Three
Darcyshedhiscoatand called for the fire in his study to be built back up.
The outing had been brisk and invigorating, though an extended ride in such cold had been ill advised, at best. A dastardly little sentiment had crept into his thoughts, pricking and wriggling and leaving him no peace until he had satisfied it. The notion that Mrs Wickham, unfamiliar with the surroundings as she was, might have suffered some mishap on her walk had robbed him of his usual serenity. Little else could account for her being out so long on such a cold day, and after fretting near the window where he could see the path for half an hour, he had surrendered to his feelings of disquiet.
Now, appeased and feeling a bit foolish, he could be content that the woman was safely indoors once more. And then, he scoffed at himself. Was he now to become a mother hen to every soul who lived at Pemberley? Or just this one, the woman with the flashing eyes and sharp tongue? Impossible, he scolded himself. Elizabeth Wickham met none of the outward qualifications he required and bore some rather large prohibitions. One, in particular, was insurmountable—and it was not the fact that she worked for him.
He sank into his desk chair, breathing in the familiar aroma of the world of responsibility. It was clarifying and drew his mind back to the present so he could address the stack of letters his steward had brought while he was out. The top, bearing the seal of Lady Matlock, brought a smile of both pleasure and wistfulness as he opened it.
My dearest nephew,
Your uncle and I were dreadfully disappointed to hear you were in London just before the Christmas season, and we did not know of it until you had gone. We had counted on having you to Matlock House for Twelfth Night, but the messenger returned with word that you had already gone back to Pemberley. And on such roads! I wonder at you, Fitzwilliam, for coming and going in such haste. That is the way Lord W—’s carriage was overturned last year, as you recall that sad event.
I had a letter from Georgiana only last week, in which she declared her expectation that you would return with a new companion for her. As I now presume that was the purpose of your journey, I wonder that you did not consult me! By the time you receive this, you will have been returned long enough to know whether the new companion will suit. I beseech you, write at once if you discover that a replacement is needed. I will interview the woman myself, for our dear Georgiana’s concerns are close to my heart.
We had all the family to dinner two evenings ago, for Lady Catherine and Anne desired a return to the milder climes in Kent. As the roads had been reported sound, and the weather was warming somewhat, they departed yesterday. Richard remained in London and did not appear to sorrow overmuch at the prospect of solitude, but I was most troubled at his response when your uncle asked after you. Have the two of you quarrelled? I had not thought any rift possible between you, but I wonder if you held ill feelings after he wed Anne. Do put them aside, Darcy, for the matter is done. Though Lady Catherine still mourns how it has all come out, I would hope you might not. I trust you will write to him at once and sort the matter, for it distresses me greatly to see conflict in the family.
Our dearest Sophia is well. You recall, Darcy, that Mortimer’s death has left her a substantial fortune, but she has elected to live again with us rather than at her husband’s estate. Your uncle and I thought that suitable, for she is still young enough to be mistaken for a debutante, and just as beautiful as when last you saw her. I expect in six months when she puts aside the mourning garb, she will receive a flurry of callers. I hope you will be at your leisure to visit us at Matlock next summer, for I have always been very fond of you.
I have enclosed a letter for Georgiana. There are a few things I wished to begin discussing with both of you regarding her come-out next year. However, I will leave them for later, as your uncle has determined we must attend a dinner this evening and I retire now to dress.
Affectionately,
Lady Matlock
Dear Mama,
Elizabethliftedherpenand gazed at the fire in her room. She ought to write—she wrote every Wednesday, and her mother would fret if she did not receive her regular letter. But what to say that she had not already said?
Miss Darcy sends her regards.
Miss Darcy always sent her regards.
Derbyshire is beautiful.
There were only so many ways to assure her mother that they were not removing to a wasteland in the wild north.
The new roof on Corbett Lodge is underway.
The surest way possible to make her mother inspect it daily for leaks.
Mr Darcy is outrageously handsome, but the most aggravating man alive…
No, that would certainly not do! She nibbled her lip and set her pen back on the page.
How I miss each of you! I am assured that we will see each other again soon. I thank Providence that we will be happily secured as a family once more by spring. I received a letter from Jane at last. She said she was moved to joyful tears and gave her notice at once to her employers, though I fear it may be some months before she can come to us.
Has Kitty recovered from her cough? Mrs Reynolds gave me a receipt for an elixir that might soothe her, and I will enclose it. I hope Mary enjoyed the book I sent last week. It was one that Miss Darcy purchased for her brother at Christmas, but after she left the room, he asked me if any of you would like it. Mr Darcy said he would have discarded it, as he has three copies already, but he does not subscribe to the destruction of books. It was altogether an odd conversation, as most conversations with him are, but I believe he was meaning to be generous.
I am concerned about what you say of Lydia, that she was flirting with the officers. Mama, I implore you, do keep a close watch on her. We need no longer be distressed for our futures, for you all have a home here in Derbyshire soon. It is not as if we will starve now if we do not catch husbands, and I fear for appearances if my sister is found in some indiscretion. It would be better if she were to go to our uncle Gardiner again until you all come here, but if not, pray do not let her go out without a proper chaperon.
I trust you passed Twelfth Night in comfort and good cheer? You probably suspected that we were engaged with balls and revelry at such an estate as I have told you Pemberley is, but we were a quiet house. Mrs Reynolds did mention the extravagance of the parties given by the late Mrs Darcy, but after her death the family have kept rather to themselves over the holiday.
You have asked me each week to give you my impression of Mr and Miss Darcy, and each week I have demurred until I knew them better. It is a month now, so I shall do my best to comply. Miss Darcy is a sweet girl of barely sixteen. She is nearly unequalled on the pianoforte and paints exquisitely. She speaks four languages and is gracious to all, including myself. She dislikes large groups of people and is entirely petrified of dancing, a skill I have been helping her to improve upon. I do believe her to be the bashful sort, easily troubled by the worry of giving offence even if none was intended. For that reason, I believe some might mistake her for a haughty character, unless they troubled themselves to know her better.
Mr Darcy is more difficult to sketch. Papa would have liked him immensely, for Mr Darcy would have proved a stimulating companion for all of five minutes. Once their conversation had done, I expect they both would have returned to their books and said not another word for two hours together. I can find no fault in his character and his servants all speak well of him, but I am constantly perplexed by trying to discover the answers to questions such as what and why and where… I suppose I must content myself with the understanding that I am no longer the daughter of the house and privy to all the master’s concerns.
It is a most trying resolution, for never have I encountered an individual who inspired more curiosity—and occasionally annoyance—in his disposition and motives, but I am determined, and therefore I will succeed in ignoring both Mr Darcy’s peculiarities and my own inquisitiveness. If you think of me in your prayers each evening, pray that I do not behave discourteously in my efforts.
