July 1812:
"How much farther are we to travel?" Mary asked her companions wearily.
"Not so far now, Miss Bennet," the older woman – a comfortable, matronly creature – replied soothingly. "The estate is vast but you shall soon see where our dear Mrs Darcy has been so happy since she arrived."
"There," the younger one said, aiming a small hand out of the window of the very handsome coach Mr Darcy had sent. "Welcome to Pemberley, Miss Bennet."
As Mary took in the splendours of the stately home, she saw her sister spring lightly down the grand stairs and come briskly over to the carriage, her cheeks glowing and her eyes bright. Clearly she had not given up some of her independent physical activities; had not retired into comfortable matronhood.
Elizabeth Darcy – a vastly pretty woman of three and twenty years – pulled open the carriage door. "Mary!" she cried in tones of great excitement. "It is so good to see you, dear – I trust your journey was pleasant."
"It was indeed satisfactory, thank you," Mary replied, startled at the warmth of her reception and falling into her old stiff, repressed habits. She would always be uncomfortable in society but had grown somewhat out of the pompous didactic manner of expressing herself. "You look well, Elizabeth – and how do Mr Darcy and little Thomas fare?"
Elizabeth smiled at the mention of the newest addition to the Darcy family – a boy born only twelve weeks earlier. "I feel well," she said, "and both Fitzwilliam and Thomas are in excellent health." She took Mary's arm in a companionable hold as the latter emerged from the carriage. "Georgiana has also returned to us from London – she has been there for the Season since her coming out. You had little chance to talk to her at my wedding, but I believe you will like her vastly. And Fitzwilliam's cousin Brigadier Fitzwilliam will join us very soon. He is to take possession of the estate at Morley and will be able to visit us often, much to Fitzwilliam's delight – the two have always been great friends."
Mary had never encountered Brigadier Henry Fitzwilliam but had heard much about him from Elizabeth and Mr Bennet. Even second hand, his good sense, his warm manner and his information had impressed her. He was one of the few men that would be worth talking to in her opinion; his age, his occupation and his nature were likely to prevent him indulging in the many fopperies to be found in the young dandies that so exasperated Mary. "I look forward to meeting Miss Darcy again," she said now, "but such an elegant and accomplished young lady will surely scorn my company."
"Georgiana is far better than that – do not prejudge her by the behaviour of Miss Bingley to dear Jane." Elizabeth led the weary Mary into the beautifully appointed house and drew her into a vast bookroom. "Now sit, dear, and I will arrange for tea to be served. You are my guest and you will be treated as such." She flashed a mischievous smile. "At least until you learn your way around; then you will be required to shift for yourself as much as possible in this little cottage."
Elizabeth rang the bell and an older lady appeared. "Good evening, Mrs Reynolds," she said. "This is my sister, Miss Mary Bennet. Mary; this is Mrs Reynolds, Pemberley's housekeeper."
Mrs Reynolds smiled. "Welcome to Pemberley, Miss Bennet," she said. "Shall I arrange for some tea, Mrs Darcy?"
Elizabeth chuckled. "You are a mind reader, dear lady," she replied. "Tea and some light pastries and sweetmeats, please."
"Very good, Mrs Darcy," Mrs Reynolds said, curtseyed and left for her appointed task.
Mary drew a long breath – marriage and motherhood had not slowed her energetic sister one whit. She sat down on a beautiful chaise longue and looked around the bookroom, her fingers nearly tingling at all the well-kept tomes and manuscripts. It would make two of her father's library, and this was not even the main library. She managed to resist the urge to take a book and lose herself in it. This was not her home and she could not hide from the world here as she could at Longbourn.
A maid came in with an elegant silver tea tray. The maid placed the tea tray on a nearby table. "Will that be all, Mrs Darcy?" she asked.
"That will be all, Hannah," Elizabeth replied. "It is near enough to eight o'clock now," she added. "You are dismissed for the day – go and have your supper then go to your chambers. Mary and I can fend for ourselves until Grace comes downstairs."
"Very good, Mrs Darcy," Hannah said, bobbing a curtsey.
As the maid left, Elizabeth sat down opposite Mary and picked up the teapot. "Would you like some tea, dear?" she asked.
"Yes, please," Mary said, hiding her long-held dislike for tea with ease. Although Mrs Bennet was a most indulgent parent in many respects, she had always expected her children to eat and drink whatever they were served without complaint.
Elizabeth poured the tea and Mary took it silently. Making conversation had never been one of her strong suits; even with her sisters she found it difficult, and tended to fall back on her sermons. Fortunately, although Elizabeth was outgoing and friendly, she had never needed to chatter ceaselessly unlike Lydia and Catherine.
Elizabeth Darcy – nee Bennet – regarded her younger sister thoughtfully under the guise of offering light refreshments. Time seemed to have changed Mary a good deal for the better. Although she possessed no less a taciturn nature, she had chosen to study much more, to improve her mind through well thought out books rather than threadbare extracts of morality. Catherine's last letter before her recent marriage had indicated that she found Mary's still infrequent companionship far more tolerable than she had used to, although she was not half as much fun as Lydia, of course.
Elizabeth had been too unwell to make the long trip to Meryton for Catherine's wedding, but Colonel and Mrs Banks had been invited to spend Christmas at Pemberley. Elizabeth loved all her sisters of course – even thoughtless Lydia – but Jane was the sister closest to her heart. With Catherine preferring Lydia, it had lately occurred to Elizabeth that Mary had been very much left out – had retreated when she should have been encouraged far more.
Elizabeth looked again at Mary. Near one and twenty now, Mary had a good bone structure, a light pleasing figure although tending towards thinness and pretty brown eyes that her spectacles could not disguise. Mrs Bennet bemoaned the fact that Mary would never be beautiful, but there was something unusual and striking about Mary's features. She wanted colour and brightness; Elizabeth would encourage her to join her for her daily walks in the beautiful grounds. Mary would resist of course – having never liked physical exertion – but if she intended to be a governess she would have to take her charges out for walks.
As she made her plans for Mary's physical improvement, the door to the bookroom opened and a tall handsome figure of a man of one and thirty years entered. Even after more than two years of marriage Elizabeth felt much pleasure in looking at her husband and she wearied of his companionship never. "Good evening, my dear," he said, bending at the waist, picking up her hand and placing an affectionate kiss on her fingers.
Many people, Elizabeth included, were rather too quick to misunderstand Fitzwilliam Darcy upon first making his acquaintance. His heart was warm, his manner well bred and his information first-rate, yet a degree of reserve prevented his making such a good impression in company as that so easily achieved by Charles Bingley and Henry Fitzwilliam. Indeed, many saw his reserve as haughtiness – not always mistakenly.
But there was more to the Derbyshire gentleman than cold glares and colder pronouncements. Elizabeth blushed whenever she thought of how quick she had been to point out his faults without balancing them with his better qualities. Not that he was perfect. Far from it. He could be snobbish and was quick to resentment; his good opinion once lost was lost forever. The latter was a deep shade on his character but Elizabeth loved Fitzwilliam Darcy, ill with good.
"Good evening, Fitzwilliam," she said, trying not to chuckle when she observed Mary shrinking back slightly as if trying to hide away. The clever and well-bred gentleman had always overawed Mary – time at Pemberley would show his affectionate nature in full measure.
"Good evening, my sister," Fitzwilliam said, sitting down next to Mary and shaking her hand gently. "You look tired – I hope the journey did not fatigue you too excessively."
Elizabeth shook her head slightly at her husband's bluntness. What lady wished to be told that she looked tired?
Mary blushed and for a second she looked quite pretty. "Indeed not," she said earnestly. "Your coach is the most handsome and well appointed I have ever seen. Elizabeth knows that I am not accustomed to long journeys, and the final leg began very early this morning."
"Then you should go to bed early," Fitzwilliam said, releasing Mary's hand then pouring a cup of tea and passing a pastry to his wife. Although the most stiffly correct of males, he had some unusual ideas at times and thought nothing of performing domestic chores commonly designated the female lot. "I know that my wife would have you stay up for hours – she is seemingly inexhaustible." He sent a small smile of mischief to Elizabeth, who sighed as she bit into the delicious flaky pastry.
Mary blushed again, understandably confused by the teasing tone in a man considered by many to be proud and ill natured. "I would not wish to offend you, Elizabeth," she said seriously. "I am not so tired that I cannot stay up."
"You will not deliberately wear yourself ragged on my account," Elizabeth replied firmly. She loved Mary dearly but had forgotten just how very serious she was. And while Fitzwilliam was just as serious, he was also possessed of a sly sardonic wit that very few suspected. Even Georgiana did not see it – perhaps not surprisingly, for her brother had had guardianship of her since she was a child. "Besides, I have a lovely walk that I am once again fit to undertake." She could not entirely suppress the blush that arose when she thought of another activity she was once again fit to undertake. "And I want you to see Pemberley at its best."
"I am no walker, Elizabeth, but I admired the grounds from the carriage," Mary said. "And I feel that I would like to see them more closely. However, I do not believe that you would have patience with my elderly footfalls."
The self-deprecating tone quite startled Elizabeth – Mary had always seemed so very satisfied with herself, even when no-one else shared that satisfaction. "Elderly footfalls," she teased gently. "You are my younger sister – therefore, if you are elderly what does that make me?"
She saw Fitzwilliam open his mouth – obviously about to make a teasing remark – and pushed a sweetmeat into that mouth. "I was not addressing you, my husband," she chided sternly, wagging her finger then chuckling when he nearly choked on the sweetmeat. His eyes plainly showed that he would exact his revenge later, but for now he subsided into a corner of the settee and sipped his tea elegantly.
"You are but two years older than I am and you have always had an engaging lively manner that I will never possess," Mary said. "No-one would believe you to be older than me." She pushed her spectacles back up her nose and looked around the bookroom. "This is a beautiful room, Elizabeth – I could spend all my time here and never feel that I was missing out on anything. But for you I will endeavour to be sociable while I am here, and even at the ball."
"That is very obliging of you," Elizabeth replied with a laugh, "but this will be a quiet ball – not as full and noisy as the assemblies held in Meryton."
"I have rarely enjoyed myself at an assembly despite my outward appearance," Mary said with a startling frankness. "I always wished that I was too young to be out." She sighed and fiddled with her sleeve. "I still wish that," she added, "for I am so ill-suited to society."
Elizabeth caught her sister's hand and gave it a squeeze, saddened when Mary flinched away. "You will enjoy this ball, dearest, for I will not throw you in the path of every eligible gentleman. You do not have to dance should you choose not to." She remembered Mary's delicate grace during their girlhood lessons and wondered why she either read or played the pianoforte at assemblies – when she chose to attend at all. Such behaviour did not induce a gentleman to ask for a set.
Mary's sigh of relief was more like a gust. "Thank you, Elizabeth," she said. Then she gave a deep blush. "I … have talked too much, and I hope I have not offended you, Elizabeth, Mr Darcy," she stammered. "You have been kindness itself in allowing me to come here and …". Her eyes were wide and strained behind the spectacles and her distress would have moved even the most unfeeling person.
Fitzwilliam was far from being an unfeeling person. "My sister; you have not offended me," he said. "When I am forced into society I do not enjoy, I either retreat or become insufferable. I was horribly rude to Elizabeth the night we met in Meryton – she has taken on a formidable task in grooming me to behave appropriately and even now, there must be occasions when she wishes for me to stay silent or vice versa."
Elizabeth gave her husband a bright smile. She had taught him a valuable lesson in manners when she had refused his first proposal – and now, more than two years since their wedding, deeply appreciated his warmth, sense and good manners. "You were a bear that night," she teased, "but I was hardly devastated by your opinion of me." She stood as tall as she could and raised her brow in imitation of him. "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. And I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men."
Fitzwilliam groaned and Mary's eyes opened wide. And then she broke into soft laughter more free and girlish than Elizabeth had ever heard from her. "Mr Darcy; that was very rude," she said, "but as Elizabeth has evidently forgiven you, you should not dwell on it."
Fitzwilliam groaned again. "My wife is never likely to forget it," he said and Elizabeth smiled to herself. "Whenever she believes that I feel too pleased with myself, she reminds me of the many occasions where I should have remained silent, and of other occasions where I should have done the opposite." Then he smiled at Mary. "At least one member of the Bennet family shows me some charity."
Mary laughed again then a blush stole across her face, and she sat up straight and primly. "Of course – you are my older brother and a gentleman," she said stiffly. "I know my place, and will always give you the respect to which one of your station is entitled."
Elizabeth sighed at Mary's sudden stiffness. What could have made her withdraw so rapidly? Fitzwilliam looked as surprised as Elizabeth felt but, a reserved man himself, seemed to have more tolerance for Mary's sudden formality. She felt it behoved her to change the subject before Mary withdrew too much into herself. Elizabeth had enjoyed her sister's natural mirth and was by no means eager to see it replaced by the pedantic moralising Mary with whom she had grown up. She touched Fitzwilliam's hand. "Perhaps you have some business affairs you can attend to, my dear. I want to talk to Mary on her own – it has been far too long since I have seen her."
Fitzwilliam smiled broadly then chuckled. "Well, I can take that very unsubtle hint, my dear," he mocked but stood obligingly and bowed slightly to Mary. "Good evening, my sister," he added, "and as for you, sharp-tongued impertinent baggage that you are …"
"Yes, my love?" Elizabeth cooed with wide eyes.
Had they been alone in their private wing, she would soon have found herself in her husband's strong arms being carried into their bedchamber. Unlike many in their circle, they did not believe in separate bedchambers.
"I shall wreak my vengeance upon you," he threatened, plucked the last sweetmeat neatly from his wife's fingers, and then departed.
Elizabeth shook her head at the antics of the man seen as so staid by so many then turned back to her sister, who stared at Elizabeth with unbridled fascination. "You have a question, dear?"
"You …". Mary went pink once more and cleared her throat. "I did not believe it until now, but yours truly is a … love match, is it not?" she enquired. "Yet you disapproved of him so fiercely during the first months of your acquaintance."
And once again Elizabeth wished that she had not been so eager to point out Mr Darcy's flaws – to make sport of them. She delighted in the ridiculous, but a little less prejudice on her part would have perhaps overcome his pride and allowed her to see his gentler side so much sooner. "If my own sister cannot believe how much I love my dear Fitzwilliam, there can be no hope for me!" she exclaimed. "But I know you are a keen student of human nature – the coming months with us should clearly demonstrate to you how very much of a love match I have made." She patted Mary's free hand. "I wish you even half as happy with your future husband."
Mary inhaled sharply then began coughing. "My … future husband?" She regarded Elizabeth through wide streaming eyes. "You know that I will never marry for love – I am plain and dull. The only marriage I could possibly have is that of a second wife to a widower with a large brood or to a valetudinarian. I have no wish to be an unpaid nurse or an unpaid governess. I accepted this a long time ago and despite Mother's endless twitting on the subject am quite satisfied with my future plans. Please accept that, Elizabeth, or you and I shall surely quarrel and I do not desire that."
Elizabeth was silenced by the steadiness of Mary's voice, the surety of her tone and while she regretted that Mary saw herself as unworthy of a good match, Elizabeth's relationship with this sister was too new and fragile for her to risk interfering. "If you are truly content then I will accept that, my dear," she said and stood. "And now it is time for you to meet your nephew – I know you do not share mine and Jane's love of children, but he is becoming a fine little man, and you shall like him a vast deal."
Mary stood also. "Thank you for accepting me as I am, Lizzy," she said, her usually dull eyes shining. "Now, let us greet young Master Darcy before he squalls and causes me to change my mind."