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Chapter Twenty-Nine
Before I presented my ideas to Mr Darcy, I read everything I could on architecture and building, even on the soil of Derbyshire. Pemberley’s library made the research a pleasure. It was a worthy distraction from the ever-present concerns of inquisitions and public opinions and a nearby town simmering with unrest. I wrote extensively to Mr Martin; though he was not a builder of grand estates, there was little about the county and its resources that he was unacquainted with, and he was a regular repository of facts regarding Pemberley and its history. I was pleased that he seemed markedly enthusiastic about the potential for my plan, and what it would mean for the neighbourhood.
As to Mrs de Bourgh, I dismissed Mr Donavan’s nurse and hired one of my own—much to the good doctor’s chagrin and irritation. Nurse Rook was a deal less impressed with the doctor—though of course, she was too sensible to give him or her patient anything to complain about. In little asides to me, however, she gave it as her considered opinion that nothing was the matter with Mrs de Bourgh that fresh air, charitable works, and mind-improving reading might not cure, and that Mr Donavan merely played to her weaknesses. I was not quite so sure—and thus ‘in patience possessed my soul’.
Regardless, I was certain that Mrs de Bourgh would not slip away so easily from Nurse Rook, and a footman was permanently stationed in the corridor evenings and nights when she was not with her patient. It seemed to me that she was better off at Pemberley, where I at least knew that those to whom she spoke were loyal, and Mr Donavan was too aware of who paid him for his services to do more damage than his gossiping tongue had already managed.
The Easter holiday brought home more than simply Lord and Lady Cavendish. The Ringletons, the Smythe-Joneses, the Talbots, and the Howards—amongst others—were all in from town for the holiday, and either manners or curiosity or both led them to return my calls and subsequently host us for tea or dinner. The impetus behind such invitations did not offend me; I was equally curious about them. There were one or two probing remarks regarding our hasty marriage, which I managed to deflect, and a few comments on how greatly the first Mrs Darcy would be missed. Nevertheless, though the world, in general, had as little sense as Lady Matlock, a sudden change in Mr Darcy’s activities made it much more difficult for them to ascribe the worst possible motivations to so dignified a member of their ranks. He began joining me in my calls, doing his best to appear interested in the concerns of his neighbours—not always easy, when their interests were more in balls and entertainments than serious matters. He suffered it all for me, which touched my heart and made me love him even more, if such a thing were possible. I knew him so well now; his life had taught him to be serious and thoughtful, to make decisions with care, to be cautious and prudent. And yet, he had a dry wit and quick intelligence that made him interesting, and a generous heart and even temper that made him agreeable. The quality of his attention was remarkable. I believed that whatever the churning rumours, being in his presence reminded them all of who he really was, and who he had always been. It was simply impossible to consider him guilty of any crime, much less murder.
The visits went well, and I felt, for the first time, that I was beginning to plant roots. Though these neighbours were wealthier and more fashionably attired than the society to be had in Meryton, and certainly Cheapside, human nature was surprisingly the same. Mr Smythe-Jones was gregarious, complimentary, and not incredibly perceptive, much like Sir William Lucas; Lady Howard was an inveterate gossip such as Mrs Philips had ever aspired to become. The Ringletons both seemed sensible and agreeable as my aunt and uncle Gardiner, while the Talbots were pedantic and a bit tedious, like the Gouldings.
I quite liked Lady Cavendish; she was only ten years older than me, and though not handsome, very lively and clever. And she, like her husband, had no use whatsoever for the first Mrs Darcy.
“Oh, we liked her well enough in the beginning years,” she explained, the second time in as many days she had me over to tea. “She was so spirited and energetic. Always planning some new event, always so friendly and welcoming. However, she was impossible to truly come to know—one could only go so far and no further. I did not care so much about that—I do not require everyone to be my boon companion. But I began to notice a disturbing pattern. At one ball, Lady Howard hired pan pipes and drummers, giving a sort of Turkish flavour to her entertainment, which was very well received. The next thing we knew, Mrs Darcy held a masquerade, appearing as a Maharana covered in veils and silks, with what seemed the whole of Pemberley upholstered in satin cushions.”
“Exotic,” I murmured.
“Oh, very. Most of us were used to donning domino cloaks for such affairs, while there she was in golden satins and brocades, bird of paradise plumes crowned by a tiara of exotic stones. No one talked of anything else for a fortnight, and Lady Howard’s ball was of course compared unfavourably. And after that, ever so gradually, it seemed that if Mrs Darcy did not approve one’s entertainment, one was sure to receive a comeuppance.”
“How unfortunate,” I remarked, for I was not about to be led down any sort of revelatory path, even by Lady Cavendish, and seldom volunteered much opinion about her disclosures. It did not stop her.
“I did not notice for years, of course, because I am not one to pay overmuch attention to the foibles of my neighbours and she knew better than to try her little tricks against me. Until, of course, she did not.”
I raised a brow.
“Oh, yes—I think she decided that her popularity was such that she was ready to take me down a peg or two. But she attempted a more personal hit, and tried to seduce Cavendish,” she said baldly.
It was all I could do not to gape. I clamped my mouth shut to avoid expression of my feelings on the matter; my estimation of Anne’s intellect had taken a downward plunge after Mr Darcy reported the events leading up to her death, but this was mad, indeed.
Lady Cavendish’s expression grew thoughtful. “Something was different about her those last several months of her life. She was harder—or, as is most likely, who she had always been grew more obvious. I have never been pretty. My marriage was an arranged one, strengthening blood and fortune. On the surface, I suppose one might assume Cavendish to be an easy mark. At least, with the right incentive.”
“No one, ma’am, who has been in company with you both could mistake his respect and esteem for you,” I protested.
Her smile grew sly. “Cavendish adores me, as well he should. But she did not see it. She saw a man of average appearance wed to a woman even less handsome. She began with flattery. Cavendish repeated to me a conversation he thought odd—her fawning over some horse or other he’d purchased, calling him a genius, remarking upon his riding style. Cavendish was not charmed, only suspecting that she wanted to breed the horse.
“‘I believe, my dear, ’tis you she wishes to breed,’ I told him. He did not believe me, of course. Thought I was jealous or some nonsense. Over what, I ask you? I have everything I could ever want. I told him to watch himself around her, and eventually she grew bolder. He nipped it in the bud. Called on Darcy, told him to restrain her. Don’t know what all he said to him, but she never came near him again.”
I stiffened, imagining the deep embarrassment my husband must have experienced. I had a fair idea what Lord Cavendish would have advised. Repudiation. Public shaming. Public ruin. I felt I must say something, and did my best not to resent the necessity.
“As you most unfortunately discovered, his first wife was not a person easy to respect. I am grieved, indeed, for her thoughtless actions towards your family, but she is dead now. I thank you both, again and again, for your discretion while she was alive—it was all that is kind. I hope we can look towards our future friendship, rather than dwell upon past sorrows.”
“Hmpf. It was not kindness, as you must suspect. Cavendish told me to say nothing for Darcy’s sake, and I did not and never will. The rumours flying, here and in London, are particularly annoying to me as everyone assumes Darcy paid Cavendish to sweep scandal under the rug. Cavendish does not mind it, but I find myself irked.”
This reasoning softened my own annoyance—who could blame her? Certainly not me, and I came off my high ropes.
“My husband’s greatest fear is that, should her reputation become too sensational, it would cause even more negative consequences,” I explained. “The danger is that she will grow in the public eye from wicked to fascinating. She has hurt too many. They should not be required to hear of her with admiration or abhorrence, day in, day out, for the rest of their lives.”
“Very sensible,” she nodded with a measure of her own appreciation. “I suppose you must desire to begin launching house parties, to prove to the world that the new Mrs Darcy is every bit the equal of the former?”
I smiled with real humour. “I fail to see how the success of a house party, however magnificent, can take the measure of my character. I am inexperienced, of course, in my duty to Pemberley, but most of my attention has gone towards knowing and understanding the needs of our tenants, and what improvements might benefit us mutually. I was speaking to Mr Marley and he believes that what schooling we offer is insufficient and much in need of improvement. One of our oldest tenant families, the Martins, is willing to put up a new building for a school on their leasehold, and we intend to support its construction in every particular.”
“Do you not worry that you are encouraging disaffected persons into dissatisfaction with their place in life, causing more of the unrest so bothersome to so many?”
I withheld a sigh of disappointment at her attitude. “Perhaps more exposure to the great writers, the Scriptures, and philosophers will foment peace rather than discord. Certainly, having little or no access is not helping.”
But she grinned mischievously. “Do you know, Mrs Darcy, I like you. Marley likes you, and he is a fine judge of character, even if he is a vicar. Cavendish shall hold an envy-inspiring ball of the sort Marley disapproves of most, to welcome you to the neighbourhood. We shall invite some of your antagonists for spice, and as the weather is fine, do not be surprised if half of London attends.”
I was surprised at this generosity. “My lady, I am honoured,” I replied.
