1
DERBYSHIRE, ENGLAND, AUGUST, 1834
It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that daughters give their mothers far more concern throughout their lives than do their sons. The mistress of Pemberley, Elizabeth Darcy,believed in that saying with all her heart when facing her usually sweet-natured and biddable daughter, Jane.
The halls and rooms of the great house were dim, the curtains and blinds drawn against the warmth of the late summer sun.
Out in the rose gardens, visitors were sitting under parasols, sipping cool lemonade, talking to her other daughters, Anne and Bennetta.
She needed to attend to them immediately but Jane had been so elusive of late that coming across her on the stairs had provided an unexpected opportunity to confront her.
She tried again with barely concealed impatience. “Jane, dear child, you are being stubborn. Anne insists she had no intention of hurting you; refusing to speak to her, running off to Colonel Fitzwilliam in Dorset, neither of these will solve the problem.”
“Mama, I just need to get away. I feel so hurt, so betrayed.
Anne might not have meant to ruin my life, but that is what she has done! How can I possibly face her every morning across the breakfast table, knowing that Digby proposed marriage to her?
When I thought … I believed …”
Digby! Digby Frobisher! Elizabeth rued the day she had ever heard the name, bitterly regretting inviting him into their social circle. The handsome, fair haired young man had managed to wreck their peaceful lives in just a few months.
She tried again: she was concerned—Jane was normally pale, a frail, slighter version of her more robust twin.
Their faces were identical in form, but Jane’s hair when unbound was a shower of gilt, Anne’s a dark gold. Jane’s eyes were the blue of a robin’s egg whilstAnne’s gaze was harder, a sparkling cold sapphire.
But now Jane was not just pale: she was white and the great dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
“Jane, you never gave any indication that you had formed deep feelings for Digby.I had no idea. Surely Digby himself did not know. Anne has told me that she only guessed and was quite sure he was not the right man for you. She wanted to show you how fickle he was, that he was quite happy to transfer his attentions to her if she showed him they might be reciprocated.”
“I am not the sort of girl, Mama, who goes around telling men how she feels about them! I am convinced Digby knew. He has broken my heart and Anne, however kindly meant her actions were, has aided him.”
Elizabeth stared at her helplessly. How like her dear namesake, Jane Bingley, she was.
Memories of how Charles Bingley had been persuaded that Jane did not love him because she did not show her feelings, came flooding back. Had this been a similar situation?
Had Digby really thought that Anne’s flirtation meant shecared for him, whilst Jane’s behaviour painted a picture of indifference?
“I am sure your heart is not broken—perhaps just badly dented! Well, Jane, I cannot stop you travelling down to Dorset to stay with your godfather. Perhaps a few weeks in his sensible, quiet company is just what you need.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“Now, go and wash your face and come down to admire baby Victoria. Cassandra is so pleased with her little girl, although I don’t think your Aunt Lydia is as enamoured as the rest of the family.”
Becoming a grandmother is a momentous event in a lady’s life. Sadly, Mrs Lydia Allerton, did not agree. Leaving her husband at home—Colonel Allerton maintained that the Derbyshire air did not suit him, although Lydia knew it was her brother-in-law’s disdain he disliked—she had reluctantly travelled from Newcastle to inspect Miss Victoria Courtney.
Now, sitting under a pink sunshade umbrella in the Pemberley rose garden, she tried to look enthusiastic as she gazed down at the bundle in her arms. But the screwed up red face under the white lace bonnet did not enchant her and only added to her sense of outrage at this further marker of the passage of time.
“You had better take her, Cassandra,” she said to her daughter, holding out the infant. “I think she should go back inside before she starts crying.”
“Why, Grandmama Lydia, anyone would think you weren’t mightily impressed by your granddaughter.”
Elizabeth Darcy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She found the thought of her little sister’s new title amusing in the extreme, but on the other hand, it made her realise justhow quickly the years were passing. Indeed, her oldest children would be twenty this coming Christmas.
“Lord, Lizzy, I’m sure she’s a very fine baby,” Lydia said with a sigh of relief as her daughter carried her precious child away. “But the fuss they make of her has to be seen to be believed. Wyvern Lodge is in a constant turmoil with people rushing around as soon as the child makes a sound. I’ve told Cassie to let her scream upstairs out of earshot, but she refuses to heed me.”
She reached for a glass of iced lemonade and laid back in her chair in satisfaction. It was a hot day; sitting in the shade, in the rose garden of Pemberley, all was quiet elegance, the air heavy with perfume. The only sounds were some sparrows squabbling in a lavender bush and the trickle of a little fountain nearby.
It wouldn’t have suited her to live in such peace all the time—no, she preferred a noisier, busier life—but for an hour it was pleasant. She shut her eyes and very shortly a small snore rose into the perfumed air.
