The Longbourn family could never manage to do anything quietly—not even when the two young ladies of the household did their best to behave sensibly and calmly in all things—not so long as the lady of the house maintained such a habit of nervous attacks when she could not have her way, and of regarding every minor problem or annoyance as a disaster of the greatest proportion. And so their preparations to leave Longbourn for Pemberley, in the beginning of December, were conducted in a sort of ongoing uproar.
Mrs. Bennet packed and repacked her own trunks at least six times, and instructed everybody else to do the same, and despaired of the state of the roads (which were really very good, for that season), and alternated between begging Jane and Mr. Bingley to stay behind at Netherfield for the sake of Jane's condition, and begging them to come along, "for it should not be the same at Christmas without you there, and I could not bear to have you so far away, Jane—not when I must already give up seeing my little Lydia ever again in my life!"
(The Bingleys had already privately decided that they would indeed spend Christmastide at Pemberley, for Mrs. Bingley's confinement would not come for some months yet; and there was such fondness between the Darcy and Bingley households that they could not have borne to stay away, any more than Mrs. Bennet could have borne Christmas without them.)
It was so busy at Longbourn that Kitty took to visiting Lucas Lodge and Netherfield whenever she could. Even Mary gave up on practicing in the breakfast-room, for she could hardly manage to sit down at the pianoforte before Mrs. Bennet would descend upon her, demanding why she was not doing something more useful. In this way passed the days before their departure from Longbourn. It was a great relief to everybody when they were all at last seated in the carriage (one of Mr. Bingley's, which he had very kindly lent to them; he and his lady were to take another, and travel just behind) with home at their backs, and Pemberley ahead.
"I do hope our trunks are secured tightly enough," Mrs. Bennet fretted, peering anxiously out the window. "Perhaps I ought to stop the coachman, and have him tie them again."
"You shall do no such thing, cherished wife," Mr. Bennet replied mildly; "you have nothing to do now except sit and be still, for at last our journey has been taken out of your hands, and there are no more preparations or adjustments or commotions you can make."
"Well, Mr. Bennet," Mrs. Bennet sniffed, "if your trunk falls and breaks and all your things are strewn about the road and lost, on your head be it."
"I will bear the burden of responsibility very agreeably," her husband answered.
Mary and Kitty were silent. Mary had packed several books for the journey, into which she had already delved to avoid her parents' bickering; and Kitty was gazing absently out the window, her thoughts having wandered past Pemberley and onto Bath, where, in her mind, it was springtime already. (Even in the commotion, she had remembered to write to Mr. Finch with the direction for Pemberley, so that their correspondence could continue over the holiday.)
Despite its doubtful beginnings, the journey offered no more than the usual irritations of traveling in winter—the cold, and one or two icy patches just outside Eversholt, which made Mrs. Bennet moan and clutch at her husband's arm in fright. There were a few flurries of snow along the way, growing thicker as they traveled further north, but they were little inconvenienced, and passed two days upon the road in almost perfect comfort.
Nevertheless everybody was very glad to see the little high street of Lambton rise before them in the early afternoon of the second day. The two carriages rattled cheerfully on the cobblestones, and the villagers looked up with interest, for it was not often that fine carriages passed through the village, unless they bore the Darcy coat of arms. From Lambton it was only a short distance until they passed into the tall quiet woods surrounding Pemberley, broken every so often by glimpses of wide fields, green in summer but now white and glittering with snow. The road curved gently through the trees, crossing icy little streams and brooks, and now and then they startled a rabbit or a fox and, once, a large hart, who bounded away with great haste.
What joy it was, to come around a corner and at last see Pemberley standing nobly on its sloping lawn, with the pale green frozen lake spread out before! Mrs. Bennet let out a very contented sigh, for she never tired of seeing the evidence of her daughters' wealth—and while Netherfield was certainly impressive, it was nothing to Pemberley. "What a fine prospect," she declared happily, "the finest in England, I shouldn't wonder." Then she turned shrewdly to her younger child. "Would you not like to be married to a rich gentleman, Kitty, if he could provide for you such a house?"
Kitty smiled, but did not reply. In truth she could not imagine herself as the lady of such an estate; it seemed a great deal to manage.
"Let Kitty alone, my dear," Mr. Bennet said, "and Mary, for that matter—let them enjoy their Christmastide in peace, and once the New Year has come, you may pester them as much as you wish."
Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips and turned to look out the window again.
It was only a few more minutes before the carriages were drawing up before the grand doors. The Pemberley family was there to greet them, wreathed in smiles—that is, Elizabeth was wreathed in smiles, while Georgiana hung back a little, smiling rather more hesitantly, and Mr. Darcy stood beside his wife with something of a welcoming look to his stern features. Though he loved his wife beyond all doubt, Mr. Darcy had never entirely got over his apprehensions concerning her family; and as a gentleman who prized his peace, and that of his household, the prospect of a monthlong visit from the noisy Mrs. Bennet and two of her sillier daughters (for of course Mr. Darcy could not be expected to know of the changes which had been wrought in those young ladies since their last visit to Pemberley) did not fill him with much joy.
But he met them all as agreeably as could be expected, with many bows and even one or two smiles; and of course he embraced Mr. Bingley as a brother, while Jane and Elizabeth clasped each other very gladly, for it had been long since their last meeting. Kitty was happy to see Georgiana again, though she was rather disappointed that her friend only curtsied to her—it seemed as though all of the intimacy that had once been enjoyed, almost a year ago now, had again faded due to Miss Darcy's natural timidity.
"And where is dear little Sophia?" Mrs. Bennet cried, her voice carrying over the happy buzz of greetings and news. "Are we not to catch sight of her?"
"Sophia is sleeping, Mamma," Mrs. Darcy replied calmly, "and very glad we are of it."
Mrs. Bennet was a little disappointed not to find her grandchild waiting upon the doorstep; but she was a mother herself, and understood well enough the preciousness of a child's sleep—particularly when that child was in the habit of causing a great deal of trouble while awake, as more than one of her own had been. And so she conceded that little Sophia must not be disturbed.
It was too cold to stand outside talking for very much longer, and so they hurried indoors, leaving the servants to take down their trunks. The house had already been decorated for the season: strands of tinsel and ivy were twined about the balustrades, while fresh green pine boughs scented the air pleasantly. Sprigs of holly and mistletoe were nestled in every corner.
"I am sure you miss Robert Hart very much now," Kitty whispered teasingly to Mary, nodding at the mistletoe hung over one of the doorways. Mary glanced in that direction and flushed very red from her hair to her collar, fixing her sister with a scolding frown to cover her embarrassment.
"Do not be vulgar, Katherine," she hissed. Kitty only laughed, and looped her arm through her sister's. Elizabeth, glancing behind, witnessed this show of fondness with no small amount of surprise, but hid it with a smile.
"What lovely decorations, Lizzie," Jane commented, as they came into one of the many fine sitting-rooms. A cheerful fire and hot cider and cakes were awaiting the travelers.
"They are lovely; but I am afraid I cannot claim credit for them. They are all Georgiana's doing."
"Everything looks beautiful, Miss Darcy," Jane said gently. Miss Darcy blushed a little at this praise.
"Thank you, Mrs. Bingley," was her quiet response. "I have always enjoyed the Christmas season."
"And who does not?" Mrs. Bennet cried genially. "There is no finer season. There are hardly so many amusements, and causes for celebration, in all the rest of the year combined. For my part I should stay at home all the time if I could, but it is always so fine to see the young people enjoy themselves at parties and assemblies—do you not agree, Mr. Bennet? Are there to be any such amusements while we are here, Lizzie?" she asked, not awaiting her husband's response. "I am sure Kitty and Mary would much like to dance, and Miss Darcy as well. Would you not like to dance, girls?"
"Not particularly," Mary muttered very low, and Kitty grinned at her.
"Unless with one particular gentleman," she said even lower, and Mary glared at her, though there was not much real ire in it. She was too glad of her sister's good humor to be really much annoyed at her teasing.
"In fact," Mrs. Darcy said, smiling at the younger ladies, "Darcy and I had thought that we might give a ball of our own, this year. Would that agree with you, Kitty?
"Oh, to be sure," Kitty replied cheerfully, doubting very much that the scheme had been in any way Mr. Darcy's idea, "that would suit me very well, if it would suit everybody else."
Elizabeth was a little taken aback that her younger sister's words were delivered quite calmly, without any giggles or shrieks or squeals of delight.
"Are there a great many single gentlemen in the neighborhood?" Mrs. Bennet asked, all eagerness. "For as you know nothing came of our time in Bath—"
"Mrs. Bennet," her husband interjected warningly.
"I am sure there are enough single gentlemen to provide us partners for one evening," Kitty said, laughing, "and beyond that, Mamma, you need not be concerned."
"Kitty or Miss Darcy may lay claim to whichever gentleman is meant for me," Mary put in agreeably, "for as you know, I am not overly fond of dancing, nor am I very good at it."
"Nay, Miss Bennet," Mr. Bingley protested, smiling, "I will not allow you to be so hard upon yourself; you danced very well with me at the Watsons' ball in November."
"Well enough, perhaps, to stand up once," Mary allowed, "for I had more practice than I should have liked while we were in Bath."
"Did you attend a great many balls and parties?" Elizabeth asked. "I recall that such entertainments are quite abundant in that city."
"Indeed they are," Mrs. Bennet declared, happy to have a share in the conversation again; "we dined out every evening, and danced at least twice per week, and spent every other night in company; and Mary went to a great many concerts."
"Does it not sound exhausting, Lizzie?" Mr. Bennet asked wryly, raising an eyebrow at his favored child, who laughed; but at the same time, Georgiana turned to Mary with shining eyes and asked, "Oh, did you?"
"I was fortunate enough to be invited several times," Mary replied. "Dr. Hart and his family are most generous."
"I loved the concerts," Georgiana said; "it was my favorite part of our stay in Bath. What did you see performed?"
So began a lengthy conversation about music—perhaps the first true conversation ever held between Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy—which resulted in their both coming to know and like each other rather better, for until now they had never had much to do with each other. (Indeed, listening to Georgiana discuss Haydn and Boccherini, Mary had a feeling which reminded her of nothing so much as the moment when she had realized that, despite her pretty face and pleasant smiles, Rosamond Hart was no fool at all.)
Kitty was glad enough to forfeit her sister's company, for she was pleased to see Georgiana drawn out, and Mary smiling and talking agreeably; and she stood from the couch where they were all seated together and went over to sit by Jane and Lizzie and her mother, as the gentlemen gathered by the fireplace. Mrs. Bennet was still talking of their time in Bath, for despite its disappointments, it was a subject of which she could never tire. It was so amusing and fashionable, and her having been there spoke so well of her circumstances, after all.
"You and Mr. Bingley ought to go to Bath, Jane," she was saying, "as soon as ever you can—once the child comes, I mean. There really is no place in the world like it. I have never in my life seen so many fashionable people in one place! We were so well entertained, and could have amused ourselves there for years. And of course your sisters made so many friends—they still write back and forth to their friends in Bath, Lizzie, is not that wonderful?"
"Wonderful indeed," her daughter agreed, laughing, "that Kitty can sit still long enough to pen a full letter." There was no real malice in her words, and Kitty smiled.
"I am become a very fine correspondent, Lizzie," she replied, "and I daresay you would be very proud of me."
"Of course it is too bad that something more did not come from our time there," Mrs. Bennet went on, "you know of course what I mean—I truly thought we might expect something from Robert Hart (he is Dr. Hart's youngest son, I do not know if you are much acquainted with him, but he is a decent enough sort of gentleman), but of course that all ended in disappointment. And Kitty—"
But here she abruptly fell silent, and frowned darkly. The saga of Mr. Price could not but rouse her anger at that gentleman (and perhaps, in some small unrecognized way, at herself for encouraging Kitty to accept his advances—but this she would not have acknowledged, and certainly she had not learned much from the experience), and she did not like to speak of him, for she found the affair even more troubling than Mary's failure to secure Mr. Hart.
Kitty, too, felt the familiar little pang in her breast at her mother's hasty pause, and suddenly the afternoon seemed far less pleasant and cheerful.
"Well, at any rate," Mrs. Bennet said, "you must know that I am now looking to you, Lizzie, and to you, Jane, to help me find husbands for the girls. I am sure you have a great many rich men among your acquaintance. What of Colonel Fitzwilliam's elder brother, the earl," she said suddenly, struck by inspiration, "he is yet unmarried, is he not? When do the Fitzwilliams arrive? Is the whole family to join us at Pemberley?"
"In fact Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam will not arrive until almost the New Year," Elizabeth said, exchanging a look of some exasperation with her sister Jane, "for they traditionally spend Christmas at Hornsley House with the colonel's family. I do not think the earl's plans are yet quite settled."
"Then you must write to him, and tell him to come to Pemberley. I am sure he would like to see his cousin again, and to spend more time with his brother. And if there happens to be a pretty young lady in the question—"
"Nay, Mamma," Elizabeth said, with a tolerant smile, "you must spare me the indignity of begging a husband for my sister, and Kitty the indignity of being offered up like some prize."
"There is no indignity," Mrs. Bennet snapped, "it is nothing more than expanding our acquaintance, and what is the point in doing so if not to find husbands for your sisters? Or Kitty, at least," she added darkly. "No, Lizzie, I am determined that Kitty shall marry the earl. He is precisely the sort of husband I should want for her. Should you not be proud to see your sister made a countess?"
"I do not want to marry the earl, Mamma," Kitty broke in, "and anyway Mrs. Fitzwilliam seems to think that there is some other young lady in the case—someone in London. She told me so when we were in Bath."
"Are they engaged?" Mrs. Bennet demanded. At Kitty's shrug, she went on, "Then it does not matter. Let him come to Pemberley, my dears, and Kitty shall have him soon enough, I warrant."
"But I do not want him," Kitty repeated, though her mother was not listening.
"Why cannot they simply come to know one another as friends, and let love unfold if it may?" Jane asked hopefully. Elizabeth laughed.
"That will never do for Mamma, Jane—you must know that. Marriage is to come first, and love second, if at all. That the order was reversed in our cases was only fortunate coincidence."
"Oh Lizzie, you know that is not it," Mrs. Bennet said impatiently. "I only think Kitty ought to have the good sense to fall in love with somebody who is rich and noble, with a great many connections, and a town-house and a country house at least."
"We all ought to have such sense, to be sure," Elizabeth replied teasingly, "but unfortunately there is not much sense to be had when it comes to love and marriage—only, as our dear Charlotte once told me, a great deal of chance."
Kitty could attest well enough to there not being much sense in love, but she had nothing to say to the rest of her sister's statement; and anyway she did not feel much like talking just now, with the gloom of remembering Mr. Price settling upon her again. She began to wish that she had stayed by Mary and Georgiana.
But her eldest sisters soon soothed her spirits, by gently guiding their mother away from the present subject. Lizzie told several tales of Sophia's mischief (for though she was still but a very young child, she had her mother's spirit). News of Meryton was shared, and news of Bath and Derbyshire. Jane told them of the plans to install new wall-papers and new furnishings in the Netherfield nursery (which had not been used in many years, to be sure), and of all of the other adjustments which must be made in that household to prepare for the new arrival. She rested her hand upon her belly as she spoke, her cheeks pink with happiness; she had already grown significantly rounder, more so even than Mrs. Bennet had expected, in the past month or so.
In this way passed an agreeable hour, and Kitty began to feel her melancholy dissipate. How foolish it was, to sigh over Mr. Price and all the unpleasantness connected with him, when she was seated in a room with all her family about her, and only joy and amusement to look forward to in the days ahead! All the same, she could not help wishing her mother had not come so close to speaking of him. Until now, she had felt quite safe from his influence; but now it was as though his shadow stood in the room with them, smirking at her.
It was therefore something of a relief when Mrs. Bennet declared her nerves quite exhausted from the journey, and excused herself to rest for awhile before dinner. Jane, too, admitted herself a little tired, and went to her room. The party seemed to be breaking up, and Kitty was glad of the opportunity to stretch her legs; for two days of sitting in a carriage, followed by another hour of sitting in a drawing-room, did not entirely agree with a young lady of her lively and active temperament.
"Lizzie," she said, "is it all right if I explore a little? It is such a long time since I have been at Pemberley, and I should like to refresh my memory—and admire Miss Darcy's wonderful decorations," she added, for that young lady had come to stand beside her sister-in-law.
"Of course," Elizabeth answered. "I would walk with you, but I am afraid I must go see to Sophia; she should be waking soon."
"I do not mind," Kitty said. "Perhaps Mary may walk with me, at least as far as the music-room and the library, for," she added, with a little laugh, "those are the two places in which she shall surely make her home while we are here. Would you like to walk a bit, Mary?"
Mary agreed, for though she was by nature rather more sedentary than Kitty, the past days had left her eager for some exercise; and so the two young ladies set off through the house.
Mrs. Bennet was fond of declaring Pemberly "the finest house in the world," or at least the finest house in England. Of course it may be supposed that her estimation was significantly colored by the fact of its belonging to her own daughter; she certainly should not have cared half so much for the place if some other rich lady had been its mistress. In spite of this bias, however, it must be agreed that Pemberley was certainly a very fine house, finer even than Netherfield, or Lucas Lodge, or any of the other grander houses in which any of the Bennet family had ever spent time.
The room in which they dined that evening was very grand indeed, with arching ceilings and fluted columns, and half a dozen servants standing at attention by the elegantly papered walls. It was a merry party, both Jane and Mrs. Bennet revived by their afternoon's rest, and everything seemed warm and cheerful in the glow of the candlelight. The food had the taste of luxury after their two days of dining at roadside inns, and the wine was fine and rich. The geniality of the afternoon had expanded into the evening, and everybody was in their best spirits. Even Mr. Darcy smiled twice over the course of the meal, a sight which Kitty noted with great interest.
After they dined, the ladies repaired to the parlor (a different parlor than the one in which they had sat earlier, for Pemberley was full of fine sitting-rooms, as Mrs. Bennet delighted in pointing out) while the gentlemen went to smoke. Mrs. Darcy immediately invited Mary to play for them, which her sister did with obvious pleasure, and they enjoyed two songs before Mary relinquished her seat at the pianoforte.
"I think your playing has improved a great deal," Lizzie remarked, when Mary came to sit beside her. "Though of course it was always very good—certainly superior to mine, or any of our sisters', for you were the only one of us who ever took the trouble to practice. Yet it seems even better now than it was. Did you have the opportunity of practicing much while you were in Bath?"
"Indeed I did," Mary replied. "Rosamond Hart was very good in offering me the use of her instrument whenever I should want it, and I confess I probably indulged myself more often than she would have liked."
"Mary was at Hart House almost every day," Kitty reported, grinning, "and in the evenings she would go to concerts with them, and so she spent most of her days in some musical fashion or other."
"And you would think, Lizzie, would you not, that so much time spent in the company of Robert Hart might have some useful effect," Mrs. Bennet put in, her discontent obvious and her tongue loosened by the wine from the dinner-table, "but indeed it has not been so. Mary is no more engaged now than she was when we left Meryton, though she still seems to think she has some chance at catching him." She snorted, and Mary glanced away.
"Would you like to marry Mr. Hart, Mary?" Lizzie asked, looking curiously at her younger sister, for she had rather unkindly assumed that her mother's letters from Bath had been full of exaggeration, if not invention, where Mary's prospects were concerned.
"Mr. Hart and I parted on excellent terms," Mary said steadily, "and have maintained a friendly correspondence since I have been at home. If I were obliged to marry tomorrow, I should prefer to marry him; but I would rather not be obliged to marry just now."
"No indeed," Mrs. Bennet said, her tone full of scorn, "not until you see your friend wedded and made mistress of a very fine estate, and begin to envy her happiness. And by then it will be too late, Miss Mary, for you and Robert Hart will not have seen one another for many months, and his eye will have been caught by some other young lady who is not so foolish when it comes to securing him. No, my dear, you must give up entirely on Robert Hart."
"But if this marriage is meant to be," Jane interjected earnestly, "then indeed it shall. You must remember, Mamma, that Charles and I were separated for nearly a year, and I had long given up hope of ever seeing him again, when he returned to Meryton and asked for my hand."
Mrs. Bennet sighed, and patted her eldest daughter's hand fondly. "But you have the advantage of beauty, Jane, and so I never wondered at his coming back to Netherfield to marry you; but Mary is not so handsome as you are. And there is no shortage of beauties in Bath, and so I fear Robert Hart's memory of Mary shall soon be outshone."
Kitty's brow was furrowed angrily, and she said, "You do Mary a very great disservice, Mamma, and Jane too, in thinking that a gentleman can only fall in love with them if he thinks them handsome, as though there is nothing more to be offered than beauty; and you do Robert a very great disservice, in thinking him liable to be swayed by any pretty face. Mary would not like him half so well as she does if he were so shallow—would you, Mary?"
"Indeed I would not," Mary said quietly, but her face was burning. She had expected her mother to take her to task in front of her elder sisters, for after all discretion was never a strong suit of Mrs. Bennet's, but it was unpleasant all the same.
"Georgiana," Lizzie said, seeing her sister's discomfort, "will you not play us something? That pleasant air you were playing the other day, I think, might do nicely."
Under other circumstances, Miss Darcy might have balked at the request, for she was not accustomed to playing for such a large audience; but at this moment she gladly escaped to the safety of the pianoforte, so great was her awkwardness at having been caught in a family quarrel. As the song lifted into the air of the parlor, Mrs. Bennet was obliged to hold her tongue for a few minutes, though it took visible effort to do so.
The gentlemen came in while Georgiana was playing, and everybody applauded her very graciously, though she blushed at the attention. And then the nurse came in, holding little Sophia by the hand, and nobody thought any further of Mary and Robert Hart, or Kitty and Mr. Price, or any of the other pairings which had, in their own very different ways, brought Mrs. Bennet such displeasure.
Sophia Darcy had indeed grown a great deal over the past year, as children of that age are liable to do; she had been a chubby infant when last the Bennets had been at Pemberley, and now she was a chubby child of one, already a little tall for her age, her dark curls grown long and thick and her gray eyes large and fringed by very full lashes. Mrs. Bennet cooed delightedly over her grandchild, and eagerly declared that she would be the greatest beauty in England by the time she reached fifteen; and her parents, pride in all their looks, gently encouraged Sophia to go and kiss her aunts and her uncle, and her grandparents as well.
The child, though she was a Darcy in looks, seemed to be very much a Bennet in temperament: she had not the infant shyness so often possessed by very young children, and did not hide in her mother's skirts, but instead smiled and laughed and clapped her hands and named all of the objects in the room whose names she could pronounce, and, at her mother's coaxing, imitated the sounds of a kitty and a doggy and a horsey; and once she even curtsied, to the great delight of everybody present, though the effort caused her to overbalance and sit down rather hard upon the carpet. She was a sweet babe, clever and bright, with a spark in her gray eyes that reminded Kitty very much of Lizzie. (More than once, as little Sophia held the attention of the room, Kitty caught sight of Jane watching with a soft smile, her hands resting gently on the curve of her belly.)
But at length the hour arrived when the very youngest Miss Darcy must be taken up to bed; and Mrs. Bingley, despite the rest she had enjoyed that afternoon, began yawning apologetically. The hour was not so very late, but the weariness of travel began to set upon the Meryton party, and so it was not much longer before the company broke up and went to their separate rooms.
The bedroom in which Mary had been established was very pretty, with roses twining elegantly up the papered walls and around the border of the expensive carpet. The pattern made her think of Rosamond, which made her think of Robert, which made her feel again the embarrassment of hearing her mother discourse upon her failure to secure an engagement. But she sternly banished this last from her mind. It would not do, she told herself, for her thoughts of Robert to become mixed up with her mother's disappointed expectations; she must endeavor to think of him only as himself, or else she would never be able to read her feelings when the time came for her to do so.
A knock upon the door pulled Mary from her thoughts, and at her call, it opened and Kitty's head poked through the frame. "I hoped you would not be abed yet," Kitty said, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. She still wore her day-dress, though the back had been unlaced.
"Not at all; in fact I had thought to sit by the fire for awhile," Mary replied. Kitty grinned.
"With Emma Courtney, no doubt; but I am sorry, Mary, I must disturb you for a little while, for I do not feel I can sleep just yet." She curled comfortably into one of the chairs that stood before the hearth, and Mary took the other. "Has this not been a most agreeable day?"
"Very agreeable."
"I am glad not to be in the carriage any longer; I felt I should go mad if I were obliged to sit still for another full day. Lizzie and Mr. Darcy seem very happy, do they not?"
"They always seem happy," Mary agreed, "and so I truly think them. Both of our elder sisters were fortunate in making good matches."
"That is the sort of fortune I should hope for, if ever I were to marry. I do not think I entirely realized, before, how permanent a thing marriage is. A gentleman may be handsome now, but he may not always be so; nor may he always be rich; yet if he is a good gentleman, he shall always be good."
"Or at least there is a higher likelihood of his remaining good than rich or handsome," Mary affirmed.
Her sister, leaning on the arm of the chair, rested her cheek upon her hand. "I am sure Robert will always be good," she offered, and Mary smiled. "Do you miss him, Mary?—Nay, don't answer," she said, "I already know that you do. Indeed I do too. I was thinking, tonight, that the only thing which should make our party more merry, was if the Harts and the Fitzwilliams and the Finches might be here with us."
"That would make it a large party indeed, but certainly very pleasant."
"And then Mamma would not be able to pester you so," Kitty added, "about how you and Robert are not yet properly engaged." She sighed. "But she would still pester me, unless Colonel Fitzwilliam's brother happened to make up one of the party."
"And even if he did," Mary agreed, "I am certain she should make the argument that you were not trying hard enough to make him fall in love with you. We must admit to ourselves, Katherine, that our mother shall never be happy until we are both safely married."
Kitty snorted. "Nay, I daresay she shall not even be happy then. For it is likely that we will live too far away from Meryton for her comfort, or our husbands will not be as rich as their brothers-in-law, or we will not have children soon enough to please her. Or some other such thing. No, Mary, it is in Mamma's nature to fret—but though I am well aware of it, it does not make it any easier to bear."
This reflected the turn which Mary's thoughts had begun to take before Kitty had come in, and she started to say so; but at that moment there came another, softer knock upon the door, and at Mary's answer, Miss Darcy opened it and looked through.
"Oh," she said, blushing a little, "forgive me, Miss Bennet, Miss Kitty. I did not mean to disturb you; I only wished to ask if there was anything else which might be done for your comfort."
"Nothing at all," Kitty said expansively, throwing out a welcoming arm, "except for you to come in and sit with us awhile, if you have no more pressing duties."
Georgiana's blush did not fade, but she stepped tentatively into the room, and came to sit upon the little couch that stood at the foot of the bed, facing the fireplace. Kitty smiled at her.
"Mary and I have fallen into the habit of talking for a little while before bed each night," she said. "It came about because we were obliged to share a room in Bath, which at first we both found exceedingly annoying, but then it was rather pleasant."
"It must have been very pleasant," Georgiana agreed.
"And now we have become the very image of sisterly intimacy," Kitty went on, laughing, "though we seldom agree on anything."
"I always wished that I had a sister," Miss Darcy said, and then bit her lip. "That is—I mean—Fitzwilliam was always very attentive, and he quite dotes upon me. I could not wish for a better brother. But, well, he is so much older than I, and I do not think that having a brother is quite like having a sister."
"I could not say," Kitty said, "for I have no brother. Perhaps if I did, Mamma would not have such reason to resent our cousins the Collinses. But you need not fear, for you have plenty of sisters now; your brother has kindly provided you with a whole family of them." She laughed, and Miss Darcy smiled.
"That is very kind of you, Miss Kitty."
"Nay, that will not do; it has troubled me all day. You called me Kitty when I was here last, and I would have you do so now."
Georgiana blushed. "Thank you, Kitty. I did not wish to presume—"
Kitty waved a dismissive hand. "That does not matter; there is no such thing as presumption between family. At least, not between family who are fond of one another. And that is Mary," she added, indicating her sister, "not Miss Bennet, as you seem to think. Not even Robert Hart calls her Miss Bennet. They are secretly engaged, you know."
Georgiana's eyes went wide, and Mary lifted a sardonic eyebrow at her sister. "It is not an engagement, nor shall it be a secret much longer, if you insist upon telling everybody."
"Georgiana isn't everybody; she is family, as we only just established. And I thought I should tell her so that she could laugh at Mamma with us. Mamma thinks Mary and Robert will never marry," she said, in a confidential tone, "and so we think it will be a very fine joke when they announce their engagement, whenever they decide to do so."
"In fact our mother has been made aware of the standing of my relationship with Robert Hart," Mary corrected her, rather stiffly. "She simply refuses to believe it."
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Mamma thinks Robert shall jilt Mary for some other young lady," she said, "as I am sure you heard. But Mamma does not know Robert half so well as I do, and she is quite mistaken. He is too good a gentleman to do such a thing, and I am convinced that he loves Mary very much. Look at her blush!" she said, happily, as Mary did just that. "But that is enough of Robert Hart; are you in love with anybody, Georgiana?"
"I confess I am not."
"No indeed? There is no handsome country squire in the neighborhood who has stolen your heart?"
The young lady flushed, but shook her head.
"Well," Kitty said, decidedly, "you are of the age where you ought to be falling in love, and so we will have to find somebody suitable."
A hint of alarm crept into Georgiana's dark eyes, but neither of the Bennets noticed it, for Mary was saying, "You and Georgiana are of the same age, Kitty."
"Yes, but I have given up on love; you know that, Mary. And now you have found your suitor, so I must direct my efforts elsewhere. Do not worry," she said to Georgiana, "I am excellent at making matches for other people. I knew that Mary loved Robert even before she did."
Mary rolled her eyes. "Let us talk of something else, Kitty, or Georgiana shall think us very silly indeed."
"Very well," Kitty said, obligingly, "let us talk of little Sophia. You must tell us all about her, Georgiana, and how she has grown, and how sweet and clever she is, and so on. It is your duty as an aunt to speak, and our duty as aunts to listen."
Georgiana smiled, and accommodated Kitty's request. They spoke for another half-hour about their dear little niece, until at length Mary began to drowse against the back of her chair, and Kitty, with a fond look at her sister, declared that they must all go to bed or they should be no good in the morning.
Kitty's last thought, as she laid her head upon the downy pillow, was the unexpected realization Mr. Finch might do very well for Georgiana; and though the idea had a faint glow of inspiration, she found that it did not please her as much as it should. She closed her eyes to visions of Oliver Finch escorting Georgiana Darcy upon his arm, which swiftly turned to visions of herself escorted by Mr. Price; and then it was only Mr. Price, and he was smirking at her, his face twisted unpleasantly as it had been on that last morning in the drawing-room at Henry Street.
Her eyes flew open, and she turned onto her side, directing her gaze out the window. It had begun to snow, and the sight of the large flakes floating gently down to earth soothed her. She closed her eyes once more, and before long fell into a grateful sleep.
Mary's last thought, as she sank comfortably into the soft mattress, was how pretty the snow looked as it drifted past her window. She had not even realized that it was snowing.