Pride, Prejudice & Secrets (35 page)

In any case, she knew Georgiana was more concerned about whether she even wanted to endure another Season, whatever was expected of her. The mad pace and intensity of the social events had not been to her liking. She told Elizabeth of seeing other young ladies leave the room in tears at not being asked to dance by the right young man, and Georgiana was simply not able to make herself care that much. In fact, she had told Elizabeth in confidence that the prospect of being an “old maid” held no terrors for her since the inheritance of the Darcy fortune was already established. When Elizabeth told Darcy, he merely shrugged and said Georgiana would make her own decisions. Clearly, he was no more inclined to put pressure on Georgiana than herself, though she believed his reasons were different than her own cheerful acceptance of whatever life threw at her.

But now, Elizabeth’s interest sharpened because the sixth set was about to begin, and Darcy, with Richard spurring him on, had scheduled a waltz for the second dance of the set. The programme had been included in the invitations, so the guests should be aware of it, and Elizabeth was curious how many would participate. She was uncertain of the reception of William’s idea, though the fact that it was the Darcy family, as conservative as any in the neighbourhood, that included the notorious dance gave it a certain imprimatur.

After the invitations went out — and were accepted — Elizabeth had received numerous notes asking about the inclusion of such a dance. Her response had been that, despite the general opinion, waltzes were being danced at private balls in London since before Richard had returned to the Peninsula two years previously. She also included the name of the local dance master who had given instruction to the Darcy family in case anyone might be interested.

As the final set started, there seemed as many people dancing as in any previous set, but it was noticeable that the majority of the couples quietly abandoned the floor at the conclusion of the first dance, leaving it mostly to much younger partners. In fact, Elizabeth noted that most of the ladies who remained were among her more intimate friends.

More and more interesting,
she thought merrily, as Darcy took his position by her side and the music started. The opening “March” was a simple promenade, which quickly moved into the “Pirouette,” in which the couples slowly rotated, hip to hip, their arms around the other’s waist and the eyes of each dancer fixed on the other. Darcy wore the boyish smile Elizabeth saw at times of particular delight, and she knew it was this part of the waltz that gave the detractors the most particular objections. It was a strikingly intimate and sensuous moment, and she felt it as much as Darcy did.

The tempo of the music increased with the start of the “
Sauteuse
,” and became even faster in “
Jette
,” which was quite energetic. When the music ended in a flourish, Elizabeth was rather breathless, her cheeks flushed attractively from her exertion. She and Darcy drew back, and he bowed deeply to her while she responded with a graceful curtsey similar to those at court.

The other couples seemed drawn together by some bond, crowding together, laughing in good humour, and commenting cheerfully back and forth.

“So that is what has Lord Byron up in arms!” one said.

“As if he had the standing to call any dance immoral, given his own peccadillos,” another said in derision.

“I thought it was fun,” Caroline said, who looked as flushed as Elizabeth. “But I do need more practice.”

“It was a departure from the usual if you know what I mean,” one husband said, smiling cheerfully at his wife. “Many dances remind me of marching the troops in formation — more interesting to watch than to perform.”

“It is, I believe,” Darcy said, looking into Elizabeth’s eyes, “a dance for lovers.”

That seemed to be the most fitting description in the opinion of those who danced, and many of those who had simply watched joined them. Their opinions ranged the spectrum. Some went so far as to ask for the name of a dance master who taught the waltz, which was a straightforward indication of their interest, while others said little or nothing, which likely indicated the opposite inclination.

Elizabeth was not too worried by the scattered looks of disapproval. She knew the social prominence of the Darcy family was such as to withstand any adverse opinion, and it had been a daring move on her husband’s part.
With his cousin’s aid, of course
, she thought merrily, as the crowd began to gather their belongings in preparation for their departure.

After the last of the guests had left, and after Elizabeth and Darcy said goodnight to Georgiana and the Fitzwilliams, they visited the nursery, as they did every night before retiring, just to look upon their sleeping children. As they quietly entered the darkened room, Mildred, the nursemaid, rose from her chair and assured both parents of the children’s safety and health before going to her sleeping quarters in the adjoining room. One of the nursemaids always spent the night there, close enough to hear if either child needed attention. Darcy and Elizabeth moved close enough to put their arms around each other and just stood silently.

Elizabeth breathed in the clean scent of the room, mixed with the smell of the pines from the slightly open windows, and gave thanks for the good health of her children. Robert, at a year and a half, was tottering about with admirable enthusiasm while his sister, Veronica, was just beginning to crawl. Both were growing rapidly, and she felt blessed by their well-being as well as her relatively easy delivery of both. Darcy had been beside himself with worry when Robert was born, though he did start to believe his wife about the hardiness of the Bennet women after Veronica’s arrival.

Satisfied with the children’s safety, she and Darcy quietly left the room, and she was not surprised to find Darcy claiming her hand; she had been as stimulated as he by the intimacy of the dance. She was certain his thoughts lay along a path similar to hers, and she said casually, “Shall I call for Sarah to attend me, William?”

“You know the answer to that, my love,” Darcy said, smiling down at her. “It has been days since I undressed you, and I find myself stimulated to the task.”

“Oh, my,” Elizabeth said, giggling. “How long has it been since you ravished me? This morning, I believe — before breakfast.”

“Too long,” Darcy said placidly. “I should not have relented on my determination to lock you in my room for several months when we married. You have become, as our friend Mrs. Fitzwilliam once put it, too independent and self-sufficient.”

“A failing, indeed,” murmured Elizabeth.

“Indeed so, madam. Well, you shall not escape me tonight. Tonight you will get what you so richly deserve.”

“What did I ever do to deserve such a husband?”

“You know the answer to that, Elizabeth,” Darcy said. “It is fortunate we have no engagements on the morrow, my dear, so you can sleep late. You will need to, you see, since you shall sleep little tonight.”

She looked at him, her eyes bright with mischief, but her voice was velvety as she said, “Promises, promises.”

“I am fortunate that we are arrived at our chambers, my dear, and we have a decision to make. It is a simple one, at least — my bed or yours?”

“Oh, yours, by all means. It is your turn, after all, since you totally jumbled my bed this morning.”

“Far too self-sufficient,” Darcy mourned, but Elizabeth only smiled and entered his chambers, pulling him behind her.

Epilogue

“All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness.”

— Tennessee Williams, American playwright

Colonel Fitzwilliam was recalled briefly to active service when Napoleon escaped Elba in March of 1815 and quickly overthrew the existing government. However, he served on the staff of Field Marshal Wellington in this new campaign, variously named the War of the Seventh Coalition or the Hundred Days War. He thus saw no action such as he experienced during the Peninsular War, but he was not dismayed that his role was less active. He remembered his wounds as well as too many close escapes, and he now had a wife and a newly born daughter to think of.

Nor was he dissatisfied when, after Waterloo, he was returned to half-pay along with most of his fellow officers. Britain had been fighting France for all of his adult life and, with a mountainous national debt, could no longer support a wartime army. He remained a soldier and was eventually promoted to Brigadier and then to Major General, but it was by seniority alone, for he never again saw active service. He still rode daily, many times with his cousin Darcy when they were both in town, though the occasional pain in his leg kept fresh the memory that soldiering was not a safe profession. His country was at peace finally, and he was quite happy to live as a retired soldier, allowing him time with his wife and his growing family. In addition, London was the largest city in the world with a myriad of social activities, friends to visit, dinners to host and attend, and cultural events such as the theatre and the orchestra. He and his family often visited his parents at one of the family homes and the Darcys at Pemberley, especially in summer when London became distinctly hot, humid, and even unhealthy.

When his Aunt Catherine died in 1826, Richard learned he was the beneficiary of her entire estate of Rosings, which had been bequeathed to her in trust by her husband, Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Initially, neither Richard nor Caroline was inclined to move to the house, for both were well aware of its decline during the latter years of her ladyship’s stewardship. Nevertheless, there was a substantial income deriving from the estate and its farms, so the couple rather tentatively took up residence and set about the restoration of the house and lands. The effort lasted more than five years, and Caroline directed much of the work; if the furnishings and style were more ornate than Pemberley, her husband was not unduly troubled, for it was still far less ostentatious than the estate had been under the hand of Lady Catherine in the days before the death of her daughter. Eventually, all in the family gave a seal of approval to their work, and the halls of the estate often rang with the laughter of a horde of children when other families visited.

The first task of Commodore George Fitzwilliam’s squadron upon arriving at Bermuda was escorting convoys throughout the Caribbean and attempting to chase French privateers, often little more than pirates. But, after the United States declared war on Britain while he was still in transit to Bermuda, his duties gradually shifted to the difficult task of blockading the American coast. Because of the immense length of coastline to be patrolled, the task was formidable and was initially beyond the capabilities of the ships at His Majesty’s disposal. Accordingly, his duties kept him at sea much of the time with the result that he was absent from his home station during much of Jane’s confinement, which culminated in the birth of their first son.

But, if his home life was not to his liking, he prospered professionally, earning the respect of his two commanders-in-chief at Bermuda as well as adding to his fortune by the sale of American merchantmen taken by his squadron. He was not displeased to return to England in June of 1814 when his replacement arrived, but less than pleasant news awaited him when he and his family arrived in London.

His first disappointment, which he expected, was his reversion to Captain since appointments to Commodore were only temporary and his had expired when he relinquished his command. The next disappointment, also not unexpected, was to be put on half-pay in the wake of Napoleon’s abdication in April. But the worst and most truly devastating news came when his parents regretfully told him of the death of his older brother, Henry, in a riding accident just the previous month. Since his brother had no male issue, having fathered two daughters with Cynthia, his wife of eight years, George now found himself the heir presumptive to the earldom of Matlock.

Not only was his accession distasteful because of his grief for his brother’s death, but he did not in the least desire the position. He had enough wealth for his needs, he had found the wife he wanted and was coming to love more and more, and he was a naval officer, by the stars! He wanted nothing more — not the trappings of nobility, not the wealth, and certainly not the deference or the seat in the House of Lords. But George had an addiction to duty that could not be suppressed, so he settled his wife and family at Fitzwilliam House in London and began to learn the requirements of his new position. That did not stop him, however, from spending more than a few days at the Admiralty each week along with several hundred of his fellow officers, petitioning for employment, especially at sea.

However, not even the brief resumption of hostilities in 1815 was enough to give George what he craved, though he was invested as a Knight of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath in August of that year. While he did have one further command at sea — as captain of His Majesty’s ship-of-the line
Impregnable
, 104 guns, from 1817 to 1819, and was promoted to Rear Admiral in 1821 — the end of the war against the French essentially brought his active naval service to an end. He suffered his professional disappointment stoically; however, he did have the consolation of experiencing the comfort of a growing affection between his family and that of his brother Richard and his cousin Darcy.

Jane serenely accepted the various disruptions in her husband’s professional life, but though she was tactful enough not to mention the fact, she was far more satisfied when the war ended and she could keep him at home. She also was very happy being able to visit with her beloved Elizabeth, but she could never warm to her former friend despite the forgiveness she bestowed when Caroline Fitzwilliam repented of her offences. The two women were civil and polite, but their acquaintance remained distant.

In 1824, Lord Matlock died after a short illness, and Rear Admiral Sir George Fitzwilliam became Lord Matlock, an elevation little to his liking. His wife thus became the new Lady Matlock, and she harboured reservations similar to her husband’s. However, neither of the two newest members of the peerage were disposed to useless regrets, so they moved into new chambers and continued with their lives. By this time, their children numbered five, two boys and three girls, and their sixth and last child, Robert, was born at Matlock, the family estate in Derbyshire, which evened the distribution between the sexes.

Mr. Bennet continued to visit his daughter at Pemberley in the years after her marriage, taking great pleasure in arriving unexpectedly and exchanging books with his son-in-law. After each raid on the Pemberley library, he would be engrossed for months in reading volumes he had only dreamed of perusing, and he often informed his favourite daughter that her husband had become the favourite of his five sons-in-law because of the number of his books and the liberality with which he lent them.

He was also well pleased to see the dowries settled on his daughters by his favourite son-in-law prove fruitful, with Mary finding a husband as the wife of the parson in a nearby parish in the spring of 1813 and Kitty accepting an offer from Captain Carter when the militia regiment returned to winter quarters in Meryton later that year.

Lydia’s marriage was, unfortunately, not nearly as amicable and was shrouded in a certain amount of mystery in the locale surrounding Longbourn. What rather miraculously remained unknown by the more inquisitive of their neighbours was that Lydia had become embroiled in a scandal that necessitated a sudden marriage followed by the departure of the newlywed couple. After being allowed out in society following Kitty’s wedding, the youngest Bennet daughter soon demonstrated she had learned nothing during her two years of restriction. A mere month and a half after her liberation, during an evening ball given by Sir William Lucas, she had been discovered in a dark alcove in the Lucas Lodge gardens in a state of partial undress while entwined in the arms of the youngest Lucas son, Edward. The discoverer had been none other than Lady Lucas herself, and despite having been caught by his own mother, Edward Lucas was initially defiant in refusing to redeem Lydia’s honour by marriage, declaring he would go off to seek his fortune in India or America. After a stormy scene with his parents, Mr. Bennet, and a sobbing Lydia — in which it was pointed out that he was essentially penniless and could not afford the passage to either of the destinations mentioned — he finally agreed to a marriage, which would allow him the income from her fortune of five thousand pounds.

Lydia was consigned to the care of her mother at Longbourn until the marriage, and it was only the loyalty of the staff at Lucas Lodge and Mr. Bennet’s fierily strict orders to his wife that kept the scandal from being spread throughout the neighbourhood. A license was obtained by Lydia’s uncle Mr. Philips, which avoided the necessity of having the banns read in church. Mr. Bennet grumbled at the necessity but provided the ten shillings required rather than having Reverend Thompson required to ask if any person could show “cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy matrimony” for three consecutive weeks. He worried that the secret could not be kept, and some self-appointed guardian of neighbourhood morals might raise an objection before the marriage could be accomplished.

So Lydia was married, and she and her new husband were sent off to a neighbouring county, where her Uncle Philips had arranged for Edward to undertake an articled clerkship with a practicing solicitor. After fulfilment of the requirements, Edward might then enter into practice himself, and the income from Lydia’s dowry would suffice to support the couple modestly until that time. From Lydia’s rare letters to her mother and various of her sisters, Mr. Bennet learned enough to know that his youngest daughter was dissatisfied with most elements of her life — marriage, husband, lodgings, and eventually, children — but he troubled himself no further than to see that she did not reflect on the reputation of her sisters.

With all five daughters married, it might be supposed that Mrs. Bennet would settle into a life of contemplation of a job well done, but it was not to be. The disappointments engendered by the missteps and complaints of her favourite daughter — along with a certain lack of focus after all her daughters had departed Longbourn — seemed to take most of the zest out of her life. In the years after Lydia’s enforced leave-taking, Mrs. Bennet’s health declined, and she gradually ceased her favourite pastime, visiting with her friends in the neighbourhood. She died peacefully in her sleep in 1819.

Her husband found himself living alone in an empty house except when his daughters visited, and he responded by travelling from Matlock to Pemberley to Meryton and back to Longbourn, visiting all his daughters and their families in rotation, excepting only Lydia, to whom he had not spoken since the day of her enforced marriage. Despite his advancing years, he remained spry and alert well into his seventies before dying at Longbourn in 1835.

Upon reading the announcement of Darcy’s marriage in The Times, Lady Catherine travelled to her brother’s residence in town to voice her disapproval of the marriage, of her nephew, of the insult to her daughter, and of her brother’s failure to use his influence to bend Darcy to his (or, rather, her) will. Since her manner was characterized by that quality she supposed to be genuine frankness, her language in characterizing both Darcy and her brother was so abusive that she was for some time banned from any of the Matlock homes as well as separated from her nephew.

When Darcy eventually succumbed to the prompting of his wife to seek a reconciliation with his aunt, he attempted to secure the aid of his Uncle Matlock to act as intermediary. However, since Lord Matlock’s ire toward his sister still flamed brightly, any further action was delayed by a half-year. Even when Lord Matlock relented and wrote his sister, Lady Catherine’s resistance prevented any further action. It was the spring of 1814 before she gave way, though whether to her affection for Darcy or her curiosity to see how Elizabeth conducted herself as mistress of Pemberley could not be determined. In any case, she visited them at Pemberley soon after Elizabeth gave birth to her daughter Veronica. Even her ladyship could not ignore the robust health of Darcy’s wife and her two children, especially when compared to the failing health of Anne, and she was a severely chastened woman when she returned to Rosings.

Anne’s health continued to suffer, and she was unable to survive the harsh weather during the winter that year. Her mother’s inner spirit seemed to decline with that of her daughter, and she sat by her side for weeks before Anne finally succumbed. In the morning, she appeared ten years older than she had the day before, and, though she lingered on until 1826, she took little interest in any of the affairs that had previously consumed her, and the estate gradually suffered decay through lack of upkeep.

Several years prior to Lady Catherine’s passing, her brother spoke to her about what she intended to do with the estate. She had inherited it from her husband, who had followed the usual custom when bequeathing land to a woman by having it placed in trust, and she had managed the property since Sir Lewis’s death. By that time, she was so sunk in apathy, still grieving over the loss of her daughter, that she readily accepted his suggestion that bequeathing the property to her nephew Richard would be the best way to ensure the restoration of the estate to its former status.

So Brigadier Richard Fitzwilliam assumed ownership of Rosings, overseeing its transformation into a far different house than during his aunt’s tenure, and it was eventually passed on to his eldest son.

Georgiana Darcy had her first and only Season in the spring of 1814, and despite her many fears and insecurities, she drew the attention of many eligible young men. Some of them were attracted because of her fortune, and Elizabeth seemed to have a sixth sense in detecting such suitors. Others, however, found her a most handsome and agreeable young woman, and their attentions were sincere and honest.