The Road to Pemberley (25 page)

I was furthermore delighted to receive your kind invitation to stay with you at Kentridge when we return from Weymouth. I am so eager to see Lady Mary once again. You have a very fine daughter, sir. I have never met a more accomplished young lady. You have done very well by her.

Richard wishes to make his greetings in his own hand, so I will end here.

With most heartfelt respect and deepest gratitude, I am, sir, your lordship's most obliged, humble, dutiful, and obedient servant, Caroline Bingley

Sir—I am sure I cannot exceed Caroline in expressing my gratitude for your gift, so I will not try. I will say only that I thank you for your kindness. Caroline and I will marry in the church at Kentridge, as you have asked us to do. The Bingleys leave for Pemberley along with my brother in a few days. I will be about three weeks behind them, as I have some business to attend to in London before going on to join them.

—R. Fitzwilliam

March 17

My dear Caro,

No, I will not stop calling you by that name. I like it. What is more, no one else uses it, so it is mine alone.

I hope this letter finds you well. I know that traveling with my brother can be a trying experience. I recommend a glass of wine and a nap to help you recover. Have I ever told you my philosophy of napping? Remind me when I arrive, and I will enlighten you.

My father has given me two thousand pounds, to be used in the renovation and repair of our house. Your abilities frighten me, woman.

Shall I ask you to give my love and best wishes for her recovery to Mrs. Darcy, or would that be testing your forbearance? I think I shall send it through Darcy instead. I look forward to seeing the little one. I must begin instructing Master Richard Darcy on how to be as charming as his namesake.

God willing, I will arrive at Pemberley no later than the 1 st. It occurs to me that this is the first letter I have ever written to you. Am I making a mess of it? I have no talent for letters of love. There should be more verse and less sarcastic prose, but I would laugh too hard to hold my pen if I attempted to write you a sonnet, and I see no occasion for transcribing the words of another.

Caro, this is the man you have accepted: not always properly serious, given to much complaint, and with a bad hip besides. In scant weeks, you will be joined to me forever. If you wish to cry off, you had best do it soon.

I will be earnest for a moment. I miss you terribly. I have a picture of you in my mind. Do you recall when we went riding in Hyde Park? I think I fell in love with you that day, but I was too foolish to know it. You looked so well with the sunlight in your hair. You critiqued the dress of each person we passed, and some of your comments amused me greatly. It is a memory that I will use to carry me through the next week.

Your most devoted, Richard Fitzwilliam

March 20

Sir,

I am ill equipped to speak on your talent with love letters. The letter I have just received seems to me the most perfect specimen of its kind. I have no wish to cry off. Your complaints will always have a willing ear if you will endure mine.

I give you leave to call me by That Name, if you must—but not in public. It took me years to dissuade my brother from using it, and I will not have you return him to the habit.

I have seen Master Darcy. He has that odd, unfinished look that newborns always do, but he is a healthy, well-looking child and I am happy for them. Do not make a face; I am in earnest. I will let Mr. Darcy transmit your love and wishes. I doubt very much Mrs. Darcy would be able to keep her countenance if they came from me.

I recall very well the afternoon in Hyde Park. It is one of my happiest memories. I did look very handsome that day, did I not? Ah! I have found a flaw in your letter. You have praised my hair, but not my smile, or my eyes. In fact, now that I read it again, I think your letter quite lacking in admiration of my good looks. I trust you will remedy this when you arrive. We must go riding in Hyde Park when we take possession of our house in London. And only think, we will be able to ride out as husband and wife, with no need for maids or footmen to lend us propriety, and we may go out every day if we wish.

I miss you very much. Charles teases me for being lovesick. He is as troublesome as he was when he was a child. I confess I am easily distracted, now that you are not here. I spend too much time staring at my sketch of you, and now that I have a letter to read, I will read it until I know every stroke of the pen by heart. I am so eager to see you.

I left this letter open while I walked out with Jane and Miss Darcy. I am bad company at present, too given to staring into the middle distance and not attending to anything that is said, but as this is to be expected in a woman whose lover has chosen the company of bankers over her company, I am excused. Miss Darcy thinks nearly as highly of you as I do, and Jane's patience is never exhausted, so at least I do not fear censure when I speak of you at length, and I frequently do.

I will be genuine with you for a moment (this, sir, is a rare event, I think you know). You have honored me with your proposal. I want you to know that I will do my best to be worthy of that honor. If you will only tell me what you want in a wife, I will do my best to fulfill your wishes.

I sign myself as your devoted, Caroline

March 24

Dear Caroline,

I was not intending to write any more letters from London. I leave in but two days. After reading your last, however, I have decided to send this letter ahead of me. I had better not arrive at Pemberley and find you bent over The Improvement of Human Reason, or some other book that I have mentioned in passing. Such reading would well be a torment for you.

You have been genuine with me, and I will return the favor. I have seen enough simpering, idiotic females, and enough women who play the part with varying degrees of success to know that I do not want one of them. What do I want in a wife? I am not a man who has either the inclination or the patience to take a Child Bride in hand and mold her into my ideal. Your brain, Caroline, does more than hold the sides of your skull apart, and that is not a trait that is as common (in women or men) as one would hope. I expect you will take advantage of this.

I do not expect you to change to suit me. Moreover, I am well aware that any such changes would be superficial and halfhearted, at best. I know you better than you might think, thanks to long, hot London afternoons, when there is nothing to do but converse. Those afternoons have largely passed into the dreamy haze of
idealized memory, not because I particularly enjoyed sitting in your aunt's parlor sweating through my shirt, but because of you.

I love you, Caroline, and I trust we are capable of making each other happy. I can only hope that you are entering this marriage with open eyes and a clear head, as I am. I'll not have you put me on a pedestal, Caro. It will not do.

I hope that I have set that bit of foolishness to rest for good. Here I am writing to you again, so I will address the failure of my earlier letter and say that I look forward to seeing my beautiful Caroline once again. Her smile, as bright as summer sunshine, is the light of my world, and her eyes are the clear blue of Caribbean waters.

I do hope the pimple on her chin has healed.

Yours, Richard

June 2

Dear Mrs. Darcy,

I thank you for your kind invitation to Pemberley, but Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have no plans to leave London at present. The summer in London is so delightful, and we would not go away from it for the world. We will be at Tetley Hall in August, and I look forward to seeing you there.

I send my regards to Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, and young Master Darcy.

Yours, &c., Caroline Fitzwilliam

The Potential of Kitty Bennet

BY JESSICA KELLER

As unbecoming as eavesdropping is, that was just the predicament Kitty Bennet found herself in on that late spring morning.

She had not meant to listen to the hushed conversation between a man and his wife; she had only wanted to ascertain whether Lizzy had planned any errands for them, in which case Kitty needed to change from her blue sprigged morning dress into a walking out dress. But upon hearing the Darcys' conversation, Kitty shrank
against a tapestry in the hallway, grasping the thick emerald green fabric in her fists behind her back like a lifeline.

“She is so very changeable, which could be a threat, but I believe it to be an asset for us. She will do well here under Georgiana's guidance.” Even though she was speaking low, Elizabeth Darcy's voice carried into the hallway.

“Ah, but remember, my love, Georgiana is even now in her room, packing. A carriage will be prepared within the hour. Her visit to Anne is long overdue, and I've a mind to get her out of the house as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, Darcy. Georgiana must not be influenced for ill. In truth, she should have been gone yesterday. But even without her here, I know it will all be of no trouble to us.”

“It would not have been my choice, but there is not much that could have been done otherwise. I will not have her, or any young girl, near Wickham for any reason, and with them lately imposing upon the Bingleys, Pemberley is the only safe place.” Elizabeth's husband, though still wary of the arrangement, could only agree.

There was a pause and Kitty held her breath. She had to strain to hear Darcy continue because he then spoke softly: “You know, you must know that I am thinking only of you. With all that has happened…after…I cannot have you distressed.”

Lizzy answered, “Take heart, Darcy. Kitty will be no harm to anyone here. Granted, she is silly, but…”

There.

They had been speaking of
her.
She had known all along, but her own name on her sister's lips put away any doubt. Blinking back tears, Kitty tried to decide what to do.

It was one thing to
feel
herself an unwanted guest; it was altogether another thing to
know
herself unwanted.

The choice to come hadn't even been Kitty's to make. She had been staying at Netherfield when Jane received a missive from Lydia, announcing that she and Wickham would descend upon them in a day's time. At that point, Jane called for a carriage and sent Kitty promptly on her way to Pemberley, with only a letter in her hand to announce her reason for showing up at the Darcys' front door.

Turning, Kitty ran the length of the hallway and down the large front staircase, startling Lark, Pemberley's butler, as she tore open the front door and rushed outside.

“Miss Bennet!” Lark called after her. “I implore you! The morning air is still chilled and you have not your bonnet or pelisse!”

Quickening her pace even more, Kitty called over her shoulder, “I care not, Lark! Please let me be.”

The ground was still wet from the heavy evening rains, and her slippers would quickly be ruined. But she pressed onward, walking in long strides around the side of the house toward the back of the property, where the wooded hills could hide her progress.

Ladylike or not, half of her had wanted to burst into that morning room and reveal what she had overheard. She wanted to shout at Lizzy and Darcy that she was not so changeable as they believed her to be. Kitty knew to what they were referring. Yes, she had made many bad choices and impressions when she spent her time gallivanting with Lydia.

But could not the folly of youth be forgiven already? It had been a year since she had even seen Lydia. Kitty well remembered it, because it had been when Lydia and Wickham came to Longbourn to announce their marriage. Since then, Lydia had written, begging Kitty to join her, but Mr. Bennet had strictly forbidden her from answering any of Lydia's missives, and Jane had quickly invited Kitty to Netherfield. For a year, Kitty had subsequently been passed back
and forth between Netherfield and Pemberley, and had returned home to Longbourn only once, to attend the wedding of her sister Mary.