The Road to Pemberley (24 page)

 

It is later now, just after dawn. I have spent some time crying, and it has done me good. Things seem clearer now. When Sir Frank comes, I will make the only prudent choice.

 

Sir Frank has come and gone, but my headache was so bad that I could not possibly go down to see him. The matter is thus delayed. I feared he would think I was avoiding him, so I sent a message through my brother that I very much hoped he would call again tomorrow. Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam will come to the house today, declare his love for me, and save me from this wretched decision.

Perhaps also I will learn to fly tomorrow.

All my love,

Caroline

February 2

Dear Cousin,

I saw Andrew today and found him in surprisingly high spirits. No reply has yet come from my father, but Andrew is determined to hold fast and not return to London until the beginning of March. I never thought I would pen these words, but I am proud of him.

Miss Bingley was upstairs with a headache when I called. She has had several recently. I made a joke about her wishing to avoid me, but Bingley assured me that was not the case. He seemed worried about her. She is prone to migraines, I recall that from our conversations this past summer, but she told me they were infrequent. It seems that of late she has been troubled with frequent headaches. I hope it is nothing serious.

I saw Sir Frank Watson today also, and I felt I had to greet him, for all that he is such dull company. He acted very strange with me, and more so when I mentioned I had just come from Bingley's. He said something about hoping Miss Bingley would not be cross with him and that he would “much rather have been with her this afternoon” and being so sorry that her headache delayed him and some other things that I could not quite make sense of. He seemed somewhat agitated. I do not know what to make of it, but I am once again convinced that Miss Bingley could do far better. Why is she prepared to waste herself upon a man like Sir Frank Watson? Bingley is good to her and she is still young. She need not rush headlong into an imprudent match. If it were not so terribly improper, I would speak to her and try to dissuade her from the scheme, but I cannot imagine how I would broach the topic.

Forgive me for spilling so much ink upon a topic that cannot interest you. I am oddly troubled by this.

I send my regards and love to everyone.

Yours, R. F.

February 4

Louisa,

I have never been so wretchedly miserable or so embarrassed in my life. I will never leave my room again. Nay! I will leave my
room and flee to the Continent. Perhaps I will flee to another continent. Even Australia could not be a greater evil than Bath is at present.

Caroline

February 9

Darcy,

I received your most recent letter this morning. You were brief and to the point, but then you always are. Do I acquit myself if I tell you that I had already come to the same conclusion? Yes, I am in love with Miss Bingley. I particularly liked your decision to send me a few of the letters that I have written since June, with certain passages marked for my review. I have perused some of them, and it is so apparent, I take exception to my own foolishness.

I have said that I had already come to the realization before your letter arrived. That happened yesterday, when I went to Bingley's house. Have you heard that Sir Frank Watson proposed to his cousin? It is a great upset, Sir Frank having been so blatant in his attentions to Miss Bingley. For myself, I can only think of it as a bit of good fortune, but I do feel for Miss Bingley. Not for the loss of Sir Frank—she is well rid of him—but his cousin, Miss Watson, has been unkind to her. It seems the family expected him to propose to Miss Watson as soon as he was out of the blacks, and his attentions to Miss Bingley were not looked upon kindly, least of all by Miss Watson herself. The matter has been set to rights, as far as the family is concerned, but Miss Watson is still put out, and as she cannot vent her ire on her future husband, she has made Miss Bingley her target.

I do not fear for Miss Bingley's reputation or comfort in the long term, but she and Miss Watson have several mutual acquaintances, and the whole thing must be very uncomfortable for her at present. I further have it from Bingley that Miss Bingley is quite determined to marry this year, and Sir Frank's defection has upset her greatly.

To return to my story. I went to Bingley's house to see Andrew, but I had also hoped to see Miss Bingley, to determine her state for myself. When I asked after her, I was told she was not taking guests, but Andrew happened to mention she was in the downstairs sitting room, and I confess I purposely lost myself in the house in order to find her.

The door was slightly open, and opened fully with a slight push. She was lying on the sofa, a pillow clutched to her chest. My heart quite broke for her. I realized then what you have known for months. I could have gone to her, and I desired nothing more than to gather her in my arms and comfort her, but I only backed quietly out of the room. I needed time to think.

My mind is a whirl. Tonight, I am glad of the ache in my hip. It provides an occasional distraction from my thoughts.

R. F.

February 15

Darcy,

Miss Bingley has agreed to marry me. In a month, you may make me the subject of as much raillery as you like, but I beg you to defer your teasing for a time. I have been made to understand the depth of her feelings for me, and I am perfectly disgusted with myself—I had thought her attempted pursuit of me dispassionate.
Rationally, I realize that I had no way to know her heart, but what has rationality to do with a man in love?

Yours,
R. Fitzwilliam

February 15

Dearest Sister,

Colonel Fitzwilliam has asked me to marry him. Upon writing that sentence, I stared at it for some minutes. I still cannot credit it.

He came today to see his brother, and I was determined to meet him. I will not have the world thinking that a Miss Watson who is so ugly and stupid that she must have her father bully her cousin into marrying her can have any effect on me. I am so glad to be rid of Sir Frank. We would have been wretched together.

I looked quite well today, I think, though I did not take particular care with my toilette. My hair has been cooperative of late. That always puts me in a good mood.

We met in the drawing room, myself, Colonel Fitzwilliam—Oh! But I am allowed to call him Richard now, and he particularly asked me to. Lord Ashbourne and Charles were there as well, though Jane had gone to lie down. It was strange and awkward at first, for he kept staring at me, and I had not seen him in several weeks. Charles and Lord Ashbourne went away for a time to—I do not know what they went off to do, only
Richard watched them leave with an odd expression on his face. I was suddenly overcome with distraction, and I could not think of a thing to say. I started to talk of something—I cannot remember what—and then he came across the room and sat beside me and said—

No, I will not tell you what he said. Those words are for me alone. Only, he gave me to understand that he cares for me, and I—

Do you remember when we were girls, and we used to practice just how we would respond to our marriage proposals? “Your Grace, you have made me the happiest of women, and I would be honored to accept your proposal.” I was always so poised and composed and graceful in my acceptance. Well, there was nothing of composure or poise in this. Were I in a different frame of mind, I might be able to see my way to being embarrassed, but I am only—

Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. The moment he had made plain to me that he was asking me to be his wife, I burst into tears. Oh, Louisa, it was awful. They were not even ladylike tears of happiness, they were sobbing tears of relief. I suppose I somehow communicated to him that there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to be his wife, for when Charles returned and saw us, me sobbing into his handkerchief and Richard with his hand on my back, I heard Charles say, “What on earth is the matter?” And Richard said, “I think your sister has just agreed to marry me.”

Despite my joy, I am seeing my way to be embarrassed about all of this, but it was all settled in a few minutes more. I managed to restrain myself and speak with tolerable composure. Charles gave his blessing to the match. I suppose I will have to write my uncle, but I care not a fig what he thinks. I am sure he will be glad to be rid of me entirely.

What a fright I must have looked! Richard did not seem to mind, and stayed for several hours.

I can hardly think. He comes again tomorrow. You must come to Bath, and then my every happiness will be complete.

Yours, Caroline

March 5

Dear Darcy,

Ah, Cousin, would that you were in Bath and had witnessed it for yourself!

I wrote twice to my father following my engagement. My first letter went unanswered, and my second was returned unopened. I was prepared to leave the matter at that, but Caroline begged my leave to pen a letter of her own to my father, and I gave it. I know not what she said in her letter, but my father came to Bath.

We have met him four times. The first visit saw him at his most unkind. The treatment Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and, especially, Caroline received was not to be borne. I could have tossed him from the house—and would have, had it been my house and not Bingley's—but Caroline cajoled me into being civil. After he had gone, she told me she feared her fortune and connections were not smart enough for him, but I assured her that I could have been marrying a German princess and my father still would have found it exceptional that I had chosen a bride for myself without first consulting him.

My father returned the next day and the day after, and Caroline was in fine form each time. It was a masterful display of obsequiousness and toad-eating that would have made Lady Catherine's parson green with envy. I would have choked on my own vomit had I attempted such blandishments. The end of it all is this: I am once again on good terms with my father, solely on the basis of my having chosen for myself “a woman of sense and good breeding” as my bride. I moreover have it from Ashbourne, who has it from my sister, that my father may make a wedding present
of one of his houses in London—not a mere lease on good terms, but an actual transfer of property. This is not to reach Caroline's ears until it is certain, however.

Well, I am not entirely pleased with her methods, amusing though they were, but I will not argue with good results. She is not under the least misapprehension about what sort of man my father is, and even at the height of her fulsomeness I heard her tell him that she would not agree with him that it was better for me to suffer the surgeon's knife than “give myself up to my weakness” (his words). Because I have mentioned it and you specifically asked in your most recent letter, I will tell you that my hip is better. I use the cane nearly every day now, despite my hatred of displaying my infirmities for all to see, and it does help. Caroline scolds me when I leave it at home.

Do not worry overmuch about Mrs. Darcy. It was only the accoucheur's educated guess that she would be confined in February. These things can never be known exactly. Children come when they are ready to and not a moment before.

Tell Georgiana that if she trips and falls at her presentation, I will provide her with a set of men's clothing and procure her passage on a ship to the Indies (East or West, whichever she prefers). Never mind that, I will write to her myself and try to reason her out of her fears.

I had best conclude before I am forced to reach for yet another sheet of paper. I send my love and regards to you and all your household.

Yours, R. Fitzwilliam

March 10

My lord,

I could not wait another moment to take pen to paper and tell you how grateful I am for the kindness you have seen fit to bestow upon your most unworthy servant. How can I ever give proper thanks for such kindness? I shrink from the thought of taking on such a task. Dear Richard has been forced to tell me every detail of the house—all that he can recall, for he has only seen it once. This does not surprise me, your holdings being so vast that one cannot expect your children to know every detail of every house, but I do wish he could tell me more. I am sure it is a delightful home. Richard said that it is grand and stately, and only a little old-fashioned. I am sure that we will be able to bring it up to the standard that is worthy of a son of yours with only a small outlay, though perhaps we will have to wait some time before going forward with the expense. Weddings are such costly things, you know. No, upon reflection, it will not do to wait. I would never have anyone seeing your son and, if I may take the liberty of calling myself so, daughter living in a house that is anything but a proper reflection of your rank and position. I am sure we will find the money somehow.