To Caraea90: My last update, you saved me, thank you! I did not realize that discrepancy, and shortly after your review, I went back and corrected it. Jane has had only one child so far, Davy. Sorry for the confusion. There's a lot of multi-tasking going on and not enough coffee on this side of the screen.

To an unnamed Guest: Yes, in this section, more back to science and better health standards for sure. Given the high mortality rates for mothers and babies at that time, it's sad so little medical knowledge or access to better options were unavailable.

To kingsfoil, KurukiXV, liysyl, r1965rd: I'm glad you're enjoying it too. I cannot say that scene has been entirely written in my head yet. That scene that Caroline really needs to have... At the same time, while I love the back and forth between her and Kitty, I'm trying to be careful not to overdo it. Bickering is annoying in real life. Too much in a story annoys a reader. Hope to keep that balance.

Chapter 8

It was a fair, cloudless Tuesday when Jane's order of orange trees arrived. Three over-sized carts, filled and rattling with healthy foliage, stopped in the drive. Once the family was alerted, Charles called and gathered the family to come observe, inspect. Right on time, while they greeted the couriers, all of Andreozzi's crew arrived from around the back of the house. Pleasantries exchanged, the very bare minimum of English greetings, they all set about unloading the cargo. The younger men jumped on the cart to pass them down to older men and the women. Unfortunately, as both Mr. and Mrs. Bingley had a previous engagement, they would unhappily not be part of today's activity. Jane had committed herself to a visit of all the tenants, if possible, with little Davy. Charles and Mr. Levingford were off to the village on another errand that would keep him over half the day.

"What will you do with yourself today, Caroline?" asked her brother. "Perhaps if we can't enjoy it, you might enjoy—"

"I beg your pardon!"

"I thought you might enjoy the orange trees."

"Like I know a thing about grounds-keeping. There's no need, Charles," she sniffed. "The workers will do it. They don't need any of our help."

"Of course. They don't need help, but for your health and leisure."

"Health? Do you suppose me an invalid? I'm in excellent health." Now very irritated, the woman turned back into the house, leaving her family blushing. How fortunate that the majority of the workmen knew little English, except for Andreozzi. "If I have to labour on the grounds, then what was the purpose of hiring labourers?"

"If it's so offensive to you, then I'll retract my suggestion." Jane and Kitty stole a nervous glance, hearing the slight shift of tone. Before any time lapsed, Jane looped her arm through Kitty's, and both began to retreat up the stairs. Brother and sister were out of sight, but by design of the staircase and the house, their voices were not so discreet as either would've liked. "As a matter of fact, I've changed my mind," resumed Charles. "I ask that you stay out of the way of our 'labourers.' If you're going to take that attitude—"

"You presume to scold—"

"Yes, I do! If you're going to take that attitude, then I will not risk exposing our contracted workers to insults."

"I couldn't possibly insult foreigners who do not speak English."

"Signore Andreozzi speaks fluently. Even those of his family that don't speak it, will not be blind to the haughty countenance."

"I'll not stay and be insulted!"

"Just like Louisa insulted you?"

Neither sister could move fast enough. Although Kitty was not so eager as Jane to escape the quarrel between siblings down below. When the lag was felt, Jane gave a tug to reprove her unnecessary curiosity. "Kitty, it's none of our business," she whispered.

"Where are you going?" Charles called out. Caroline began to ascend the staircase herself.

"I'm going riding!"

Upon reaching the safety of the nursery, Jane bid good morning to Davy's nurse, who had just finished giving her charge his breakfast. His face was still smeared with it, but behind the mess lay a smile as glowing as the day outside.

"Did you eat it all? What a good boy!" declared Jane, kissing his forehead. "Will you fetch me a cloth?"

"Oh ma'am, I can do that."

"If you'll do that and pick out his clothes, I'll clean him up. And then, we're going to go walking and visit the tenants. They'll be most glad to see you, Davy. Mrs. Simmons has a little boy just your age. You'll get to play together."

"I'm sure he doesn't understand a word, Jane," chuckled Kitty.

"What does it matter? He doesn't understand yet, but children know feelings. If I'm excited, it will get him excited to go. And it works the other way, too. When he's happy, he makes me very happy."

"True."

"I'm sorry for that earlier. Please, don't mind what you saw, Kitty."

"Why should I mind it? I think Charles was perfectly right—"

"It's none of our business," she reminded, gently but more firm. The nurse handed Jane the damp cloth. Davy seemed to volunteer his hands, welcoming the cleansing ministrations. "As I've told you before, Caroline has been out of humour for some time."

"To say the least," retorted Kitty. "That is no excuse for her to behave so rudely. What did Charles mean about Louisa?"

"…That's why Caroline is staying with us," she sighed. "As I've told you already, she does not have many friends. They've had a bad quarrel and falling out recently, and Caroline will not respond to any of her sister's letters."

"Why? What did they quarrel about?"

"I don't know, really. And I do not wish to know. It's best I don't know either. If it would help, I'd gladly have the Hursts come visit soon so that they may reconcile. But neither Charles or myself can force it."

"Forgive me, Jane, but refusing to make amends with one's own sister… Why, look at Lydia and myself. How often did we quarrel through the years? And yet, we can still speak and write to each other."

"That is commendable, Kitty, but not everyone has the same circumstances, disposition, and temper. Now, let's drop the subject, please. There! All clean! Are you ready, Davy?"

"… Jane, I know I was to accompany you while visiting the tenants, but would it be very rude to beg off? I'd… I'd like to go down and see to the orange trees."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's a beautiful day, after all."

"I'm glad to hear it, Kitty. Of course, you may stay! Just be sure you dress for it."

"Right. I'll dress my shabbiest."

Witnessing a part of the scene downstairs put Kitty in a mind, to do and be everything the opposite of a woman who could elicit no respect from anyone, not even her own family. It could be a hundred possibilities, what exactly puts Miss Bingley in such a bad temper. Perhaps it was too much time spent in solitary pursuits. Perhaps it was confining herself to the study of accomplishments. Although Mary could be very much the same in her pursuits and interests, lofty though they may be, did not warp her character. Perhaps it was disappointment, on top of boredom. For that, Kitty could understand. These last couple years, she had suffered those two in combination.

It did give her some pangs, in her next diary entry, reflecting on her own disposition and conduct these last couple years. Of course, she had good reason to be upset, initially, but the pangs of guilt came from the realization that she made no effort, no contribution. Jane and Lizzy had been very kind. Over time, Mary treated her with much more sympathetic than expected. Even her mother and father observed her alterations, to the point that her mother was changing orders with the cook, to "make Kitty's favourite dish." Mr. Bennet, before sending her off with Jane, slipped an additional ten pounds into hand. "Buy some pretty ribbons or go extravagant on a gown, if you so choose," he told her. Was it so serious as that?

Some time ago, all such attention or considerations would've been gratifying. Why did she not feel it? Surrounded by family that cared, and yet, she preferred to mope about, feed discontentment with sighs and pining for old days, remembering days of childhood with Lydia, remembering the young men they danced with and the balls and the parties, until life was never the same. And so, with such tendencies to sulk and reminisce, she had self-imposed and extended her gloom of spirits. In her diary, she came to reproach herself with writing: "I am no different than Caroline Bingley!" For she snubbed the orange tree and physical labour like Kitty felt distaste for riding and drawing. That previous conversation with Signore Andreozzi rose unbidden. His manner could have been gentler, and the apology might have been more palatable with a greater sense of humility. Yet, he did apologize, accepting his share of fault. In return, she couldn't help but try to raise her own dignity, by using that disdainful line she'd read in novels and heard in real life. You forget your place. She sighed to think, wonder how many times Caroline Bingley had used those words in her own life. Well, the time was come to change all that.

Donning a rather worn and faded frock, along with a string-less straw bonnet, Kitty skipped down the stairs and found her way to the terrace. Just beyond where the pavement ended and the grass grew, dozens and dozens of empty pots were being walked over from the direction of the stables. It was forgotten that earlier in the week, other supplies had arrived. Nothing ornate, just simple clay pots with a decorative handle for the workers to carry them easily. All the trees had been gathered and were nearly ready for transplanting.

"Good morning, signorina!"

"Good morning, signore!" Andreozzi approached and offered a slight bow. Though he wasn't smiling, he didn't appear so curt, nor so dirty. Perhaps, having done with their work at the falls, maybe his temper had mended.

"What brings you here today? Are you come to watch?"

"More than that," piped Kitty. "I've come to help."

"You what?"

"Yes! Why not?"

"Well… How shall I put this… Thank you, but no."

This time, she was not put off. "What do you mean no? I have permission from my sister and her husband to aid in the planting of the trees."

With a smirk and shaken head: "I object."

"On what grounds? Are they not your employers? If they do not object—"

"I do not object to their orders, but I object to your involvement. Signorina, this is hard physical labour."

"Oh, don't tell me this is man's work. I see your womenfolk here, and they're lifting heavy loads, no different than your men."

"True. But have a look at our womenfolk. Not to be indelicate, but our women in the family don't just sit in the parlour all day."

"I daresay… But now, what about her? She's about the same size as me, a slight figure, and she's carrying the pots just like the rest of you. What's her name?"

"Why? She won't understand you."

"What's her name?"

"That is my little sister, Ilaria."

"If your sister Ilaria is plenty capable, why—"

"My objection comes with good reason, signorina. You don't do physical labour. Throwing yourself into this kind of work, unfit for it, you're liable to injure yourself. And my second reason, we came a long way from home to work for a good wage. You're not going to take away our wages."

"...Well, if you're so concerned about your wages, perhaps you'll be interested in a wager."

An interesting thing happened as Kitty spoke the words in the hearing of Andreozzi and company. All had been busy working, but some of the men, young and old, paused as they heard the word wager. They turned to look at her, then at their foreman. In so doing, Kitty suddenly discerned that, while by no means conversational speakers, some of them obviously understood a little English. Their expressions turned oddly amused, with mutterings of Italian between each other.

"What wager? I don't play games."

Some of the women now looked at them now with involved curiosity. One of the young men, the one she recognized as his younger brother, made some inquiry to Signore Andreozzi. For though lacking comprehension, she sensed the men were pressuring him to pursue the wager.

"Sounds as though your cousins and brothers are rather curious if you'll take the bet," teased Kitty.

"Do young ladies of your station normally engage in betting?"

"Leave our stations out of it. I'm not talking about high stakes in a game of cards, Signore Andreozzi. I'm just offering you a chance to make a little extra money. Five shillings. That's not a very risky bet, is it?"

To her great surprise, the younger sister, Ilaria, a very pretty girl who could not have been but a year or two older than Kitty, tried out her scarce vocabulary. "What bet? Tell, please," she urged.

"Very well. I say, Signore Andreozzi, that given the chance, I can plant more trees faster than you."

"… Say that again."

"Why? I think you understood me right. I can plant more trees faster than you!"

Several of the young men, and their wives with them, gawked and chuckled rather diverted. Little Ilaria, to her brother, ascertained from his translation what she could not understand, but when she had the translation from him, suddenly, Kitty had herself an ally. Her apron was already dirty, with some strands of long, dark hair beginning to come undone from his chignon and kerchief. The young woman dropped her current load to the ground, approached Kitty, and looped her arm through hers. She smiled widely at Kitty, but to her brother, smiled with cat-like eyes.

"Say yes, signorina. We beat you! No?" challenged his sister. Now, this provoked excitement in all, regardless of language. An incredulous laugh racked her brother's rib cage, but with raised eyebrows, shaking head, and side glances at his family, she sensed him caving to the pressure.

"Well, signore, what do you say?" teased Kitty.

"I see. You turn my family against me? Use my sister to match against your odds?"

"I did no such thing. She seems more than willing."

"No listen to him," said Ilaria, tugging at her arm. "We beat him."

"Certainly!"

"Alright then! I accept your bet!" cried Signore Andreozzi. Any previous irritation or amusement was replaced with a spirited countenance roused by competition, more so than any wager. He pulled a small pouch from pocket, and rattled the coins inside. "If you both beat me, ten shillings! Now, the first of us to get ten trees transplanted into their pots, the winner!"

"Agreed!"

"Vince chi per primo pianta dieci alberi nei vasi!"

"You'll observe, Miss Bennet. All the trees are wrapped in canvas. You'll need a blade to cut through the canvas. You must remove the trees from their wrapping, put them in, and they must be filled in with dirt. You'll observe the wheel-barrel."

"I do."

"You're going to need a knife and shovel."

Another woman, of more matronly age, came to the competitors, handing them knives and a shovel. Another woman approached Kitty to offer gardening gloves. The men formed two lines of ten each, the tree in canvas and the empty pots, to each row. And a wheel-barrel to each side. Kitty was led the way by her ally, who kept the shovel while handing Kitty the knife. It would've been preferable the other way around, but already, the idea of a contest against arrogance, made her too bold and rash to be daunted by their disadvantage.

"I have tree. You cut," directed Ilaria.

Each side took their place. Signore's younger brother counted up: "Uno... due... tre!"

Fortunately, Miss Bingley had already mounted her mare and set off to some distant, opposite part of the estate, unable to hear the noise of the Italian crew cheering on each opponent. Most of the men cheered their foreman, while some of the younger ones, as well as all the women cheered for Miss Bennet and their Ilaria. At first, the women proved a little slow and ungainly, thanks in part to Kitty's fumbling. However, when it came to the canvas, she quickly learned the trick. As soon as she made enough of a snag at the top, she wrenched downwards and slit open the canvas. By the time she was on their second tree, Kitty's skirt was already fully bathed in soil and black dust. They seemed destined to fall behind, despite their best efforts. By himself, Signore Andreozzi slit his canvas wrappings without trouble. He'd set down the opened tree, then start shoveling some dirt, little by little. His progress, even though methodical, was so adept that he was progressing to the third tree as they finished up their first.

Suddenly, Kitty stopped Ilaria as she reached for the shovel.

"No?"

"Not yet," Kitty begged. "Let's do all the trees first. Follow me."

Though confused, Ilaria moved with her partner onto the second tree. Kitty proceeded to slice through the second canvas wrapping. They set down the tree in the empty pot, then proceeded to the third, then the fourth, and fifth. The women about them were growing louder and more feverish in their cheering. Together, they got through all ten trees, then Kitty, grabbing Ilaria's hand, rushed back to the first tree to finish up the filling of soil. Signore, their opponent, was almost finished with the fifth tree, including the potting of it.

"Hurry! Hurry!" cried Kitty.

"Più veloce, più veloce!" yelled the women.

"We're catching up, Ilaria!" "No talk! No talk!"

Ilaria did the shoveling, while Kitty held the tree in its place. That also required holding it up to get dirt beneath it, otherwise the tree would be transplanted properly. This tactic, which her Italian partner quickly picked up on, paid off. Their progress accelerated. The cheers grew more frantic, and even the tide of the crowd's pleasure was turning toward la signora and signorina. Kitty's cheeks glowed and dared not look up or look across at their opponent. She dared not, not yet. Each round of potting took about two to three minutes. Ilaria, rather adept at the shovel and the handling of dirt, was rather impressive in a race. They completed their eighth… nineth… and at last, their final tree!

Both women screamed for joy, as Ilaria raised her shovel victoriously! They were thronged and hemmed in by the proud, bouncing matrons, sisters and sisters-in-law, cousins, and admiring young men from behind the women. The applause unanimous. Kitty laughed heartily, as she and signora joined hands, raised above their heads.

"Vittoria!" sang Ilaria.

"Vittoria!" seconded Kitty.

Only then did both look over, finding Signore Andreozzi stumped and beaten, working on the ninth tree. He leaned upon his shovel, shook his head, unable to resist laughter himself; for perhaps if he'd had an assistant as well, he might've easily beaten them. But a competitor's spirit was just as admirable as one's technical performance.

"My congratulations, sister and signorina," he testified, with a flourishing, conceding bow. The hat even came off. The money pouch was withdrawn from pocket, but it hovered. "However, I must also make remark upon your precision. On that, I think you ought to loose points."

True, a couple trees had been potted somewhat crooked and needed fixing.

"No, no! We win!" bragged his sister. "You pay her!"

"Of course, of course; I'm just stating that if this contest also included accuracy, your victory is wanting."

"Too bad you didn't state your condition before commencing," retorted Kitty.

"Very true. For that, ten shillings," he said, overturning his money pouch into Kitty's open palm.

"Of course, I cannot take credit for all of it. Here, Signora Ilaria, take five."

"No signorina—"

"You must! Five for you, and five for me."

"Fair enough, isn't she, Ilaria? Alright, tutti, torniamo al lavoro!" hailed signore in command. The family slowly dispersed back to their original duty. Ilaria returned to her own pot, with a tap on Kitty's shoulder and broad smile. "Alright, are you satisfied now?" he asked.

"Well, yes, but I believe you'll agree that I've proven my point. I am perfectly capable of handling my own just as well as the rest of you."

"You want to work then? Fine," he replied, smirking. "Well, more trees and pots over there. Get to it! Just don't pick up any of the pots. They're too heavy for you."

Still armed with knife, and bending down for a spare shovel, Kitty faced him with a cheeky smile and wiped her now perspiring forehead. It did no good, though, as it accidentally smeared a streak of dirt above her brow.

"I'll be the judge of that, signore."

"You'll do as I say!"

With a little growl to her voice, she retorted in return: "Ortiche!"

This rejoinder caused an older woman in the distance, standing nearer by Andreozzi, to wheeze and cackle hysterically. That woman smacked him on the arm, muttered something unknown, and went about her way laughing. Based on the age and the shape of her face and nose, Kitty guessed the lady must either be a mother or aunt. For all that morning and into the afternoon, Andreozzi was not to live down his defeat, and the Italian families, who had taken so prejudiced and decided a dislike for her in the beginning, had now accepted her presence. They transplanted, potted, and bustled about; upon the time the trees were ready for movement and placement, Andreozzi consulted his sketched plans. The men picked up the pots single-handed, while all the ladies doubled up to take a pot together. Ilaria paired herself with Kitty once more.

Every pot was moved closer to the house, into the section where the old hedgerows were still struggling. All listened and took direction from their foreman as to the exact placement and patterning of each potted orange tree. It all seemed arbitrary at first, until Signore Andreozzi bid Kitty to follow him. They walked up to the terrace together, then he pointed her to look down on it. Jane's original pattern came to life, almost identical in imitation to the sketches of her botany books. It was a marvel, and Kitty saw the garden slowly forming in her mind's eye.

"How marvelous!"

"Marvelous?" he chirped. "Why? It's nowhere near complete."

"But I can see it now. What is next to be done?"

"Well, these hedges are badly in need of trimming, and half the crew are going to start tomorrow erecting perimeter walls. We already have the granite slabs."

"Very good."

"Very good? What do you mean? You're going to be out here tomorrow?"

"Why yes."

"Ha!" spouted Andreozzi.

"Ha?"

"Yes, ha! You're going to be very sore and sluggish tomorrow, I guarantee. You worked hard today, but I can see you've already overtaxed yourself."

"So I have, but…" Unwilling to be honest but incapable of denying it, a deep sigh left her, and her body suddenly drained of energy. "But I want to do more. I like it!"

"You did have amusement, I daresay. Although, I don't know how the mistress of the house would feel about her sister engaging in wild bets with her contractors."

"Oh please, don't tell her. It was only this once, and only because you are so salty."

"Very well. I shall make no mention of it, this time. Contests with my superiors is not how I conduct business. So let's not make a habit of repeating that exhibition of earlier today."

"I'd say that's fair," agreed Kitty.

"Tomorrow then. If you're still willing and your limbs are still attached when you wake in the morning, I'll let you help us trim the hedgerows."

"Agreed then. Well, I believe I must bid you all good afternoon. Give my regards to your sister, and please tell her that I find her skills very impressive, and she made a great partner in the race."

"Ah, before you go in the house," he urged, stopping her, "here." His handkerchief, a plain and clean linen was held up to her, still folded. "Might do good to wipe your face. You look a wild thing with your face all smeared. And remember to drink plenty water. No spirits tonight, or you'll be ill."

Kitty giggled, accepted it, and proceeded to take his advice. "I almost don't wish to be tidy," she confessed. "I'd relish to see Miss Bingley's face when I parade on in. She's already bound to make plenty comment on my frock."

"I bid you good day, signorina."

Up until that day, Kitty had written little in her diary, with regards her acquaintance with the Italian family. Except for the nearly fatal incident at the waterfall, no details had been recorded. Now, that they all had risen in significance, Kitty went back in time to record the history she had skimmed past in previous entries. "Signore Andreozzi. I never met a more quarrelsome man in my life, with a touch of eccentricity. If one criticizes his work, he takes the opinion as a great affront, and he will not rest until he's proven otherwise; as was the case, when he led me to see the cavern under the falls. Dedicated, hard-working, that I will grant him. All his family, really, are such hard-working people. But what vanity! He must be as old as thirty. I've seen him as dirty and snappish as any farmer, and as stylish, groomed, and with manners on the level of Mr. Darcy himself. Quite the conundrum!"

Upon Kitty's return indoors, all her expectations were met in Miss Bingley, whom she encountered along with Charles on the staircase, looking down with mouth agape. Why so much dirt, and how she could walk into the house in so unbecoming a state? The maid should've been summoned while Kitty waited at the door, to quickly bathe her features and remove her dusty shoes. Charles was ready to stand in his sister-in-law's defense. But, perfectly indifferent to her censure, Kitty made a little bow and smile to her.

"I'm sorry you could not join me, Miss Bingley. The orange trees were simply enjoyable!" And without further need of explanation: "And now, pray, excuse me. I'm rather tired, and I must put my appearance to rights before dinner. And if I make haste, I shall have time to lay down awhile."

Mrs. Montgomery offered to bring her fresh water and basin straight away, as well as tea. It was immediately welcomed. She spent a good thirty minutes behind the changing screen, stripped of all her soiled clothes, and scrubbing vigorously all the dirt between her face, arms, and especially her feet. The dust she poured out the window, from her shoes, might've filled a single tree pot. With the remaining water, she also gathered a spare bar of soap and scrubbed her hair through, relieving her head of the dampness created by the confinement of the bonnet. Though an old straw bonnet, one that didn't matter, it didn't prove very cool and breathable when she was shoveling, lifting, cutting, and digging along with the rest. It was settled on her next trip into the village with Jane, she'll do her best to procure something more fitted for the task from the local milliner.

Fresh and washed, her hair limp and wet, ready to collapse into bed, Mrs. Montgomery's knock startled her; the good older lady had returned with the tea tray.

"My, my, you look quite done in, miss," she remarked.

"Thank you but do not concern yourself," yawned Kitty. "That was quite a refreshing adventure!"

"I've brought tea, and some extra water in the pitcher, you'll see. I'm sorry we haven't any ice. Mr. Levingford has already had the workmen repair the ice house, but we haven't had the chance to replenish our stores yet."

"It's no trouble really."

"Shall I draw the curtains?"

"Please."

Kitty had already slipped her dressing gown off, and slid below covers and sheets. Though barely four o'clock in the afternoon, exhaustion was stronger than appetite, and she wished it were much later, when sleep was naturally expected. The housekeeper seemed to startle suddenly herself, just as she drew the curtains closed. The room now fairly dimmed. "I almost forgot! Pardon me, but you had a letter in the post today." It was plucked from her apron pocket.

"Oh, thank you!" Nothing else was wanted. The housekeeper left.

As expected, but much sooner than expected, was a letter from Lydia. Before she would allow herself any rest, Kitty broke the seal.

Dearest Sister,

I hope you are well. Wickham and I so enjoyed getting your last letter. Something to keep me warm by the fire at night, and your sweet voice and your news to fill our quiet hours. Granted, now, there are so few of those here. Lord, I am so tired more than half the time. It's so hard to get the girls put to bed, and stay in bed the whole night. I do my best. I've tried to get our maid to do the job. She should be doing so, but she refuses to see to Dora after she claims to have been bitten on the arm. I think she exaggerates, but I had to relent, as she was so near to quitting her post. We've already had two maids leave, and I cannot afford to lose another.

It was such a hard winter, especially when Dora caught that bad fever. I so feared we'd lose her, but she's perfectly recovered since then. I do say it was her own fault, for running out into the snow without shoes! Of course, I could not believe it when I returned home and saw it all, and Wickham had not an idea about it. He let her play outside, but did not see that she put on all her clothes to go out. I'd have been vexed with him myself, but Wickham was not doing well at the time either. He caught a little something, not so bad, but he's been rather tired awhile. And Colonel Woodworth is neither very understanding or agreeable about it.

Matilda is doing well, ever growing. Wickham just adores her! And she is the sweetest girl of the town. I daresay, she'll be a darling and a belle when she's come of age. Perhaps she or Dora will make a match with one of their cousins. Wouldn't that be a fine joke, if that exact thing were to happen! I do wish you'd come and visit us, Kitty. You've been to Pemberley how many times? You've been to see Jane and Mr. Bingley's new estate. Next time, you must come to Newcastle. I shall write to Papa and demand he stop being so cruel by denying you permission.

For I'm monstrous glad you are having a pleasant time in Nottinghamshire. I like to hear your description of the Grove House. What a rich house. It makes Netherfield Park seem like nothing now. I'm so happy for Jane, having made such a fine match. She's handsomely provided for, and so will her children be. I am glad—Lord, if it were me staying there, I think I'd be quite at a loss what to do with myself. For neither you or I were much for riding, Kitty. I'm frightened to death of mounting any horse, that is unless Wickham is with me. And though gardens are beautiful, keeping one was never my forte. Your orchid, by all description, sounds like a very pretty flower. I've asked Wickham about it. He's seen them before, but they're a rather expensive purchase. And you must forgive my ignorance, but in your last letter, I haven't the faintest idea what a pistil or a stigma is; are they something that grows on orchids? That whole part of your letter, talking about the different flowers and things that grow in South America, and all that, I felt like I was reading a letter from a different person. But if that entertains you while staying with the Bingleys, I'm delighted.

It's a shame you haven't been to a local assembly yet. But whatever the Bingleys have planned for the Grove House, I envy what is in store for you! And when the day comes, write and tell me in full detail all about your gown, about all your beaux and your flirting. I am anxiously waiting to hear it confirmed that Mr. Murray is everything handsome and charming. You must tell me if he's light or dark, blue eyes or brown, if he's tall or broad-shouldered, and what his manners and disposition are like—everything, my dearest! If he is anything like Mr. Bingley, you could not do better, and if he has a lot of money, you'd be a fool to let him get away. And whatever you do, don't let Caroline Bingley get in your way! Horrid creature! I'm sorry you are forced to put up with her. But you mustn't be afraid of her, Kitty. She's bitter about being out in society with no offers, and fearing she'll become a spinster. Whatever supposedly dreadful things you do to her, I wouldn't feel too badly about it.

Write me again soon!

Love your dearest sister,

L. Wickham

"Of course, you don't know what a pistil or a stigma is," Kitty laughed under her breath. The open letter was flung to her nightstand. "Dunce! You could never add two figures in your own head."

To the pillow she collapsed, despite her wet hair, and never woke for dinner.

Alright, Kitty got to have a little fun in the dirt! And a new spunky friend, sort of... I'm not a gardener or have much of a green thumb. I really try. I've some plants that are doing well, and some that are looking really sad even with a lot of attention. But I've so done this to myself! Had fun and one long day in the yard, then wake up the next day and realized I killed my body yesterday. This story is a way to do that vicariously without the physical pain.

Well, I'm anxious to hear how this update will sit with readers. If it seems like I'm trying to draw some parallel between Kitty and Caroline, I'm not. Kitty has seen herself, a lot of herself, like Lydia. It's not like she has such an identity crisis... Warning, going into book club mode, I don't remember if I've said it before: take a look at Kitty/Lydia and Caroline/Louisa. If you take money and status away from the Bingley sisters, just looking at them beside Kitty and Lydia, they're really not all that different from each other. In P&P, we see both sets of siblings can be rude to people without a care, vulgar in how they talk about people behind their backs, and self-absorbed. So bringing it post-novel, Kitty needs to realize she has a choice. It's all in her attitude. She doesn't have to prove anything to Lydia. She doesn't have to be miserable like Caroline.

Sorry for going book club mode. I don't mind if your opinions go in the same direction.