Netherfield Hall
Darcy had been packed, ready to leave for nigh on a week now, and had forced himself to stay the extra days here in Netherfield, as he had already promised Mr. Gardner that he would stay with Charles until early December. The morning before Miss Elizabeth and her party had left, Mr. Gardner had arrived to Netherfield, and they had used Charles' study to have a frank discussion about the expectations Mr. Gardner had for the betrothed of his niece.
Fitzwilliam smiled to himself, as he poured a steaming cup of coffee that had been left on his desk by his valet. The man had made it perfectly clear, he may have been Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, but should his niece wish to end the engagement, up to the morning of their wedding, he would assist her in anyway that he could. His smile ended, though, as his thoughts drifted to the rest of the conversation that Mr. Gardner had been forced to have with him, wanting to give him that extra time to process the information.
Fitzwilliam slammed his cup down, harder than he intended, as he thought back on the words of his betrothed's uncle, as he had informed him of what his niece had gone through in the months leading up to her father's death. He should have known, should have not been wound so eagerly within his own pride and embarrassment over loving such a woman, that he should have almost entirely dismissed Mr. Collins' behavior at the evening they had spent in Longbourn.
He was loath to admit that he had been more interested in ignoring the pointed barbs of Caroline, and the general foolishness of Mr. Collins that he had only paid attention when Miss Elizabeth either spoke, or her name was drawn into the conversation. Even so, he had seen that she had been embarrassed, and had only come to her defense when it was safe for him to do so, when he was safe from the sharp, wagging tongues of Caroline and Louisa Hurst.
Fitzwilliam vowed to himself that very moment that he should always put his family-which now included Miss Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet, her sisters, and her loving aunts and uncles-first before any societal or prideful concern. He knew Miss Elizabeth did not love him, and marveled and thanked God that she had indeed accepted his proposal, after all that she had been through, and he promised himself that he should endeavor to be worthy of her, and perhaps, one day soon, she would welcome his love, and return the favor.
Finishing his coffee, Fitzwilliam stared at the empty sheets of paper that lay in a neat pile upon his small desk, a faint look of distaste graced his features. He had already written the much more pleasanter letters required-the first to Miss Elizabeth, of course, and to her uncle. Two separate letters that he had sent by express.
The letter to Mr. Gardner had simply informed him of his travel plans, and gave a brief overview of his intentions in the coming weeks, such as informing his family of his engagement, and when he should elect to have the banns published. He also wrote a letter of credit, instructing Mr. Gardner to place any purchases of new gowns and other fripperies, including Miss Elizabeth's wedding gown under his name, and he would take care of the bill.
The other letter, sent to Miss Elizabeth, contained a brief version of the same, and contained his rather paltry attempts at conversation, which had never been his strong suit. He hoped the news of Mr. Bingley coming to London the week after his own arrival would please her and her sister, Miss Bennet, but that was all he could note within the letter, except to wish her good health and enticement to enjoy her time with her sisters.
Otherwise, Fitzwilliam had already written to instruct his sister's new companion, Mrs. Annesley, that she and Georgiana should ready themselves to travel to London, and that he should meet them as soon as possible, from Pemberley.
He was now in the process of informing his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh that he was to marry another, shortly after the New Year. He knew, his entire family knew that she had more than nurtured hopes that he should marry his cousin, Anne de Bourgh, even claiming that his mother had wished for such a union while he was still in nappies.
Fitzwilliam could not help but doubt such an idea, mainly because his father had never allowed Lady Catherine to utter such foolishness within his presence. One public set down in front of the entire family one dreary winter morning, less than a year after his mother's death, and Lady Catherine had retired the subject, at least in front of his father and himself, until his father's death.
He supposed that she thought he was weak willed and easily manipulated, due to the fact that he had not been like his cousin, the Viscount, who was still sowing more than a few wild oats with women of ill repute, spent the majority of his time at his club, or gambling, and subsided on port and imported wine. He had always been of a rather studious bent and had focused almost entirely on his studies, and applied the same application to his care of Pemberley-all things that his father had drilled into him from childhood. Pemberley was to be his for only a generation, and it was his duty to keep its care and its inhabitants well. It was a duty that he should pass along to his son, a son that Miss Elizabeth, God willing, should give to him.
Fitzwilliam sighed, not being able to put off such a matter much longer. He was due to leave after breakfast, and wished to post his letter when he immediately arrived in London, so it would reach Lady Catherine before she read about the banns in the morning paper. She deserved that, at least. He thought about sending a letter to Anne, for she was his cousin, but ultimately he decided against it, due to his feeling that Lady Catherine most likely would read her mail before she should even get to it.
Dipping his pen in the inkwell, he applied himself to the unpleasant task, not sure which would be easier-writing this letter, or informing his uncle, the Earl of Matlock that he should be taking a penniless bride, in person?
Fitzwilliam patted his horse's head in relief as he saw the familiar road that led into the city of London. A few more hours' time, and he would be in his London townhouse. A hot bath, a good night's rest, and he would leave early the next morning to pay a call on his uncle the Earl before breakfast.
One of the many differences from his father's family from that of his mother's family was the relatively minor insistence that his father would keep country hours no matter where he was, and the Earl had always insisted on keeping London hours-which meant a later start to the day-a rather interesting experience as a child.
While Fitzwilliam doubted that the Earl and Countess of Matlock should immediately disown him-they were of a rather cautious nature, neither of them as hot headed, temperamental, nor quite so easy to offend as Lady Catherine, it was more likely that they should wait to see how the wind blew-if his betrothed should be seen as nothing more than a country miss who had been blessed by the Almighty, or a shameless fortune hunter who had seduced the upright, rigid Fitzwilliam Darcy-and whether or not he truly was the master of his own household, and could managed Lady Catherine.
He was prepared for such a challenge, for he knew that Lady Catherine would not go away quietly. At least, he had Richard to count upon.
Edward Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock, his wife, the Countess, his son, the Viscount of _, and his second son, Colonel Fitzwilliam returned the stately bow of their nephew and cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and all they could see then, was his rapidly retreating back, as he stalked his way out of their London home.
Almost immediately, his wife had settled down, and resumed her embroidery, her pretty pale blue eyes focusing intently upon her work. A bit of her tongue peeked from between her lips, and Edward wished to capture the stray wisp of hair that escaped her chignon, and lay artfully across her brow. His wife, the Countess, was still just as beautiful as she had been all those years ago, when they had been introduced by their parents, at the start of her first season-when she had been Miss Eloise Spencer.
She had been just as serene and pleasing as she was now, and Edward did not understand it. His nephew, of an old, respected name had just arrived, virtually unannounced, and had upset all of their appetites by declaring that he was to marry some country miss without any name or fortune, less than two months after her father had died. Edward looked to his sons, who looked just as shocked and dismayed as he felt.
Although his eldest son had been somewhat of a disappointment, as he had elected to spend more time in the gaming hells and his club and frequenting whores than applying himself to estate management, or any other useful activity, he knew that his son would never go out and marry without attention to connection or fortune-of that, he was entirely sure. Not unless he wished to be disinherited sooner than he could swallow down a glass of wine.
He studied his wife. She gave a put on sigh, as she set aside her embroidery for the moment.
"Edward, dear, are you quite all right?" she queried in her gentle, pleasing voice.
Her voice shocked him out of his apathy, and he waited an appropriate amount of time to reply, unable to confess to her that she had shocked him, "Of course my dear. I was simply pondering the news our nephew brought."
His sweet Eloise scoffed at the notion. "Oh, that." she said lightly, as though it had been so very long ago that he had brought the news to them, and not merely five minutes past. "I should not worry too much, Edward."
"And why not, Mama?" came the question out of the mouth of his indolent, eldest son. Richard, his younger son, ever the soldier, had not betrayed an expression, except shock at when his cousin had given them his news. It was from that, that he guessed that Fitzwilliam had not informed his favorite cousin, and boyhood friend of his intentions.
"Your cousin Darcy is enchanted with a country miss. Darcy keeps his affairs close to his heart, and is a private man. He is also very conscious of his duty. In time we shall see whether or not he has chosen well, and in the meantime, he shall have your Aunt Catherine to deal with."
Both of their sons shuddered in reminder.
"She shall not be pleased," the Countess mused calmly, as though she were speaking of a bonnet or lace, "And the first thing she shall do is attempt to pay off or run off the woman to whom your cousin is engaged to-the sooner the possible. If she is a fortune hunter, then she shall take the money, if not, then she shall be your cousin's problem, not ours. I am confident that he is master enough to settle his own affairs, husband." she said, her voice gaining a bit of tartness, as she addressed her husband directly.
"Darcy has ten thousand a year, Mama," came the almost petulant whine of the Countess' eldest son. The Countess sighed, as she felt a headache coming on, almost certainly induced by the pettiness of her eldest child.
"Perhaps if you spent less time whoring and drinking, son of mine, then perhaps your father would allow you more levity in matters of the estate." she replied coolly, regretting the manner in which she had coddled him as a baby, to his growth as a young man-his birth had been terribly difficult, and she had been convinced by the doctors that she should never have another child, and so she had lavished so much, too much attention on her only child, doting upon him in a manner that was extravagant, even for the wife of an Earl. Her summer child, Richard had come as a surprise six years later, and named for her dearest grandfather, who had died shortly before her marriage to the Earl.
"Mama, I only wish to point out that if she is a fortune hunter, than there is little that Aunt Catherine may do to persuade her otherwise, of marrying Darcy. Not when she shall have ten thousand pounds, and very likely more-God knows that Darcy does not speak of such things to me!-at her disposal!" her son cried out dramatically, flinging himself around his chair.
"Sit up straight, dear." she said softly, however her son detected an undercurrent of steel, and thankfully obeyed.
The Countess of Matlock gave her son a full smile, one in which showed all of her teeth, and replied, "If you do not believe that your Aunt Catherine could not bribe, nor persuade a fortune hunter to give up your cousin Darcy, then, my dear son, you understand even less of the wiles of woman. A lesson I should have expected you to learn quite well, due to the debts that your father pays, in your name, every month."
Her son had enough sense to hang his head, although she supposed it was due to the blistering headache he had, no doubt due to the amount of wine he had drank the night before, and she supposed she should be grateful that he was here, as it was the holiday season.
Her summer child, Richard, moved to bow over her hand, to grant her a kiss, and excused himself.
"Do speak to your cousin, Richard." she encouraged gently.
Richard gave his mother another kiss, this time to her cheek, and murmured that he would.
The Countess picked up her embroidery, content that it would end, one way or another, by the New Year.
Gracechurch Street, one week previous
As Elizabeth had predicted, Mrs. Bennet had gone into hysterics when she had been informed of her daughter's engagement. At least her uncle had given them time to unpack their clothing and spend a good night's rest from the road, before unleashing their mama upon them. Elizabeth supposed that her Uncle Gardner had thought that her mama would not quite be up to withstanding an attack of her nerves, and would spare her this time, however it appeared that he was wrong.
Elizabeth had been in her cousin, Eliza Jane's nursery, watching her pick and discard the ribbons that she wanted to wear especially with her gown that matched her pretty cousin, Jane's, when Mrs. Bennet swept through the room, clutching in one hand a handkerchief, and in another a vial of smelling salts.
"My dear, sweet girl! God has been very good to us!" Mrs. Bennet wailed, as she clasped Elizabeth to her tightly.
"Mama, I cannot breathe!" Elizabeth protested, although it was muffled by the material of her mother's gown.
"Oh, oh, oh my poor dear, I do apologize!" Elizabeth stood there and waited, as her mother determinedly brushed every speck of non existent dirt and dust from her person.
"Mama, I am perfectly well." Elizabeth said, although she truly could not reprimand her mother, not now, when this was the first bit of good news that her mother had received in a long while.
"Of course my dear, I apologize!" her mama repeated excitedly. "Now I have come to fetch you, your young man has sent you a letter-oh! indeed he has sent you more than that, my child!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed enthusiastically. "You must go downstairs to eat your breakfast Lizzie, for afterwards we are going to the shops!"
Elizabeth was alarmed almost immediately. "Mama, we do not need any clothes, not yet. We should wait for Mr. Darcy to arrive, I should hate that he would think-"
In her eagerness, her mama interrupted her- "It is Mr. Darcy who has given his permission, Lizzie! Go and see for yourself! He wrote to your uncle, giving us permission to spend the money!" Mrs. Bennet sighed dreamily, "I always knew you should do your duty to your family, Lizzie!" At that, Elizabeth all but repressed a snort, but followed her mama out of the room, and downstairs.
Shopping, it seemed, was to be the order of the day. Of course, they should need mourning clothes, for they were all living on three recycled gowns each, all they had been able to pack when Mr. Collins had thrown them out, and Elizabeth would need to see to her wedding gown.
Once downstairs, after settling down to her breakfast, Elizabeth blushed to see a letter addressed to herself, in a fine, elegant hand that was unknown to her.
Mr. Darcy, her mind supplied, and she hurriedly placed the letter in her pocket, before Mrs. Bennet could see, her blush returning in full force as her sister Jane watched her place the letter in her pocket.
It was hours later, in the relative privacy of her bedroom, shared with her dear Jane, that she allowed herself to open the letter and read it. She had waited until Jane had fallen asleep, unwilling, for some reason, to share her letter with her closest sister.
Miss Elizabeth, it read, I have sent this letter by express, and so I hope that it should arrive shortly after you yourself have arrived at your uncle's, if not previous. I hope your journey was pleasant, and it was not too cold in the carriage, although I suppose you had your sisters to keep you warm.
Elizabeth smiled at the reference, for she had indeed not moved from her spot, unwilling to give up the body heat generated by her sister Lydia in the middle, and her sister Jane on the other side, no matter how uncomfortable the carriage was. I have also sent a letter to your uncle, and within it explaining some of the finer details of our upcoming wedding, and have enclosed a letter of credit, for which you and your sisters and mother may go to the shops and obtain a general wardrobe, as well as special gowns for our wedding. There it was, the line that had excited her mama so much that she had to have a glass of wine to calm herself down before leaving the house.
The letter continued, speaking of general pleasantries, and Elizabeth was astounded to note that Mr. Bingley was to stand up for Mr. Darcy in their wedding, and that he should be arriving a week after Mr. Darcy would! She had some thoughts of waking Jane to tell her the news, but decided against it, and then decided to go and tell Mary, for Mary had confided in her the last night that they had spent at the Phillips' that she thought Mr. Bingley should be very sad to see Jane go.
Elizabeth took great pains to make her tread light, as she did not wish to disturb, nor excite her young, exuberant cousins, whose nursery room was located next to hers and Jane's, and so when she had reached what she thought was Mary's room, she opened the door, to find not Mary's, but her mama's room, the candle still going, but her mama was nowhere to be found.
"Mama?" Elizabeth whispered tersely. There was a muffled sob, that came from the bed, but Elizabeth knew that it did not, for the curtains had been drawn, and her mama was not in bed.
"Mama?" she repeated, going around the bed, dreading what she might find. And find her mama she did. Dressed in her night clothes, red faced and clutching an empty bottle and glass, her sobs becoming hiccups due to their frequency.
"Oh dear Lord!" she whispered, as she pried the bottle from her mama's hand, and helped her up from the floor. Her mama started crying again, sobbing that she did not wish for her girls to see her like this, that she was a failure as a mother, and Elizabeth shushed her, assuring her that she was the strongest mother that had ever lived, and that she would help her.
As Elizabeth tucked her into bed, Mrs. Bennet grabbed her hand, raising her palm to her cheeks, rubbing her tears into her daughter's hand.
"I miss Mr. Bennet!" she attempted to cry loudly, but the wine had now dulled her voice so that the entire household was not awakened.
"As do I mama, we all do." Elizabeth said soothingly.
"I should never have allowed him to go into that carriage, I have always said that we should hire a driver, but Mr. Bennet refused! My poor Bennet! My Jane!" she cried quietly, already halfway to falling asleep, Elizabeth's hand still clutched within her own.
Elizabeth waited until she was asleep, and quietly returned to her room, her letter all but forgotten.
It took a small amount of coaxing, but Elizabeth had persuaded Kitty to start sleeping with their mama. She would have asked Lydia, but according to Kitty's protestations, Lydia kicked, and to which Lydia replied hotly that she did not, and it took a calm and practical Mary to settle the sisters. Kitty would sleep with their mama for she was uneasy with sleeping alone, as she had always slept with either Lydia or Jane, and it was a perfect situation for all of them.
It was now drawing close to Mr. Darcy's first visit to her uncle's home, as her betrothed, and as every day passed, so did her apprehension increase. She did not wish for him to encounter any difficulty or hardship concerning her family, during their engagement period, and worked very hard to counter that notion. She was sure her aunt had noticed while they were shopping, but she did not say anything.
She hoped she would not.