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Posted on Saturday, 9 August 2003
From Longbourn to Hunsford via London, the first part of it was a journey of only four and twenty miles, and Elizabeth, Charlotte and Sir William began it so early as to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. After greeting her younger cousins and involving herself in their pleasures to their satisfaction, Elizabeth contrived to sit by her Aunt, who made their plans of how she and the Lucases were to be amused on this one night in town. A trip to the theatre was proposed, then aired, and agreed to with a willingness from all, as they had heard much of the acclaimed 'Macbeth' production which had been feeding the masses of Society this late winter.
Their arrival at the building naturally produced many stares, as those of the Ton observed for the first time in the two years since her presentation at court, the Countess of Saffron Walden. As her late husband had been declared the most eligible bachelor in London and the kingdom, so was she, by the peculiarity of the inheritance terms, now given the same honour in eligibility circles. A unentailed title, with two houses in town, plus estates in Derbyshire, Essex, Hertfordshire and Kent, all with incomes well above five thousand per annum, all these attributes were rapidly realised and discussed by the matchmaking Mamas and scheming rakes among the crowd that attended the theatre that night.
Elizabeth let all of the conversation about her pass without any attention paid towards it. Her intention was to enjoy this night with her Aunt and Uncle, and her friend and Sir William, and if she gave any speculation attention it would increase the low worth of it unnecessarily. She remained in close talk with Charlotte and Mrs Gardiner, refusing to meet the eye of any Society mother who tried their hardest to catch it.
What was soon also taken into discussion as well was the sight of two other most eligible personages, who chose to attend the evening's performance as well. Their arrival was most unexpected and completely unannounced, for they came to their box only after the lights were darkened for the first act, and thus their presence was not noticed and therefore not remarked upon until intermission. When the lights returned to the seats then, a general gasp was declared and the whispers increased, exclaiming at the honour of having not only the Countess of Saffron Walden, but also Mr Fitzwilliam and Miss Georgianna Darcy in attendance upon Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' this night. Their box was situated directly across from the Countess', resulting in the rest of Society displaying the fashion more commonly observed at tennis matches.
With such an extravagant display, it can hardly be wondered that the objects of such staring would escape noticing each other's arrival. Indeed, Darcy was sensible of Lady Elizabeth's presence almost from the moment he had sat down, when a light effect from the stage carried far enough to light up the box opposite them. He felt a smile forming upon his face immediately and the first few lines of act one, scene one, passed him by completely. Then, seeing her own fine eyes fixed unceasingly on the play, he reluctantly pulled his away from her form and attempted to concentrate on it also.
It would not be to the credit of either the actors performing the Scottish play or our hero and heroine if I said that the latter could not keep their eyes from observing each other during the course of the play. Elizabeth descried his presence at intermission, when their eyes happened to meet from across the room as the lights came back to the seats. Like him, her first reaction to the knowledge of his attendance was surprise, followed by a becoming blush as his eyes came to rest on her. For a few moments, as the crowds moved obliviously below, the entire room and people were lost to them, as they felt unable to turn away. Then, a light touch upon the shoulder from their companions served to bring them both back to the present, then led out into the foyer.
With a protective eye and arm over and around his young sister, whose first night it was out in public, as a prelude to her coming out in two years time, Darcy led the way out of their box and across the foyer, dodging the matchmaking rakes and mamas with all the practice of a gentleman who had been cast as the object in the same pursuit since his majority. He reached their exit from their seats just as Elizabeth and her party were coming out. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. As they had been forewarned of each other's presence, there was no natural embarrassment or surprise to prevent conversation, awkwardness was done away. He greeted all of the party with ease, introduced those to Georgianna that she had not met at Jane and Bingley's, due to her keeping to her brother's side for most of the time, then fell into a review of the first half of the play with the Countess.
It was a sight that many could not avoid noticing, and Society there gathered itself around the most experienced and most informed of personages to debate and speculate what their obvious prior acquaintance of each other could mean, invariably getting part, if not all, of their conjectures wrong. Elizabeth and the Darcys again noticed none of it, as they remained in close conversation with each other until intermission was over.
The inhabitants of Gracechurch Street returned to that house from the play, their faces glowing from the effects of the company and the performance. Mrs Gardiner smiled knowingly at her niece, causing Elizabeth another blush, as she recollected the new knowledge which she had gained from seeing him this night; that he would soon be joining her in Kent, to visit his Aunt. Elizabeth did not know how to regard this new piece of information. She had hoped that her time in Kent, where there would be no parts of buildings or countryside that she had occupied in his company, would give her a chance to rationally reconcile her thoughts and emotions concerning him. To consider if she could truly be happy accepting the attentions of another gentleman so soon after loosing her hated first husband.
But now he was to be in Kent as well, which meant Elizabeth would have to spend the night before her departure there, along with short time that she would be in that county without him in thought about it all.
"Look Charlotte, all that land to the left of us is Rosings Park. Has not your sister made a most fortunate alliance?"
This speech of Sir William's was the first to bring Elizabeth out of her reverie that she had fallen into the night before, the next morning. The novelty of the countryside that the carriage was passing soon caught her full attention, and she dealt it all the observance that it was worth, pushing the thoughts that had so previously consumed her so much that they stood to exclude all others, to the back of her mind.
At length they came upon the crossroad that divided Rosings Park, the Parsonage, and Elizabeth's own inherited estate. Sir William offered immediately to drop her off there, but was firmly declined. Elizabeth did not feel ready to visit Blisstham Place,1 an estate which had been shut up long before her acquaintance with her late husband and subsequent owner had even begun, let alone stay at the place. No, she would accept her cousin's humble hospitality, and visit the place when her courage was high.
The Parsonage was soon discernible. Mr Collins and Maria appeared at the door, and the carriage came to a halt in the small drive which separated it from the lane that led to Rosings Park. Maria welcomed her sister and the Countess with the liveliest of pleasure, and her husband's frequent inquiries as to their journey and their health showed that so far marriage had done little to alter the character of either. He welcomed them twice, once in the garden, the other inside the house, apologised to his cousin for it being much smaller than he presumed she was used to, and repeated all Maria's offers of refreshment.
Elizabeth saw much to take note of; observing her hostess carefully, to see if any sign of her previous reluctance concerning the match still remained. She knew well that Maria was not like her sister Charlotte, who at seven and twenty was much more concerned about a good establishment rather than love, which the younger Lucas had given a higher priority to before her marriage. She watched her countenance throughout Mr Collins almost unceasing conversation, in which he seldom uttered anything that could not make his wife reasonably ashamed. When it was time for them to view their host's gardens, Elizabeth had observed enough to conclude that while Maria might not be satisfied with her husband, she had settled for merely being content.
Lady Catherine's presence at her estate was inevitably talked of, as Mr Collins observed during dinner; "You, Countess, will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh at Church and I need not say that you will be delighted with her. Indeed, I have already taken the liberty of informing her of your stay with us, and she hopes to have our presence at the Park for dinner as soon as she is available. She marked you, Cousin, with peculiar condescension, and instructed me to inform you that any one of her guest bedrooms would be available for you to take residence of whenever you wanted to."
Though Elizabeth did not feel pleasure at this, as Mr Collins had expected her to, she felt nonetheless obliged to explain her connection to Lady Catherine, which thus explained away the peculiarity of his patroness' hospitality towards her. Mr Collins, who had thought himself well informed on all of her ladyship's relatives, blood relation or no, was now further enamoured with the honour that he believed should be felt and frequently expressed, of having the goddaughter in law of his patroness staying at his humble abode.
As for the Countess, she tried to prepare herself for the encounter, by making her character true to the phrase she had often used to describe herself once; as possessing courage which always rises at every attempt to intimidate her.
1. Blisstham Place: Normanton Park. Built between 1735 and 1740, by Henry Joynes, retaining the unfashionable H-plan of the Elizabethan House, but with the correct Palladian dress. In 1793 the interiors and Bow were remodelled/added to the building. In 1813 Britton's Beauties of Britain described the house as 'a rich scene of modern elegance throughout.' Originally in Rutland and owned by the Heathcotes, of whom in 1827 Sir Gilbert, 5th Baronet, married Clementina, daughter and heiress of the 21st Lord Willoughby d'Eresby. They eventually acquired the estates of her grandmother; Grimsthorpe Castle in Lincolnshire, and Gwydyr Castle in Caernarvonshire, and her mothers;' Drummond Castle in Perthshire. They also owned Bulby Hall in Lincolnshire. The vast wealth of Saffron Walden is somewhat based on this family example, showing how much wealth can be obtained through marriage and luck. The house remained with the family until 1925, when the state of the family wealth and the current political situation required that they sell off a number of their land assets. Gwydyr Castle was sold to a cousin, then Normanton's 6,000 acre estate, plus the villages of Empingham and Edith Weston, were put up for auction. The house did not sell, and a fire left it demolished. Its site now lies under 900 million gallons of Rutland Water. Only the stables and farming building remain, 200 yards North-east, and the tower of Normanton Church, left on an island in the lake. Source is again Giles Worsley's 'England's Lost Houses' from the archive of the magazine Country Life. Pictures of the interior and exterior are contained in the book.
Posted on Saturday, 16 August 2003
With the knowledge that the wife of her late and much lamented godson was in the neighbourhood, Lady Catherine wasted no time in making a request- and let it be noted, dear readers, I use that word in its loosest terms, and only as a means of tactful phrasing -to Mr and Mrs Collins and their guest to attend upon her at Rosings for dinner only two days after Elizabeth and the Lucases arrival. Mr Collins, being who he was, made no refusal and the Countess soon found herself walking up the drive of the great estate to meet the woman that her late husband had, as she recalled, mentioned only once in their brief married life. And not in very, generous terms.
In spite of having been at St James, Sir William was so completely overawed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had just enough courage to make a low bow and take his seat without saying a word. Charlotte meanwhile, remained perfectly calm, a stark contrast, it must be said, to her father and her sister, the latter of whom, despite having spent over two months in the twice weekly company of her husband's patroness, still lacked the courage to speak to her. Lady Catherine herself was a tall, large woman, with strongly marked features, which might once have been handsome. Instantly could her most important manners be made out; she spoke authoritatively, and with an air that was most definitely not conciliating.
Her late godson's wife, being a lady she had never met in her life before, naturally became Lady Catherine's first, last, and all-encompassing, port of call and attention. After performing the role of hostess at dinner, during which she believed it her duty to induct Mrs Collins in the duties of a curate's wife, Lady Catherine turned to the Countess with the intent of satisfying extreme curiosity. How many sisters did she have? What sort of person was her father? What was his situation? What sort of person was her mother? Did she have any other senior relatives? Were any of her sisters married? Were they handsome? Were they educated, and if so, where? What carriage did her father keep? What was her mother's maiden name? All these and more did Lady Catherine ask, and persisted in asking until she was satisfied with the answers that she received. She then turned to the matter of her godson.
"When did you meet him, Elizabeth?" Asked Lady Catherine, seeing no point in calling her with the title as befitted her rank, though it was superior to her own, because of their connection to each other.
"In the autumn of nine," Elizabeth replied, feeling all the impertinence of the questions, but striving to answer them composedly.
"And where was this meeting?"
"At the Assembly Rooms in my home village of Meryton."
"So he must have being staying at his estate in Stoke at the time then? It is a good sized home I suppose, but the second drawing room must be most inhospitable during winter. Why, the windows are full west! Was it a long courtship?"
"Long and short are relative terms, upon which circumstances count, I believe your ladyship," Elizabeth replied. "It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy: it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others. As for myself and your godson, nearly four months before our marriage spent in courtship was not enough, upon reflection, to determine either."
Lady Catherine was astonished at receiving such a reply. "Upon my word," she began, "you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?"
"With three younger sisters grown up, your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it."
"You cannot be one and twenty, I am sure, therefore you need not conceal your age."
"I am not one and twenty."
"And My Lucius to decide upon an eighteen year old woman, at nine and twenty, without family connections or fortune! I find myself surprised at how he bore such a match! He, I hope, put to rights your lack of education and appearance in his circles?"
"If, you mean, your ladyship," Elizabeth, though extremely insulted, answered, "that after my marriage to your godson I had time to improve myself at the pianoforte, horse riding, and other subjects which his godmother deemed me to be lacking in, then I would have to answer, yes, he did. But with regards to 'appearances in his circles,' I am afraid you will be disappointed in him, for beyond my presentation at Court, he rarely let me out of the house."
"Indeed?" Lady Catherine uttered. "Well, we must excuse that to his lateness in entering the marriage state, I suppose. Then his tragic accident with his carriage and four two years later. Oh how saddened I was to hear of it! Has he left you within full control of all his inheritance?"
"No, he stipulated that I must let his steward manage it for me, a matter which I managed to have remedied and I am now in full control."
"Remedied? What gave you to think that the steward would be inferior to yourself?"
"When he came close to embezzlement, your ladyship."
"Well," was all that Lady Catherine could say in reply, and the matter was subsequently dropped, as she returned to Mrs Collins for the remainder of the evening.
"Was it really that bad, Lizzy?"
It was the next day, and Elizabeth was out walking the woods and groves of Rosings Park with her friend, both of them having chosen to escape the company of the others soon after breakfast.
"I spoke the truth when I professed that over three months had not given us enough time to know each other properly, Charlotte," Elizabeth now replied to her friend's question. "It is not something I like admitting, indeed, aside from Lady Catherine, you are the second person who I have, voluntarily, confessed it to. I believed myself to be in love, and then was rapidly proved wrong when I married him. The match has had one benefit however. Since my widowhood I have been able to provide for my family enough to make sure that they do not have to marry without some consideration to money. Stoke Edith also is a saving grace; as a haven for any of my sisters whenever they wish to escape the confines of Longbourn." And then with that sentence Elizabeth changed the subject.
The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated twice a week; and, allowing for the eventual loss of Sir William- who left after a week, a length long enough to convince him of his daughter being finally convinced as to the blessings of her match -and there being only one card table in the evening, every such entertainment was the counterpart of the first. Other engagements were few and far between, the rest of the neighbourhood being beyond the Collinses' reach. This was, however, no evil to Elizabeth. She spent her time in conversation with Charlotte, or in solitary enjoyment of the woods and groves of the park, the weather being so particularly fine as to allow the daily ramble of them.
Elizabeth used this time alone wisely, and it was well that she did, for the time before the expected and actual arrival of Mr Darcy and his cousin passed with greater speed than she had anticipated. Eleven days was all she had to determine whether or not she welcomed his attentions, and if she wished for them to continue, and, perhaps increase, during her stay in Kent. His absence had been felt by her, though if it was with a mark of the keenest emotion, she felt unable to tell. That she felt a desire for his company, was certain. That she felt a concern for his well-being, was equally so. But was this enough? Did not she need more to be in love? Elizabeth did not know, and her first marriage experience presented as neither a helpful, nor unhelpful, incident with which to make her decision. Most thoroughly did she question herself in order to discover where her feelings lay. Did she care for his opinion or his concern? Did he truly meet with all her beliefs as to what must an amiable and ideal partner in life? Could she see herself happy with him? Finally, and most importantly of all, was there any hint from his behaviour which might indicate a hidden disposition which bore a likeness to that of her late husbands?
This question made Elizabeth pause in her wanderings, seat herself upon a old tree trunk by the country path which she had been rambling on, in order to answer it with careful consideration and no partial conviction. Like Mr Darcy the Earl had been prone to reticence in company. But, where the latter had chose frequently to excuse himself to town, the former had remained, and improved his familiarity with those in her acquaintance. Elizabeth could even remember at one time hearing that the Earl was regarded as the proudest, the most disagreeable man, by the entire population of Meryton, until her marriage was proclaimed, whereupon the approval of him rose dramatically. Mr Darcy, however, had made no attempt to change the entire village's opinion of him outright. No, he had gone for the more subtle approach; by being a good customer for the tradesmen, remaining a steadfast proponent of his friend's marriage, and mustering himself to talk more with those he knew beyond a week of daily acquaintance. Added to this was her Aunt Gardiner's testimony of his situation with his tenants and neighbours in Derbyshire, which she had gained from her old friends in the county. With the Earl, Elizabeth had no one to rely upon for knowledge of how he was regarded in the place of his birth. But with Darcy, it was a different matter. He had been described as the best landlord and the best master by all of her Aunt's Derbyshire correspondence. From the age of three and twenty had he been in possession of his inheritance, as well as the added responsibility of guardianship over a much younger sister. The Earl however, had not inherited until he was nine and twenty, and therefore had been more fixed in the manners and conduct of one near the youth of little responsibility, a fact which had been proven by his behaviour when she had returned to London with him as his wife. Upon his death it had fallen to her to fix most of his mistakes in the management of his vast estate, a position which, thanks to her being her father's favourite, had not been a stranger to her. With Mr Darcy, Elizabeth could detect not even a hint of the same mismanagement. During her stay at Netherfield, she had observed his weekly retreat to the study to deal with correspondence from his estate, and he had refused to take up his friend's offer of an continuation of the tenantship in the area in order to attend to his inheritance after Bingley's departure from Hertfordshire.
Finally, Elizabeth also knew that Mr Darcy was not a member of the Four Horse Club, having been in a position to overhear his conversation with Mr Hurst and her brother in law about the gentlemen clubs of London during her care of Jane. While the Four Horse was famed for its scandalous reputation, Alfred's1 was more highly regarded by those of the intellectual set for precisely the opposite reasons. As for Watier's,2 which was founded by the Prince Regent, a gentleman that Elizabeth, like most of her sex, disliked, she was relieved to hear him protest to attending it out of no more than family tradition.
Thus, after all this reflection, was her final concern was done away with by her mind. Now, it only remained for the others to also be similarly committed.
1. Alfred Club: Established in 1808, and described by the Earl of Dudley as "the dullest place in existence," as it attracted mostly gentlemen scholars. Lord Byron was a member, and he found it literary, pleasant and sober. Despite all this it achieved so much success that by 1811 it had three hundred and fifty-four on its waiting list to join. In 1855 it joined with the Oriental, established in 1824.
2. Watier's: Established on the corner of Bolton Street, at number 81 Piccadilly in 1807. The Prince Regent- whom Jane Austen hated herself, for his dissolute ways -had suggested the club using his new chef, Jean-Baptiste Watier, for the food of White's and Brook's was not to his satisfaction. The club's main entertainment was gambling, its usual game being Macao, a form of twenty-one. It was nicknamed the Dandies Club by Byron, as Brummell was a member. Having become a haven for blackguards and acquiring a reputation of fortunes being lost and won in the gambling, it died out in 1819.
Source for both of these notes was the Regency Collection website, which can be accessed by Austen.com on line Austen related links.
Posted on Saturday, 23 August 2003
The gentlemen performed all that was expected of them as holders of that particular title, by choosing to pay their respects to the Parsonage upon the same day of their arrival in Kent, meeting the eager owner of that abode on the way.
Richard Fitzwilliam, younger son of the Earl of Matlock, and currently a holder of the rank of Colonel in the Second Life Guards,1 entered the room first. He was about thirty, and compared to his younger cousin, not handsome, in Elizabeth's partial eyes. He entered into conversation with all the ease of a well-bred man, and one used to many an officers ball or mess in service abroad. His cousin meanwhile, after paying stilted returns of introduction to Mr and Mrs Collins, had only eyes and words for the Countess. She happened to look around, happened to smile, and it was decided. He seated himself by her.
"I hope, Milady," Darcy began after the necessities of formal greeting were over, "that you have had an agreeable time in Kent so far?"
"I have, thank you sir," Elizabeth replied. "May I ask the same of you with regards to London?"
"The town was its usual self," he answered, "full of society with invites galore. I ignored most of them, for the sake of keeping my sister company. But there was one night at the theatre which I managed to attend with Georgianna, and I confess to having enjoyed the company I found there immensely."
He said this with a sort of expression directed at her which conveyed to Elizabeth that he could only mean one evening; the same evening that she had attended, with the Gardiners, Charlotte, and Sir William. With a blush, she found her courage high enough to reply, "I must confess to possessing the same feeling when I attended, sir."
Darcy smiled at that, then changed the subject. "Have you heard from your sister Mrs Bingley, or your family at Longbourn since our last meeting? And if so, are they well?"
"I have had a letter from Jane, and one from my father. She seems to be very content with her married life. My father also reports all at Longbourn to be in good health. Have you heard from my brother in law?"
"I received a letter just before I left, which I have yet time to properly read. I know his technique too well to expect to read it quickly. But from what I could see from just a glance, he seems vastly contented."
"And how is your sister?"
"Georgianna is very well, and, I gather, I frequent correspondence with you. I often witness or hear her chuckling over your witty letters to her."
"And how, may I ask, do you know them to be witty, sir?" Elizabeth teased. "Have you read them yourself?"
"What would you say if I had?" Darcy countered in same manner.
"That you should be ashamed of yourself to betray the confidence of letters between intimate friends. And you have not answered my question."
"I am afraid, my lady, all I can confess to is the occasional knowledge of some lines which Georgianna chooses to read aloud to me. Is that acceptable?"
"I suppose it must be," Elizabeth replied, in a voice that sounded extremely like that of his Aunts. Darcy looked at her in surprise, until she laughed, whereupon he realized she was joking, causing him to chuckle also.
The sound of their laughing caught the attention of his cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam waited for a pause in conversation, then sought the opportunity to observe them. A brief look was all that it took to establish a conclusion; he returned to the company around him, his focus drifting inward as he considered what he had just seen. Darcy had been unusually reticent during the journey from his house in Grosvenor Square, to Rosings Park, choosing speak only when Richard's conversation had required him to do. His correspondence as well, had been unusually different. Due to their long standing relationship, being closer in age than with his brother Jolian, Darcy had regularly written to Richard whenever they felt a need. Usually, they were letters of detail, but recently his cousin had taken to summarizing, refraining from mentioning his time in Hertfordshire to only a brief sentence, when he had been used to giving vacations the same length of paper space as his time at Pemberley. At first, Richard had been unable to account for this sudden change. Various theories had suggested themselves, but all were eventually discarded when he found them wanting. Now however, he had found a reason that suited the difference perfectly. His cousin, for the first time- at least as far as Richard knew, and that was almost all -was in love. Nothing to the contrary could be determined from the expression he had seen Darce to possess just now. He was in love, and, Richard believed he could judge, almost from the first moment he was in Hertfordshire.
Well, it was about time, the Colonel believed. Although he was almost an advocate of the bachelor state, he had always held the opinion that his cousin and friend often had the tendency of loneliness, and therefore, was in need of a wife to wipe away that sadness which the early passing of his mother, and the recent passing of his father had produced on both him and Georgianna. The Countess of Saffron Walden seemed just the woman to suit the needs of his cousin perfectly, if their recent mutual amusement was anything to go by. Richard could almost fancy himself jealous. His cousin had found a beautiful, intelligent, witty woman to fall in love with. And a rich one at that. He knew the wealth of that Earldom like the rest of Society. Not that his cousin needed fortune in a wife, he had enough of his own.
"Is not that right Colonel?"
Richard looked about him, startled at the sudden interruption in his thoughts. Locating the source of the voice, he responded contritely, "forgive me, Miss Lucas, I was not paying attention. Could you possibly repeat what you just said?"
"I merely asked whether or not you agree with me that the sight of certain two people over by the window is a most fascinating one to study," Charlotte remarked.
Richard did not need to look where she had directed him to, for it was in the same direction as he had been looking before. "Yes, Miss Lucas," he answered, "I do agree."
Later, as Richard was walking back with his silent cousin to Rosings Park, just in time for dinner with their Aunt, he found himself thinking not of Darcy and the Countess, but of another lady he had met at the Parsonage. And the advantages of wealth over deeply held love and devotion in marriage.
And discovered his opinions to have altered within the last few hours considerably.
1. 2nd Life Guards: Together with the 1st Life Guards they sent two squadrons to Portugal at the end of October 1812, where, with the Royal Horse Guards, they formed Household Cavalry Brigade, under the command of Major-General Rebow, who was also of their regiment. They were inspected by their Commander in Chief, the future Duke of Wellington- this title was only bestowed on him in 1814 -on May 23rd 1813, and on June 21st they took part in the battle of Vittoria. They entered the entanglement late afternoon, just as Joseph Bonaparte's army collapsed, the 2nd Life Guards driving off the enemy infantry. After spending the winter of 1813-1814 in Logrono, they followed the army into France. More squadrons of the Life Guards joined them and they were present at the battle of Toulouse, on April 10th, though they took no part in the battle itself. On July 22nd both regiments disembarked Bologna for England. On the 27th April 1815 two squadrons from each of the two regiments of both the Life Guards joined Wellington for the battle of Waterloo. They took part in the Earl of Uxbridge's charge against D'Erlon's corps, at a cost of 17 killed and 41 wounded. They marched into Paris on July 7th 1815, and remained in France until January 17th 1816 when they returned to England. Source is Ian Fletcher's Wellington's Regiments; The Men And Their Battles 1808-1815.
Posted on Saturday, 30 August 2003
"There," the Countess suddenly announced, bringing her steed to a halt, just beyond the clearing of the woodland that separated Rosings Park from its neighbouring estates in the county of Kent.
Darcy halted his stallion as well, keeping a tight a grip on the reins of his horse, as he was of a somewhat wild heritage, which was what his master preferred, and followed the Countess' direction, to gaze at the estate before them. During their conversation the day before, a day after his first dinner at Rosings in her company, he had persuaded her to visit the place for the first time today, and to allow him to accompany her. Reflecting back upon that conversation, Darcy was rather glad now that she had agreed to his proposal. For, though she had never visited the place before, the mere fact of knowing the identity of the late owner, would likely bring memories to the fore, that she did not perhaps wish to recollect. Observing her expression now, he realised that his original suspicions had been, unfortunately, perfectly right. With all the skill of an expert horseman, he deftly moved his horse closer to hers, and gently took one of her nervous fiddling hands into his own calm ones. Cradling it as if her hand was the most precious object in all the world to him, his eyes locked hers in a solemn gaze, and he raised it to his lips, laying the most gentlest of kisses upon her wrist and palm.
Elizabeth could not help but blush at the gesture. His meaning could in no way be misconstrued. There was something deeper here, far more deeper than just a simple display of support between long acquaintances. He was not accompanying her just as a friend, but as one who hoped one day to become something more to her. It was as if in that moment he had all but declared his intentions to her, and in such a way that she felt none of the fear which she had expected to feel if such a situation came upon her once more. His meaning was absolutely clear. The feelings were entirely unconditional. He was offering her all that he was and all that he possessed, without any expectation or need that she would ever return the emotion. What a contrast to the suitor before him. She felt almost guilty that she had ever allowed any one other than him to come first. She was tempted, oh, so tempted! to have him declare himself now, but knew that would be delaying the inevitable that lay in front of them. She had to face this house, and all the demons it might awaken for her. Blinking, she changed the look in her eyes, and silently thanked him for the gesture he had just bestowed. "Shall we continue on to the house?" She then asked.
Darcy nodded, and reluctantly released her hand. They allowed their steeds free rein, and continued in their journey. When they were upon the pebbled drive before the house itself, they carefully halted their horses and made to dismount. Darcy was the first upon the ground, and, as they had brought no groom, moved to assist the Countess. She placed her hands upon his broad shoulders, and gracefully dropped down into his willing arms. He longed to be able to clasp her closer to him, and shower her glowing face with kisses, but knew that he had not yet been granted liberty to do so. Reluctantly he made his hands rest loosely at either end of her waist until she was safely dismounted, then respectfully moved away to attend to their horses.
Once their steeds were stabled in the fields beside the drive to the estate, Darcy followed her closely as they mounted the steps to the front door. Elizabeth drew out the key from a pocket in her skirts, fitted it into the lock, and turned until it clicked. The door opened and they stepped inside.
The Entrance Hall was a complete contrast to the grand equivalent of its neighbour. Whereas Rosings Park wished to show off all its wealth with every room, Blisstham Place opted for the simple, more refined style that was currently the fashion. Its walls were a pale cream, with elegant, but not overly ornate flourishes, while its floor showed a pale marble that had been rarely used, covered only where it made the stairs, which had gold rods to keep the light pale pink staircase runner in place. Its current occupants could not help but gasp in mutual surprise of how well it suited their tastes. Elizabeth had not expected this. Her late husband had obviously never visited Blisstham, for all his other houses tended to resemble the style of his godmother.
Despite all its excellence in wealth and taste however, there were also obvious signs of neglect. The estate had been shut up for a long time, that much was evident by the cobwebs in the corners, on the stairs, and about the chandelier. Elizabeth caught sight of them all, was thus reminded of her task in viewing the estate. To see what, if any repairs were needed, and how many would be required to form a household staff in her absence from the place. All her fears were forgot. The difference in style from the other houses that were in the earldom of Saffron Walden, made the memories that usually preyed upon her whenever she was in a house of his, disappear. She resumed her walking.
The next room was the drawing room. Again the style was refined, simple and elegant, with walls of dark blue, mahogany furniture, and silhouette profiles as its only ornaments. Dust sheets covered the sofas, as well as a large pianoforte in one corner of the room, but nothing else was protected from the elements of neglect. Elizabeth ran one of her fingers up a Sheraton table, barely making an impact in the layers of dust which covered the full glory of the wood from them. She turned to Darcy. "What do you think? Is there much to be done so far?"
"I do not believe so," he replied, lifting one of the dust sheets to examine a sofa before continuing. "There does not seem to be nothing more than a general cleaning required to restore the place to its usual standards. What are your plans for the place?"
"I am not yet certain." Elizabeth led the way into the next room, which proved to be a breakfast parlour. "I could let it, but I really do not have need to do so. The Earl gambled away a lot of his wealth, but not enough to break the bank." She looked up, just in time to catch his expression of surprise. "Oh," she began with a laugh, "the earldom I possess is still as wealthy as Society claims it to be. All he gambled way was his own inheritance from his mother, which was kept entirely separate. In my opinion I have already far too much money to have any need to increase it."
"I envy you," Darcy remarked. "My father installed the need within me to always try to enhance the wealth of our family."
"Perhaps if I had been born into it," Elizabeth allowed, "I might feel differently, and wish to increase the fortune as much as I can. But I only married into it. I had no notion until his death that it would ever become mine alone."
"He never told you of the entail?"
"He never told me anything. He left it all to be managed by his steward, and chose to while his time away at his clubs, or," Elizabeth trailed off, reluctant to finish the sentence. But her expression conveyed its conclusion however. Darcy understood all too well what she could not find the strength to say. His admiration of her rose once more. To have suffered so much, yet to still be all the things that he knew her to be, was truly remarkable.
They examined the rest of the house, and found much the same degree of dust in every principal room, and nothing worse. The house had obviously been gifted with only the service of the careful Earl before her husband, and did not require much beyond a general sweep of the dust and airing of the furniture and beds. After forming this conclusion, Elizabeth led the way back out of the house, and into the formal gardens at the back, which separated the estate from the fields of its environs. Here too, in the overgrown topiary hedges and trees, dried fountains and a surplus of wildflowers, there was evidence of the neglect it had endured under just two years of the Earl's reign.
Darcy stepped forward, and with the practiced eye of one who had been trained to take a close interest in everything upon one's country estates, examined one of the topiary trees. "Nothing beyond a day or two's work by a half a dozen or so experienced gardeners needed," he pronounced to her.
Elizabeth, her gaze fixed upon the fields which stretched after the grounds, acknowledged his judgment and sighed in apparent relief. "I cannot believe how scared I was in coming here," she uttered softly. "It is so different from all the others I have stayed in. It truly does justice to its name." She turned to face him. "What is Pemberley like?" She asked with sudden interest.
Darcy smiled, happy that she was happy. "I do not believe I could do it justice with any description," he answered her. "One can list the architects involved, the stone it was built out of, the furniture and rooms it possesses, but you cannot describe the feeling that comes over you when you are there. There is a certain magic about the place, which comes over you to such a degree, that every word feels inadequate." He paused to reflect upon it. "It is a place where I have always felt at home, a sanctuary from the world, yet I feel both of those phrases have something wanting." He stepped closer to her. "I would dearly like to show it to you, someday."
It was as close as he yet dare come to making his feelings known to her. Even now it was perhaps presumptuous of him, considering their short acquaintance, and her past history, of which he could still only guess at the nature of. Yet this day had bewitched him somehow, made him bold. Their time together today seemed different from all the other days that they had passed in each other's company. Here, in the grounds of her estate, they seemed to be closer than they were anywhere else. The surroundings felt almost intimate to him, as though the place was a world where nothing could interfere between them.
Perhaps it was all this which had affected her too, and made her reply with words that, from this moment, would be forever dear to him. "I would like that."
The days passed. Rosings found itself often lacking the occupancy of the gentlemen which it presently provided board and meals for, as the two cousins were more at the Parsonage or out about the grounds than they were at the court of their Aunt. Rosings only had the Billiard Room or the Library, both of which soon lost their appeal in favour of Mr Collins' guests.
Darcy's reticence upon the subject of his feelings concerning the Countess continued, though the Colonel rarely pressed his insistence to know all home, as he once might have done. For his mind too was far more agreeably engaged. Previously he had looked upon his annual stay in Kent as one would look upon the prospect of taking part in a war. Now however, that feeling had been done entirely away, and replaced by ones of pleasure. He who was used to scorning at all who played the role of suitor to the woman they professed to love, would now seem to echo an agreement in all their sentiments.
He was contemplating this trail of thought during his usual tour of the park, which he made year, when he encountered the Countess, and to his surprise, alone. She had been reading something in her hands, which, upon first sight of him had folded away, and now looked up to say, "I did not know before that you ever walked this way."
Richard explained his reasons for choosing to walk it, adding his intent to finish with a call at the Parsonage. "Are you going much further?" He then asked.
"No, I should have turned in a moment."
Turn she did, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
"Do you intend to leave Kent on Saturday?" She asked after a few moments.
"Probably not," he replied. "I am not needed by my regiment, and therefore entirely at Darcy's disposal. Kent has had some additions this year which make the inducement to stay more preferable than that of going."
"The combination of Lady Catherine, her daughter, Mrs Jenkinson and Mr Collins is not usually a inducement to visit Rosings then?"
"My Aunt tends to talk a great deal when we are here, but it seldom requires any response," Richard answered with a smile. "And my cousin hardly speaks a word here, though he's lively enough in other places. This time however, he seems to have discarded that character trait of his."
The Countess coloured, indicating to Richard that she had caught his meaning, and her expression, which he had wanted to judge, as it was his reason for his words in the first place, showed that she was not at all adverse to the idea he believed was in his cousin's mind. Then, her expression suddenly transformed, and she smiled as she remarked, "According to him, you seemed to have abandoned a character trait as well, that of obstinate bachelor-hood."
Richard smiled, and replied, "Perhaps I have, Lady Cavendish, perhaps I have."
Posted on Saturday, 6 September 2003
"Do you need someone to stay with you? I happily bear Lady Catherine's displeasure to do so, if you wished it."
"My dear sister Charlotte......"
"No," Elizabeth spoke at last, rising from the chair, "I am quite well enough for solitude. It is only a headache, and I am sure, will pass in time, if I am alone."
"And I am sure," Mr Collins began, coming to stand in front of her, "that when Lady Catherine hears of it, she shall not be angry. For she has such generosity of spirit...."
"My dear," his wife Maria began, "the time!"
"Oh, why did you not say so before!" Mr Collins cried after observing the hour himself. He snatched his walking stick and hat out of the maid's hand before moving to dash out the door. "I cannot begin to express the sovereign importance her ladyship places on punctuality........"
Elizabeth heard no more, as the door was shut. She returned to the parlour which was a favourite of Mrs Collins and Charlotte, sinking into a comfortable armchair with a sigh of profound relief. In truth her headache was not so very bad. But she felt quite unequal to the company of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose command over the conversation was such that it would make any one who wished only to talk to someone unable to do so. But Lady Catherine was not the only reason that made Elizabeth stay away. She had not had a chance since his arrival at Rosings to think properly on what he meant to her, and whether or she felt herself ready to return his attentions. She knew that she welcomed them, knew that she often wished for them, but had yet to figure out if she could return them with the same depth and devotion that she had seen displayed in his. He was a worthy man, who deserved nothing but equal love from whoever he gave it to. And there was the stumbling point. Elizabeth was not quite sure that she held an equal love for him. In his company her thoughts were distracted, she found it impossible to think of anything. Yet there were times when she found herself confiding her secrets in him. They had scarcely been known to each other for six months, yet already she trusted him. But she did not feel worthy of him.
There perhaps was the real heart of the matter. Her own belief in the worth of herself. He deserved far better than her. Money and title aside, she had been married before. She was not worthy of him. He deserved someone who had not already been taken by another.
Elizabeth was disturbed from this chilling final thought by the sound of a knock at the main door below. Even though the door to parlour was closed, she could distinguish at least the sounds, but not the words of the visitor, as he requested admittance. The caller was male, but his voice was too low for Elizabeth to identify him. She hoped it was a parishioner of Mr Collins, who would be told the parson was absent and go away. But it was not to be. There were footsteps on the stair. The maid opened the door.
She announced his name, but there was no need, for he was already in the room, and thus in Elizabeth's vision. It was Mr Darcy. The maid closed the door once more, and he bowed before her. He was clothed in his dinner clothes, with only gloves to protect him from the elements.
"Forgive me," began he, "I hope you are feeling better."
"I am," she managed to answer, "thank you. Will you not sit down?"
He seemed to be in great agitation, accepting the offer of seat only after he had paced the width of the room, from door to fireplace, and then being seated only briefly before getting up again to resume the pacing. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in his agitated manner, and thus began, "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will no longer be repressed." He knelt before her, gazing into her eyes with a most earnest look. "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She knew he would most likely declare himself soon, but she had not expected it to be now. She stared, coloured, doubted and was silent.
This he considered sufficient encouragement. "In declaring myself thus, I know full well, that you are not ready to return all that I have avowed, or at least, if I dared hope, to the same degree. Would to god I had better patience, but all this has caught me so completely by surprise that I can no longer rely on the control I have long exercised upon myself. Almost from the very moment of our first acquaintance I have come to feel for you, a passionate admiration and regard, which, despite all my struggles, it has long become impossible to further conceal. I know that you cannot be ready to welcome such from myself, or from any other, but I cannot help what I feel. You only need give me a word, and I shall wait. I could wait forever to gain your hand. For it is for that I ask; for always to be entwined with my own. I know I am far from being worthy of it, but........"
She had to stop him here. She could not let him wade in that misconception any longer. She must and had to reply. "Sir, please do not think thus. I cannot allow you to believe that you are not worthy of me. Indeed it is quite the opposite. I am not worthy of you. You deserve so much better than me."
He seemed to catch her words with surprise. "So much better than me," he repeated in wonder, before, still on his knees, taking her hands in his. "Would to god I had the scoundrel before me that made you believe that. He would soon regret all that he had inflicted upon you by the time I was through with him! Indeed, you deserve far better than me! I have no where near the wealth that you possess, nor do I wish to marry you in order to claim it. But I wish to marry you, because I love you, nothing more." He paused to lay kisses upon the hands he cradled in his own, his eyes never moving from hers. "I would cherish you for the rest of my life, and hold you in my heart for eternity."
Elizabeth could no longer bear to look into his eyes. They conveyed the very sort of feeling that she felt so unworthy of, and therefore she had to look away, to look down at her gown, as she replied, "I do not deserve you."
Darcy said nothing. Instead, he placed a hand under her chin, and lifted it up until she was able to meet his expression once more. Then he leaned forward and caught her lips in his own. It was a kiss to evoke surprise, and to take one's breath away. How could she not respond to such tenderness, mixed with such passion, such affection, that she felt afterwards to never have received a kiss before? It was impossible not to return.
It could have last forever. Neither really wanted to end it. But he wished to finish carrying his point. "We shall not quarrel for the greater share of unworthiness. It is an argument which I fear, would never reach a conclusion, and I have no desire to argue with you. Tell me, do I ever have a hope of succeeding?"
"I do care for you, sir," Elizabeth replied truthfully, her response to the kiss making her realize what had been in her mind for so long concerning him, than any more solitude would ever have accomplished. "Indeed, I do believe I love you. But I do not feel ready to enter into another marriage yet. I have thought myself in love before, only to be cruelly disillusioned out of it. If you would but consent to a long engagement......"
He seized upon her words with eager joy. "Indeed, my dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth, I would consent most happily to that! I would not wish to haste you into marriage, by any means." He kissed her again.
Later, he rose from his knees, and drew her to sit closely by him upon the sofa. Then, wrapped an arm around her, resting on her skin after her sleeve, causing Elizabeth to bend her head, resting it upon his shoulder, allowing him the luxury to press a kiss to her hair whenever he felt the inclination, which was often. Too awake to the novelty of their declared feelings for each other, both were, for a time, incapable of words. Then he began in lowered tones, to tell her of feelings which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable. He told her how he had begun to fall, the first occasion he had noticed the emotion for her, and when he had realized at last that it was a feeling he would never be free of. He told her of how long he had wished to hold her in his arms, and wipe away all the cruelty which the man before him had dealt upon her. The testimony was supported by his eloquence upon the subject, and by his every kiss to her hair, and caress of her skin by the hand which rested on her arm. By the time he had been exhausted of words to equate what feelings he felt, she found herself able to speak, and, in part, to return the affections and emotions he had declared. She told him of her trust in him, which upon hearing it, he confessed him most glad to hear, for it was the one thing above all others that he wished so far to earn. He furthered his assurance to her of his intention to be patient, to not lead her to the altar before she was ready. She told him of the pleasure she felt in his company and conversation, and how she felt safe when he was beside her.
The mantle clock chimed out the late hour, and he, with great reluctance, rose from the sofa in order to go before the others returned. She rose with him, her hands not releasing his until he reached the door, whereupon he turned to face her, and pressed his lips to her own once more in a final farewell.
"Until tomorrow, my love," He uttered huskily, before quitting the room. Elizabeth watched him go with a heavy heart, wishing tomorrow already come.
Posted on Saturday, 13 September 2003
Darcy made his way slowly back to Rosings Park that night. He wished for solitude most, being not one of those whose happiness overflows in mirth, and knew that the sooner he returned to his Aunt's, the less likely he would be able to procure it. Absently he allowed a sigh to escape from him, as he made his way along the short lane that divided Rosings from Hunsford. A part of him was still in disbelief at all which had occurred this evening. When he had left his Aunt's- much to that formidable woman's annoyance, though he was one of the few who could stand up to Lady Catherine without retribution -Darcy had not entailed any hope of the kind that he would be accepted. Feelings aside, when it came down to practicalities, he was only the son of an old, if still respectable and influential, ancient, landed gentry family, with no title, and, officially at least,- for privately it was a great deal more -ten thousand a year. Proposing to the most eligible Countess in the kingdom was a presumption in itself, let alone adding to it the thought that one might be accepted. He knew full well what Society would think of it, even without their jealousy at not being able to catch either of them first. But he did not care what Society thought. He knew his own heart well enough to discount any possibility to himself that he was asking purely out of mercenary means. And by now, he hoped he knew hers well enough as well.
Darcy made his way up the steps that led to the chequered Entrance Hall. He opened the front door carefully, making sure to close it without any undue noise. He had crossed the short space from the doors to the main staircase, when he heard the footfalls of someone coming his way. Sighing in annoyance at having been so close and yet so far in achieving his goal, Darcy quickened his pace, the need for avoiding detection now negated. When he had reached the first landing, the footfalls increasing their nearness all the while, and acquiring a certain familiarity, he was brought to a halt by the voice of his cousin.
"Darcy," Richard began, coming to a halt in the middle of the Hall, "we quite despaired of you!"
"Is that my nephew?" Called an authoritative tone from the room the Colonel had just quitted. "Let him come in and explain himself."
"No, forgive me," Darcy spoke quickly, the last thing he wanted now was for Lady Catherine to hear, when none of Elizabeth's- he could call her Elizabeth now, in both mind and speech, without any restraint -family even knew about it yet. Already he half expected what her response would be. "If you will excuse me I have a pressing matter of business." He made move to cover the remaining set of steps. "Make my apologies to Lady Catherine, Fitzwilliam," he added, before disappearing out of sight, leaving his military minded cousin to ponder at the sudden strategy for retreat, and the reason for his absence this evening.
Inside the privacy of his room, Darcy went to his window, leaning an arm upon the frame to support himself as he gazed out upon the prospect before him. His mind was far from Rosing's formal gardens however. Already it had returned to Hunsford, and the rooms which the lady to whom he had long given his heart might be occupied in. He wondered what she was thinking. If he had managed to dissuade her of the idea that she could ever be unworthy of him, when the opposite was quite clearly the case. She deserved the best, and he was determined that from this moment on, she was going to get it. In his mind's eye, he recalled vividly her expression when she had finally accepted him. With delight he noted the beauty of her fine eyes as she mulled over their kiss, and her hesitation as she asked him to consent to a long engagement. He minded not that they could not marry straight away. His affairs, despite the ground work having been laid out during his separation from her in London, were nowhere near ready to welcome the new mistress of Pemberley, Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy. Or rather, as she would now be known; Lady Elizabeth Darcy, Countess of Saffron Walden. Pemberley's State rooms had been shut up since the death of his mother, his father having never been able to bear sleeping in them after loosing his wife, and Darcy himself had seen no need to move from his rooms when he had become master of the estate five years ago. The rooms of the townhouse were a little better, but still untouched for over ten years. Their was also the preparations to be made for the transferring of those duties usually reserved for the mistress of the house, which he had taken over so much of since his majority. He also wished for Elizabeth to be happy, to choose her own time, rather than he or any others dictate it for her. An image suddenly appeared before his mind's eye; of his days now fulfilled of complete contentment, spent forever by her side at their home in Derbyshire. Pemberley had been calling out for a new mistress ever since the loss of Lady Anne. Before Elizabeth, Darcy had only pictured Georgianna as the woman to fulfill that role, never expecting to meet anyone that he could love. Now, he could not imagine anyone else that would perform the role better her that held his heart.
Reluctantly, Darcy now forced his mind away from these musings. He had spoken the truth to his cousin when he had said that he had a 'pressing matter of business' to attend to, though it was not exactly business. One as close to a sister as he, could never call writing to her a matter of business. He withdrew from the window to his writing table, drew out the crested papers, dipped his pen into the ink pot and began;
Rosings Park,
April 9thMy dear Georgie,
Your brother writes to you with the most happiest of tidings. Indeed, he is so content at this moment, that he can barely give thought to forming his usual coherent sentences. You will deplore the structure of this letter, but I hope soon forget its mistakes in grammar, when I inform you of the reason why this is so.
A few hours ago, upon this very evening, I asked the Countess of Saffron Walden to be my wife. She was absent from the party from Hunsford for the evening here, thus making my presence before our Aunt also impossible. I made my way over to the Parsonage at once, and, after ascertaining that she was well, made her the offer of my hand. You can have no doubt of the answer being to my liking; I can now call her Elizabeth in both mind and speech without any restraint. She had some difficulty in believing herself worthy of me, which to my mind is still an absurd notion, but one that I hope I have managed to dissuade her of. I am not worthy of her, that is the truth. You will protest to that I know, but it is so. Your brother is not perfect, no matter how hard he tries to be for his sister's sake.
I hope you find me much happier from now on, Georgie. Indeed, perhaps the both of us have needed an addition to our small family for some time. I have no doubt of you and Elizabeth becoming the closest of sisters and best of friends.
I sit in my room at Rosings, avoiding our Aunt and her guests, even Richard, far too happy at the moment to inform any one else of my news, save you. I hope you will not brush this compliment modestly away, but I have been so proud of you my dear Georgie, ever since we returned from Ramsgate. You have been a wonderful balm to my heart and thoughts whenever I had despaired of ever having a hope of succeeding. Every day I see you happy and unaffected makes me thus also. You have become so much more confident, and yet remained the sweet girl I have always adored ever since I had the honour to first call you sister. There are times when I cross the open door of the music room, look up to see you in your private concert, and almost see the image of our mother before my eyes. You look so much like her. She would be very proud of you if she could see you now. And I am sure she does in spirit.
Forgive me, I did not mean to get so nostalgic. I hope you are still enjoying your time in London. I promise to rejoin you soon, and I think you know now what has kept me here, and it was not the delightful company of our Aunt. Apart from Elizabeth, I delay departure for another, though he will deny all knowledge of what I sure he is feeling. He is rapidly falling victim I believe to the same spell that I am under, and the fair maiden is Elizabeth's friend, Miss Lucas. Do not tease him and let on that what I suspect when you next write to him, though I expect the matter to be brought to a successful conclusion soon.
With regards to the wedding, there will be some time passed before that most joyful day. Elizabeth wishes for a long engagement in order to become accustomed to being married again, and I am happy to wait until she is as willing as I. Preparations need to be made, though my accounts have long been ready for a wife- I happened upon them before I left for Kent, as you can well testify, catching me as you did musing over how well her name looked entwined with mine when you called me to dinner -everything else is not. My present hope is for it to be in the summer, and, if I can persuade her and everyone else, at Pemberley's chapel. I have no desire for the wedding of the century, Society will have to be content with their imaginations about the event.
I hope you will include your congratulations and joy not only to myself but to your new sister in your next letter to her. Until then, I must bid you farewell.
I remain your loving brother
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Posted on Saturday, 20 September 2003
The next day, Colonel Fitzwilliam was informed of the match. Not surprisingly, Richard was very happy for his cousin. Having been a close friend to Darcy for much of their lives, he had become a witness to many of his cousin's sorrows, such as the loss of a beloved mother, of a once close childhood friend, of a beloved father, and the almost elopement of his sister. To see him experience happiness once again, was music to the Colonel's ears. The Countess was just the sort of woman that Richard believed Darcy needed; sensible, witty, lively at times, the perfect compliment to his cousin's almost habitual reticence. There were times, as Richard observed over the days, when there was only the talk of his Aunt to capture his attention, when his cousin could barely hold back a smile, or make greater move to resist the persuasions of a match between himself and the heiress of Rosings.
As for Richard himself, he was far from disapproving of the marriage state in general, as he once may have been disposed to do so. For quite some time now, he had long cease to consider himself the perpetual bachelor. He did not look upon the disadvantages of the state first, as he had used to when previously debating the state within his mind. Instead he considered all the advantages it could afford him, and the real affection of a lifelong partner that he was not considering to take out of mercenary means. He realized now how much influence he had access to in order to further his military career. And how much his father would be willing to assist him, if he presented before him a bride he truly cared for.
All these objections now being entirely swept away, Richard prepared his battle plan, informed the troops of his mind his wishes for the outcome of the engagement, and, nine days after his cousin's attempt, set out to win the war.
He walked with Darcy to the Parsonage as usual, made the appropriate greetings to its owner, Mrs Collins and the Countess. Then, after he had seen his cousin happily installed in the company of future bride, requested the honour of a walk with the woman he hoped to soon become his own.
They set out in the direction of Rosings, taking the path that led the way through a certain favourite grove, which Richard made sure to reach the certain solitude of, before coming to halt.
"Miss Lucas," he then began, gently taking her hands in his, "in my life I have faced many dangers, but none so treacherous, I believe, as this path." He dropped gracefully, as a credit to his profession, to one knee. "Dearest Charlotte, for that you will always be, would you do me the great honour of letting me become your husband? I know I do not have much in the way of comfort or security to offer you, but I can freely offer you my heart, which will, always, remain yours."
Charlotte smiled at him, making herself in his eyes even more beautiful; as soon as he had uttered the words which she had longed wished to hear. Until she had met him, she had never expected to find love, so late in her life. While seven and twenty was considered a good age for gentlemen, for women it had the tendency to leave them on the shelf, resigning them forever, to the title of old maid. Happily now, that fate was no longer to be hers. She would no longer need to feel obliged to accept any offer that came her way. Instead she could happily accept the man that she loved.
"Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she now replied, stilling smiling down at him, "I will marry you. Indeed, there is nothing that I would like more."
He rose up from his knees to take her into his arms. "Richard, my love," he gently corrected, before kissing her.
From then onwards, events seemed to move rather quickly to Richard's eyes. He and his beloved Charlotte spent almost all the remaining daylight hours secluded in that grove, until the weather became too cold for them to remain outside any longer. They made their way back to Rosings Park for the planned evening with his Aunt, wrapped up quite happily in each other's company, and often arms, as they told each other of their feelings, how long they had had them, when they had first noticed their attraction for each other, and their hopes for the future. Charlotte proved to be no stranger to the life of a Colonel on active duty, displaying a knowledge that made Richard fall even more in love with her for.
So happy they were, that, as they mounted the steps to Rosing's entrance to the Drawing Room where its owner usually held court, that they forgot to anticipate that lady's reaction to the event. Lady Catherine de Bourgh happened to turn her eyes briefly to the glass doors, in a quest for the sight of her absent nephew, and catch sight of him holding hands with Miss Lucas, and in a way that she was incapable of misunderstanding.
"Richard Arundel Fitzwilliam!" She instantly bellowed, the sound carrying perfectly through the closed doors to the man of that name previously standing, now slightly airborne, in surprise, outside.
Colonel Fitzwilliam regained his faculties rapidly. Letting go of one of Charlotte's hands, but keeping the other a happy captive, he opened the door, entered the room, and prepared himself for another war. "Yes, Aunt?" He replied, his tone laced in dangerous calm.
Lady Catherine had never encountered his temper before, and thus continued with her attack. "I ask you to explain yourself immediately!"
"Very well," Richard replied, bringing his and Charlotte's joined hands into a view accessible to all. "This afternoon, Miss Lucas made me one of the happiest men on earth, by accepting my hand in marriage."
"You have made her an offer?" Lady Catherine sought to confirm in a strident tone.
"I have."
"I hope then that you will have the good sense to immediately retract it!"
"What good sense would exist in living without the woman that I love?"
"Because honour, decorum, prudence- nay, interest, forbid it. As son of my brother, the Earl of Matlock, you can do much better than attaching yourself to the sister in law of my priest."
"In matters of future happiness, I do not believe I could do better. And that is all that matters to me, Aunt."
"Miss Lucas," Lady Catherine began, diverting her strike on her nephew for a while, "will you listen to reason? Do not expect to be noticed by his family or friends if you willfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised by every one connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never be mentioned by any of us."
"These are heavy misfortunes," Charlotte replied, with more sarcasm than seriousness. "But as the wife of Colonel Fitzwilliam, I will have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to my situation that I would, on the whole, have no cause to repine."
"Oh, such a girl to be my nephew's wife! Richard, can you not see what she is about? Her arts and her allurements have made you forget what you owe to yourself and your family! You are descended, on both sides, from ancient, respectable and noble Earldoms. Do not put them to ruin because of the upstart pretensions of a young woman without family connections or fortune! Richard, do not forget the sphere in which you were brought up!"
"On the contrary, Lady Catherine," Richard replied, his voice tempered with anger at her insults and presumption, "in marrying Charlotte I would not consider myself as quitting that sphere. I am gentleman, she is gentleman's daughter. So far we are equal."
"But who is her mother? Who are her Uncles and Aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition."
"Whatever my connections may be," Charlotte said, "if Richard does not object to them, they can be nothing to you."
"And, may I remind you, Aunt," Richard added, "that your own title, barring differences in land, is the same as Charlotte's parents? You can have nothing further to say to either of us. You have insulted us in every possible method. We are both resolved to act in a manner which constitutes our happiness, without reference to you, or to anyone else who finds a fault with this match."
"And these are your final resolves?"
"Yes," Richard and Charlotte declared in unison.
"Very well," Lady Catherine replied. "I shall know how to act." With that she swept out of the room, intent on informing her brother by express at once.
Richard lifted Charlotte's hand to his lips and bestowed a loving kiss upon it, in silent gratitude for resisting his Aunt, then turned to his cousin. "Well, Darcy," he began, "do you intend to cast me aside like our dear Aunt?"
"Quite the contrary," Darcy replied, stepping forward to take his hand, and clap him on the back. "My congratulations, Fitzwilliam. I wish you every happiness."
"As do I, cousin," Anne de Bourgh softly replied, before a sudden shout from her mother called her and Mrs Jenkinson out of the room as well.
"I am very happy for you, Charlotte," Elizabeth remarked then, advancing to embrace her friend. Maria followed suit a moment later.
"My dear!?!" Mr Collins uttered at the sight, quite at a loss as to how to act. "I really do not think that upsetting her ladyship by voicing your support to this match, is the right thing to do at this moment."
Maria paid him no mind, and Richard turned to his cousin. "How long do you think we can remain here?"
"Not very long," Darcy replied. "My townhouse is always at your disposal."
"May I suggest," said Elizabeth, happening to overhear the conversation, "that we return to Hertfordshire first? Stoke Edith is not too far from Bromley, and you are all welcome to stay for as long as you wish, while we acquaint mine and Charlotte's family with our news?"
"That seems a better solution, thank you, dearest," Darcy replied, taking her hand, a sight that caused Mr Collins to run out of the room in search of his patroness. "I think we had best leave now, in fact, else another battle will unfold."
Posted on Saturday, 27 September 2003
After the rapid exit of Kent, to the temporary sanctuary of Stoke Edith, events in the lives of our heroes and heroines moved equally quickly. The day after they had returned to Hertfordshire, Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam traveled to Lucas Lodge to inform her parents of the match. Delighted in having their eldest married at last, Sir William and Lady Lucas presented no objection to the match, leaving the Colonel free to journey to town to inform his parents and his commanding officer, and procure the license. At the end of the month, the couple was married at the Barracks of the 2nd Life Guards. The celebrations following the ceremony, were held at the Matlock townhouse, where Society was able to meet the new Mrs Fitzwilliam, and gossip over the sight of Mr Darcy and the Countess of Saffron Walden dancing almost every dance, and hardly ever leaving each other's side.
As for Elizabeth and Darcy themselves, the news of their engagement was kept relatively quiet. Darcy sought and obtained Mr Bennet's consent as soon as they had arrived back in Hertfordshire, but the future event had been kept from the rest of the family, and the occupants of Meryton. This was because Elizabeth knew that speculation as to why there was a long wait for the wedding would run wild, in both her family and Meryton. Mrs Bennet in particular would not understand, nor agree to a long engagement. So they retained the previous public image of their relationship, frequently indulging in long walks as much as they could, seeking only Mr Bennet's company when they could not be in the private company of each other.
Elizabeth, though now able to admit to herself how much she loved her suitor, was still glad of the delay. She remembered all too well the rush to her last engagement at the altar, her mother anxious to have her made a Countess, and the Earl wanting it over before Society learned of his recent inheritance. She and the Earl had enjoyed very little time alone before the marriage, yet another mistake that needed remedying this time round. Secure as she was in the knowledge that Darcy would never harm her, Elizabeth still wanted everything to go right this time. And, in the twenty days taken up with preparations for the marriage of his cousin and her friend, everything did. She soon discovered that she could not have a better, more kinder, or worthy suitor. Within hours of being granted consent by Mr Bennet, Darcy had taken up the tenancy of Netherfield Hall, bringing his sister from town, so they had the pleasure and luxury of being within easy distance of each other, during the preparations for the Fitzwilliam Lucas alliance. Every day they came to Stoke Edith, or Longbourn, or Lucas Lodge, depending on whether they were meant to suffer the company of others, or the privilege of themselves alone.
When those inhabitants of Meryton who had been invited to the wedding were required to go to town, the Darcys left Netherfield for Grosvenor Square, and Elizabeth opened up her townhouse in Hanover for her family and Charlotte's. Darcy made sure to visit every day, bringing Colonel Fitzwilliam when he could to avoid increasing speculation amongst the Bennets and the Lucases about his intentions regarding Elizabeth.
In comparison to the celebrations afterwards, the ceremony for Richard and Charlotte was actually a quiet affair. Apart from the Lucases and the Fitzwilliams, the Darcys and Elizabeth were all that attended the event, leaving everyone else having to be content with admiring the decorations to the Matlock Ballroom at their townhouse.
Throughout the ceremony Elizabeth feared a sudden and unlooked for encounter with memories of her own, now tainted by all that had come and gone after it. Instead however, to her great surprise, she found herself picturing the future, and not the past. Imagining herself and Mr Darcy at the altar, instead of remembering herself and the Earl there. Fantasizing over the loving look that he might display- rather like the one that was upon his face at this moment, as she happened to glance at him, and see him meet her gaze with one of his own -as he recited his vows, and slipped a wedding band on to her finger. Already she was forgetting her past, she realized to her joy. Her mind was looking forward willingly to another marriage.
Darcy caught the expression on his betrothed's face all through the ceremony, and inwardly smiled, sending her one of his own, containing as much of the love that he held for her as he could declare to their present company. He too, was imagining how their own would go, and the life that lay ahead of them. To him the past days could not have gone better. When he had applied to Mr Bennet, the man had welcomed him with open arms to the family, accepting his word that he would not do anything to destroy his favourite's present peace of mind. Aside from Lady Catherine, his own family had also welcomed the match, glad to see him happy after so many past tragedies.
Now all that was left was the arrangements regarding estates and settlements, and for Elizabeth to name a date for the wedding day.
Posted on Saturday, 4 October 2003
As much as he was enjoying the company of his fiancée, and the privilege of being within five miles of her home, Darcy soon found that he could no longer ignore the responsibilities that came with being master of a great estate such as Pemberley. Duty and the latter called him to Derbyshire, and he would not be the man that he was if he did not answer their call. Reluctantly, he informed his sister, his betrothed, and her father of the forthcoming departure.
Elizabeth's reaction this time to their separation was not that of inwardly held relief. Unlike when he had left for town after Bingley and Jane's wedding some months ago, she did not find herself looking upon the departure as a welcome chance to sort out her conflicted feelings. For her feelings were no longer in such a state. Instead, they had straightened themselves out, and had come to form one satisfying conclusion. Put simply, she was in love. She loved him. He had proved himself to be a kind and generous man, with the frequently declared- either in vocal solemn vows, or silent earnestness -intention of being devoted to her for the rest of his life. She had no reason to doubt his behaviour to her changing upon the moment they were married, save perhaps her own insecurity concerning herself, which was lessening everyday spent in his company. He truly was the best man she had ever known. He had not once pushed his advances upon her, nor pressured her in any way. Instead, he had waited patiently, until she felt ready to declare her feelings for him of her own accord. Nor had he turned away once he was aware of her desire to delay the marriage for a while, or insisted that it be as soon as possible and announced to all that knew them, but stood by her decision, and supported it. It was the first time Elizabeth had felt such a freedom like that, and its result had increased her trust of him, and raised her self-esteem even more.
On the penultimate day before his departure, Darcy met her walking the fields between Netherfield and Stoke Edith, by prearranged agreement. He had desired his last full day in Hertfordshire to be spent in her company alone, and she had willingly consented to desiring the same thing. Taking her hand to his lips, he bestowed his usual greeting kiss upon its soft skin, before gently pulling her closer to him. Gazing tenderly into her fine eyes, he sought and received, permission to greet her more lovingly, and bent his head to let his lips catch her own. Keeping the kissed hand captive, he let his other one come up to cup her face, caressing her cheek and the edge of her jawbone, tangling with the dark locks of her hair which were arranged around her face. He tried to keep it chaste, but her willing participation in it, along with his own knowledge that he would be leaving tomorrow, was putting up a formidable resistance. His hands got as far as caressing her shoulders, when he realized restraint was needed. Reluctantly, he gently pulled away.
Taking her hand in his own once more, Darcy gestured at the path with his other, and Elizabeth nodded in silent consent. They walked on, in the direction of Oakham Mount. He began the conversation, letting her time to gather her emotions from the kiss, deliberately refraining from referring to his departure on the morrow; partly out of a desire to control his own emotions, and partly out of a desire for her to continue being her true self in his company. It was a general introduction to a discussion, featuring nothing more exciting than the events of a work he had recently read, recommended by her. As guessed by her, he had enjoyed it very much, suspecting that he would, knowing how well-matched their tastes were in that pastime.
As they discussed their views of the book, Elizabeth tried not to let her thoughts dwell on his upcoming departure. The kiss that they had just shared was nothing like she had ever experienced before. They had kissed prior to the one today, but he had always been careful to keep it tender but chaste, anxious not to pressure her by his passion for her, as he had once explained to her. Today's had been the first time when he had let his control collapse for a while. And the difference was instantly noticeable. She had felt his passion first with surprise then with excitement, and then, an ability to return it with a passion of her own. Before, she had always felt threatened by any sort of affection like that, when the Earl was alive. Yet with Darcy, her feelings were entirely different. She felt an attraction to him. A need to return the kiss with the same degree of emotion as he displayed to her. She even wanted to increase the emotion wrapped up in it, and perhaps see if more delights lay beyond the kiss. She was in love. There was no other explanation for it.
The walk to Oakham Mount was not long. When they had reached its summit, Darcy brought them both to a stop, and turned to face her. "I shall be leaving tomorrow," he stated sadly, "early in the morning. I wish I could write to you."
"Perhaps Georgianna could give you leave to put your letters inside hers," Elizabeth suggested boldly.
"If you would be delighted to receive them, then I will ask her," Darcy replied, his voiced laced with tenderness and affection at what she had just said.
"Very much," Elizabeth felt herself replying before she was fully aware of it, blushing as a result. "I might reply as well, if you wish me to."
"Indeed I do," he assured her, his tone almost resembling a wedding vow, though her promise to reply to him was more than he had hoped for, not wishing to pressure her.
"How long do you think you will be?" Elizabeth asked.
"All matters will be dealt with, I hope, by early to mid-August. I wish it could be shorter, but it cannot be so. I ought to observe the preparations for the start of the harvest, and there is accounts that I must catch up on with my steward, along with the settlements to arrange on you, my love." He placed a finger on her lips, forestalling any objections. "And no word about whether you deserve or need a settlement. In my opinion, it is no less than you deserve. I wish us to be equal partners in this marriage, Elizabeth. In everything."
She could do naught but blush and smile at that sentiment. His fingers seemed in no hurry to leave her face, exploring it as one would a fine object of art; gently, tenderly, and with almost worshipful devotion. Unable to move, and not wanting to even if she could, Elizabeth watched him, seeing his expression gradually change, as he explored a new facet, and her willingness to let him continue. She soon became locked in his eyes, as their dark brown tones gazed into hers, conveying all the love he felt for her. Willingly, she returned it, showing him all her feelings for him, knowing that he would need them during the separation they would soon have to bear.
Darcy received and understood her feelings, his eyes gazing into hers. He felt overwhelming joy at having earned her trust and built up her confidence enough for him to receive this wonderful gift. She loved with him, he could see that now, as much as he did her. He had always hoped, had been content to have her close friendship, but had not been able to help rejoicing at every sign that she possessed a hint of the depth of love he felt for her. And Now she returned his emotion just as deeply. He wanted to kiss her again, but knew already that it would cause him to loose his control and they would go further than he wished before their marriage.
So he settled instead, for stroking her face, fingering its smooth skin. Exploring her pink lips. Marveling over how far they had come in such a short time. At how much she felt for him, and the confidence she now possessed to willingly display it to him. Imagining what the future held for them, after they had tied the knot. Picturing their life at Pemberley, and how happy he felt it would be. Most of all, he carefully recorded every facet of her expression, so he would have a perfect memory of how he had last seen her, to keep him alive during the months to come.
Trying, above all else, to not think of when he would have to part from her company, and leave on a carriage bound for Derbyshire. It was the first time that he had not wanted to see Pemberley. Unless of course, he arrived with her in his arms.
Posted on Saturday, 11 October 2003
The first week of Darcy's absence was soon gone. The second began. It also held the dubious title of the last week of the Regiment's stay, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping apace. The dejection was almost universal. Only Elizabeth and Mary seemed to be insensible of its effects, being able to eat, sleep and drink, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached for this by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme and who could not comprehend such hard- heartedness in any of the family.
Elizabeth had her own loss to cope with, which, though unbeknownst to any but herself and her father, far outweighed the feelings of her sisters. But cope with it she did, managing to control her sorrow in an almost similar facade of natural composure to her fiancée. She made daily visits to Longbourn, partly for the distraction that its usual way of life would provide, and partly to give her father support over a scheme that soon came into existence, as the time of the regiment's departure drew nearer.
Colonel Forster had received orders to take up camp in Brighton, a location which, once the news had reached the ears of Longbourn, Kitty, Lydia and Mrs Bennet had all expressed an almost violent enthusiasm to see. All its delights were aired, all its benefits to health attested to. Mrs Bennet even declared at one point that it would be just the thing to settle her nerves.
The master of Longbourn ignored it all, supported by his favourite and Mary. One battalion of soldiers had been quite enough in his opinion, and he had no wish to force an entire camp-full to endure his family. Mary was adamant in her refusal because of her adherence to the good books, while Elizabeth protested for a quite another reason. Lately, according to what she had heard, one particular officer had frequently called upon Longbourn's ladies when she was not in the house. His name was Mr Wickham. The moment she had heard his name spoken by Lydia, Elizabeth's concern had awakened. Emboldened by her father's approval of her suitor, she spoke to him about her fears, confessing only that Wickham was known to Mr Darcy to be a man of disreputable character.
It was enough, and could not have been more timely delivered, as Elizabeth soon found out. The very day she spoke to her father, Lydia received an invitation from Mrs Forster, to go Brighton as her particular friend. Lydia crowed over everybody for two whole hours, then promptly threw a fit when her father calmly announced that she had neither his blessing nor his permission to accept the invitation.
"I would not trust you as far as Eastbourne," he said. "Not for fifty pounds."
Lydia ranted and raved, Mrs Bennet ranted and raved, but he stood firm. Elizabeth helped him to endure it, inviting him over to Stoke Edith for a few days. They did not return to Longbourn until the day of the regiment's departure. But their timing again could not have been more precise. For as their carriage turned into the drive to the house, they saw Longbourn's own carriage standing in front of the door, in a state of readiness to depart. Mr Bennet halted their equipage, and descended to investigate. When Elizabeth had joined him, he had learned the cause. Mr Wickham had sent a note of love to Lydia, and a desire to marry her, and she had made arrangements accordingly.
They walked up to the door, Elizabeth catching her sister in her arms just as it opened. Mr Bennet ordered the carriage back to where it belonged, and sent one of his men off to fetch Colonel Forster. He then helped his favourite escort Lydia back inside.
No news of the intended elopement had been broken, fortunately. Lydia had left a note for Kitty, but that was all. When the Colonel arrived half an hour later, it turned out that it could not have been possible anyway, for Wickham had received orders to be transferred to a northern active regiment that very morning, and had departed for Newcastle hours ago. Lydia was insensible, and had to be carried back to her room, and sedated by Hill, before she woke the rest of the house with her hysterics.
After that, Longbourn was restored to calmness once more. Lydia continued to morn her failed chance at marriage, but Mrs Bennet was no longer concerned. Bingley and Jane had sent news from Pearlcoombe of a forthcoming addition to their family, which had taken up all her interest.
As for Elizabeth, distraction came for her as well, in the form of plans expressed by Mr and Mrs Gardiner, to travel to the Lakes for the summer with her. Elizabeth looked upon the vacation with happiness, for it had been a long time since she had been able to travel with her Aunt and Uncle, and they were excellent companions, having as much of a joy for the countryside, and for visiting grand estates, as she herself did. While Meryton returned to gradual normality, and Lydia lessened in her distress, the date of her departure became only a fortnight away, and then was abruptly changed. Mr Gardiner was prevented by business in town for setting off until a fortnight later in July, and then had to be in London again within a month, thus curtailing how far they would be able to travel. A new destination was aired to their niece, and Elizabeth could not look upon it with more joy. Derbyshire. To Derbyshire they were to go. Even more propitious, they were to reside for a time in the town of Lambton, where her Aunt had passed some years of her life. And Lambton was but five miles from Pemberley.
It was with delight that Elizabeth informed her future sister in law and future husband of this news, and their replies were filled with equal amounts of that same emotion. Darcy went even further, including an invitation to Pemberley for herself and the Gardiners, and a request that they stay there the entire time they had chosen to spend in Lambton. Elizabeth wrote to her Aunt, and the invite was eagerly accepted.
She also wrote of another piece of significant news in her final letter to Darcy from Stoke Edith. Not only did she feel confident enough now to declare her feelings of love for him, but she also wished to inform her family of her engagement. Darcy heartily consented to the news, and voiced his wished for the wedding to be at Pemberley, which Elizabeth promised to consider. She spoke to her father as soon as she had his reply, and Mr Bennet announced the match the night of the Gardiner's arrival at Longbourn. Mrs Bennet was all a flutter. One daughter expecting, and now her second was to marry again, and to gentleman of wealth almost equal to her last suitor, with only the title lacking. Lydia's misery was now wholly ignored by her, as Mrs Bennet continued to talk over her excitement concerning both future events, and commenting how well 'Lady Elizabeth Darcy' sounded.
The Gardiners stayed but one night at Longbourn and then the trio departed the next day for Derbyshire. All the beauties along the way did they take time to view; Warwick, Kenilworth, Matlock, Dovedale, the Peak and Chatsworth. It is not however the object of this work to give a description of these places; for all are sufficiently known. A small part of Derbyshire is all the present concern. To the little town of Kympton, a few miles from Lambton and from Pemberley, was to where they bent their steps, for it was a far as they could reach in order to ensure arriving at Pemberley early the next day. The part of the journey that was spent in the carriage, was much taken up by Elizabeth explaining to her Aunt and Uncle all that they had missed concerning herself and Darcy, since their last acquaintance with him, that evening at the theatre in town, the night before she had left for Hunsford.
Elizabeth was happy to update them, her sensibilities in need of a distraction from the nervous anticipation presently inside her mind, as her heart counted the hours until it would be reunited with its other half, which had left when a certain person had quitted Netherfield almost three months ago. She could still not quite believe it had been that long since she had last seen her betrothed. Elizabeth wondered how he was faring, if he was experiencing the same suffering as herself, and the same anticipation for her arrival. She was very grateful that he had invited, without any prompting, the Gardiners to stay with herself at his estate. This was again a contrast to the Earl, who had forbade Elizabeth permission to have any of her relatives to stay while they were married. Elizabeth could still remember the time she had tried with all her will to persuade him to let her visit Gracechurch Street. She had submitted to every ghastly whim of his, every injury to her body, yet still achieved nothing in return. She had stopped trying after that.
But that was the past, Elizabeth reminded herself as she went to bed in Kympton that night. The present was very different. She had the most excellent fiancée, who loved her like no other. And whom she loved just as powerfully in return.
She fell asleep dreaming of their last meeting, and how his kiss had felt upon her lips.