Dreaming Pemberley

Contents

Loose Ends

Shoes, Old and New

Mrs. Darcy’s Room

Coda

Many thanks to my husband, Dick, who shepherded me through the perilous twists and turns of the computer; to my daughter, Deborah, who aided me in so many ways in bringing this book into being; to my dear granddaughter, Jenna, who took time out from her high-school-freshman work to create the beautiful cover scene; to my family; to my friends in my quilting group and the Barnies, who gave me such kind encouragement; and to my friends the Guenthers, who loaned me their cat, who is not malicious at all but only likes to have his tummy scratched.

Special regards to Jane Austen, whose creations have afforded us hours of pleasure as we meander through her inimitable realms.

Loose Ends

Longbourn

Mama, please. I have told you I do not in the least care to visit Lydia and George Wickham. After what has happened—

But, Kitty, cried her mother, a plump, flustered figure sitting with her needlework by the fire, how will you ever find a husband if you do not circulate with others in society? I am sure they have many young officer friends who are single and longing for a wife.

Well, Mr. Wickham was not desirous of a wife at first, was he? Kitty said grimly.

My dear, do not hark back to unpleasantness; it all worked out perfectly well, did not it?

Mama, I have no wish to be in the company of officers ever again. I would rather live a life in solitude. Kitty raised her eyes in resignation. I know I envied Lydia at first and thought she was so smart to secure Wickham for herself, but the shock and disgrace that my sister and her husband put us through by running off together while still unmarried now gives me nightmares and makes me most distrustful of redcoats. If it were not for Mr. Darcy’s kindness, think of the indignities we would be suffering now! Why, we could not even venture into the village without whispered comments behind our backs.

Mr. Bennet, who was seated across from his wife, looked up from his book, over the rims of his glasses. He said, I do think our Kitty has finally acquired a modicum of good sense, Mrs. Bennet.

Oh Mr. Bennet, you are too critical, his wife chided. Why, I have known some very pleasant officers. When I was fifteen …

Mr. Bennet mentally closed his ears to the rest of her recollections and continued to consider his daughter’s alteration in judgement. The father had deciphered his daughter astutely. At first, when her heedless younger sister, Lydia, had left her to partake of the delights of Brighton society—and, subsequently, to embark on an ill-conceived course of absconding with and then marrying George Wickham—Kitty had been overcome by feelings of desertion and deprivation. She was not permitted to visit Mrs. Forster; she was forced to remain in the bosom of her family and forego the certain pleasures that Lydia must be experiencing. Indeed, she had at first thought their elopement rather clever—and certainly romantic. However, further consideration had brought her to a realization that she was fortunate indeed to have escaped the tribulations of poor, poor Lydia; as a result, she had become wary of where precipitous action might lead and resolved to delve more deeply into the moral character—or lack thereof—underlying mere appearances.

Mary, who was sharing the sofa with her mother, continued to hunch her shoulders over the volume she was perusing and murmured, Yes, experience is the best teacher. Kitty has learned that it is folly to be frivolous.

Oh Mary, you are such a bookish child—must you pester us continually with your tiresome aphorisms? The turn of the conversation was not pleasing to Mrs. Bennet, whose urgent desire was to get her fourth daughter settled as quickly and advantageously as possible.

Kitty was a good-hearted girl and comely of features; her delicate, pearly skin denoted a susceptibility to illness, but the bouts of pertussis had abated, and it was assured they had been but a childhood tendency. Her auburn curls were a crowning glory, and Mrs. Bennet considered her to be certainly marriageable. The only thing she lacked was a substantial dowry. Mrs. Bennet looked petulantly at her unsuspecting husband; a thousand pounds a year was not sufficient to attract the most propitious beaus—only beggars who were looking to further their own fortunes.

Mrs. Bennet then patted Mary’s hand; she had no hopes for this daughter, for what man would ever want so solemn and pedantic a creature?

They heard a commotion at the front entrance. An imperious voice—one the Bennets recognized instantly—spoke to their agitated maid, Martha, who summarily opened the parlour door and announced in awe, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Miss Anne de Bourgh!

The lady who swept into the room was long of face, disapproving of mien, and clad in exceptional finery. She gave no opportunity for welcoming niceties as she glanced around in disdain and uttered with hauteur, I do hope you have a blacksmith on your premises. Our carriage requires instant attention, as we must be back at Rosings by nightfall.

Mrs. Bennet sat with open mouth, too stunned to respond, but her husband rose and bowed to the apparition of grandeur in the middle of their parlour. Then he turned to her companion and bowed before her. Small and slight of figure, her pale, pinched little face reddened at this attention, and after a quick bobbing of her head, Miss de Bourgh moved behind her mother to take refuge.

There is a smithy in Meryton, milady, Mr. Bennet informed their impatient visitor. Our Bert can accompany your footman thence to see what can be arranged.

Mrs. Bennet ventured, While you wait, milady, do have a seat and partake of some of these cherry cakes and a sandwich.

Lady Catherine brushed off the cushion before taking a seat and accepted a steaming cup of tea. After sipping the hot liquid, she sniffed and remarked, Black tea is so much more healthful than green, you know—you should ask your grocer for Assam. The cakes are tolerable, but your cucumbers are not fresh.

Mrs. Bennet huffed, and to change the subject, she asked, Have you seen dear Lizzy and her Mr. Darcy lately? Such a lovely couple, do not you agree? And springtime must be beautiful at Pemberley. I am so fortunate to have three daughters married so well. Surely your daughter, Anne, must be engaged by now—such a sweet-natured creature and, of course, with such a rich dowry to accompany her—

Lady Catherine’s brows fiercely lowered, and she spat out, Her previous engagement, which she and Fitzwilliam had cherished since infancy, was rent asunder by Miss Elizabeth. How you could allow such heartless and brazen behaviour I will never understand. But yes, Anne is to be wed very soon. The prospective bridegroom awaits us now at Rosings—it is why we must get back without further delay.

The young woman in question, close to tears, hid her face in her handkerchief. Being the centre of such a dispute obviously overcame her.

Mary, taking pity on the poor creature, jumped up, and crossing the room, took her hand. She said, Come and take a stroll in the garden with me, Miss de Bourgh—there is some wilderness nearby, and if we are lucky, we might espy some baby owls in the oak tree.

Anne, wiping her eyes, rose to join Mary, but her mother reached out to prevent her. Kitty, with great alacrity, placed a fresh cup of tea in the dame’s outstretched hand and aided her sister by propelling the little visitor out the door.

Come back, Anne! called her ladyship. You know you will catch a rheum in the cold, damp air!

But the weather is not inclement, countered Mr. Bennet. It is sunny and warm without a breath of wind.

Poor Anne—she is so prone to indisposition. The lady sighed and sank back in her chair with her fan in motion to relieve her anxieties. Travel is most vexing and inconvenient, she stated. Then, looking around, she added, when will those servants return? I demand they come back at once!

Out in the garden, Mary took Anne’s arm and guided her along the path to the small tangle of woodland adjacent to the greensward. She noticed that her companion seemed ill at ease and walked stiffly beside her, looking shyly down at her feet. I do believe she cares not for close contact, Mary thought, and she dropped Anne’s arm. A forthright young person, Mary could not resist asking her companion, Did you really want to marry Mr. Darcy?

Appearing much relieved to be on her own again, Anne looked up at her with the hint of a smile playing on her lips. No, I was greatly relieved when he chose your sister. Being a shy young woman, she was reticent to engage in conversation of a personal nature, but so rarely was she asked about her own opinions on a subject that she found herself opening up to Mary’s sincere interest in her thoughts.

We had known each other since childhood, but there was never an attachment between us other than familiarity—merely the friendship that kinship affords. He seemed distant and stern at times, and I sensed he was greatly burdened with responsibility for his sister and troubled by his father’s ward, Mr. Wickham.

Yes, Mary agreed, George Wickham has made a close friend of trouble—to himself as well as to others. But your mother should not have insisted on an alliance with your cousin; a promise made between infants, though winsome, has no bearing on reality when they have matured.

Anne looked down in silence, whereupon Mary, afraid she had been too forward in her criticism, pointed ahead to a venerable oak tree. Look! There in that hole is the owl’s nest, and the owlets are peering down at us!

Anne clapped her hands in delight and whispered, Oh Miss Bennet, what fluffy bundles—and such large eyes. But I would surmise their little claws are sharp! She sighed and added ruefully, I am never allowed out of doors to experience such sights of nature. I get sick too easily, and the weather is so changeable.

Come along, then, for we have more wonders for you to see. Mary marched ahead and led her guest to the stable yard. They stroked the equine faces poking inquisitively towards them and entered an empty stall. There, curled in the straw, they discovered a mother spaniel and her six plump, squirming pups.

Mary knelt down and spoke soothingly. Mandy, will you let us admire your babes? She picked up a brown-and-white-spotted pup and handed it to Anne.

What an endearing mite, Miss de Bourgh cooed as she held the warm puppy to her cheek. If mother could envision me now, she would surely disapprove.

How could she? In fact, I think it entirely appropriate that you should have one of these little ones to take with you to Rosings. Having a pet is quite salubrious to one’s health, you could inform your mother, in case she objects. Which one do you fancy?

Why, this one, of course, but I’m sure Mother—

Mary stamped her foot; she could be every bit as insistent that Miss de Bourgh should have a puppy as Lady Catherine was determined that she would not.

A cloud, appearing out of nowhere, covered the sun, and the sky darkened as a few droplets fell on their heads. Mary gathered up her skirts and hurried across the lawn towards the manor, and clutching the puppy under her arm, Anne followed breathlessly behind.

They burst into the salon, and Anne cried, Look, Mother! See what Miss Bennet has given me!

Lady Catherine gasped at the sight of her dishevelled daughter. What is the meaning of this unseemly behaviour? she demanded. You have been running! You know a proper lady never runs!

Mrs. Bennet broke in. Why, look, milady! Is not it a happy marvel? Your daughter has roses in her cheeks, and she is laughing—an outing with our Mary has surely transformed her.

Lady Catherine pursed her lips. She is out of breath and heated and is conducting herself like a common rustic; her bearing is decidedly uncomely. She fluttered her hands in agitation as she pronounced, Anne, we must quit this lieu immediately before we are further besmirched—even if we have to walk!

Well, Lady Catherine, you might just have to do that, Mr. Bennet announced, entering from the servants’ area. Bert and your footman inform me that the smith has agreed to repair your carriage, but it will take a length of time. However, if walking to Rosings seems an unacceptable solution, you are welcome to lodge at Longbourn for the several days needed to restore your conveyance.

Impossible! she cried, and then she shrieked, What on earth is this?

Anne had finally commanded her mother’s attention by placing the wee pup in the silken, flounced lap of the lady. See what Miss Bennet has entrusted to me? She says I may take him to Rosings!

Pushing the little dog away in distaste, the lady slumped back in her chair and subsided into silence, imbued with a high degree of dudgeon. In her mind, she felt beset with misfortunes of every nature; it was almost beyond her ability to bear them.

You have imparted that you have guests awaiting you at Rosings this evening, said Mrs. Bennet, and that they arrive from afar and will need your attention to see to their refreshment after so long a journey. I regret that we do not have a trap at our disposal to carry you to your home. Our Jane has taken our vehicle to visit Elizabeth at Pemberley and returns on the morrow. Our dear son-in-law, Mr. Bingley, is in town on business. Poor Jane rarely steps foot from Netherfield Hall because of the baby; she is such a devoted mother. Mrs. Bennet looked pointedly at Lady Catherine and, smiling, chirped, Oh, it is delightful to be a grandmother, and with Lydia’s little Teddy now two years of age and Elizabeth now married, who knows how many little ones Mr. Bennet and I will have to comfort us in our advancing age?

Kitty, hastening to break the brunt of her mother’s thoughtless patter, suggested, Papa, can we spare a mount for one of Lady Catherine’s footmen to ride to Rosings and alert the household of her delay? Lady Catherine will not want to separate one of her beasts from its team—it upsets them so.

Her father looked at her from under his brows with appreciation and again thought, Is my silly daughter turning into a sensible human being? Aloud, he acquiesced, I think that is within the realms of our capability, my dear, and he rang for Bert.

Lady Catherine groaned and announced, I must bow to circumstance, so I will remain here with you, but there is to be not the slightest noise in your house after nine in the evening, because I desire a peaceful rest, and poor Anne will be exhausted after such a trying and unpleasant day.

That young woman, far from appearing in any way indisposed or distressed, was in a corner with Mary, discoursing happily on the care of her new pet. The puppy had been returned to Mandy and would remain with its dam until the de Bourghs’ departure.

The bay mare was saddled up, and with the footman from Longbourn astride, was sent off posthaste to the estate with the pressing duty to impart the news of her ladyship’s misfortunes and to see that the newcomers were provided with every amenity in her absence.

Dinner at Longbourn was a solemn affair; Lady Catherine did not care to join in conversation with persons who were so obviously undeserving of her attention and who also had ruined her fondest wishes for her daughter by manipulating her nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy, into an ill-advised—nay, disastrous—marriage with their Elizabeth, a common, saucy woman with nothing to commend her. She declared the soup to be tolerable but picked at the roast, complaining it was too tough and sinewy, with not enough fat, and after refusing dessert because the egg white had not been sufficiently whipped, causing the cake to be too moist, the lady rose from her chair at the table to resume a seat in the parlour.

I am weary and will retire betimes, but first I would have some music, the lady said, regarding Kitty and Mary. Do your daughters play, Mrs. Bennet? I have heard Miss Eliza, who is passable. Would that Anne had continued her music, but her indifferent health made that endeavour impossible.

Anne’s face reddened. She appeared to begin to speak but then looked down at her lap in silence.

I wonder what she was going to say, Mary thought. I am sure there is more on this subject that is not being revealed.

Mr. Bennet responded, Kitty does not play. Have you heard our Mary on the keyboard?

I have not had the pleasure, replied Lady Catherine.

Well, my dear, pray, give us an air, but do make it short. We do not want to impinge on her ladyship’s rest period.

Mary jumped up and moved to the spinet. She played her piece with ardour until Lady Catherine put a stop to the performance by raising her hand in dismay. That will do. The child has little talent, to be sure. Anne played her little lessons so delicately—with so much feeling.

Mary was used to disparaging comments about her musicianship, but that did not dampen her enthusiasm. My style is different, she was wont to aver. I am appreciated at a ball when the music must be lively and a little boisterous.

Lady de Bourgh yawned widely, and at this sign, Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Mary arose quickly to lead the visitors up the stairs and show them into their rooms for the night.

I am sure you will be comfortable here, Lady Catherine. This is Jane and Elizabeth’s chamber, and they have kept it so nicely. Mrs. Bennet sighed. It is almost as if they were still here. And see! The window has such a charming prospect; it looks over the garden—

The room is too cramped for words, and it should not face towards the east, lest it capture the morning sunlight—very deleterious to one’s health indeed. However, I must put up with it. She grimaced and, standing by the door for them to leave, said, Good night, Mrs. Bennet.

Kitty and Mary conducted Anne to the spare chamber, and she was quite content with her accommodations and pleased that her window overlooked the wilderness. I might catch a glimpse of the owls, she opined hopefully, or at least hear them!

Kitty turned to go, but Anne delayed Mary’s departure for a few parting words.

After their guests had been bundled off to their beds as expeditiously as good manners dictated, Mrs. Bennet collapsed onto the divan in exhaustion and, waving her fan to and fro, announced her incapability of supporting another instant of Lady Catherine’s imperious airs. My nerves are as taut as a string, she bemoaned.

My dear Mrs. Bennet, her husband soothed, patting her shoulder, I realize now that I am a blessed husband. I would rather be subject to your nerves than have to endure that lady’s constant scrutiny. In addition, I find it hard to envision the horrors that young woman must suffer living under the same roof with such a mother.

I have grown quite fond of Miss de Bourgh and do pity her, declared Mary. We heard she was ill tempered and ungracious, but I believe she is merely of a sensitive nature and greatly intimidated by her mother; I can give not the slightest fling at her. She told me she has mastered no accomplishments, because Lady Catherine will not permit her to pursue any interest. She is not allowed to practise the pianoforte, because it would ‘prove too taxing to her fragile constitution’; she does not draw or paint because ‘all that daubing is messy and dirty’; and she does not work a needle because ‘I cannot support the sight of blood from a pricked finger.’

So the poor creature must sit quietly the day long and be subjected to her mother’s admonitions, mused Kitty. Indeed it could prove more than a person could bear.

Well, I intend to do something to assist her, said Mary with conviction.

Come, come, let us not become embroiled in the affairs of such a family. Their business is not ours to meddle in, advised their father. Besides, what could you or any one of us do?

The next day dawned with fine weather and propitious skies. Lady Catherine descended the stairs and demanded to see Mrs. Bennet at once; on being told by the maid that Madam was just arisen and would be there forthwith, her ladyship sat stiffly upright in a chair and drummed her fingers while waiting.

Mrs. Bennet made her entrance shortly afterward and recoiled at the vehement remonstrations of her guest. I hardly got a wink of sleep, madam. Have not you been told never to keep a rooster with your hens? It is a disruptive and noisy influence on any sense of harmony in your barnyard.

Why, Mr. Bennet likes to have a rooster; he claims the hens behave better and are protected from varmints raiding the coops.

Well, see that the beast does not crow in the morning.

Throughout the early hours of the day, the occupants of Longbourn disposed themselves in various occupations. After the morning collation, Mr. Bennet retired to his study. Mrs. Bennet dithered about the house, directing the servants towards their duties, and Lady Catherine engaged Kitty in conversation.

I suppose your parents are searching for a husband for you. Your uncle is in business, is not he? Your family would do well to find a suitable mate for you in that quarter. It is unseemly to marry out of your station in life.

Kitty could only grit her teeth and tend to her mending in silence as the lady continued.

Anne, on the other hand, shall have the very best. It is difficult to find someone worthy of her. I have fond hopes of a future agreement with the Boneyfaces, who anxiously await my return to Rosings. Lord Cyril was Sir de Bourgh’s dear friend, and young Carmichael has always had the highest regard for Anne. Of course, when she was engaged to my nephew, Darcy, any liaison between them was out of the question. She frowned in distaste at the thought of her previous plans now in ruins.

Miss de Bourgh is indeed a charming young lady, commented Kitty. How pleasant it is to see that she and Mary are enjoying each other’s company. I believe they have gone out to take the air.

Any friendship between them is ill advised and to be discouraged. My daughter is a superior young woman, both in conversation and understanding. They surely must have nothing in common about which to discourse, and Anne should not be venturing into the rawness of the spring vapours.

As it was, Anne was, at that moment, commenting on the exceedingly warm temperature as she and Mary wended their way to the stable to visit Mandy and her offspring.

Anne confided to Mary, I am most reluctant to return home. I know Mama wants me to marry Carmichael Boneyface, who, with his parents, awaits us at Rosings. But I have no intention of agreeing to such a bonding; it will be another uncomfortable and embarrassing situation.

Maybe he will be averse to the idea as well, said Mary.

Oh, I do hope so! The young woman’s piquant little face lit up. You see, I do not think I want to marry anyone.

They reached the stables, and Anne bent to pick up her puppy. I think he remembers me! she cried happily as the little one licked her nose.

After their return to the house, Lady Catherine drew her daughter up the stairs to her room to repose herself. You must rest from your exertions, she rebuked.

Downstairs, Kitty said petulantly, I cannot abide another moment of her condescension. I do hope the carriage is repaired soon.

Yes, Mary agreed, but Miss de Bourgh is to be pitied in that event, no matter how inevitable; she shall most certainly be thrust at a young man whose attentions she has no desire to be subjected to. There, I have finished this infant’s cap for the church bazaar. She put down her needlework and picked up a book that lay on a table beside her. Now I can finish this chapter. She sighed contentedly, but as she was adjusting her spectacles, she paused and then said, Kitty, can you acquaint me with the happenstance that caused Lady Catherine’s appearance on our doorstep?

Her sister removed the pins from her mouth—she had been hemming a small apron—and answered, Yes, we have been apprised of the reason, but you will not believe what I tell you. She and Anne had been visiting friends in the next town when she decided to drop in on Lady Lucas to offer some advice—more aptly described as instructions, I am wont to say—of the most presumptuous nature. Lady Lucas was to inform Charlotte of the inadvisability of having more children; she is to be content with two. Seeing as how Rosings shares such proximity with the manse, her ladyship cannot have her park overrun by a host of careless infants trampling down her shrubbery and causing a great deal of mischief to her equanimity. This interview over, as soon as she and Anne quit Lucas Lodge, her chaise began to rattle and jolt, and they barely made it to Longbourn before it collapsed completely.

An untoward act has its consequences, Mary said darkly.

At that moment, the maid knocked on the parlour door and showed in Lady Lucas herself. The Bennet girls warmly welcomed her, and Mrs. Bennet joined them and bade the guest sit down.

I cannot stay but the minute, as I am needed at home, but I came to beg Mary to favour us with her amiability in a pressing matter; Maria was to go to the parsonage to care for Charlotte’s little girl. Every minute of her day and night is directed to her newborn. But dear Maria has just last evening taken ill and cannot rise from her bed. Dear Mrs. Bennet, could you consent to parting with Mary for a period to visit Charlotte? I know you would be loath to part with Kitty.

Miss de Bourgh came in just in time to hear the end of the conversation and, with unaccustomed boldness, spoke up in a tiny voice that was scarcely audible. Oh, please, do let Mary go—she could then visit us at Rosings and instruct me in the care of the puppy!

But I thought the Collinses had taken on a nursemaid for the occasion of the new birth, Mrs. Bennet said.

Lady Lucas wrung her hands and wailed, Two have quit their service—one right after another! Charlotte is beside herself.

Mr. Bennet demanded of Mary, Is this visit agreeable to you? Can you manage so young a child?

Of course I can, Father. I will play and sing for her and read instructive books to her.

Well, then she will be in the best of hands, Mr. Bennet said, pursing his lips in a wry smile.

I think it is a splendid idea. Mrs. Bennet beamed approval. To be so close to Rosings! I am sure you will have access there, Mary, and I hear it is such a sumptuous, elegant establishment.

Lady Lucas said, We cannot thank you enough. Maria will be most grateful and will surely relieve Mary when she has recovered enough to travel. Will you be able to leave soon, dear Mary? Charlotte is overcome with fatigue, and I fear for her health. The lady spread fretful hands.

As you know, we attend Jane’s arrival from Pemberley, and then the horses must be refreshed before journeying forth again, Mrs. Bennet demurred.

Why, I must ride in your conveyance, Miss de Bourgh! Mary spoke decidedly. The Collinses reside but a stone’s throw from Rosings.

What is this? queried Lady Catherine, just entering the parlour. Do I understand that Miss Mary Bennet is to go to the Collinses, and we are to provide her with transportation?

Is that not providential, your ladyship? cried Mary, and Lady Catherine subsided in grim assent; her strong sense of practicality did not permit her to belie what was reasonable.

The events of the afternoon were of a nature that caused Mrs. Bennet’s nerves to be subjected to an undue amount of stress; the quiet of her home was turned into a state of turmoil. Lady de Bourgh’s footman arrived with the news that the smithy had released the carriage into his possession and that it now rested before the manor, with the horses hitched up and ready for travel. Her ladyship declared she would leave on the instant—she was not again to be affronted by the cock’s early morning squawks.

However, Mrs. Bennet dissuaded her in this decision by pointing out the many tasks to be accomplished before their departure: Mary must bundle up her needs for the visit, food must be prepared in case you are unavoidably detained along the way, a myriad of goodbyes must be said, and forgotten items must be collected.

And as Anne put forth, The puppy must be provided with a suitable carrying cage.

All in all, Mrs. Bennet pointed out, if they left now, they would not arrive at their destination until early the next morning, and surely they would not enjoy travelling in the dark, when nighttime perils loomed.

So Mary, in a flurry of activity, packed her valises. Her mother ordered her to not take too many books and to include her blue dimity with the yellow trim for social occasions at the estate. Mr. Bennet had a private word of advice to accompany her: Mary, you are at your best advantage when you play the spinet in solitude. But if music is required, ask someone to accompany you in song, and you may concentrate on the keyboard.

When the household was at the highest stage of agitation, Jane arrived with little Master Charlie, a precious, cooing infant who was properly admired by all, and she carried a message from Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy for Kitty.

Kitty, on reading the letter, cried out, Mother, Father! I am to leave as well! They want me to come to Pemberley as a companion to Mr. Darcy’s sister, Miss Georgiana. They feel she is neglected due to their preoccupations elsewhere; Lizzy is having her portrait painted, and an inordinate amount of time is consumed in sittings, and Mr. Darcy has much business to attend to. They suggest I leave immediately to go to Rosings, where I will meet with Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy’s cousin, who is visiting his aunt—she nodded to Lady Catherine—and who has kindly consented to escort me farther into Derbyshire.

Well, sniffed her ladyship, it seems I have a houseful of unattended guests awaiting me—and now an uninvited one as well.

Oh, wailed Mrs. Bennet, of course you must go—but am I to part with my remaining daughter? Mr. Bennet, we will have no one left to us at Longbourn! Although she pitied herself at the thought of their departure, she nevertheless harboured hopes of future benefits to their lives; perhaps Kitty would come home with a rich husband. And Mary—who knew what wonders she would encounter?

Mother, Jane soothed, you know you are welcome at Netherfield at all times. You must come often and visit your grandson. My dear Charles will be most happy to see you as well. She sighed. I am the most fortunate of women to be wedded to him, and he is the very best of fathers. Do you know he has purchased little Charlie a pony? And he has already put the babe atop the little beast!

Soon the lad will be joining us in the pigeon shoot, said Mr. Bennet.

After plying them with tales of her kind reception at Pemberley and the felicitous bond between her sister and her new husband—There is rarely the slightest disagreement, and the misgivings they shared during their early acquaintance seem to have vanished—Jane, on being assured that Kitty was to go to Pemberley, embraced her sister and departed for Netherfield Hall.

Dear Jane, said Kitty, so beautiful and always so happy.

Well, Anne, Lady Catherine commented, her nose in the air, I suppose Miss Catherine is to ride with us as well. It seems we have become a stagecoach, with passengers boarding our conveyance every few minutes.

And the dog too, her daughter piped up.

The lady rolled her eyes heavenward and continued, I will submit to this burdensome arrangement because feasibility must be our overriding duty.

So haste and frantic activity prevailed throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening until their beds finally claimed the Bennet family and their guests.

As the sisters prepared for slumber, they spoke to one another excitedly.

I am happy to be able to assist Charlotte, but Mr. Collins will be on hand every minute, and you know how trying he can be.

Yes, agreed Kitty, poor Charlotte. How does she manage to tolerate such a husband, continually at her side? I am certain the nursemaids left that household so quickly because they could not endure his meddling in the concerns of the nursery.

You will have no such troubles, Mary pointed out. You will experience the delights of Pemberley, admiring its beauty and the excellence of its inhabitants. You will live in a very grand manner and dine off of golden plates.

Kitty giggled but then spoke seriously. But maybe Miss Darcy will be a monster—she does not seem to have any friends, and I am supposed to be amiable to her.

The next morning, dawn broke with fiery-red streaks across the horizon as the travellers climbed into the carriage. Lady Catherine had hoped to be gone before the rooster crowed, but that was not to be, and her ladyship covered her ears with a grimace.

It looks to storm, remarked Mr. Bennet.

Oh my dears, wailed his wife, hugging her daughters, do be careful, and write to us often. Kitty, you must wear your yellow gowns—it is your most becoming colour—and do not rush about so; Mary, dear, do not offer opinions, which I am sure would not be welcome, and try to smile more.

When all were seated within the carriage, a lad from the stables came running up and handed a small cage to the footman. A voice from the vehicle commanded, Put it back with the baggage.

Mary reached out from the window and took the box in her arms, explaining, No, ma’am, he would be so frightened. Miss de Bourgh and I will keep him under our seat.

The lady drew in her breath. You contradict me, miss? You are indeed pert, as your sister Elizabeth was. Have you no sense of obligation? It is my transport that accommodates you.

I am indeed most grateful, your ladyship. I was only thinking of the little dog’s comfort.

The footman jumped on board, and the carriage rolled off, leaving Mrs. Bennet behind, waving her kerchief. She turned to her husband and cried, Oh Mr. Bennet, they are all departed from us. They will be back again soon, I am sure, the mother added to console herself.

Perhaps I, however, believe our lives will never be the same. They are good girls, not so likely to get themselves into trouble as on previous occasions—yes, of late I have noticed a lessening of the silliness that they used to exhibit.

Hunsford

As the day wore on, the storm broke with a vengeance—seemingly on the very heads of the travellers. Lady Catherine signaled to the coachman to continue on, even though water streamed from the figure of the man on the driver’s bench. We have only a few miles to go, she stated.

A sudden clap of thunder caused yelps and whining to come from under the seat, and when Anne scooped up the pup in her arms, her mother commanded, Put the animal down immediately—it will surely soil your gown.

The daughter paled, saying meekly, Yes, Mama, while she stooped to return the dog to its cage.

We do not mind, retorted Mary, cuddling the ball of fur in her lap. Look! He is quiet now.

Her ladyship pursed her lips in disapproval. Are all the Bennet girls so disrespectful? Anne, I do not want you to emulate this lack of concern for manners.

The rain and wind had abated by the time they pulled up in front of the parsonage. The clergyman and his wife, hearing the tromping horses and jingling reins, issued forth from the house to greet the travellers.

Mr. Collins carried the babe in swaddling, and Charlotte held the hand of the infant’s sister, a beguiling child not yet two years and barely able to toddle. They greeted Mary and Kitty with hugs, and Charlotte cried in amazement, Are we to get Kitty as well? How delightful!

When it wasexplained that Kitty was to proceed on to Pemberley with Colonel Fitzwilliam, the good housewife insisted, Well, she must stay with us until her departure.

Lady Catherine was most agreeable to such an arrangement. She certainly did not want another Bennet in her home to adversely influence her poor daughter, whom she feared was already infected with a certain sauciness of demeanour.

After they exchanged farewells, the entourage swept down the imposing parkway towards Rosings, with Anne waving out the window.

Mary settled into her role of nursemaid with enthusiasm. She found the care of little Maria suited to her predilections. She could engage in little games with the child, and because Maria was not critical and enjoyed dancing and clapping her hands in rhythm, Mary was able to play on the spinet to her heart’s content. When she laid the little one down for her nap, Mary had ample time to engross herself in her books.

Kitty offered to help Charlotte with her newborn, but the doting mother waved her away. With Mary here to tend to Maria, I can devote myself to Baby Isobel, and I find it most rewarding. Before, I was up most of the night, trying to calm her—Mr. Collins does not like a crying child, and as she is a colicky one, her weeping caused him much irritation; she seems to want to be awake at night and to sleep in the daytime. I was getting no rest at all, because I had to care for Maria during the day.

Mr. Collins was mercifully absent much of the time, tending to parish concerns. When he made his appearance in the evenings, he fussed over his daughters, dandling them and extolling their little capers.

One evening, as they sat at dinner, he remarked, Lady Catherine de Bourgh has, with great kindness and condescension, offered—nay, insisted—on taking the girls, when they have attained the age of three years, to Rosings and giving them lessons in deportment. Is that not benevolence indeed?

Charlotte pressed her lips in disapproval, and Mary’s face portrayed dismay. Later, Kitty whispered to Mary, I think Lady Catherine is more intent on instructing the children not to tread upon her petunias than teaching them the steps of the minuet or which fork to use for the salad.

Kitty, finding herself left out of the quotidian duties of the household, was left with much time on her hands. She strolled often in the grounds and, as there was no distinct boundary between the parsonage and the estate, at times found herself in Rosings Park. On one occasion, she caught sight of two men ahead of her behind some trees; one of them, being a uniformed gentleman. Her opinion of the military had been soured by her sister’s untoward experience with the infamous Mr. Wickham when his regiment was stationed in Meryton and then Brighton, so hoping to avoid meeting the two, she quickly turned and hastened her steps back to the parson’s cottage.

However, a voice from behind her stopped her abruptly: Pray, do not run from us, Miss Catherine—did we startle you? She spun around to find herself facing a familiar figure; he was not tall but was solidly built, and his mien, though not handsome, possessed amiability and a twinkle in the eye.

Why, Colonel Fitzwilliam, she said coolly, I seem to have strayed onto your aunt’s property, for which I am indeed regretful.

Take no heed of that—our grounds are one with the manse. Allow me to present Mr. Briarton, a friend of Lord Boneyface, down from London with his sister, Miss Estelle.

The tall gentleman, who was graced with golden locks and finely arranged features, bowed and said, I am told you are on your way to Pemberley—a magnificent holding—and Miss Darcy is truly an admirable young woman. I hope to soon pay a visit there myself.

May we have the pleasure of escorting you back to the Collinses’? Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired as they fell into step at her sides.

Kitty shook her head with vehemence and averred, There really is no need, but her protest was to no avail, as the gentlemen continued to walk along beside her.

Anne speaks highly of your sister Mary, and she is delighted with her pet, the colonel offered. Your family was very kind to provide my aunt with such generous hospitality. I am sure she is most appreciative.

Lady Catherine finds it hard to express gratitude, I believe, Kitty commented.

Ah, yes. The colonel smiled. But in her heart, she knows where obligation is due.

On reaching the manse, her companions bowed and left Kitty at the gate, and she entered the house to find Mary in a state of excitement. Mr. Collins says we have been invited to dine at Rosings tonight. We are to bring the children, and Lady Catherine is providing a nurse to tend them. She paused, and her face became serious. I imagine this means we will have to dress in our finery. I do not know why I should go—I do not much care for dancing, and Papa told me not to play the pianoforte.

Nonsense, Mary. I am sure you will be urged to perform—your playing is so spirited. But maybe you should decline to sing. There will be plenty of dancing partners; I just encountered two of them in the park: Colonel Fitzwilliam, to whom you are welcome, and a friend, Mr. Briarton, who is a pleasant enough fellow.

Charlotte bustled in, saying fretfully, Hurry, girls. You must get ready—it will not do to be one second late, for her ladyship will—

Do not worry, dear Charlotte; we will be prompt, Kitty assured her. Lady Catherine shall not be kept waiting. And they ran up the stairs to their room.

The blue dimity does suit you, Mary, her sister said as she looked in the mirror and patted the final auburn lock into place. But I do wish you would let us do something with your hair. That bun at the back of your neck and those straight bangs marching across your brow do nothing to enhance your appearance.

Vanity leads to certain destruction, Mary said primly. This is the way I like it, and it suits me. But you look fetching, dear sister. I am sure some fine gentleman will be ravished by your beauty this evening.

I believe there will be no one there that I wish to fetch. Kitty giggled. Unless Anne’s intended, Mr. Boneyface, and I form an overwhelming passion for one another! Laughing, they descended the stairs to join the others.

The Collinses got into the waiting carriage, but the Bennet girls insisted they would walk. The evening is fine, and it is such a short distance, Mary said.

Dinner at Rosings was not an animated affair. Lady Catherine presided with imperious dignity and was prone to making her pronouncements with such certainty that the opinions of her guests rarely found expression.

Her ladyship announced as the company took their seats, Mrs. Dulrymple and her daughter, Margaret, have been invited by Mr. Carmichael to join us after dinner. Her frown expressed her disapproval as she stared at the opprobrious young man.

Lord Cyril’s son had a long, lean visage that matched his name, but he had, nevertheless, a hearty nature. He said with obvious anticipation, Yes, Miss Margaret sings like an angel, and I shall accompany her in a charming duet that I am sure will please our company.

Anne, who sat next to Mary, whispered to her friend, I am quite sure Mr. Carmichael Boneyface is taken with Miss Margaret. Is that not good news? He has called on her several times and speaks highly of her. Mama is very indignant and keeps telling him how superior I am to the young woman.

How embarrassing for you, commiserated Mary.

Oh, but I am used to it, Anne reassured her meekly.

Kitty sat across the table from Colonel Fitzwilliam, with Lord Boneyface next to her. Lord Boneyface’s well-fleshed-out face did not in the least exemplify his appellation. So, Miss Catherine, he said in a loud voice, you are to attend Miss Darcy, I understand? A truly well-mannered young lady, and I have heard her brother sets great value on her—many thousands of pounds, it is said.

I am not aware of my brother’s provision for his sister, Kitty replied with secret distaste at the