“From what Richard has said, this new Mrs Darcy is precisely the sort of woman our nephew requires,” his father continued. “If she makes him happy, then so be it. Our nephew has had very little happiness since inheriting his estate so young. While we might have preferred he marry a woman with a larger portion, she does not come to him entirely portionless.”
“Richard has lied to you,” Lady Catherine snapped. “I have it from my parson that the Bennet daughters stand to have only a thousand pounds—and that not until after their mother’s death.”
“Your parson was unaware of what was settled upon her grandchildren by the late Mrs Gardiner,” Richard returned, interrupting her mildly. “Mrs Darcy does have something more than what your parson knows of.”
For a long moment, Lady Catherine could not speak. At last, she drew herself up and said, “A mere pittance, I am certain. That family is from trade.”
There was little point in saying more, and Richard knew that it was best to give his aunt no additional information. His father spoke before he could.
“Regardless, if Darcy does not object, then you—clearly—have no reason to. We intend to support the lady our nephew has married. Thereis, surely, nothing else to be done—at least nothing that would not serve only to embarrass the family.”
The earl paused for a moment, as though to allow his words to settle, before continuing, “Now come, Catherine, and let us speak of where you intend to live now that Anne has chosen to assume the management of Rosings. None of us here have forgotten that the estate was left to her, and now that she has reached five and twenty, it is hers to command. It is best?—”
His voice trailed off as he turned and led the way through the hall to his study, leaving his sister in uncharacteristic silence.
Richard felt little inclination to follow and remained where he was, already considering the several letters he must write—and how much of this scene ought to be set down upon paper.
Tomorrow he would take his ward, her companion, and her friend to Pemberley, and from there go back to London.
Twenty-Nine
Wednesday, 19 August 1812
Ase’nnight after their wedding, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth set out in a carriage bound for the north, passing the hours in reading some of the letters from those who had deemed it worthwhile to write during their absence from the world. There were a great many, several having been messengered from London the day before. It seemed that half their acquaintance wished to offer congratulations following the announcement in the paper the previous week. Elizabeth was almost tempted to make a game of the matter, to determine from the contents which expressions of joy were sincere and which had merely been written from obligation.
Only a very few letters had been read before their departure. The Gardiners and Colonel Fitzwilliam alone had known where they intended to pass the first days after their marriage and had therefore written directly to Stoke. Georgiana and Mary must have been informed as well, Elizabeth supposed, for letters from both were included amongst her correspondence, though neither made any direct allusion to the particulars of their retreat.
Once they were satisfied, having learnt the details from the contents of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s note that Lydia was indeed on her way to the Dark Hollow Seminary, Elizabeth found her mind easier than it had been since before the wedding. The knowledge did not bring her comfort, precisely—there was little comfort to be found in Lydia’s situation, particularly after reading of her reckless behaviour in attempting to conceal herself within a trunk—but it did afford her a sense of resolution. What could be done had been done. She could only hope that Lydia might yet profit from the lesson.
“It is fortunate Miss Lydia was not harmed,” Fitzwilliam said after reading the note the colonel had left following Lady Catherine’s visit. “Had she succeeded in fastening the trunk, or had some unsuspecting servant secured it without thought, she might have remained there for hours—perhaps longer—with very grave consequences. And had the trunk been placed upon the wrong carriage, she might easily have been injured when it was dislodged as the carriage began to move. Richard did not say how she managed to drag the trunk outdoors or fasten it to the carriage in the first place.”
Elizabeth shook her head disbelievingly. “I cannot fathom what she had been thinking,” she said, “but you are correct, Lydia was most fortunate that she was not harmed. Terrible as it is to say, I am not surprised by Mama’s reaction, and I dread what Jane must be enduring.”
“She chose to remain there,” Fitzwilliam said, moving to take Elizabeth in his arms.
“I know, and while Jane and I are not as close as we once were, I hate that she has determined she must remain at home and bear with Mama’s nonsense.”
“Perhaps doing so will absolve her of some of the guilt she feels for believing Miss Bingley’s lies,” her husband said soothingly. “And perhaps she needs this time to see matters more clearly. You have said you thought she needed to experience both your parents without you there, that she might form a truer judgement of life at Longbourn.”
“Yes, she does,” Elizabeth agreed, sighing against his chest.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
“Do you think that Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Matlock before your aunt?” Elizabeth finally asked him.
“Richard will almost certainly have reached Matlock first,” Fitzwilliam said. “Particularly if Aunt went first to Pemberley before making her way to Matlock to speak to my uncle. She does not care for discomforts beyond those she believes strictly necessary, and fourteen hours a day in a carriage would soon begin to feel excessively like hardship for someone such as her. No, she would far rather rise late and stop early. Aunt Catherine expects the whole world to accommodate itself to her wishes, which is perhaps why she has spent so little of her life beyond the boundaries of her own little fiefdom in Kent.”
Elizabeth nodded, and after that, the conversation turned to lighter topics as they prepared to journey to the Lake District. The next day, they boarded the carriage that would take them there in a leisurely way, as Fitzwilliam intended for them to enjoy the journey itself as much as the destination.
Their time at the Lakes—indeed, the entirety of their wedding trip—proved all either of them could have desired. It had taken nearly a se’nnight to reach Windermere, for Fitzwilliam had no wish to hurry them onward at the exhausting pace favoured by mail coaches or impatient travellers. Instead, they spent only a few hours each day upon the road, allowing the horses proper rest and themselves ample opportunity to enjoy the country through which they passed.
The earlier portion of the journey had been undertaken at a somewhat brisker pace, as Elizabeth had already seen many of the more notable sights during her tour with her aunt and uncle earlier that summer. Even so, the journey differed greatly from that excursion.
As Mrs Darcy, she stayed at finer inns than she had previously known, establishments accustomed to receiving wealthy gentlemen and their families. Private parlours seemed to appear almost immediately upon Fitzwilliam’s arrival and attentive servants seemed to anticipate every comfort before it could be requested. Often, he had sent servants aheadnot only to secure their lodgings for the night in advance, but also to arrange delightful picnics and lunches. These they enjoyed whilst the horses rested before setting off together to explore whatever caught Elizabeth’s attention nearby.
Elizabeth could not help but observe the difference in the manner in which they travelled now. During her former tour, she had been merely one member of a pleasant travelling party. Now she was Mrs Darcy, and innkeepers bowed lower, servants hurried faster, and even fellow travellers occasionally regarded her with open curiosity once her husband’s name became known.
By the time they reached the Midlands, however, Elizabeth found herself looking outward more freely, and the carriage stopped more often. Fitzwilliam seemed perfectly content to indulge every expression of interest she showed towards the passing scenery.
