Can you tell that the only town in Scotland I have ever been to is Kelso? Lol. It's actually kind of nice because in my student teaching we have 'free write time' and my cooperating teacher wants us to write as well so we can model for the students that writing is something adults do too. So actually I don't think ST should stop me from writing so much. YAY!
I will be wrapping up this story hopefully soon. Tell me please, what you would like after I finish this one. I could focus only on Heir Apparent.
Otherwise, I have three other stories for which I have like two chapters written each. I could begin to post what I have and work on one of those as well.
One is a "what if Mr. Collins had died and there was a different heir to Longbourn".
One is "What if Lady Anne had not died and therefore was there to guide her son (for good or perhaps not so good?)
I also have a sort of sequel. I am not sure yet if I want to make it a sequel to Such Happy Manners or just a sequel to the canon.
Edited because it was pointed out to me that rubber was not invented for another twenty or so years.
One need not wonder why Elizabeth and Kitty waited until after their gentlemen had gone for the evening before informing their mother of their good fortune. When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, they followed her, and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes that she could comprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself.
"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! And Kitty! My dear sweet Kitty! A lord! You shall be a lady! A viscountess! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest girls! How rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you both will have! Jane's is nothing to it—nothing at all. I am so pleased—so happy. Such charming men! Oh Dear Lizzy! Ten Thousand a year! Nearly as good as a lord! Nearly though, for I would not equate him with dear, dear Lord Barlow! All of my daughters married! What will become of me. I shall go distracted."
This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted: and Elizabeth and Kitty, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by themselves, soon went away. But before they had been three minutes in Kitty's room, their mother followed them.
"My dearest children," she cried, "I can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! And my Kitty a lady! And special licences. You must and shall be married by special licences. But my dearest loves, tell me what dishes Mr. Darcy and Lord Barlow are particularly fond of, that I may have them made to-morrow."
It was perhaps to Mrs. Bennet's credit that she refrained from calculating how long the Earl of Matlock might live and that she was satisfied with her daughter simply being a viscountess, not a countess. Mrs. Bennet immediately began to plan for the entire family to be presented at court, for she was certain that this must be done. Kitty agreed that she should be presented, and perhaps Lizzy might as well, but she could not imagine why or how it must happen that the whole family would be presented. It soon was revealed, however, for Mrs. Bennet could not refrain from mentioning how her Kitty would outshine Sir William and Lady Lucas, becoming above them in station. Mrs. Benner wished to be presented so that she might have something to say when Sir William went on about his knighthood and St. James's.
This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the gentlemen themselves might be; and Kitty in particular found that, though in the certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations' consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law, and no doubt his title, that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion.
Mr. Bennet was as he always was around the gentlemen, although it pleased his daughters to see that he did take a few more pains to come to know the gentlemen. Mr. Bennet later assured his daughters that his two future sons-in-law were rising every moment in his esteem.
The wedding of Lydia and Nicholas took place, although it was quite small in order to quell any gossip. Lydia wore a pink dress that she had made at the local dressmaker's shop. She asked for only a few gowns to be made in Meryton, for she wished to wait until they were in Scotland before ordering much more. She felt that it would not be quite the thing to have gowns that were not in the fashion of the local area. Nicholas agreed but wished her to have some gowns made, for she needed to have warmer clothing. Even in spring, he told her, it was quite cold and she would not wish to have only such light gowns. Spencers, capes, pelisses, muffs, woolen stockings, boots, and other essentials were made up for Lydia. Similar outerwear was made up for Elizabeth upon the announcement of her engagement. Kitty did not require so much, as Lord Barlow's estate was even further to the south than Longbourn.
Lord Matlock was displeased upon hearing of the engagements of his nephew and his heir. Lady Matlock was beyond pleased. She was ecstatic when she received the letter. She had, of course, known of both attachments previously, but she was relieved to see everything settled. She might have hoped for more for each but knew that they would not be swayed from their loves. She could only be relieved that they had chosen gentlemen's daughters. This difference of opinion regarding the matches was a source of great strain between Lord and Lady Matlock, for Lady Matlock could not forget the conversation she had previously with her husband on the subject.
"What of Lady Susanna or Lady Diana?" asked Lord Matlock, "Andy would not even dance with Lady Diana at the last ball. She was insipid, he said. Insipid! A duke's daughter!"
"Lady Diana is insipid," said Lady Matlock with a raised eyebrow, "I do not think that Lady Diana has had an original thought in her head in the last twelvemonth."
"Then could he not have waited two years and wed Georgie? And perhaps Darcy might have had our dear Hennie. It is intolerable that they should not wish to strengthen the bond between our families and instead wish to wed these insignificant misses. I understand that Anne would have never done for Darcy, but Hennie could have given him the heirs he desires."
"I cannot see how wedding sisters, therefore making themselves brothers-in-law, would mean they do not care to strengthen the bonds between our families," said Lady Matlock with a raised eyebrow.
"That is not the point!" exclaimed Lord Matlock.
"I fail to see your point. You are speaking in circles. It seems to me that your only point is that they are not well-known in the ton and have little fortune."
"It is not just that! You know it is not! The son of the late Mr. Darcy's former steward is to be our son's brother! A solicitor! And the most recent wedding! The son of a bookseller?"
"Mr. Andrews is a good friend of Rich's and a fine man. Do you not remember him visiting before?" asked Lady Matlock.
"He is well enough as a connection, for he was only to be as close as a friend to our second son, but not to be our son's brother-in-law."
"I do not think your opinion matters over much. The engagement is known. Darcy says in his letter that the announcement will be published either tomorrow or overmorrow in the Times."
"I will cut him off. Andy will know my displeasure."
"You will do no such thing!" cried Lady Matlock, "Else I will bar you from my chambers forever."
"I am your husband!" cried Lord Matlock.
"You are, but I know you well enough that you would not force your attentions and I have no wish to share a bed with a man who would cut off his son," said Lady Matlock. Lord Matlock seemed to sober at this, for he knew what she said was true.
"Now with Rich wed to Anne, we must consider what will happen if Andy did not marry. I thought he would never marry or he would marry a completely unacceptable match like a barmaid or some such. She is a gentleman's daughter. We might have hoped for more for him, and it would have been a fine thing indeed if he wed Georgie, Lady Susanna, or Lady Diana, but he has made his choice. I will not have you creating a scandal and estranging our son."
Lord Matlock brooded for the rest of the day and the next, but eventually accepted his wife's logic. It would certainly cause a scandal if he rejected his son's choice. Lady Matlock laid out her plan, for she wished to sponsor the ladies for the season. She would invite them to London to shop for their wedding clothes, introduce them to the ton, teach them all the manners and help them make the connections that they would need. By the end of the season, people would hardly remember that Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Catherine Bennet were not of the first circles.
"Indeed, and Lady Cowper, she will help me. She has agreed already. With her support, no one would dare reject them as unsuitable, lest their daughters and nieces not receive vouchers to Almack's."
"Lady Cowper will assist?" asked the earl with surprise.
"You know that little matter that I helped her to hush up a few years ago. I told her she must help me, for she does owe me a favour. She could not refuse when I put it in such terms," said Lady Matlock proudly, "I, of course, would keep her confidence regardless, but her honour forced her to accept."
"I do see where Richard gained his mind for military strategy," said the earl.
"Indeed," said Lady Matlock with a smile.
Mrs. Cosaint smiled at Mrs. Fitzwilliam and fluffed her pillow. Mrs. Fitzwilliam thanked her and asked if the supply of draught from Mr. Darcy's London doctor had been replenished.
"Indeed, it has," replied the nurse, "and I must say, it is serving you very well. How far did you and Mr. Fitzwilliam walk today?"
"A mile," said Mrs. Fitzwilliam with a smile.
"And how did you feel afterwards, Madam?" asked Mrs. Cosaint.
"I felt tired," said her patient, "but not overly so. The muscles in my legs do ache."
"That is expected," said Mrs. Cosaint, "for you have never been permitted to walk about as much as you should have."
"My husband thinks I should walk with him each day. Do you agree?" asked Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
"Perhaps not a mile every day, at least not for now," said Mrs. Cosaint, "You can walk that far on occasion, but it will be some weeks before you are ready to do so every day. Half that distance each day would be well. You might walk in the garden as well, for shorter stretches of time. That reminds me, have you been using those weighted ropes to help your arms and hands?"
"Not as much as you said," admitted Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
"You must do so, else you will never grow strong. Have you helped with the breadmaking?"
"Oh yes," said Mrs. Fitzwilliam with a laugh, "Cook was ever so surprised at my request. I do like making the bread."
"Good. It is a fine way to build your strength. Particularly as you do not use the rope as much as you should. I will inform Cook that you should help with the bread every day."
"I would like that. Cook is ever so interesting to talk to."
"I would say so," said Mrs. Cosaint with a smile, "For she was one of the few people who ever had the spirit to disobey your mother. She agreed, she said, but she wouldn't listen. She knew how to make food taste wonderful and would not listen to your mother when she said to add this or do that. A little salt she might add, but she weren't going to use more flour or less butter when it came to her baking."
"From what Cook has told me," said Anne, "I can tell her when I wish her to change something about a sauce or the way some meat is cooked, but her baking must be the same all the time. I might ask her for a flavouring to be added or changed, but I can't ask for great changes, else I might end up eating biscuits that are as hard as rocks."
"Just so," said Mrs. Cosaint, "You are sensible to listen to your cook."
"I suppose I assume that I would not like her telling me how to decide my affairs, so I will not tell her how to decide hers."
"Very sensible, indeed," said Mrs. Cosaint, "Now you must rest, for your walk has certainly tired you. You cannot miss dinner tonight, for Mr. and Mrs. Collins are coming to dine."
"I nearly forgot," said Mrs. Fitzwilliam with a yawn.
"I will send your maid to wake you and bring you your tea when it is time to dress," said Mrs. Cosaint, as she made to leave the room.
"I thank you," said Mrs. Fitzwilliam, meaning more than words could express. How her life had improved in just the short time since her marriage. Never before would she have imagined walking such a distance or having such a companionable relationship with her staff. She did not fool herself into thinking that the servants considered her as a friend, but she liked to think that they liked her at least.
"Dearest?" came Richard's voice.
"Yes, Richard?" she replied.
"I mean to rest as well," said he, "might I lay with you?"
"Of course," said his wife, smiling softly at him. He took off everything but his shirt and breeches and joined her in her bed as he did every night. She settled herself into his arms and fell asleep.