James was about to suggest that he might need Mr Gardiner's help, too, when the sound of a carriage approaching drew them both to the window. The children had already seen the visitor from the windows upstairs and were calling out to him when Emily and James went to the door.
It was her brother, Robert. "Robert, what a nice surprise. We had no idea you were home."
Her youngest brother had spent so much time away--first overseas, in the colonies and then, more recently, in Liverpool, where he was in charge of a large trading house--they saw him rarely.
As he walked up the path to the house, Emily noticed how much more mature he looked--"quite a distinguished citizen, in fact," she remarked later to her husband.
"I am invited to Pemberley, too, on a different mission than yours, Emily," he said. "I am to discuss some business with Mr Darcy on Father's behalf; he is feeling rather poorly today."
Emily was immediately concerned for her father's health and had to be reassured by Robert that it was only a head cold. "He would have come himself, but Mother was determined that he should stay home and not risk catching a chill." Robert was smiling. "So here I am. Are we ready to leave?"
Emily, having taken a little time to ensure that Elizabeth and William knew what was expected of them while their mother was away for the day, put on her bonnet, scooped up little Jessica in her arms, kissed her husband and set out with her brother for Pemberley.
"I do wish you would come and live in Derbyshire, Robert," she said as they proceeded towards Pemberley. "It would mean so much to Mama, and you could help Papa with the business."
Robert could not keep the laughter out of his voice. "You will persist until you convince me, will you not, Emmy? Well, I have to say, the prospect of living in comfort at home with my parents, rather than in rented rooms in Liverpool, attracts me vastly. There is no comparison between the food I have served up to me by Mrs Brown and dishes that grace the table at home."
"Well, then?" His sister expressed her annoyance that he, in spite of so many obvious advantages, would not do the right thing.
Robert was evasive. "Emmy, it is not that I am unwilling to assist my father with the business; indeed, I am truly interested in the work to the extent that I have far more knowledge of it than I had before. But, apart from my family, whom I would visit anyway, there is little to hold me here."
Emily understood his concerns--she had some sympathy for her brother. Robert, the youngest and plainest of four children, had grown up in the shadow of a handsome, highly successful brother, two active and popular sisters, and several accomplished cousins.
Quiet and rather isolated from the rest of them, he had suffered a series of unfortunate problems which had culminated in his departure for the colony of Ceylon some fifteen years ago, where he had worked successfully for a large British trading firm for many years.
The experience had not only helped sharpen his commercial understanding and skills, but it had forced him to be more independent and decisive than he had been as a young man. In fact, Robert Gardiner, now almost forty years old, was a good deal more eligible and attractive a proposition than he had been at twenty-five.
Looking at him, Emily smiled and said, "Robert, perhaps you just need a wife. That would give you a good reason to stay."
Robert threw back his head and laughed out loud. "Emmy, not you too! It's been Mother's obsession ever since I returned last year."
"Well, is it such an unattractive proposition?" she demanded.
"Certainly not, provided it is with the right person," he replied.
Emily was of a mind to pursue the matter. "And what might such a person be like?" she asked, only to have him challenge her.
"Someone I could love, of course. Emily, I know how deeply you feel about such matters. Surely you would not have me make a loveless marriage of convenience, just so I could remain in Derbyshire?"
"Robert, of course not! Would I ever suggest such a thing? All I meant was that the prospect of a happy marriage may well persuade you to stay."
They seemed to take an inordinate amount of time negotiating a deep bend in the road, which brought the house into view and, knowing it would not be long before they reached it, Emily did not pursue the subject.
On reaching Pemberley House, they were met by Elizabeth and Darcy as well as Jane and Mr Bingley, who had stayed over from the previous evening.
Bingley and Darcy, aware that Robert was there to represent his father, took him away to talk business while Emily and little Jessica were whisked upstairs.
Jessica was a calm, undemanding child who gave very little trouble, content to draw or play by herself for seemingly hours on end. Having settled her down in the old nursery with one of Elizabeth's maids for company, Emily joined her cousins in Elizabeth's sitting room.
Plans for the third music festival to be held at Pemberley were well advanced. The first, universally judged to be a success, had been held in 1843, when James and Emily Courtney, assisted by Georgiana Grantley, had persuaded a reluctant Elizabeth to approach Mr Darcy with a proposition. Surprisingly, he had not been at all averse to the idea, and the program had soon grown from a modest soiree to an outdoor festival.
The elegance and graciousness of Pemberley soon invested the occasion with its own magnificence, and a second festival in 1846 had seen an increase in the number of performers wanting to appear at such a celebrated venue.
Three years later, appropriately celebrating the end of a year of turmoil across Europe, the festival was planned to provide a special program for mainly young performers, including several of Georgiana's pupils.
A group of young Irish singers, as well a French choral ensemble, were expected. Georgiana herself had decided to play a recently published work by the Irish composer John Field, and the Matlock Chamber group was practising assiduously for their debut with young William Courtney. There was already an air of excitement around.
Elizabeth still felt a cold sadness in her heart each time she gazed out at the crowds gathering in the beautiful grounds, remembering her young son William, who, had he lived, would surely have been an accomplished pianist.
It was ironic that their son Julian, born some two years after William's death, had no musical talent at all, but Emily's boy, whom she had named William with Elizabeth's permission, had a prodigious talent, even though his mother sensibly refused to let him be treated like some precocious child prodigy. He had already had two teachers who had decided that they were insufficiently qualified to develop his remarkable gifts, and the third, a maestro who came to them every week from Coventry, had warned them that they had in William a young person who was likely to achieve great things in music.
"He must not be persecuted with Algebra and Latin," he had declared, "they will be of no use to him. Let him spend as much time as he likes with his music. In that, he may go far, for he has talent but he must work hard."
The Courtneys, with their modest means, were determined to do their best. However, when Elizabeth and Darcy heard of it through Mrs Gardiner, a plan was hatched: all of William's expenses in the teaching and learning of music would be borne by the Pemberley Trust, which had been set up in memory of William Darcy to provide for talented children.
Naturally, Emily and James Courtney were grateful but somewhat reluctant to accept such a generous and long-term gift--but Elizabeth and Darcy had insisted. It was a gift that would be repaid hundredfold as young William developed his skills and his love of music. He was to perform in public, alone, for the very first time at the Pemberley festival.
When the day arrived, Elizabeth and Emily were far more nervous than the young performer. Amazingly unperturbed and at ease, he was a complete contrast to his anxious mother, aunts, and grandparents, who hung upon every note he played until it was over in a great burst of applause from an audience enchanted by his performance.
When Elizabeth and Emily embraced, each understood why the other was weeping on this happiest of occasions. They had shared both the sorrow and the joy. Emma and James Wilson had attended, accompanied by a friend from London. A composer himself, the visitor, who had stayed discreetly in the background during the performance, was enthusiastic about young William Courtney and, at the supper afterwards, predicted that he had the talent to become a remarkable musician.
His modest parents, wanting only that their son should be happy, discounted a great deal of the praise but did not neglect to tell William how well he had done. Mrs Gardiner made them all smile when she declared that, wisely, "Emily and James were making quite certain that William received sufficient praise and encouragement to please his little heart but not too much to swell his little head!"
Since his return to England, Robert Gardiner had been making friends anew with the members of his family, and the Bingleys had been most hospitable. Their daughter, Sophie, though less of a beauty than her elder sister Emma, was, he had noticed, a particularly pleasant young woman and did not appear to be spoken for.
With his sister's words still in his mind, Robert accepted their invitation to dine with them on the following Saturday. It might, he thought, be an opportunity to spend some time getting to know Miss Sophie Bingley better. He had always liked her parents immensely, and Sophie appeared to share many of their qualities. If, as Emily suggested, a good wife and a happy marriage might encourage him to settle in Derbyshire, Robert was not averse to giving the matter some serious thought--although, he told himself, he was in no hurry at all.
He had not counted, however, on the Bingleys also inviting to the same dinner party the Darcys and their cousins, James and Rosamund Fitzwilliam, together with their daughter, Rose, a startlingly beautiful young woman of about twenty-seven.
Having been introduced to Robert and hearing of his long sojourn overseas, Miss Fitzwilliam evinced such a deep interest in his travels and work in the exotic east that in answering all her queries, he found he had no time at all left for Miss Bingley.
Robert found that conversation with Rose was an unexpected pleasure; she was open and frank with no airs or pretensions. She also played and sang, when invited to do so, with the same insouciance, which he found quite disarming.
Frequently, in London, Robert had been disconcerted by the affectations and silliness of many vain and ignorant young women whose prominence in society owed more to an accident of birth than to their intelligence or character. Being a shy young man of a somewhat serious disposition, he had not found it easy to converse with them. On the rare occasion when he had met a young woman with whom he had enjoyed a pleasant conversation, it was only to discover that she was as good as engaged to a friend of his.
Miss Fitzwilliam was different. By the end of the evening, Robert was sufficiently intrigued by Rose to accept an invitation to call on the Fitzwilliams and dine with them the very next week. Indeed, he had hesitated but a few seconds when asked, and when Rose had turned and looked at him, he had accepted without delay.
He determined to ask his mother, before he went to dinner with the Fitzwilliams, how it was that such a self-possessed and handsome young woman could have remained unwed.
Mrs Gardiner was a mine of information on the subject. Rose, she told him, should have been wed some four years ago, except for the dreadful misfortune that had cost the life of the young surgeon to whom she had been engaged. "He was John Greaves, from Derby, a friend of Richard's and of her brother, Thomas, who is at Cambridge," she said. "They were a very handsome couple, very much in love and set to be married when he returned from South Africa, where he had gone with a team of surveyors.
"But, tragically, he never came back. He died, they said, of some dreaded tropical fever. Rose was devastated. For months she hardly spoke to anyone or went anywhere. Her mother was afraid they would lose her. She would ride for hours, alone, through the woods and across the moors. Frequently, her father had to go out in search of her and would find her weeping, unwilling to come home to the reality that John Greaves was dead."
Robert listened, shocked and sympathetic, as his mother continued. "Recently, she has been coming out more; she accepts invitations with her parents and has attended functions in Derby and Birmingham. She is an excellent pianist and sings very well. In the last few months, she has joined Caroline and her children in the Matlock Chamber music group. I am sure James and Rosamund are very pleased."
Robert was thoughtful but said little. He decided to observe Rose more closely when they next met. He had, at their first meeting, detected no sign of bitterness or self-pity, which one might well have expected in the circumstances. While she had neither the sparkling brightness of his sister Caroline nor the vivacity of his sister-in-law Cassandra, Rose Fitzwilliam had attracted his attention by her intelligence and quiet charm, as well as her beauty.
The following Saturday turned out to be an unusually warm Spring day, and quite a large party had assembled at the Fitzwilliams'.
Anthony and Rebecca Tate, and their daughter, Josie, were just back from Kent, where they had attended the wedding of Rebecca's elder sister, Catherine. Sir Thomas Camden, his wife, and their two daughters were there, as well as young Julian Darcy, who was a friend of Rose's brother, Stephen. Julian's parents had been invited but, having attended Catherine Collins's wedding themselves, had stayed on at Rosings.
As the evening grew cooler, most of the party moved indoors, and Rose Fitzwilliam disappeared upstairs. Robert had been prevented from spending much time with her by the sheer persistence of Sir Thomas Camden, who had demanded to be told all about the price of tea. Robert discovered later that he had shares in tea.
Escaping from the commercial concerns of Sir Thomas, Robert found himself involved in a political discussion with the Tates. Anthony, whose newspapers supported the Prince Consort's initiative for an international exhibition to be held in Hyde Park despite the derision of
The Times
, sought Robert's opinion on the project. Did he not see it as a great opportunity for British Industry? they asked.
The Tates' enthusiasm, though commendable, held very little interest for Robert at this time. His attention was engaged elsewhere. He had hoped that the occasion would afford him an opportunity to get to know Rose Fitzwilliam rather better. But, apart from a few pleasantries exchanged as he arrived, the opportunity had not arisen. Rose had been busy with the other guests, and when she vanished upstairs, he almost gave up hope altogether.
As the candles were lit and the curtains drawn, however, she returned, and Robert had to exercise great restraint to stop himself staring at her.
Rose had changed for dinner from the simple muslin day dress she had been wearing into a striking gown of blue silk, whose flowing lines resembled the costume of Greek maidens in a play he had seen in London.
It was a complete contrast to the rather unbecoming fashion of wearing several petticoats, which was popular among the younger women. Both Camden girls, who were thus attired, exchanged glances as Rose joined them. Quite clearly, they, too, were struck by her elegant appearance and neither could stop gazing at her as she moved around the room.
Robert could not take his eyes off her either, remaining quite oblivious to everything else around him until it was time to go in to dinner.
As the ladies moved forward, Rose hung back, allowing the guests to go through into the dining room first. The hesitation gave Robert time to reach her side and offer her his arm, which she readily accepted, thanking him with a smile.
When they were seated, thankfully at some distance from Sir Thomas Camden, Robert found he was totally incapable of making small talk. All intelligent conversation seemed to have dried up--his mind was a blank, and he feared the meal might be spent in silence.
The animated conversation at the top of the table, which was all about Italy's struggle for unification, helped to mask some of his embarrassment until Rose, with a level of ease and friendliness for which he was truly grateful, picked up where they had left off the last time they had met.
As if acknowledging that it was her duty to put him at ease, she said, "Mr Gardiner, I have been trying to discover more about your island of gems. I believe it is known as the Pearl of the East. Is this true?"
"Indeed, it is," said Robert. She had thrown him a lifeline, and he was most appreciative. "So it has been known for many centuries and to several ancient travellers. It is, today, a most valuable part of the British Empire, and we know it as Ceylon, but the Greeks called it Taprobane, while the Arab traders spoke of Serendip," he said, happy to be back on a familiar subject-- one in which she had confessed an interest.
"Is it the same Serendip as the one in the fairy tale?" she asked, and when he looked puzzled, she told him of the story of "The Three Princes of Serendip," which she had read as a little girl.
"I had no notion then that Serendip was a real country," she declared, giving him the opportunity to expand on the theme of its exotic beauty.
For the rest of the evening, Robert was as a man bewitched. Though the food was excellent, he ate little, so engrossed was he in their conversation as his companion plied him with questions. He was glad to explain and elucidate, even to spend the rest of the evening satisfying her interest.
When they retired to the drawing room, where a great fire burned and the pianoforte stood open, Rosamund Fitzwilliam invited the young ladies to entertain the company.
The two misses Camden obliged. They sang sweetly but were not in the same class as Rose, thought Robert, who was torn between the desire to hear her sing and his reluctance to let her leave his side, fearing she might not return.
Finally, urged by her cousins, Rose obliged with a charming English lyric by the poet Ben Jonson, which so enchanted Robert that it immediately became his favourite song. He could not believe he had not heard it sung before; but if he had, it could not have been rendered better.
Poor Robert had never been seriously in love before, and it seemed that, this time, he had been stricken pretty hard. Almost the last guest to depart, clearly reluctant to tear himself away, he thanked his hosts and was about to leave when James Fitzwilliam asked if he enjoyed horse riding.
Robert, who enjoyed riding, claimed immediately that it was his favourite pastime.
"Well, we are all riding over to Rushmore Farm, and thence to Dove Dale, tomorrow," said Fitzwilliam, to which Rose added, "and if this weather holds, we may take a picnic."
When Robert looked interested and eager, Rose's mother said, "Well, Julian Darcy and Josie Tate are coming too and you are very welcome to join us, Mr Gardiner."
Even before she had finished speaking, he had accepted, thanking them for the invitation. They arranged to meet at the cross roads between their property and the Gardiners.
Meeting her eyes as he said goodnight, Robert was certain that Rose looked pleased. Himself, he had never enjoyed an evening more--nor had he looked forward to a Sunday morning with greater anticipation of pleasure.