Mama, your new dress sounds positively exquisite. Such fine lacework must be a pleasure to look upon and even greater to wear. It is a pity I never learned the knack of making it! Aunt and Uncle, I am sending a clipping from the Daily Mail that might interest you. It has just been announced that the 1904 Olympiad will be held in the United States. I had never heard of it before, because it is quite new, and every event so far has been held in Europe. Every four years, they mean to host an international Games, such as Boxing and footraces. It is quite the thing, and perhaps one day we will get to see it.
Papa, I have saved this bit for you. Mr Darcy found a poem he thought you might enjoy, and he wrote it in his own hand for you out of a book in his collection. It is called “Cowper’s Grave,” and the authoress’ name amuses me greatly, for it is Elizabeth Barrett Browning. How remarkably similar to my own!
I am afraid I can no longer put off writing this next bit. We have had news from the front at last, and it is the very worst kind. I shall ever remember Richard Fitzwilliam as a man who gave more than he received, a man noble to his last breath. He is greatly mourned by his family, and I know you each have your reasons for grieving the loss of him, though you did know him so little. He has left a void in my own life that is impossible to describe, for I know few others who can claim such a brief, and yet such a generous relationship with their husband. I never even called him by that word, but I will spend the rest of my days honouring the man I hardly knew.
As expected, the news has brought about a change in my circumstances, but not such a drastic one as I would have imagined. Jane and I had already been invited to be the guests of the earl and the countess, rather than the Darcys. We have been here a week now, and it does seem as if the dowager—the sternest woman in the world, or so she would have us all think—finds some relief when I sit with her. She occasionally asks me to read to her, but after a few less than stellar performances, she no longer wishes for me to help with her needlework or to play for her. Yes, I play the piano now, but badly. My only distinction as a pianist is that I have taught all the earl’s dogs to howl to a new pitch.
Billy is sublimely content here at Matlock, and he claims to be even happier now that Jane and I have come from Pemberley. He is still officially employed as a tutor to the earl’s son, but I believe the pair spends more time reading peerage journals and studying travel articles than parsing sentences or learning arithmetic. He announced five days ago that he intended to grow a moustache, and eagerly asks us each morning for our approbation of his new feature. Jane is kinder than I, for I said plainly that I saw only pale fuzz until this morning, when it looked more like a chocolate smear.
Speaking of Jane, she is enclosing her own letter to you, but I shall take a guess at its contents. Before you become concerned about this Mr Bingley she has tumbled head over boots for, I will say he is a good man who seems to adore her even more than she does him, if that is possible. I do not imagine they will be long in coming to the point, but that raises one or two sobering thoughts. I know she had always meant to come home, and certainly, you had every expectation of seeing her again. Fortunately, Mr Bingley possesses the resources to do as he likes, and at present, what he ‘likes’ is pleasing Jane, but I cannot say more of what the future will hold.
I do not imagine I will remain at Matlock long. Richard’s family has been everything kind to me, but the great unspoken truth is that this is not my place. I know nothing of their society, and I still frequently misstep. Miss Darcy recently confessed that when I first came, she and Anne de Bourgh staked a private bet—not whether I will cause a great scene if I ever go to London with them, but how spectacular it will be. I know I do not belong, and I cannot abide the thought of forever being the dependent hanger-on of a family who bears with me only because their son and brother was as reckless as he was kind.
I have broached the subject with the countess more than once, asking if she knows of any situation or employment prospect that might suit me, but she cannot fathom why I would consider it. Moreover, I do not think a woman of her circumstances would necessarily be the best source of such information, so I shall continue my quest until I have found an answer, or at least, a safe harbour.
My heart aches to come home. I shall not dwell on the maudlin, lest I cry again and smudge this page I have laboured so long over, but it bears at least one admission. I would cut off all my hair, stain my skin with tanner’s dye and disfigure my face if I thought it might permit me to come safely back to you. However, I would not have you think I spend all my days in a depression, for it is not so, and I do not wish for you to sorrow on my behalf. I miss each of you as if a part of my soul has been ripped away, but I am slowly finding the means to exist, and perhaps someday thrive here. I am among friends, different as they are from myself. One of them, in particular, has spared no trouble in securing my happiness and welfare, has inspired my mind and spirit to keep setting one foot before the other, and has become irreplaceable in my heart. So, you see, I am not quite so rootless and cast out as I was a few months ago.
I will write again soon, and I hope by then I will have some word from you as well. For now, I sit at the window beside my bed, gazing through frosted glass into a crystal-clear sky at a moon that hangs low and heavy, and I comfort myself by thinking of you doing the same. All my dear ones, I shall simply say “Good night,” instead of “Yours Truly” “Sincerely,” or any such nonsense. Sweet dreams.
Elizabeth
“Darcy!”Matlockheldupa hand as Darcy was stepping down from the coach, a warning look in his eye and a conspiratorial tip to his head. “Look sharp before you go into the house, and beware my wife. Oh, good afternoon, Georgiana,” he offered as an aside. “You will find the others all in Lady Matlock’s sitting room.”
Georgiana gave Darcy a look of some amused pique before she left them and proceeded into the house. Darcy watched her go, then turned back to his cousin. “Lady Matlock? Have I offended her?”
“If by ‘offended,’ you mean ‘not satisfied her unquenchable thirst for romance and excitement,’ then yes. The moment she heard you and Georgiana were coming for a few days, she brought in a dressmaker and started making inquiries after a portrait artist.”
“An artist? Whatever for?”
“Why, to ‘create a life-sized image’ of Anne to ‘grace your study’ by ‘capturing the fair lady’s impeccable figure and fine eyes.’”
Darcy felt a cynical crease growing on his forehead. “I have no complaints about Anne’s looks, but her figure is not impeccable, and her eyes could never be called fine. I certainly do not need an entire wall devoted to nothing more than Lady Matlock’s romantic sensibilities.”
“Well, that is to be the least of your trials today. My wife has gathered every female for three miles around, and they are all clustered over a table with stacks of fashion plates and clippings, and heaven knows what else. She has grand ambitions of planning your entire wedding, your wedding tour, your nursery staff, and the first ten years of your child's life, all this evening.”
Darcy grimaced. “I have no intention of discussing wedding plans, but if I did, I would not mean it to be a public affair.”
“A bit too late for that. I walked in on them earlier, and she has Mother, Anne, Jane, and Elizabeth all closeted with half a dozen maids and the dressmaker. In the interest of self-preservation, man, let us go shooting. We can be gone all afternoon, and such muddy, filthy mongrels when we return that they will have to leave us be.”
Darcy laughed. “While I cannot deny the appeal, Georgiana and I came to speak with living, breathing people.”
“Pemberley a little lonely these days?”
“We had become accustomed to company, yes. Are you not planning a journey to London soon?”
“I ought to. Plenty of affairs needing my attention, especially those to do with the War Office and my solicitor, but I could not bring myself to it just yet. Will you come with me? I could use a travelling companion, and surely you have been invited to any number of parties and soirées. Might be a perfect opportunity to show off your soon-to-be-bride on your arm.”
“No, I have travelled enough of late. Georgiana and I intend to pass a quiet season at Pemberley, and I wondered if others might not be disposed to the same this year. But what of the countess? She has always favoured London during the Season.”
“Not this year. She has got some business in her head about keeping my new sister occupied and distracted. I have decided not to protest any expenditure or measure she decrees necessary for our Elizabeth’s amusement, because it keeps us here. No lavish parties, no new wardrobe or opening the London house. By my conservative estimates, Sheila’s reluctance to go to Town has saved me over £1000.”
The appropriate response to the earl’s jest would have been to laugh, but Darcy had turned pensive. He had supposed that the earl and countess would go to London, as they always did, and that their guests—that Elizabeth, who was theoretically in mourning—might remain, and perhaps even return to Pemberley for a while.
“What is this, Darcy?” the earl chided. “You look disapproving all of a sudden. I say, if you think me irreverent, I was only trying to lighten your mood. We all do as we can, and I have had enough of brooding in a dark room over events I could not control.”
“Forgive me—it was of no consequence. I only thought of something. Reginald, how do your guests get on? I mean Elizabeth, specifically. Has she been in good spirits?”
“Good enough, I suppose. She never appears downcast, but after what you said of her, I expected a bit more liveliness. She keeps to her rooms a great deal.”
