The Elizabeth Papers

Also by
Jenetta James
Suddenly Mrs. Darcy

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Elizabeth Papers

Copyright © 2016 by Jenetta James

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any format whatsoever. For information: P.O. Box 34, Oysterville WA 98641

ISBN
: 978-1-68131-007-7

Cover design by Zorylee Diaz-Lupitou
Cover image by Gustave Leonard de Jonghe,
Mother with Her Young Daughter
(public domain)
Layout by Ellen Pickels

Prologue

May 2, 1860
Pemberley

Galbraith,

Thank you for agreeing to travel to Pemberley next week. I can only apologise that I shall not be able to see you in Town, but I think we both know it very likely I shall not leave here now. My purpose in writing to you before you travel is twofold. First, I believe that what I am about to ask may occasion considerable thought on your part, and I want you to be prepared when we meet. Second, I am increasingly anxious to communicate what is in my mind, to set it down and ensure that it is not misunderstood or put by the board. I am—and I do not wish to hear your protestations—not long for the world.

We are old friends and you will do me the credit of trusting me when I say that I know my life is drawing to its close. I have been, as you know, greatly blessed.

You, more than anyone, know my legal and financial affairs. You know the steps I have taken and the money I have spent in protecting my late, beloved Elizabeth and her family. As a result of the entail on the Longbourn estate, Elizabeth and her sisters effectively had no resources of their own and no relations upon whom they could rely. I, together with Bingley, have shouldered the burden of protecting them—financially and in other ways as well. There are men who, if they knew the full truth, would say I have been a fool. However, I regret nothing and would never have done less for her. This history, though, has provoked me to consider the position of our own family. Our daughters are all of them well married to men whom I respect. Their husbands can provide for them. They all had significant dowries, and I do not fear for them.

However, I am also conscious that they are five sisters, and there may be many such daughters born to their descendants. We live in a world, Galbraith, where a woman has only that which fortune has given her. She cannot shift for herself as a man can, and I have come to fear that, in time and in future generations, the largesse I gave them may be diminished.

For this reason, I have decided, before my death, to separate out part of the Darcy estate to fund a trust for the benefit of my female descendants in perpetuity. In other words, it is to be an entail in favour of the women in my family. It is in my mind, to use the estate at Rosschapel for this purpose. You and I, alone in the world, understand the significance of that. I have considered, of course, the disadvantages to my son and his descendants of reducing the size and value of the overall Darcy estate. I have considered it, and I am decided.

I trust that this has given you substance for thought, and I shall welcome you here with all the verve my health allows.

Yours,
Darcy

Chapter 1

December 25, 1817, Pemberley

It is Christmas night, and I have been looking forward to this moment all day. My mind has been racing, and my fingers have been itching to pick up my pen and
write
. That, I suppose, is why Fitzwilliam has given me such a gift. He knows me and my imaginings so well, and I hope that I do him as great a service when I select presents for him.

We awoke early and celebrated the day as we have done every year since we were married. Small gifts were exchanged in the dim light of the winter morning, and then he made love to me—although, given my size and condition, the second part of our tradition was more difficult to achieve than it has been in previous years. It was, nonetheless, both successful and enjoyable. Do I shock you? I confess that I have half shocked myself. And yet I shall continue, for it is my resolution that this is
my book
and shall be a faithful account of matters relating to me.

For all that I have worried about inflicting my entire family on Fitzwilliam at Christmas, the day passed well and largely without incident. After he departed, Hannah helped me into my day gown. Her poor face creased with worry and concentration as she tried to squeeze me into it, pulling the fabric this way and that and tugging on the hem. She looked up at me in exasperation.

“I do not think I can take this one out any further, madam. I will have to put another panel in. While I am at it, I will put one in your blue and your green if that is agreeable. Those are good, warm gowns for the season. Would you like me to alter any of your evening gowns?”

“No, Hannah, that will not be necessary. We shall not be going anywhere before the baby is born. But maybe add a panel to my red gown as well? Mr. Darcy likes that one.”

I turned to the side and considered my reflection in the glass.

“Goodness, Hannah. I look like a ship! Great naval fortunes have been made with smaller cargoes than this belly. How can it be that I still have two months to go?”

When Hannah smiled, she showed all of her teeth and looked every bit as pretty as my sister Jane.

“You are full large, madam, but the midwife is happy, is she not? In any case, a larger belly might be a good thing.”

“What do you mean? Do you think it might mean that it is a boy?”

“Well maybe, madam. Mrs. Reynolds says that if you carry high then it is a boy but I have seen women carry girls so high that you could hardly see their bosoms, so maybe it is best not to torture ourselves with speculation…”

“That is easier said than done. I have looked at it from all directions, poked and prodded the poor babe, and even tried talking to it. I have prayed on the subject. If I knew some manner of magic that would assure Mr. Darcy of a son to join his two daughters, then I would do it.”

“I am sure that all will be well, madam. You are young, and you gave birth to Miss Anne and Miss Emma with ease, so you should not be worrying yourself about this matter. I am sure that Mr. Darcy would not approve.”

“No, indeed, he would not approve. He has said nothing about it, for I believe that he fears worrying me. But it is useless, Hannah, for I am worried already! I
must
give him a son.”

She placed a pretty shawl across my shoulders and, giving one last tug of the skirt over the swell of my belly, said, “And so, I am sure you shall.”

As is my custom, I visited Anne and Emma in the day nursery the moment I was dressed. From the corridor, I heard shrieks, laughter, and the happy sounds of their morning, and I knew that all was well. As I peeked around the door, they cried, “Mama,” at great volume as if I did not visit them thus every morning. They each flung their little bodies at me for cuddles, and Christmas greetings were exchanged. Anne, I notice, looks more like Fitzwilliam every day. Nanny said that they had each eaten a good breakfast and were just engaged in a game of imaginary carriages. I was about to ask them to tell me where they were going in their carriages when I heard the unmistakable sound of my own mama shrieking below stairs. In my mind, I was transported back to Longbourn, and it took me a moment to recall that I was a married woman with my own household who did not have to do as my mother bade me do. I kissed the girls and made my way to the source of the commotion.

“Mr. Darcy, I simply do not believe it! What a notion. I cannot think that she would be doing such a thing. It is quite unconscionable!”

I hastened down the great staircase, Mama’s volume and agitation growing as I neared. As she caught sight of me, she changed tack.

“Ah, Lizzy, there you are. I am glad that you are come, but do not hurry so down those stairs, girl; it is too much for me. Now what on earth is this nonsense about your accompanying us to church? I am sure that Mr. Darcy must be mistaken, for what manner of madness would it be for a woman in your condition to undertake that great carriage ride up hill and down dale, over ice and heaven knows what, when there is a chapel here at Pemberley that you can pray in if you must. You had much better stay here with the children. No, it simply cannot be that you would take such risks. I—”

“Mama, Mama, calm yourself. There is nothing to worry about. There is a chapel at Pemberley, but I explained to you before that on Christmas Day we always attend church in the village. It is where most of Mr. Darcy’s tenants worship, and they expect to see us there. Today is not icy, and the roads shall be clear. It is not far, and the carriage is comfortable.”

“But Lizzy—”

“In any case, I have my husband, my parents, and
all of my sisters
to watch over me, do I not?”

With this, I turned to see that it was quite literally true, for they were all present in their Christmas Day best, their eyes trained upon Mama and her histrionics. Jane, from her posture, I believe had been trying to quieten our mother before my arrival, and she was now putting on her bonnet and straightening her skirts.

“Of course you do, Lizzy,” she said. “Now, who is going in which carriage? Charles and I can take at least two—maybe three if they do not mind being cosy. How about Mama and Papa and Lydia come with us?”

I shot her a look to thank her for this characteristic act of generosity, for the two people most likely to irritate Fitzwilliam were undoubtedly Mama and Lydia, and the only person who could really subdue either was Jane.

“Mary and Mr. Lander, would you like to travel with Fitzwilliam and me? Kitty and Reverend Braithwaite can travel in the spare with Georgiana, and we shall all meet there. Is everyone content with those arrangements?”

They each nodded, bonnets were tied and cloaks fixed, the chill of the morning remarked upon, and we were away. I had volunteered to escort Mary and her husband Mr. Lander not out of any great wish for their company but in order that Georgiana may travel with Kitty, of whom she is fond. Mr. Lander is a gentleman of Cambridgeshire who was brought into contact with our family when he visited his aunt in Meryton last year. He has a small estate and lives modestly. However, he is respectable and it was, as Mama had pronounced loudly at the time, a “blessing” that a man had at last appreciated Mary’s virtues. It was less of a blessing that my husband was confined upon Christmas morning in a cold carriage with him.

“Mr. Darcy, do you have an opinion on the history of the levellers
[1]
?” asked he as if it were a perfectly normal question to ask of a gentleman whom he had met on only two occasions. Mr. Lander, we were given to understand, fancied himself an academic and was forever researching some new subject with which to enlighten his acquaintances.

“Erm, I cannot say that I do, Mr. Lander. I assume that you do, sir?”

“Yes, I do; indeed, I do. I have been reading extensively on the subject, sir. Or rather, I should say that I have been reading as extensively as the subject allows, for it is one that is served ill by existing studies. There is a great need, Mr. Darcy, for more to be written on them—for they were in my view, Mr. Darcy, a most significant group of people. I am, I hope you know, Mr. Darcy, no revolutionary myself, but I sincerely believe that there is a group of men who shall come to be regarded as
important
in later generations.”

Fitzwilliam nodded politely and inserted the occasional “I see” and “indeed” into Mr. Lander’s speech. Thus, we proceeded out of Pemberley and into the village for our Christmas Day service. My sister Mary sat straight across the carriage from me, her hands clasped in her lap and a smile of utter contentment and admiration directed towards her husband. Did they discuss the levellers when they were in bed, I wondered?

Cumbersome as my swollen body is and uncomfortable as the journey was, it was a thrill to alight into the chill air outside the church as the bells rang out and all of the local families swarmed to the service like ants. I was glad that I had come, in spite of Fitzwilliam saying that nobody would mind if I had decided to stay at Pemberley. He offered me his arm, and as we walked in, we exchanged greetings with no less than twenty people. I knew that Mama and Lydia were pouting and strutting behind me and that Mr. Lander continued his monologue on the levellers, this time to poor Kitty, but I resolved not to care. I had caught Fitzwilliam smiling a laughing smile as he handed me out of the carriage, and I knew that he was taking the events of the morning in good humour.

We were spared the ruminations of Mr. Lander on our journey home and were joined by my sister Kitty and her husband, Reverend Braithwaite. Absent the influence of our sister Lydia and happily married to a kind and amiable man, Kitty has become a pleasant girl who is sensible of others and easy company. Fitzwilliam can hardly believe the change in her from when he first knew us all in Hertfordshire, and I saw briefly the relief that spread across his face when he saw me take
her
arm and lead her to our carriage outside the church. Fitzwilliam helped me into the carriage, and Kitty sat beside me, looking at my face in a searching manner.

“Are you sure that you are comfortable, Lizzy? Can I get you another cushion? You can have mine. How about that?”

“I am fine, Kitty. There is no need. Just sit down beside me and tell me of your parsonage. You must be well settled now.”

“Yes, we are, Lizzy, very well settled, although Mama has been most scathing of my colour choices. I fear that she would have chosen differently, and I shall never hear the end of it! Oh, Lizzy”—she looked around to be sure we were alone and then, in an excited whisper redolent of her old self, asked—“May I?”

I nodded, and she placed her delicate hands on my great belly, stroking it and inclining her head in amazement.

“I am afraid that I cannot guarantee that the babe will move for you. If you are lucky, you may get a kick or a nudge. He or she may be asleep.”

“It is so exciting, Lizzy. Another niece or nephew. I am building up quite a collection. I so hope that I may have a child of my own.”

“I am sure your time will come, Kitty.”

She saw the men readying to join us and quickly moved her hands away.

It seemed hardly any time at all before we were back at Pemberley—hats, bonnets, and cloaks removed, and warming our chilly selves before the fire in the drawing room. Mrs. Reynolds and various servants hurried about readying nuncheon and tidying in the wake of my family. Fitzwilliam and I brought Anne and Emma down from the day nursery, and everyone remarked on how tall they were and how dark their hair was.

“That is a Darcy face if ever I saw one!” pronounced Mama noisily, leaning into poor Anne and nodding in Mr. Darcy’s direction. “As for you, Miss Emma, I am not sure. You have the look of your Aunt Georgiana about you.”

“I believe that Emma looks a lot like the late Mrs. Darcy, Mama,” I offered. It was one of the first things that Fitzwilliam had said to me when Emma was born, and I could see now from comparing my daughter’s face and his mama’s portrait on the stairs that he was right. It amazes me how strong a likeness can be even in an infant face.

“Neither of them looks anything like you, Lizzy!” said my sister Lydia, laughing between sips of her tea. “How very vexing that must be, to go through all the discomfort and pain, and then they are not even a likeness to one! If I ever have a child, I should wish for a girl who looks exactly like me. Would not that be droll?”

She giggled and did not notice that Fitzwilliam and Papa had turned to look out of the window, and Mr. Bingley had begun stoking the fire unnecessarily.

“Of course, no doubt, dear Wickham would wish for a son in his own image, and I suppose that would not be so bad, for my husband
is
devilish handsome!” She clonked her cup and saucer down upon the table with more force than was warranted before continuing. “Oh, how I miss him, Mama. What a great shame that he cannot be here with us. I know that he would love it so to be with all of our family in the place where he grew up.”

Mama nodded sympathetically and reached for Lydia’s hand.

“Yes, my child, what a pleasure it would have been to have dear Wickham here. He is always remarking upon his fondness for Pemberley!”

At this, Fitzwilliam raked his fingers through his dark hair and exhaled slightly. I felt agitation rising within me like a pot bubbling on the stove. My fear of the manner in which my family would embarrass me, I knew well. My husband’s having to bribe Wickham to marry Lydia came back to me in a flash. The ingrate had attempted to seduce Mr. Darcy’s sister and injured him greatly, he had eloped with Lydia, and then my husband had intervened to save her reputation and mine. It had cost him I know not what in money and mortification, and in that moment, it returned to me as though it were yesterday. That he was now confined in his own drawing room while Wickham was praised and his knowledge of Pemberley remarked upon was too much, and I knew that I had to stop it.

“Mama, you must be hungry. Did I tell you that we have venison for nuncheon? I told Mrs. Reynolds that it was your favourite, and Cook has tried a new recipe, so I hope that you are ready to feast!”