"Thank you, Lizzy," Jane murmured, taking a sip of cold lemonade and then setting it on a wooden side table near the bed. "Do not feel you must linger here; I expect that I will sleep for at least two hours."
Elizabeth cast a longing glance toward the window, which was covered in opaque shades so that she could only see light dimly filtering through it. "Are you quite certain?"
"Of course I am; indeed, I will find it difficult to sleep with you hovering over me. You should take a walk inside or outside the house, or perhaps prowl around in search of the library. Charles says it is most remarkable."
"Caroline Bingley said the very same," Elizabeth said with a roll of her eyes and an air of overdone formality, "so it must be true."
Jane chuckled and lay back against her pillows. "I do thank you for being civil to Caroline, even when it is difficult."
"I am afraid I am often satirical when we speak together, though I am not certain she understands that."
"I am certain she does not," Jane murmured, closing her eyes. "You are being subtle, far more than Father ever is, and she does not realize when you are poking fun at her."
"That is probably for the best, as I don't wish to be too unkind to her," Elizabeth responded as she leaned over to kiss her sister on the forehead. She stepped back and regarded Jane's face for a moment, then relaxed and turned to leave the room. Poor Jane had been feeling very sickly most mornings, and hours in carriages, even well sprung ones, were hard on her. She was thankful they were at Pemberley, where Jane would no longer be jolted over good and bad roads.
She stepped out into the corridor, walked a few yards, and entered her own room, which was adjacent but not connected to Jane's bedchamber.
That privilege was, of course, set aside for Charles Bingley. The guest quarters at Pemberley were as impressive as everything else, and thus Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were sharing a suite composed of two large bedchambers connected by a pleasant sitting room. Since Elizabeth knew that the Bingleys spent many nights together in bed, this was an ideal situation. For at least the hundredth time, Elizabeth thanked God for Jane's marriage; her sister was a charming, sweet gentlewoman, but she was also inclined to look for the best in everyone. Elizabeth, with a far more pessimistic view of mankind, had worried that Jane, whose beauty was truly remarkable, would fall in love and marry a man whose sole interest was in Jane's physical perfection. Instead, Charles Bingley had leased Netherfield Hall, and fallen in love with Jane, and she with him, and now they were happily married.
Elizabeth was less enamored with her new sisters by marriage, though Louisa Hurst had proven a far more amiable companion these last months. Caroline, on the other hand, had tried her hardest to keep Charles from wedding the eldest Miss Bennet. Now that Jane was the new Mrs. Bingley, Miss Bingley retained a veneer of courtesy around Jane and her family of birth, but often made subtle comments about their lack of education, their lack of fortune, and their lack of connections. It said a great deal that even Jane, who desired to see good in everyone, did not think very highly of her new sister.
Elizabeth opened the door to her own chamber and sighed with pleasure as she entered the large, delightful room, which was fitted up in greens and whites, with a charming seascape dominating the wall surrounding the unlit fireplace. Elizabeth had never seen the ocean, but she hoped it was as marvelous as the painting in front of her, with its aqua waves and tiny painted figures.
The door opened behind her, and she turned as a young maid entered, her arms full of towels, and squeaked in surprise. "Oh, I apologize, Miss Bennet. I did not mean to intrude!"
"Not at all," Elizabeth returned with a welcoming smile. "In fact, I have a question for you. I would like to stretch my legs outside, but naturally I do not wish to interfere with the smooth operation of the estate. Is there a garden where I could walk, perhaps?"
"Oh yes, Miss!" the maid replied eagerly. "If you will wait a few minutes while I finish my duties, I will guide you to the nearby door which leads to the rose garden, which is genuinely lovely!"
/
"It is just through that door, Miss," the servant said, pointing at a wooden door at the end of the corridor decorated with carved rose blossoms.
"Thank you," Elizabeth said to the servant girl as she walked down the corridor, opened the door, and stepped out onto a paved walkway. She found herself alone in the large sunken garden, which was located along the south side of the guest wing of Pemberley. She pulled in a deep breath of clean air and felt her body relax with pleasure. She had enjoyed the trip north, with all its sights and sounds, but her current locale was both interesting and beautiful, and she looked forward to a time of rest and relaxation.
She began wandering along the paved path, which twisted and turned its way through a variety of rose beds, some filled with bushes, others with trellises where roses had been trained to climb above her own head. She had never seen such a profusion of rose blossoms, some of red, some of pink, some of yellow, some of white, some of a mix of colors. The sizes varied as well, and the shapes, and the combined scent of so many blossoms was a true delight. Her mother, who loved roses, would be cooing with wonder at the very sight of this garden. There were definitely advantages to being very wealthy. This little piece of heaven must require the services of numerous gardeners!
After walking slowly for ten minutes, she crossed a small wooden bridge which was thrown across a tiny brook that wended its way from east to west in the garden. Elizabeth guessed that the water had been diverted from a large stream elsewhere. Pemberley seemed to be well watered, which was another point in its favor. It was, perhaps, not so surprising that Mr. Darcy was such a proud man. He was the extremely wealthy master of one of the largest, finest estates in all of Britain. Perhaps he had a right to be proud.
She paused to sniff a large yellow rose on a trellis, whose head bobbed happily in the slight breeze, just as a strange sound emanated from beyond the wooden lattice. She straightened, her brow wrinkled in confusion. What was that? It was something between a trill, a warble, a hoot, and a squawk. What man or animal or child could make such a noise?
She walked a few more feet and rounded the trellis, looking toward the source of the strange sound. A stone wall, at least ten feet high, loomed some distance away, a wall without a roof. It seemed that Pemberley, in addition to everything else, boasted a walled garden. A paved path led from the rose garden, across a patch of well trimmed grass, to a door in the wall.
A moment later, the same cry came again, obviously from within the walled area. Elizabeth started walking toward the door in a mixture of curiosity and concern. It seemed unlikely that a person could make such a noise, but suppose someone was within the walled plot and injured? There were no servants in sight, and surely it would do no harm to take a quick peek within?
Now that she was nearer the door, she could hear additional hoots and whistles. It seemed likely that there was an animal or animals within making the noise, but what animal?
She reached out to the knob of the door, hesitated briefly, opened it, and stepped within.
/
The Hursts' Sitting Room
"Is it not marvelous to be back at Pemberley again?" Caroline Bingley asked.
"Indeed," Louisa Hurst agreed, though she kept her eyes on her knitting. "The air is fresh and fine after our weeks in London."
"I was quite pleased with our reception. I am entirely certain that Mr. Darcy missed me."
Louisa compressed her lips but said nothing. She knew perfectly well that Mr. Darcy would never offer for her sister. Why should he? The money Caroline would bring into marriage meant nothing to a man who earned 10,000 pounds a year in income. Darcy was nephew to an earl and a lady, and rumor had it that he was unofficially betrothed to his cousin Miss de Bourgh, heiress of the vast estate of Rosings in Kent.
But Louisa also knew that her sister was wholly unwilling to admit that she was unsuitable to be the mistress of Pemberley. Ever since Charles had brought Darcy to visit at the Bingleys' London home, Caroline had been enamored of Darcy's good looks, wealth, and connections to high society. Until Darcy was actually married, Caroline would flirt and boast of her own accomplishments. It was embarrassing and annoying.
"Of course, Mr. Darcy may no longer be willing to marry me now that Charles has been foolish enough to wed Jane. Really, what was our brother thinking? Men cannot be trusted to look out for their own interests! If only Mr. Darcy had been able to join us at Netherfield last fall. He would have pointed out the Bennets' unsuitability, and Charles always listens to Mr. Darcy."
Louisa sighed. Caroline had said the same thing at least one hundred times already since their brother's marriage to the former Miss Bennet.
"Jane is charming, kind, and a gentleman's daughter," Louisa pointed out for at least the hundredth time. "No doubt Charles could have won a better connected bride, but he and Jane seem very happy together."
"Happiness," Caroline snorted inelegantly, and began pacing up and down the blue and scarlet carpet. "Happiness is for peasants. Our father did not struggle, and strive, and work so that his son could be merely happy, marrying a country girl with no dowry, whose only asset is her considerable beauty."
"Jane is a pleasant, refined lady, and she and Charles are legally married. There is nothing to be done about it, Caroline. It would be best to accept the situation and turn your attention onto other matters."
Caroline harrumphed and sat down, and then admitted, "You are correct, of course. Nothing can be done about Charles. However, I will not give up hopes for my own ambitions. If nothing else, Jane and Elizabeth will prove a good contrast to my own accomplishments. It is shocking how little they are able to do. Jane cannot draw or sing or play the pianoforte ... and Elizabeth! Well, the people of backwards Meryton may think her an accomplished musician, but she plays and sings very poorly compared to us."
Louisa was of the opinion that Elizabeth, while not an expert, had a charming voice and played with reasonable skill. But again, there was no point in defending her.
"Perhaps you and I should practice a duet?" she suggested, desirous of turning Caroline's thoughts in another direction. "I am certain the gentlemen would enjoy such an indulgence in the near future."
"That is an excellent idea," Caroline responded, her face suddenly cheerful. "I am certain Mr. Darcy will be particularly impressed. Miss Darcy is, of course, a remarkable player at the pianoforte, but she sings not at all."
She smiled to herself as she imagined this scene and said, "No doubt Mr. Darcy will find the contrast between Elizabeth's passable attempts and my lovely voice to be compelling indeed. Mr. Darcy will offer for me by the time it is ready for us to depart, Lousia. I am certain of it."