Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (58 page)

“Lizzy, you are speaking of the woman who gave you birth!”

Jane’s scolding did tweak her conscience, howbeit the timing was most unfortunate. It was easier to observe the fifth commandment from a distance. With Mrs. Bennet under her roof, the sixth (proscribing homicide) was problematic enough for Elizabeth.

The Family Bennet had arrived a week before Michaelmas. Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Bennet, Mary, Kitty, Maria Lucas, and even Lydia Bennet Wickham. Albeit when Lydia applied for the visit, Elizabeth made certain it was understood her husband was unwelcome. It was, unequivocally. There was no inveigling from Lydia, for she thought Darcy’s displeasure a perfectly good reason to holiday without Wickham (who became exponentially less charming a husband with each year of their marriage).

Lydia accompanied the Bennet Family unescorted by Wickham and, once again, quite pregnant.

Fortunately, Georgiana had returned to London chaperoned by four armed, exceedingly trustworthy footmen. Darcy had argued vehemently against her leaving the safety of Pemberley, but Elizabeth persuaded him that Georgiana’s peace of
mind would be better served by not disrupting her usual routine. (And she presumed Georgiana could do worse than bandits with Lydia in visit.) He would have escorted Georgiana himself, but his loyalty was divided betwixt his wife at Pemberley and his sister in London. It was a cruel dilemma. Because it was Elizabeth who was most grievously attacked, ultimately his reasoning told him that his place was with her.

With her family in attendance, Elizabeth thought it might have been less of a strain upon her husband had he accompanied his sister to London. For Mrs. Bennet contained her gushing admiration for Pemberley just long enough to belabour the matter of the robbery.

She took Elizabeth’s hand and held it to her bosom, almost keening, “Oh, Lizzy! Oh, my dear, dear Lizzy! Beset by highwaymen!”

“There, there, Mrs. Bennet,” comforted Mr. Bennet, who winked at Elizabeth, “you can see our Lizzy is just fine.”

“But, Mr. Bennet! What good is it for her to marry such a very rich man if he cannot guard her! Ten thousand a year has he and he cannot protect her! She could have been killed! Or worse!”

Her distress appeared to be escalating at the excitement of her own words (and no one was of a mind to inquire what was a worse fate than death to Mrs. Bennet).

“Mr. Darcy! Oh, Mr. Darcy! How could you have let this happen to our own, dear Lizzy?!”

As was his habit when anything untoward was occurring in the room (this included anytime Mrs. Bennet was present), Darcy stood looking out the window endeavouring to ignore the upheaval. Therefore, Elizabeth cringed upon his behalf.

Overwrought in the only manner he would allow himself, that of silent self-condemnation, her husband suffered yet. However, her mother simply would not hush about it. However little he cared for Mrs. Bennet’s opinion, Elizabeth knew her mother’s abuse was not inconsequential.

Weary of his wife’s outbursts, Mr. Bennet took her arm with husbandly courtesy and led her to a chair. Mrs. Bennet blathered on, fluttering a lovely, lace-trimmed, cambric handkerchief from forehead to breast. Elizabeth found herself contemplating just how long it might take to render her mother silent if she squeezed her hands tightly enough about her neck. She fancied she could see her jugular pulsating enticingly.

“Oh Mr. Darcy! Mr. Darcy! Will our Lizzy ever be safe again?!”

Perchance it might be more expedient to simply slit her throat. When pigs were slaughtered, they were hoisted by their hind legs. Elizabeth espied a heavy beam near the ceiling and thought it quite sturdy enough for a winch. It was only when she looked about to see if a penknife was handy that she was returned to her senses. Matricide was a major sin, no matter the provocation. She gave an inward shake of her head, supposing her decidedly intemperate flight of fancy due to “recent events.”

Unaware that her second-eldest daughter was eyeing her neck malevolently, Mrs. Bennet fortuitously ceased her shrill harangue, continuing on with the insistent fluttering of her handkerchief. She was not yet ready to abandon such a prop, for it was an impressively melodramatic touch, reminding everyone in the room it was she who suffered the event most keenly.

Over her shoulder, Elizabeth looked at Darcy, who stood absolutely still, his mask of reserve firmly in place.

Temporarily spent, Mrs. Bennet rested her head against the back of the winged chair. Elizabeth feared this lull would merely allow her mother time to gather a second wind. Blessed be for Mr. Bennet, for he wrested the conversational topic from his wife, inquiring of Mr. Darcy how he favoured the weather. Realising the effects of her histrionics were fading, she sat bolt upright and regained the floor by abruptly changing tack.

“Mr. Darcy! Forgive me! A mother cannot but help herself! I compleatly disremembered what an exquisite home you have! Such refinement! Such beauty! Such elegance!” (Mrs. Bennet rarely spoke in other than the exclamatory and always in repetition.)

Fortunately for the Darcys, Pemberley’s beauty, refinement, and elegance would be honoured with the good lady’s presence but for the first half of their visit, owing to the need to share the second with Kirkland Hall’s beauty, refinement, and elegance (“But not half so grand as Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet had assured him).

Shared office of host with the Bingleys was another benefit of Jane’s imminent delivery. But whilst her family tarried at Pemberley, Elizabeth weathered them as best she could. It was not an easy duty. In light of recent events, Elizabeth and Darcy were in no mind to entertain, finding nothing celebratory in robbery and death. Hence, Elizabeth pointedly ignored Lydia’s frequent whining about the dearth of society in her life and her need for the diversion of a ball. Not of a mood to endure the prospect of her family (particularly Lydia) being foisted upon well-placed members of the local gentry, Elizabeth insisted propriety demanded they remain in seclusion—the Darcys because of traumatic events, the Bingleys because Jane was great with child. Laudable intentions upon Elizabeth’s part, but to no avail.

In honour of the visiting Bennets, the Millhouses arranged a ball at Pennyswope for them. At his wife’s encouragement, Lord Millhouse persuaded Elizabeth that it would just cause more talk if she and Darcy refused society. Thus, she tried to assuage her impending mortification by reminding herself that the mistress of Pennyswope bore eccentricity well and hoped her family’s bouts of unseemly behaviour might be considered such.

The favoured Millhouse nephew, Newton Hinchcliffe, was in residence, and with writing tablet in hand, mused in his room most days. Lady Millhouse thought a ball just the occasion to lure him to exercise, as fresh air was evidently an impossibility.

At the news that the eligible young Hinchcliffe was in Derbyshire and their archrival for his affections (unbeknownst to her), Georgiana, was in London, Maria and Kitty trilled in impenitent excitement.

As they dressed upon the appointed evening, the obviously pregnant Lydia tightened her corset recklessly, impending motherhood be damned. She refused to let so minor an issue as a coming baby infringe upon her participation in society.

For having bested her sisters by marrying first, that coup was negated by their much more advantageous matches. She was not about to relinquish her position of superiority with the impressionable Kitty and Maria. (The current arena of competition was the race to produce grandchildren. Although Lydia had given birth to the first son, and saw herself at match point, Jane was already
enceinte.
Hence, Lydia knew her position was in jeopardy. The importance of a child who had expectations far out-stripped that of a child of an army officer. All might not be lost, for Lydia knew well that if her
sisters did not produce heirs for their rich husbands, their fortunes
could
fall to a cousin. Longbourn was entailed to Mr. Collins. It was conceivable.)

In Maria and Kitty’s eyes, Lydia’s infamy as a
femme fatale
was unparalleled. She went to Brighton, she wanted Wickham and she got Wickham. (More accurately, Wickham had her, but semantics are rarely questioned under some circumstances.) They, unfortunately, looked to her as an expert upon allurement and she counselled them both in their quest of Newton Hinchcliffe specifically and romance in general. When Elizabeth overheard Lydia whispering to Kitty that was she to have any success in attracting young men (“You do not have the face for it, Kitty, so you must use other wiles”) she must begin by dampening her chemise, thereby more advantageously exhibiting said “wiles” beneath her muslin, Elizabeth could be a silent observer no longer.

“Lydia, to advise your sister to do such as that just to reveal her figure to young men is beyond mere vulgarity. It will announce to them she is loose.”

“Of course, Lizzy,” Lydia was exasperated at Elizabeth’s denseness, “that is how one attracts lovers. One does not have actually to be loose. One must only appear to be.”

Elizabeth very nearly reminded Lydia that in her case, actually being loose did attract one rather unsavoury lover. However, since Wickham ultimately became Lydia’s husband, Elizabeth decided not to stir that particular kettle of fish. And knowing any reproof would be laughed at, Elizabeth offered a simple statement of fact.

“As it happens, if either of these girls attempts repair from this house with wetted slips, I shall feel myself falling ill and give our regrets to the Millhouses. Am I understood?”

Lydia pursed her lips and made a face, but did not argue.

The ball was barely tolerable. Only a few guests dared venture a comment about “recent events.”The one person Elizabeth might have thought to do just that, Lady Millhouse, had remained staunchly silent upon the matter and when others alluded to it at the ball, she pointedly altered the subject. Thus, she was spared all but the dereliction of decorum in play in her own family. By the time they took their leave, her cheeks were in quivering weariness from the smile that she had determinedly fastened upon her face all evening.

As gauged by the listless remarks of disappointed celebrants the next morning, the ball was not a resounding success to others either. But as it was not rendered an unmitigated disaster by a misdeed of a relative of hers, the morning saw Elizabeth looking upon it more favourably than most.

There was but little time for Elizabeth to breathe that sigh of relief before she was set upon once again by her mother’s carping. This time, however, the subject her mother chose to abuse delivered her daughter mute. This not was by reason of fancying heinous methods to disengage her mother’s tongue, but because she was absolutely speechless.

For Mrs. Bennet sat upon the side of the bed and took Elizabeth’s hand, patting it sympathetically, “Oh, Lizzy, Jane has been so fortunate to be with child of Mr. Bingley so soon after the wedding.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth cautiously agreed.

Shaking her head woefully, Mrs. Bennet looked at her quite pitiably, “But you, Lizzy!”

Elizabeth sat in wait.

Mrs. Bennet took her arm and, looking first to her right, then left, to be certain they were free of eavesdroppers, shared a conspiratorial whisper.

“Mr. Darcy’s fortune is far too vast for him to be in want of a son. You must lure him now, Lizzy. Now, whilst his interest is keen.”

“Lure him?” Elizabeth repeated.

“Yes. If you are to become with child as Jane, you must now. If not, he shall find other pursuits and your chances of giving him a son will diminish post-haste.”

With a look blank of any true emotion, Elizabeth stared at her mother. Not a single comment came into her mind in response to such a remark. Silence, however, was a commodity Mrs. Bennet refused to leave at peace.

“Yes, yes,” she consoled Elizabeth of the unspoken undeniability of Jane’s husband’s preferable temperament. “I know Mr. Darcy has not the happy disposition of Mr. Bingley, but he is a man. Certainly, you can interest him. You must deliver him a son, Lizzy. ’Tis imperative!”

“I do not think…” Elizabeth began.

“Pray, do not despair, Lizzy. Perhaps you can ask Jane’s advice upon these matters. She has been successful. She might offer you some suggestions.”

The eyebrow Mrs. Bennet raised intending to be provocative was, to Elizabeth, possibly the most lewd expression she had ever witnessed.

“Yes, Mama,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps.”