Goodly Creatures: A Pride and Prejudice Deviation (33 page)

Fitzwilliam was desperate to laugh, but he managed to keep his face composed. She was right though, Lady Catherine would be disastrous for Georgiana right now, and he also did not want to see either Edmund or the Earl. “Bethany Darcy, do not say things like that. It is not at all respectful.”

“You are right, Papa. It is wrong for me to speak bad about Grandmama.” Bethany tried to look sorry. She waited a few seconds, and then put on a serious face and said, “Papa, I have another thing to ask you.” This time Bethany seemed hesitant to proceed. “Umm… Lewis and I… We want you to find a wife. Maybe you could look for one at Mr Bingley’s.”

Bethany set her jaw as she continued. “We do not want Miss Bingley … She seems to want to be your wife, but we do not think she would do.”

“You are looking for something in a mother? What do you require?”

“Lewis and I have talked about this. We call it the perfect mother game.” Bethany screwed up her face as she made sure she did not leave out any of their wishes. “We want a mother who can tell stories… with scary voices… like you. We need a third witch for Macbeth… When I interviewed Miss Bingley, she did not even seem to know about the witches in Macbeth… and seemed mad that I wanted her to be a witch.”

Darcy’s jaw dropped. “You ‘interviewed’ Miss Bingley? How do you even know that word or what it means?”

“Hmmm… I heard you say that word when you were getting a new friend for Aunt Georgie. I just asked Miss Bingley things. She did not know why.”

This time Darcy could not keep from laughing. “So tell me, Baby Duck, what other accomplishments are you and Lewis looking for in a mother?”

“Well, she has to be a good walker and every time I asked Miss Bingley to walk with Lewis and me, she said, “No.”

“Baby Duck, Miss Bingley is a fine walker, but did not want to walk with you and Lewis. She does not seem to be overly fond of children.”

Bethany looked quizzically at her father, and then her face broke into a grin. “Then I guess she would not be a good mother.”

“You are right, I do not think Miss Bingley would make a good mother, or a good wife. What other things would you like?”

Bethany smiled at her father and said, “We want a mother that smells good… And Lewis wants one that sings. She should make you smile and laugh. Then you would be sooo handsome.”

Bethany squared her shoulders. “Do you think, Papa, when I turn five, you could stop calling me ‘Baby Duck?’ I will be almost grown up, and should not be called by any name with baby in it…” Her father’s face looked troubled at her request. When he did not answer her, she continued. “Why did you ever start calling me that silly name? Did I look like a duck?”

Fitzwilliam Darcy smiled at his daughter. “No, but when you were a new born, your first hair was light, and looked just like the down on baby ducks.” He knew neither he nor Anne had been the first to call her by that name. That honour went to the young woman who gave birth to Bethany. The image of her singing that beautiful Irish rebel song, kissing Bethany’s fingers and saying she would always love her Baby Duck flashed through his mind.

Her papa seemed to be lost remembering the past. To Bethany, he often seemed to go somewhere else. She said, “Papa, pay attention! Will you look for a wife?”

“Bethany, I am always looking, but I rarely see anything that pleases me. What do you and Lewis want your perfect mother to look like?”

“We talked about it, and felt that you should choose; but we both hoped she might look like…” Bethany pointed to the portrait of a young woman reading hanging opposite his desk.

The painting by the French artist Fragonard, had been brought to his attention by Mr Jarvis as a painting Mr Darcy might like to add to his collection. He was immediately drawn to it. This portrait, unlike Romney’s studies of Miranda, reminded him of the pleasant time he had spent with Bethany’s mother waiting for the birth of his daughter. He planned to give the painting to Bethany when she was older… Of course, he would not reveal the reason. In the meantime, he kept the painting in his study. “What do you and Lewis like about the way she looks?”

“She looks soft. Lewis says he would like to cuddle with her. Lewis loooves to cuddle. Papa, did you cuddle with your mother when you were a little boy?”

“Yes, when she read me a story.” Darcy knew that it was the young woman’s bosom that looked soft, and he thought how much he agreed with his son. “Lewis is correct… that is a very important requirement.”

“Papa did you cuddle with my mama?”

Without thinking, Darcy who was momentarily struck with guilt by her question, answered truthfully. “Oh no, I assure you, I never did.” Bethany’s crestfallen look caused him to realize his error. “I am sorry, Baby Duck. I misspoke… of course I cuddled with your mama. I loved her very much.” He had always hated disguise of any sort; but the circumstances of Bethany’s birth required him to always be on guard, lest the truth come out.

Most nights Elizabeth struggled to sleep. The refreshing numbness of slumber was ever elusive. Per her father’s remedy to Lizzy, the child, she did everything to exhaust herself; but in the end, it was only her body and not her mind that succumbed. She walked the fields with Little John, visited tenants with Mary, gathered flowers and herbs for Jane, and walked to Meryton for supplies for anyone who needed something.

Regardless of how busy her days were, at night her mind raced with unwelcome thoughts. She feared the nightmares that sometimes followed her submission to sleep. Over the years, they had lessened, but still happened often enough to be a cause for anxiety each night as her head found the pillow. Elizabeth wished she could divulge her secrets and unburden her troubled soul… She was tired of being fearful of exposure, and she was tired of being tired.

She was in the habit of getting up before dawn and walking to Oakham Mount with Caliban as soon as there was enough light to navigate. Five years earlier when she had first returned to Longbourn, she began the practice. Her family had questioned the propriety of a woman walking alone before dawn. She had faced her father’s attempt to prohibit her morning rambles calmly—telling him she was compelled by some unknown force and would not be able to obey his demands. He silently questioned her sanity, but did not feel he wanted to lock her in her room at night. The addition of Caliban had made him less anxious, but he wished she would confide in him what had happened to make her so restless. He asked his brother-in-law several times if he could explain Lizzy’s change, and on each occasion Mr Gardiner claimed nothing untoward had happened that he knew about. Though bothered by his daughter’s metamorphosis, Mr Bennet decided it was easier to indulge the idiosyncrasies she had developed during her lost year.

Mrs Hill had instructed the cook to always have a crockery jug of tea ready for Lizzy to take along. It was wrapped tightly in a towel to preserve its warmth, and packed in a basket with a mug and a blanket. When she got to Oakham Mount, her routine was always the same; she would watch the sun rise over the meadow, sip her tea and consult with her dog about her plans for the day. Sometimes she would play the tin whistle Jamie had given her, but lately as Mary and Kitty prepared for their futures as wives and mothers—her thoughts increasingly drifted toward regret and even anger at her interrupted life. She was long past tears and knew it was wrong to question God’s wisdom, but she could not shake the unwanted thoughts that increasingly intruded. She knew there were many harsh things that happened—women died in childbirth, babies were still born, infants often lived only a short time, and people even died unexpectedly from trifling colds—still she wondered at the cruelty of her particular punishment. Why had she been violated by a man ten times her importance? But, most often lately she rebelled at society’s rules that had forced her to give up the only baby she would ever have—a child who would have been her joy.

As the sun rose higher in the autumn sky, she chastised herself for maudlin meanderings and decided it was time to look to the future she had been dealt. How could she and John find new buyers for their bricks? Should she encourage Jane to make scented soaps? Her mind quickly turned—much as her mother’s often did—to her sisters’ marital prospects. Kitty’s dowry would be Elizabeth’s share in the brick works, the land around and the house—she and John had purchased together. Mary would inherit Longbourn as the wife of Mr Collins. As long as Mr Bennet was able to increase the estate’s annual income, that would satisfy any need for a monetary settlement at the time of her marriage. That meant larger dowries for Jane and Lydia

Lydia was still very young, and would not be marrying for several years. She would only officially come out at the next assembly; and Elizabeth was certain she would have time to add to her dowry. Her unclehad put some of her funds into Cartwright’s power looms, and the rapid mechanization of the textile trade had the potential for making Lizzy a wealthy woman.

The youngest Bennet daughter’s fondness for officers caused her some concern; but Charlotte was around the militia camp to look out for both their sisters. Since Kitty had become attached to John Reynolds, Maria Lucas had become Lydia’s constant companion.

The concern she felt most keenly for any of her sisters was Jane’s reluctance to express her feelings. The oldest Miss Bennet still feared opening her heart again and being abandoned a third time. Lizzy spent much of their time together encouraging her sister; but she had not become less reticent in the past five years. Elizabeth could not imagine how any man could resist her sister’s ethereal beauty and serene goodness. The only stumbling block to her being chosen was the lack of an adequate dowry. Every year since she had returned to Hertfordshire, she had increased the amount. Currently with Mary and Kitty’s situation, she believed she could afford ten thousand pounds. Still, she was hesitant to proclaim the amount to Meryton society.

The sun was well over the horizon, and she should be returning to have breakfast with her father. As she gathered her things, she saw two men riding hard across the meadow below. They were both young men, she was certain. One was taller than the other and there was something familiar about him. His body was almost prone on his mount in the interest of speed. A black coat covered his broad shoulders, the tails flapping in the wind, and on his head he wore a tall beaver hat. The speed with which they both rode made her apprehensive. They slowed as they neared to her position. She knew not why; but she waved as they drew even. They pulled up their horses, looked at her, and waved back.

Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy saw a woman on the rise above. She was too far away to make out her features—though Darcy was certain she was young. As she stood there, he was reminded of the painting his acquaintance, Edward Barrett had of his deceased sister. Thomas Lawrence had painted her when she was but twelve years old, and a year later, she had died from consumption. Pinkie, as her family had called her, was depicted on a moor with the wind blowing her gown and untied bonnet ribbons. The young woman on the mount above also had her bonnet ribbons untied, and her hair was loose about her shoulders. Unlike the painting, she was not in a light summer gown, but dressed for October. Pink and white were replaced by shades of russet, amber and mauve. The palate offset her cascading curls in the autumn light to perfection. If Lawrence could see her standing there, Darcy was certain he would consider doing a series of paintings of young women depicting summer, autumn, winter and spring. He would love a painting depicting the vision presented by this young woman.

Darcy pulled his horse up to get a better view, and Bingley followed his lead. As they looked at her, the young woman, breaking all the rules of propriety waved at them. Without thinking, they both returned her greeting. At that, the young woman called to a huge dog that fell in at her side. Together, they turned and walked down the hill and out of sight.

Bingley smiled broadly at his dour friend and said, “See Darcy, the inhabitants of this country are uncommonly friendly.”

The power of her image dissipated. Darcy did not speak, but cynically concluded that young women in this neighbourhood were uncommonly and improperly friendly to young men… if there was even the remotest possibility of marriage.