had rained earlier and glassy puddles reflected what little light there was. The aspect was completely uninviting. He would find no answers there.
He left his study and started up the staircase, his hand running along the smooth oak banister as he went, treasuring the familiarity of the old wood. His heart hung heavy in his chest. On the landing he hesitated. His quarters were to the left, the nursery to the right. In his bedchamber there was nothing but his own thoughts eddying endlessly over the same doubts and fears. In the nursery was his one consolation in life - the amazing blessing he had received from the greatest sacrifice he had ever willingly made. When he looked at Elizabeth Anne he was always filled with wonder that a union so empty had created such a thing of beauty. He could never have not loved her. It was immediate and automatic. She had brought joy out of emptiness and if he lost all else he would cherish that forever.
He turned to the right, treading softly as he manoeuvred the dark corridor.
Chapter Twenty
His face was always so tight and cold now - so distant - and their conversation strained. And her dreams - they haunted her as they had never done before. There was the cottage and the rider and rain falling in torrents from the darkened sky. She stood in the doorway, but though she could see him riding by in the distance he never came near. He just stayed out in the driving rain until it washed him completely away and she returned to that shoddy parlour where the fire refused to light and she tumbled upon the coarse hearthrug and tried to will his warming presence to her - but she was unrelievably cold.
She knew she ought not let such dreams impress themselves upon her thoughts and twist them like smoke. She knew that dwelling on her sorrows would lead her down a sunless lane. She needed to remember what was still light and bright in this world and cling to it. Revel in Jane's good fortune. But what Jane had gained reminded her all too strongly of what she could never possess. And with each day her sorrow deepened.
At first she had only felt delight for Jane and a secret sizzling joy at her own prospects - but then she was struck forcibly with a truth that she had almost succeeded in hiding from herself. A day or two after Jane's betrothal she had been walking in the small garden that ran alongside the stables behind the house, a high stone wall dividing it from the buildings that rose up alongside. There was barely room between wall and cobbles for the few gaunt shrubs that valiantly grew in the shady plot but it was a place where she could be out of doors and on her own. The words Jane had said to her suddenly flashed within her mind. What I felt that day was not some prurient inclination but rather something pure and true. And it was all suddenly brought back to her. What Jane and Mr Bingley had was indeed pure and true. But she had followed her prurient inclination. She had made the move that had led Fitzwilliam to unleash his great need and longing and she had harnessed it with her own body. She had acted upon a feeling that she ought to have controlled. She had taken advantage of his vulnerable state and she had ruined herself for any man in the process. Even for him. Especially for him. As her disgust in her past actions built she forgot every other consideration.
When she next saw him she could barely look at him for mortification, and after that she only looked at him to find proof of her own fears. Sometimes one is only capable of seeing what one is looking for though the real truth is staring one in the face, and she saw only what she expected to find. He was uneasy in her presence - his good manners must have hidden it from her before. She made him uncomfortable. Their past was lodged between them - an impenetrable barrier that even their love could not surmount. She had renewed her earlier vow, that she would marry no one, not even him because she wasn't worthy of anyone's love and she shed her idyllic dreams.
Each day it became harder to bear, especially as she was constantly in his presence. Every afternoon soiree, every dinner party that she attended he was there and she was drawn to him as to a magnet, unable to give up his company even as she gave up their very future together. It was something beyond pain.
Lizzie took a deep breath and put a smile upon her face, and then continued down the stairs. No one was seated at the table when she entered. She served herself sparingly from the chafing dishes and sat in her accustomed spot. There was an envelope addressed in her name lying before her. She opened it casually, thinking that invitations were just what she needed at this point in her life - to keep herself active and her mind from traversing that same torturous ground. It was from Georgiana Darcy inviting her to walk out that very morning. She knew she ought to decline but the temptation was just too great, and anyway, she told herself, the invitation did not mention that he would be present, so there was no reason for her heart to race as it was doing. Before continuing her light repast, before allowing herself the time to reconsider her decision, before she remembered the pain of salt upon a fresh wound, she rang for her writing materials and dashed out a quick acceptance, and then, barely allowing time for the ink to dry, she called for a footman to deliver it at once.
~
When Lizzie was shown into the well-appointed drawing room, Georgiana's evident pleasure at seeing her caused her to make an extra effort to exert herself and shake off the melancholy that enveloped her like a cloak. She tried to ignore the feelings that simply being in his home evoked. The elegance and yet comfort of the compartment spoke to her of his character and she once or twice had to avert her eyes when the feelings of loss became too strong. To counteract this deleterious effect the room had upon her, she strove to inject lightness and gaiety into her conversation.
"My brother is caught up with estate business this morning," said Georgiana, "and sends his regrets, but he will be free to join us at luncheon. It was my plan to take Elizabeth Anne out with us - there is a small garden an easy distance from here."
Lizzie readily assented and soon they were underway, the child's nursemaid pushing her ahead of the ladies in her perambulator. Talk centred around the little girl and as if she knew she was the centre of attention, she sat up in her pram, straining her curly head to see past her nursemaid's form and smiling enchantingly at first Georgiana and then Lizzie.
In the garden the young maid settled herself on a bench and took Elizabeth Anne upon her knee, but the toddler squirmed and struggled, intent to scramble down to the paving stones and freedom.
"She loves to walk," explained Georgiana. "Fitzwilliam and I take her by either hand and let her lead us about the flowerbeds. Would you mind if we did that, you and I?"
"I would like that very much. My young cousins were the same at her age and I have spent many a fond hour in just such a pursuit," said Lizzie.
Georgiana could not help but notice that though her friend was hiding it well, there was a shadow that hung heavily over her liveliness and a wistful expression in her eyes when they rested upon Elizabeth Anne. She had every intention of attempting to discover its cause, and so, after allowing the child to entertain them for some time, they returned her to her nurse and then strolled a little further afield all on their own.
There was a short walk lined with large azaleas in full profusion of dusty pink, blazing orange, and warm yellow blooms. They provided not only fragrance and beauty but also the privacy that Georgiana sought.
She turned to Lizzie. "Miss Bennet, I am about to be presumptuous. I hope you will not think ill of me for being so bold, but I cannot watch you struggling to pretend all is well and say nothing. I feel very much that I am your friend . . . and it hurts me to see you this way. Is there anything that I have done to upset you?" Georgiana blushed and faltered but she made it through her speech, even if her final sentence was a little rushed and breathless.
Lizzie was deeply touched at the offer of friendship and concern for her wellbeing, especially as Miss Darcy, for all her shyness, was able to voice such an intimate subject. "Miss Darcy, you must not think that. You have always been so kind and so generous to me, much more so than I deserve. I am well - I had a disturbing dream - it left a feeling that I cannot shake. It is only foolishness on my part. I am sorry if I have not been a good companion."
"I am enjoying your company as I always do. It is just that I am perceptive in this regard - I have long experienced watching my brother do just the same thing." Lizzie looked up at Georgiana, her eyes wide, her colour drained. "But I did not come here to talk of Fitzwilliam . . . I want to know if there is any way I can help you. Do you feel able to share your troubles with me, or am I asking too much?"
Lizzie turned towards the flowers trying to regain her composure. She did not see them. Her eyes were filled with welling tears that she strove to keep at bay.
"I am sorry - I should never have asked. Pray forgive me." Georgiana's voice shook and she slowly began to walk away.
"Stop." Lizzie held out her hand and beckoned for her to return. "Thank you for the care you have shown me just now. It has touched me deeply. There is nothing you or anybody can do to help me, but you deserve to know what is troubling me. When I was young I did something that I regret and the consequences are far-reaching. I cannot go back and change the past, only accept the future I have wrought through that action."
"I too did something when I was young," admitted Georgiana. "The consequences were quite devastating." At that Lizzie looked over to her and their eyes held. Georgiana continued in a steady voice. "But good came out of it too. You must not blame yourself forever for your past mistakes - they are done and over. It is what lies ahead that is important."
"For one so young you are very wise."
"I let all the pain of my mistake engulf me. My cousin Anne helped me out of that darkness with her good counsel - Fitzwilliam with his love. I am only passing on what they have taught me."
"I see no way out of mine," said Lizzie, smiling sadly through the mist of her tears.
"There is always a way out," said Georgina with such conviction it startled Lizzie. "The first step is to take the hand that is held out to you."
She held out her hand and Lizzie took it. That simple gesture created a bond between them as tangible as the flowers and leaves that surrounded them, as tender as their softly delicate fragrance of honey and dew, and as lasting as the blue of the sky above that continued on and on until it reached heaven itself. They stood for some moments in silence and then, upon Lizzie's quiet "thank you," they retraced their steps to Elizabeth Anne who greeted them with cries of delight as her nursemaid tucked her back into her pram.
They walked back to the townhouse. Georgiana was once again the quiet, somewhat reserved Miss Darcy and Lizzie the lively and gently teasing Miss Bennet. The web of sadness had lifted, blown into gossamer threads upon the spring breeze. The deep well of confusion, however, remained.
~
Fitzwilliam threw the ledger down upon his desk. It had taken all his determination not to join the ladies for their walk and now his mind could not stay on his books. The figures just turned into a blur and danced about the page as his thoughts would not leave Elizabeth. Somehow he had to find a moment to speak with her - really speak with her. This distance that had wedged itself between them was too much for him to bear. He could go on no longer without knowing its cause, but the fear that something was irreparably wrong held him back. He stood and began walking restlessly to and fro across the room. When he reached the window that looked out upon the street he held up sharply. They were there below him, just now back from the gardens.
He leaned against the casement and watched Elizabeth say something to Georgiana and smile in that way only she could. The last few times he had been in her company her smiles had been tentative and her eyes had not met his. Was it him then? Or was there no cause for worry at all? Had he been allowing phantoms full rein when there was no reason for their existence? She smiled again and all he could think was that he wanted her to smile upon her thus and erase the torment from his soul.
They stopped at the stairway and the nursemaid lifted Elizabeth Anne out of the perambulator. As Georgiana reached over to take her, Elizabeth intervened and caught the child up in her arms instead. The little girl looked up and laughed into her face and then, putting her tiny arms about Elizabeth's neck, rested her head contentedly upon her shoulder. Elizabeth shifted her burden slightly, leaned her cheek against Elizabeth Anne's profusion of soft curls and then started up the staircase and out of Fitzwilliam's view.
It was just as he had always imagined it, so much so that he wondered if he had indeed witnessed the scene of if it was a creation of his all too active mind. But no - there was the nursemaid still in the street, wheeling the carriage towards the back entrance. There was Georgiana disappearing up the steps. And there, as if imprinted on his mind, was the vision of Elizabeth and his daughter, looking as much a mother herself as he could ever wish.
~
"Miss Darcy." A parlour maid almost as young as Georgiana herself bobbed a little curtsy as she stood in the doorway. "I apologise for the intrusion, but Mrs Grantley finds she has need of a few words with you of an important nature."
Georgiana turned to Lizzie in mild concern. "I hope you don't mind my leaving you alone for a few minutes. My housekeeper would not interrupt me while entertaining a guest unless it was a matter of some urgency."
Lizzie smiled to set her at ease. "I will be quite content with a book while I wait," she said.
"There are some on the table but if you do not find any of interest I could send a footman to the library."
"That should be quite unnecessary. You appear to have a large selection here and if I cannot find one to interest myself for a few minutes well, there would be no excuse for me."
"Thank you. I will try not to be long."
Lizzie picked a book from the table at random. It was a small volume and quite new and felt as if it had been there nestled in her hand on some earlier occasion. She did not see how it could be possible. The book fell open and she ran her eyes over the page, turned back to the beginning and studied the frontispiece. It was the very book she had been perusing when Fitzwilliam met her at the bookshop.
Fitzwilliam. Wherever her thoughts went they always came back to him. So he had bought his sister the book at her own recommendation. Lizzie felt a thrill of pleasure, and rather than read the book let her mind wander back to that afternoon when they had met by chance. I could never doubt you. The sound of his voice reverberated in her head, gently soothing. Could she cling to that?
The door opened and Fitzwilliam himself entered the room. He stood on the threshold, hesitant, and then closed the door and strode forward to stand directly before her.
"How comes it that you are alone?" His voice sounded tentative and strained. She looked up at his eyes and saw what she had been avoiding - his pain.
"Your sister was called away by the housekeeper."
"Did you - did you enjoy your walk?"
"Very much. Elizabeth Anne is the dearest child."
Fitzwilliam smiled in appreciation but all too soon the unsettled look returned to his face. "Elizabeth, we must talk. I . . . you . . . what is happening to us?"
He sat beside her on the divan, reached for her hand and then held back. She turned away and stifled a sob. "Us?" It was all she could manage.
"Yes, us. It was always us. You know that yourself." His voice almost tore. "But what is it that has suddenly come in between? Have I . . ."
"It is not you." The words were wrung out of her. "It is me . . . I am not worthy of you."
He took her hands this time. She could not look at him, not with the way his very touch made her feel. She could feel herself slipping, slipping . . .
"Elizabeth, don't ever think that," he said in desperation. "Don't you remember what I said to you that day? I meant it then and I will always mean it. I think you a wonder. A light in the darkness of my soul."
"But I - I behaved in a most wanton manner. I encouraged you. I made the first move that led to . . ."
He raised her hands to his lips. Kissed first one, then the other - lightly like a feather touch. Still, it burned in her veins and sent that fire throughout her body.
"I was the one who should have held back - I was the one who ought to have known where those actions would lead to - it was up to me to protect you from my desire . . . but I can see that it is not my actions that have caused you so much consternation and confusion, but yours. Elizabeth, how can you think it a wanton act? It was a pure, giving, loving response on your part. You saw my pain and you healed it. You restored my soul. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It should bind us, not divide us."
She looked up at him then - showed him her tear-streaked face. "I will always be bound to you. From that day you have owned my heart."
"And you mine," he softly whispered, kissing her hands again without losing contact with her eyes. "And you mine."
She rested her head upon his chest, gloried at the sound of his heart beneath her ear, breathed in his scent. Wondered yet again that a love so strong could exist - that it could be reciprocal - that it superseded everything. She could no longer reason, only feel.
"Then we are agreed?" He released one of her hands and placed his arm about her, caressed her cheek. He spoke softly into her hair. "There is no impediment?"
"None."
"Good." He tilted her head up and looked directly into her eyes. Gone was the aching emptiness within their depths. Now they were warmed and filled with love alone, love that was reflected back to her from his own. "I want nothing more than to marry you."
"Do you know how many times I heard those words repeated, awake, or in the deepest of sleep? And how I wished I had been able to answer them that day as I longed to?"
"Answer them now, but you can only agree."
"There is no other answer, Fitzwilliam. I want nothing more than to marry you."
He pulled her to him again. Pressed her head to his chest, rested his cheek upon her hair. "Elizabeth." Her name flowed out in a sigh. "When I returned to the cottage to find you gone I was more lost than I ever had been in my entire life. Now I am whole."
"Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done."
"I vowed I would never stop searching for you . . . but my sister needed me. I gave up - can you forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive. I was the one who left without a trace. I did not mean to hurt you so. I was young and confused."
"Let us not argue about who should take the greatest fault. You are back where you belong and I will never let you out of my sight again."
Lizzie giggled. "I am afraid you will have to, my love. You must go to Longbourn and speak with my father. I promise not to run away while you are gone."
"And I shall be able to assure your mother that she is to be relieved of all her worries."
"My mother! I must warn you about my mother, Fitzwilliam. She is prone to quite excitable behaviour."
"And you have not yet met my Aunt Catherine."
"I have heard she is rather formidable, and from your tone I believe it must be true."
"Yes, but we need not concern ourselves with her right now. I would much prefer to speak of us. I have lived without you for so long. What say you to a special licence? Will you mind not having a splendid wedding?"
"All I want is you."
"If your parents were to return with me, we could marry within a week."
Lizzie sighed and snuggled back against his shoulder. She could feel all the rushing desire she had felt so many years ago, but she understood the sensation now and she could restrain it and channel it into the overflowing happiness of being within his arms. "To think this morning I lived in a world of gloom. I had convinced myself you were more lost to me than ever."
"My silly love," he said fondly. And as their eyes met she realised that restraint would not be as easy as she had thought.
Fitzwilliam longed to kiss her. The look in her eyes was more than tempting, the feel of her softness in his arms, the delicate scent of roses that he remembered so well. As he lowered his head towards her face he recollected the vow he had made upon leaving the cottage, to show her every deference of propriety, to wait until marriage before sharing any intimacy, and he curbed all the longing he felt to taste her lips again. The kiss that grazed her forehead was all that was sweet and loving and dear. She looked up at him with such unbounded affection that he knew he had made the right decision.
Georgiana backed quickly out of the drawing room before her presence was noticed. The happiness of the couple seated so close together upon the divan was more than evident. She knew she ought to re-enter the room soon with a little more noise but for now she thought to let them have another few moments alone together. They deserved at least that much after the years of heartache they had endured.
The End
Epilogue
"The gossip mill says the young lady you are engaged to is a country nobody and not in her first youth, even." Colonel Fitzwilliam looked across the top of his glass at his cousin. "What has possessed you, Darcy? Only just free of that disastrous marriage to Anne and you allow yourself to be trapped again. When it comes to women you have never had the least clue."
"Have you been speaking with Mrs Ellington and her cronies?" asked Darcy, looking at his cousin sharply.
"Why yes, it was Bingley's sister who informed me."
"And you don't think it possible she might be biased in her judgement?"
"She's been married a few years now and no longer . . ."
"The woman has never stopped in her attentions to me." Darcy's penetrating gaze held the colonel silent. "Just what did she tell you?" His voice had an edge to it.
"That Miss Bennet had nothing to recommend her but had somehow used her cunning to ensnare you."
"I think you should reserve your judgement until you meet the lady herself. Do you remember the story I told you long ago?"
The colonel sipped his drink. He was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable - there was only one story Darcy could be referring to. "She is not!"
"She is."
"But . . . you couldn't possibly marry her. She could be no more than . . ."
"She could be no more than the girl I fell in love with twelve years ago. I will not have you say a word against her, or refer again to what I disclosed to you in the past. She has always been the only woman in the world for me. There could be no other."
Colonel Fitzwilliam tossed his drink back and reached for the decanter. "Don't get all up in the stirrups!" He sighed resignedly as he refilled his glass. "You were always a hopeless romantic. Marry your mystery girl for all I care - I only hope she will manage this elevation into society without disgracing you."
Darcy laughed dryly. "When you meet her you will understand just how ridiculous that statement is. Regardless of all you have just said I expect you to join us at our wedding Saturday."
"You are losing no time!"
"I have already lost twelve years."
Three days later, Colonel Fitzwilliam finally understood why his cousin had always remained so steadfast. He himself had been a complete fool and he admitted it gracefully. He threw off any preconceptions he had ever held regarding the lady, and in the ensuing years developed a strong friendship with Mrs Darcy. He would never suffer anyone to say a word against her and had a falling out with his aunt, Lady Catherine, over just such an incident. In the end that overbearing lady had to grudgingly admit that her granddaughter was receiving the best of care from her new mother.
~
"I was quite put out by the suddenness of the wedding. With a fortune of ten thousand a year, Lizzie should have had a lavish ceremony - but it is over now and can't be helped. She was wearing the most beautiful emeralds, though! In the family for centuries I daresay. Maybe Lizzie was right to insist on a hurried wedding - tie the knot before he could change his mind! After all you had your chance with the man and all came to naught."
"He was married at the time," wailed Kitty feeling quite put out at how poorly fate had dealt her cards. First her parents descend on her in her home without warning and then they spring a shock like this upon her. "But do not think he was not interested."
Mr Bennet chuckled. "I still have visions of the man striding into my library and demanding Lizzie's hand, then outright telling me to pack my bags for London almost immediately. No Kitty dear - I do not think his interest in you could have been comparable to this. He would have left his wife outright, otherwise."
"Well, I for one am truly pleased that Lizzie has finally married," said Mary primly. "I hope that she will be as happy as I am in my own marriage."
"I do not doubt that she will be doubly so," said Mr Bennet. "I haven't seen my girl so happy since she was a child."
"With ten thousand a year how could she not be?" cried Mrs Bennet, ready to wax long upon what had become her favourite subject ever since Mr Darcy had presented himself on their doorstep. "She must be out of her mind with joy! The jewels! The pin money! The fine estate in Derbyshire!"
"Yes, dear, yes. No need to have an apoplexy."
"And Jane will soon be married again too," said Kitty a tinge of resentment in her voice. "Her Mr Bingley is rich as well, I understand."
"With her beauty I knew it only needed a trip to London to set her up again. And he is such a charming gentleman!" Mrs Bennet sighed and dabbed at her eyes. "I have lost all my girls but Lydia! Oh that I could see her married too!"
"I shouldn't wonder if she receives an offer very shortly," said Mr Bennet smugly.
"Half of London is taken with her for sure," cried his wife. "I suppose her only trouble is choosing one over the other."
"I believe I know which gentleman shall be approaching me."
"Who, Mr Bennet? Who is it to be?"
"I will not tell you till he crosses my threshold."
"You do delight in vexing me, cruel man! I will not rest until I know."
Mrs Bennet would not desist but her husband stood firm. When he tired of the fun he retreated to Kitty's husband's study. The young parson had sensibly chosen that morning to do the rounds of his parish. Mr Bennet seated himself in the most comfortable chair with a volume of Milton and then settled to read until dinner as the excitable conversation in the drawing room continued unabated.
~
Mrs Pawson was quite put out when Charlotte announced her engagement to Mr Andrews. She accused Charlotte of using her position in their household to her own advantage and was highly incensed at such double-dealing. Aurelia, however, expressed her great delight upon hearing the news.
Charlotte returned to Lucas Lodge immediately and Mr Andrews took himself off to Hertforshire to resume his courtship. They were married on a beautiful autumn day surrounded by family and their closest friends. Mr Andrews did not exactly throw himself prostrate upon the ground and grovel at Charlotte's feet (as Alicia wanted him to) for being such a blind nitwit all those years, but he cared for her lovingly throughout their married life and tended with great attention to her every need. He was the best of husbands and most appreciative of his intelligent, sensible wife. They made many trips to the continent and especially enjoyed touring Athens and Rome and seeing all the impressive sculptures and architecture in their natural setting.
Miss Aurelia Pawson, without the good guidance of her sensible governess, enjoyed a season of fickle flirtation. The following season she did as her mama bid and married a man for his fortune. His physique couldn't match that of any of the romantic heroes of her fantasies, and he was older and much more boring than she would have liked. She never was able to discover if Mr Burnley did look like those Greek sculptures under his evening clothes, or if any of her other swains did for that matter, but she never stopped speculating, or daydreaming about the rippling muscles of the many gentlemen who were now forever beyond her reach. Her husband did his best to see that it stayed that way by removing his young bride to the country and rarely bringing her to town.
~
Jane and Bingley's wedding made up for Lizzie's in Mrs Bennet's eyes. The two were married from Longbourn in the parish church. The silk, seed pearls, and lace were all that Fanny Bennet desired. And to top it off, it took place in front of all her closest friends and neighbours so the Lucases, Longs and the like could see how well at least one Bennet girl had married. The wedding breakfast was an extravagant affair and Mrs Bennet's happiness would have been complete if the couple had taken the lease up at Netherfield or even Haye Park. Unfortunately for her, they stayed only their wedding night and then travelled to Derbyshire, where Bingley had purchased a residence not ten miles from Pemberley.
A fortnight after Jane's wedding, Mr Bennet received a visit from a certain gentleman. As Mr Greenly entered his library, Mr Bennet looked up and said, "Are you sure you know what you are getting into young man?"
"I am quite well aware, but I believe I am up to the task." There was a twinkle in his eyes.
Mr Bennet looked at him shrewdly and then smiled and held out his hand. "I do believe you are. She is the last I have to offer or I would try and tempt you with an alternative."
"There is only one of your daughters that is right for me. I think Miss Lydia will keep my life interesting."
"That she will, and if I may offer a few suggestions . . ."
Mr Greenly took a seat and the two gentlemen had an enjoyable conversation for more than an hour.
"I think by now we must put at least my wife out of her misery," said Mr Bennet grudgingly. "It will be a pleasure having you in this family."
"The pleasure is all mine," said Mr Greenly and he went off to tell Lydia that her father had smiled upon his suit. He didn't bother to tell her that the man had also laughed.
~
"Isn't he the most precious thing you have ever seen?" Lizzie looked up at her husband, her eyes shining, her face radiant. In her arms she held her firstborn - James Edward Darcy - named after both his grandfathers.
Fitzwilliam knelt at her side, his hand upon his heir's tiny head. He looked away from his new son and back to his wife. "No," he said softly.
"Of course - you saw Elizabeth Anne when she was born."
"Yes, and I am also looking upon you - precious things must come in threes because I can think of nothing more precious than the three I love the most." He leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek. "I don't think you have ever looked more lovely," he whispered.
"Fitzwilliam! That is the grossest exaggeration. I have only just undergone childbirth. My hair is undone, I am in my oldest nightgown and my face is still red from screaming, I am sure."
"Now who is exaggerating? I was in the corridor for the last two hours and though you were not quiet the entire time, you did not scream once. My dear, if you must know, motherhood becomes you. There is a light in your eyes and a glow upon your cheeks as never before. We must have many children so that I can watch you grow ever more beautiful with each one."
Lizzie laughed. "Stay your nonsense - do you know the agony I've just been through? You would wish that on me many times more, would you, just for your own gratification?" She turned to the baby in her arms. "Master James, never listen to your father. He is a very silly man."
"You intend to teach him not to mind me from the cradle?"
"I don't think there will ever be any worry of your children not minding you, but I will teach them to laugh at you! Now please I can wait no longer - bring Elizabeth Anne to meet her brother."
While Fitzwilliam was gone on his errand Lizzie gazed at the wonder that was her baby boy. He was so tiny and so perfectly formed and though his eyes were grey and his skin still red there was something about his features that echoed his father. She thought of the baby she had never conceived, the one that she almost believed was growing in her for two confused years and knew that he was finally born. Here was the result of the love between her and Fitzwilliam - love that was more fulfilling than she had ever imagined. There was nothing wanton or lustful about her desire for him, her need of him and his of her. When their bodies merged so too did their hearts, their souls.
She held little James Edward to her cheek, kissed him gently on the forehead, and took one of his small hands in hers, stroking the perfect long fingers. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. She felt love overflowing.
Elizabeth Anne walked into the room on her tiptoes holding tightly onto her father's hand.
"Is that really him, Mama?" she asked in an awed voice.
"Yes my darling."
"May I hold him?"
"Climb up on the bed dearest and snuggle close to me. You are too small to hold him on your own but we can hold him together." She moved over and made room for Elizabeth Anne. Fitzwilliam took off the little girl's slippers and picked her up to place her beside her mama. Her hands reached eagerly for the tiny bundle and soon she was happily sitting with him in her arms.
"Papa said he looks like you, but I think he looks like himself. You are not so red and funny."
"And I thought he looked like Papa."
"Papa is not red and funny either. And he is ever so much bigger. My James is teeny tiny." She bent over and kissed the tip of his nose and then laughed up at her mother when he sneezed.
Fitzwilliam sat on the end of the bed and gazed at them, a smile of deep contentment upon his face.
~
Fitzwilliam had no interest in what happened to George Wickham as long as he stayed away from his own family. None of the Darcys ever saw him again, but it was heard that he had failed miserably in the Militia. His gambling debts had caught up with him and in the end he had fled. Helped by one of his few remaining friends he purchased passage on a ship bound for the colony of Upper Canada. How he fared there is anybody's guess.
Georgiana blossomed into a lovely and intelligent young woman. She never lost her reserved nature but she was able to perform before strangers and carry herself with elegance and grace in any social setting. There were some that called her proud, but they were usually girls of lesser accomplishments whose envy got the better of them. Many gentlemen sought her hand but she had gained the clarity to see which were interested in her charms and which her fortune. They all soon found that her heart was not easily touched.
Georgiana was never so happy as when she was at Pemberley with her beloved brother and Elizabeth who had become so dear to her, and the sweet children who loved nothing more than to have their favourite aunt tell them stories and tuck them in at night. One year a young gentleman came to visit a neighbouring estate. He had spent most of his youth travelling the continent and had even visited such exotic countries as Egypt and Turkey. Georgiana listened in fascination to stories of the glorious mosaics in Constantinople, and he raptly sat while she played, his eyes never leaving her face.
They met at Easter and were married by Christmas. His estate was in Suffolk, but a year did not go by that either they visited Pemberley or the entire Darcy family paid them a visit in their snug Inglewood, an old stone mansion covered in ivy and climbing roses.
~
When Anne had died her most faithful servant, Martha Hodges, had stayed on in Darcy's employ at Pemberley, but upon his remarrying she had begged leave to return to Kent where her niece still lived, working as a maid at Rosings. Lady Catherine agreed to take Martha Hodges back as an upper parlour maid. Martha had stayed at Pemberley only long enough to see if what her mistress had once foretold would come true.
It was twelve years since her niece, Nancy, had worked as a serving wench at the inn in Hunsford. Twelve years since her niece had come to visit her at Rosings full of gossip. There had been a young lady and her aunt who had stopped in for a meal. They had been journeying through Kent when a wheel had come off their carriage and with the repairs done they were about to leave. Young Nancy had not thought much of it. She had done her duties and when clearing the table had pocketed a lovely linen handkerchief forgotten in the rush. The next day a gentleman from Rosings had come questioning everybody about the travellers.
Nancy had said nothing to the gentleman - he was so tall and frightening - but she could not wait to show the handkerchief to her auntie. It was the whitest linen, trimmed with lace, and prettily embroidered. On one corner was the name Elizabeth in pale blue silk, stitched finer than she had ever seen before. Martha was one to see a golden opportunity and grab hold of it. She urged young Nancy to tell no one and her future would be secure, then she took the information to her mistress, Miss Anne. The next day Nancy had sworn undying allegiance to Miss Anne DeBourgh and began her training in service to the Rosings cook. Martha herself became Anne's personal maid.
More than once Anne had confided in her most trusted servant. "Mark my words," she had said, "If he ever marries someone other than me, her name will be Elizabeth."
After Anne's marriage, she changed the confidence to: "When I die, only one name will replace me. Elizabeth." So Martha had stayed after her death out of loyalty. She needed to be there herself when the prophecy came true; then she could go home, her duty to her dead mistress done.
~
It was late in the evening at Pemberley; the children were long since tucked in their beds. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth sat upon a settee close by the fireplace. A beautiful Persian rug graced the spot in front of the hearth. It was a very fine piece to put so near a fire but the Darcys had their reasons for its placement in just such a spot. These reasons they never shared when questioned, but a certain look of mischief would come to their faces. Most thought it better not to ask.
Fitzwilliam put down his book and watched the play of firelight upon his wife's lovely countenance. Five years of marriage and he still was awed when he would look up and see her next to him.
Elizabeth glanced up and her breath caught. Her husband's face was golden hued in the light cast from the fire's flames. Simultaneously they snuffed the branches of candles that were close by. Fitzwilliam stood and dealt with the rest while Lizzie put away her book. Soon the only light in the room was that cast by the briskly burning fire.
Fitzwilliam held out his arms to her and Lizzie stood and came to him, reaching up to push a stray curl from his forehead.
"I love that lock of hair," she said, "but I believe you train it to do just that."
"Hours of rigorous training," he said softly as he brought his face close to hers.
"Your time has not been wasted," she said as she trailed her fingers down his cheek.
"I know."
Lizzie could see the flames reflected in his eyes just moments before his lips met hers. Then she had the familiar feeling of losing herself in him. Her hands ran down his back as he pulled her closer and she felt an inner warmth that had nothing to do with the fire at all.
~
(This extra added piece is purely to humour Alicia and should in no way be taken as fact.)
As Lizzie and Fitzwilliam made their way up the shadowy staircases and along darkened hallways to their bedchamber, Lizzie noticed the old retainer, Glimwort, slink up an unused staircase towards the attics. He was but a wraith in the depth of the darkness but she was certain her eyes had not mistaken her. She had fine eyes and they worked very well.
"Dearest, I believe that old decrepit fellow has just ascended the abandoned stairs. I thought you had said that part of the attics was condemned."
"And so it is my sweet," said Fitzwilliam pulling Lizzie closer to him. "Glimwort's mind is failing him in his old age. None of the other servants can stop him from going there, though they have tried. I only want him to be happy, so I have ensured the room at the top of the stairs is safe. I believe he only sleeps up there and can come to no harm."
"You are so thoughtful and considerate, Dearheart," said Lizzie as her arms encircled his waist.
"I am well aware of it," said Fitzwilliam. "Now let us repair to our bedchamber where I can show you just how thoughtful and considerate I can be."
"I can be thoughtful and considerate too," Lizzie reminded him with an arch smile. They continued along the corridor. Lizzie thought no more about the old man and completely forgot that he had appeared to be carrying a tray laden with food. All she could think of was the thoughtful consideration she and her husband were about to share.
Later on, as she was lying half-asleep in bed she heard strange thumping sounds coming from above. This was not the first time she had heard them, nor would it be the last, but her curiosity finally got the better of her. She gave her husband's shoulder a shake.
"What is it, my pet?" he mumbled as her turned and pulled her into his arms. "I thought I was considerate enough."
"One cannot complain about either the thoughtfulness or the consideration," said Lizzie huskily, "but I was just wondering what that very strange noise is that I hear almost every night."
"Noise?" asked Fitzwilliam, looking as vague as he possible could. I don't believe it was possible for a person to actually look vaguer.
"Yes, listen." Lizzie quieted her breathing, which was quite difficult due to the proximity of her thoughtful husband. It usually had a tendency to come in quick gasps when his arms were about her. He always knew how to calm her, though. He was so considerate.
"Pigeons?" Fitzwilliam tried it out and it sounded good to him. "Yes, quite definitely pigeons roosting in the eaves."
"But I have never seen pigeons flying about Pemberley."
"This particular variety is nocturnal," said Fitzwilliam quickly.
"That explains everything then," said Lizzie with satisfaction. She nestled in his arms and closed her eyes to return to sleep directly. At least she thought she would return to sleep directly - she hadn't considered the other option. As her breathing became ragged Fitzwilliam took it upon himself to fix things.
Up, way up, in the darkness of the lonely gable, a thin figure thrashed about upon a worn and cobwebby mattress.
"I know yer not partial to pheasant, Mistress Anne, but 'twas all I could find in the larder, Now eat up, do, or I'll have to chain ye up again." Glimwort held a forkful of the delicate meat up to her clenched teeth. "Seems yer just as bad as when ye were a child. Here we go then, one fer me, and one fer you. There's a girl."
Okay - this is really beyond The End now.
*~*
For those of you who are never satisfied - the list of children:
Lydia: A son named Percy (who took after both his parents)
Kitty: 2 daughters named Louisa and Sophie and a son named Ralph (They unfortunately grew with much more expensive tastes than their fortunes could allow)
Mary: A son named George and daughters named Ruth and Mary (All were steady, dependable, and good natured)
Aurelia: 2 sons named Randoph and Bertram, and a daughter named Penelope (Randolph and Penelope were the utmost snobs and Bertram became somewhat of a loose screw.)
Georgiana: Two daughters named Letitia and Viola and a son named Robert (but they called him Robbie)(The girls were as accomplished as their mama and the boy became a diplomat)
Charlotte: A son named Ferdinand and a daughter named Carmen (They grew up mainly in Spain.)
Jane: Besides Lily and Rose, 2 sons named Peter and Francis (The boys grew as amiable as the girls did sweet.)
Elizabeth: Besides Elizabeth Anne and James Edward, a son named Samuel and 2 daughters named Emily and Olivia. (Pemberley became a house filled with light and laughter, and the most highly polished banisters in Derbyshire. (We all know how that happened) And I can promise you there were no skeletons in the attics.)
If you want any more you'll have to invent it yourself.