The Road to Pemberley (21 page)

We talked gossip a bit, but there is little good gossip. Everyone is behaving themselves right now, or their misbehavior has not yet come to light in any case. How dull.

As we spoke, I noticed he would occasionally grimace, and shift in his seat, and I finally asked, “Are you quite all right, sir?”

“Well enough,” he replied. “I was shot not a year ago. My hip has not yet set itself to rights. I am fine, most days. I think perhaps it will rain again soon.”

“I am very sorry,” I said. “It must have hurt very much.”

His lips twisted into something I suppose you could call a smile. “Yes, very much. It has been many months, and I am still sometimes set off by reminders of—” He broke off abruptly and complimented the wallpaper, for which I thanked him on behalf of my aunt.

“Did you attend the botanical exhibition?” he asked.

“I did.”

“It is still open, I believe. I had thought to go tomorrow, but I suppose now I will not have the pleasure of seeing you there.”

“Oh, but I may go again,” I said. I do not know why I said this, for I had no such plans. It is not as though I want to be in his presence every day.

“I will look for you then,” he said, his voice suddenly cool.

I must know what he was told about me! I should not care, but it vexes me to have him think ill of me. The Gardiners, I am sure, made me out to be quite the harpy.

No, I do not care. It matters not.

I had best conclude. I really must pen a letter to Mrs. Darcy. I have been putting it off, but it will not do to neglect her.

Your devoted sister, Caroline

July 11

Dear Cousin,

On Tuesday, I took in yet another botanical exhibition. It was not quite as grand in scope or perfectly arranged as the former, but I found it more interesting. The plants were those species native to England. I saw Miss Bingley there, though she had been once before. She was far more quiet than the most recent time I had seen her at such a show, and once or twice I said something I knew to be wrong and she did not correct me. I fear she may have taken my previous censure—which was meant in jest, truly!—too much to heart. It was not my intention to quiet her entirely.

We went for a ride in the park, after. I know it is not quite smiled upon to be seen riding in a gig with a woman not one's relation, but Hyde Park was very deserted, and I hardly intend to make a habit of it. In any case, her abigail was with us, which always lends respectability to a situation. She became more talkative then, finding some unkind thing to say about nearly everyone we passed.

“Good heavens, that woman is wearing panniers. Has she been asleep since '74?”

“I do believe I could write my name on that woman's face. Some people ought to have powder rationed out to them in small quantities each day. Was that man's cravat tied by a drunken monkey in the midst of an apoplexy, do you think?”

I am ashamed to admit how much she amused me.

I must say that she is a very pretty woman. Her height is striking. I have always preferred women who were shorter and fatter, but I find I rather like a woman who can look me right in the eye without bending her neck at a painful angle. She looked particularly well this day. I believe it was the light. It is fortunate for her that she does not have her brother's red hair; red hair on women is always a disadvantage. Her hair is a very light brown, and though she was shaded by her bonnet and her parasol, once in a while the sunlight caught the curls at the sides of her face, and it set off her features in a very flattering way. I still think she is too thin, but women nearly always develop a plumpness as they age. I daresay she will be more handsome at one and thirty than she is at one and twenty.

Your news about Georgiana was very pleasing. I am glad that Mrs. Darcy is proving to be the sort of influence you had hoped, and that Georgiana has become rather less shy of late. I am delighted also to hear of her friendship with Mrs. Bingley. I do not claim to know Mrs. Bingley very well, but what I have seen and heard of her I like exceedingly, and I am moreover always happy to see Georgiana making any new friend.

I think that perhaps I am forgetting something. Did you not mention something of importance in your most recent letter? I do not have it here in front of me, and I cannot seem to bring it to mind. It cannot have been so very important if it has slipped my mind. Ah! I recall now! Mrs. Darcy has found herself in the family way, has she? Well, I offer my congratulations, of course. I do hope for your sake that it is a boy. You are outnumbered. You need another male presence, even if he is an infant.

I need not tell you what a fortunate man you are, and unlike other men with wealth, health, beauty, and marital felicity, one
cannot even hate you for your good fortune. You are too good. You deserve it all.

Because you have put me in a sentimental mood, I sign myself

Your humble and devoted cousin and friend,

Richard Fitzwilliam

July 17

Dear Louisa,

How shall I begin this letter? Shall I tell you how I came to my revelation? Shall I tell you every detail, down to the color of my gown and the dress of my hair? No, I will simply say it. I have fallen in love with Colonel Fitzwilliam.

I feel like such a fool for allowing it to happen. I do not know how it happened. He is not at all handsome! He does have very broad shoulders, I must in all fairness credit him with that. There is something in the twist of his mouth when he speaks that is very appealing, and his eyes—I like his eyes very much. They are a light brown, almost hazel, and striking, very striking. But no one could call him handsome.

Yet his manners are so engaging and he is so pleasing to be around that I find I do not notice his less than ideal features, and notice far too much his better ones.

I hate myself for this. I am sure it would not have happened were I not trapped here with nothing to do and no society to interest me. Perhaps I will join you in Bath. My aunt would say good riddance to my leaving her, and I would be away from him.

Louisa, you alone know that I was in love—no, I was never in love with Mr. Darcy, but whatever certain people might think, it was not only his great fortune that attracted me to him. It hurt a great deal to lose him, and to a woman like Eliza Bennet!

And now that I know what I feel for Colonel Fitzwilliam, I find myself very afraid of him. Does that not seem very odd to you? But I am not afraid of him, I am afraid of losing him, which will inevitably happen. He leaves town on the 4th of August, which seems at once too soon and not soon enough. Perhaps if he had not heard such a bad report of me from the Gardiners, I might entertain some hope. Perhaps if he were not such good friends with Mr. Darcy, and Mrs. Darcy, whom he thinks excessively well of, and talks about far too often in far too complimentary terms, perhaps then I might…But he is such, and I cannot and will not allow myself to entertain any hope that he feels anything for me. Even if he did, Mr. Darcy would surely dissuade him. I know from my reception at the Darcys' house in town this season just past that I am welcome there as Charles's sister, nothing more.

I have not yet told you how I came to this knowledge, this accursed knowledge about myself that I wish I did not have. He called again, yesterday, and stayed for quite a while. My aunt deigned to grace us with her presence, and we played at cards for a time. We played at piquet after she left us, and I won two guineas. We talked a while more, after the cards were set down, and I picked up the sketch I had begun several weeks earlier. He agreed to sit for me, and I made good progress, but it became late in the day, and he took his leave of me. It was all so unexceptional. Having him with me seemed the most natural thing in the world, and I could not remove him from my mind for the rest of the evening. I read books, and thought of passages he would like. I worked at my embroidery, and caught myself daydreaming of embroidering his handkerchiefs and making small items for his rooms.

I had always thought falling in love a dramatic sort of thing, with swoons and declarations, but it happened so quietly, and
now what am I to do about it? Oh, Louisa! If I avoid him, I will take from myself the only interesting companion I have. If I allow myself to be in his presence, I will surely give myself away. Your advice will be very welcome.

Yours, Caroline

July 18

Cousin,

I am not quite certain what your design was in sharing with me the information that Mrs. Darcy received from her aunt regarding Miss Bingley. I suspect it was to amuse me, but I fear that it has failed. Indeed, the effect may be quite the opposite from the one you intended, for I feel terribly guilty now. Miss Bingley did indeed keep much to herself at the Gardiners' party, and I suppose one could say that her air was conceited, though I do not think she thought herself above the company so much as she did not know the company. It should have fallen to those who knew her to make her feel welcome. I do not censure the Gardiners in any way, for they were everything hospitable to everyone. But for myself, my behavior to her was so cold that I am not surprised she left as soon as she could.

I think I will call on her this afternoon. It would not do to bring the subject up, of course, but I will feel a great deal better after seeing her in good spirits.

—July 19—

I have called upon Miss Bingley, yesterday and today, but she is not at home, at least to me. I saw a young lady admitted entrance as I was leaving, so it seems that it is only my presence that is not desired. I can think of nothing that I have done of late that might
have occasioned such a response, but I cannot concern myself with it overmuch. I will try again tomorrow. Very likely, we will meet in general company. I will go to an exhibition of paintings of landscapes on Monday, which is the 21st. Nearly the end of July! My time here is almost at an end.

Perhaps Miss Bingley will be at the exhibition. I will have to see if I can discover what I have done to remove myself from her good graces, and coax myself back into them if I can.

Yours, &c.,

R. F.

July 19

Dear Louisa,

I am quite relieved! I have not yet received your response to my last, but I had to write and tell you that Mrs. Weston has come to town. She was a schoolgirl friend of mine, you may recall. She is here because her husband must have an operation, and it is serious enough—perhaps I should say interesting enough—that he has gotten the attention of several prominent London doctors. He has some sort of tumor, which they will try to remove from his leg without taking the whole leg. Dreadful business! I quite feel for her, poor woman. But—and here I am being selfish for a moment (which, as you know, I always give myself permission to be)—if the operation goes well, she will almost certainly be a frequent caller here as her husband recuperates. So I may avoid Colonel Fitzwilliam without depriving myself of the only tolerable company in London. I will call on them both tomorrow, and I will be sure not to mention to poor Mr. Weston that his misfortune has aided me considerably, for I really do feel terribly for the man.
I am not so selfish as to be happy he is suffering, for all that Mrs. Weston's presence has heartened me considerably.

Your sister, Caroline

July 22

Dear Darcy,

You have taken leave of your senses! I must thank you for the most diversion I have had since my exile began. Your letter provided me with great amusement, and even now I chuckle to think of it. I assure you I am in no danger from Miss Bingley. She is nothing more than a friend, and hardly even that. Because you cite as your evidence the fact that I have mentioned her in my every letter since the beginning of June, I will write you a very long letter without mentioning her once, which should not be difficult at all, as I have not seen her in several days.

How is everyone? Good news of Georgiana always cheers me, and I am very happy to hear that she has mastered the concerto to her satisfaction. Tell her I will expect a private performance when I see her next, so she must make certain to keep practicing the piece.

I trust Mrs. Darcy does not suffer too much from her condition. Dare I hope that when you reference her waking you early each morning, you refer to more pleasurable pursuits than listening to her vomit? Ah, but I can see your face even as I write the sentence, the way your brows have drawn together in annoyance and the very slight blush that has appeared on your cheeks. Do remember that your cousin is a military man. If you knew the sort of talk that goes on among the bloody backs, that even we officers engage in at times, you would see that what you think of as my cruder speech is actually very restrained.

I am glad to hear that Mr. Bingley approves of the estate you have chosen for him, and I am sure the steward that you have picked out will suit him very well. Tell me, will you let him choose the furniture for his study, or do you intend to direct him in that as well?

So my brother arrived at Pemberley last week! What does Mrs. Darcy think of him? Andrew is very eccentric, and I daresay she finds him amusing. I hope she does, and that she is not annoyed with him. Keep an eye on him, I beg you. You know what he is like around my father, and what my father is like around him.

I have finished reading Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained, and I have nothing which with to follow them. I am in the mood for something heavy and theological. I am sure you have suggestions. Nothing in Latin. My Latin is very poor and worse for being out of practice. I prefer to read in English.

Give my regards to everyone, and my love to Georgiana.