The Road to Pemberley (20 page)

We have had rain these past two days, and my hip has ached terribly the entire time. It is eight months since they dug the bullet out, and it is still not right. I begin to fear it will never be right again. Yesterday morning, I nearly wept as I dragged myself from my bed. A very hot towel is the only thing that will do for it, but my valet must replace them every ten minutes, for even in the heat they cool too quickly to be of relief for very long.

No more of this!

I have been reading Mr. Smith's Wealth of Nations upon your recommendation, and recently finished it. I found those pages in which he speaks of treaties of commerce most interesting, that being what I am so much concerned with at present. What would
Mr. Smith think of my so intensely promoting a treaty that would prove advantageous to my father's interests, without regard to its effects upon others? I like to think he would be as disgusted with the whole business as I myself am.

I will return the book to the circulating library tomorrow, if this infernal rain will end.

Yours, R. F.

June 22

Dear Louisa,

I am glad to hear you are recovered, in body if not in mind. I have every desire to comfort you with words and actions, but you say you prefer that I not make a fuss, and I will respect your wishes.

My aunt and I are getting on rather better of late. We have taken to ignoring each other again, which is a vast improvement over sniping at each other all the day. I am pleased that we have finally seen an end to the rain, and I can once again leave the house at my ease. I left once or twice even with the rain, to escape the confinement of my aunt's company, and returned with all the appearance of a drowned cat. A grand idea this was! Do remind me to thank my uncle for his taking the time and effort to arrange my affairs to suit himself.

Yesterday, I went to the circulating library. My aunt has such a poor collection of books. There is not a novel in the entire house. Not that I read novels, of course, but there are a select few that can be instructive or useful. I hear so many good things about Madam d'Arblay, and I thought to get the first volume of her most recent work. Colonel Fitzwilliam was on his way out when I entered, but he stepped inside with me again when we greeted
each other. He did not recommend Camilla, but thought that I might like Evelina. Having read a few pages of it, I find I like it very well.

He apologized for what he said to me at the exotic plants exhibition, which I never did tell you of, and which does not signify in any case. He was very impertinent and I was rather cross with him, but it is forgiven now. He walked me home, but declined to come in. Perhaps he will come again tomorrow. I miss his company. I should say, I miss company, and his is the only I have at present.

I must conclude. I shall take a cool bath tonight, and I will go to bed early. A good night's sleep does wonders for the complexion. Do care for yourself, dearest.

Yours,

Caroline

June 25

Cousin,

Do you cringe when you see my direction on a letter? I have no intention of stopping my frequent epistles, no matter your answer. I am only curious about how they are received.

I thank you for your concern regarding both my physical and mental well-being. Physically, I am much better. I have had only a little pain these past few days, mostly in the morning. I have not touched the laudanum for nearly a week, though I do sometimes require a bracing drink. I fear I may have given up the cane too soon. It helps greatly when I use one, and I have brought mine out to use when I am at home alone. I do not like to use it in company.

I am also much improved in spirits. I cannot account for it, except perhaps it is because I have been about the town more.
I have called upon Miss Bingley several times. I fear I encroach upon her hospitality, for my visits are longer than the usual social call, but she is often the one who begs me to stay a bit longer. Her aunt seems a very unpleasant sort of woman. I am surprised that anyone thought the two of them would be good company for each other. She would be far happier if she were with her brother, at Pemberley. But I suppose I am happier because she is in London, so I will be selfish and say I am glad she is among the condemned.

She is surprisingly pleasing to call upon, you know. She is not what I would call a wit, but her manners are everything polite and engaging, and she is educated in all of those things that a woman is supposed to be educated in, and a few things more. She plays quite well, and she showed me several of her drawings. I was even talked into sitting for her for a spell, and am engaged to sit for her again in a few days. I have seen the beginnings of her sketch, though I had to sneak a glance, for she would not show it to me. My ears do not stick out that much.

I have taken your advice and called upon the Gardiners. It seemed a bit odd, calling upon people I had never before met, but we are family, in a way. Mr. Gardiner was not at home when I called, but Mrs. Gardiner was very hospitable. I was able to meet Mr. Gardiner the following day, and I am engaged to attend a small party at their house next week. I am very much looking forward to it. I mentioned that Miss Bingley was also in town, and after a very long pause, an invitation was extended to her as well. I carried their invitation to her, but she declined it. Is there something I should know regarding the Gardiners and Miss Bingley?

Do give Georgiana my love, and my regards to everyone.

Yours, &c., R. F.

June 30

Dear Jane,

I thank you for your most recent letter. I am so pleased that you are enjoying yourself at Pemberley. For myself, I find that London in the summer is not nearly so bad as I had feared. There are so many people in town, one begins to forget it is not the height of the social season. Mr. Darcy's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, calls often, and I recently attended a party at the home of your Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. They are delightful company, and they have such wonderful, sweet children.

There have been a great many exhibitions, of exotic plants and of portraits and of all manner of things. My mind is full to bursting with all that is going on here.

I do wish I had time to write you a proper letter. It seems there is so much to say, and yet when I sit down to write to you, I can never say it all. Well, I do hope to hear from you again very soon. All my love to Charles.

Your sister, Caroline

June 30

Dear Sister,

Jane must truly despise me. Her most recent letter is two pages of nothing but what a wonderful time they are all having at Pemberley. I cried when I read it.

No, I must be more complete. It was not only Jane's letter that made me cry. I was already quite out of sorts when I received it this morning. I attended a party at the Gardiners' house. When Colonel Fitzwilliam first brought me the invitation, I declined
it, as I thought wise, but a second, written invitation arrived, and against my better judgment, I accepted. I wish I had not. The Gardiners have clearly not forgiven me for the events of more than a year ago. Honestly, Louisa, have they met Mrs. Bennet? The scandal with the youngest only proves what I have said all along: the Bennets are a vulgar, ill-bred family. I was only trying to protect my brother from a most imprudent match! I never thought I would say this, but I am glad, for Charles's sake, that Eliza Bennet managed to catch Mr. Darcy. At least now they will manage Mrs. Bennet, Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, and the two other girls between themselves, and it will not be Charles's lot alone.

I have lost the thread of my thoughts. To return to my point, the Gardiners were cold to me, which truly would not have bothered me, but Colonel Fitzwilliam was cold to me as well. I suppose this means they have told him all about me, and he no longer cares for me. I do not know why this bothers me so, only it was nice to have a friend in London. I tried my very best to make conversation with him, but I found myself rebuffed.

I sat down beside him and said, “You have not called in several days, sir.”

“No. I have unfortunately not had the opportunity to do so,” he said, not quite unkindly, but not with very great warmth.

“Your sketch is still unfinished. When will I have the opportunity to complete it?”

“I am sure,” said he, “that a lady of your talents must have a great many things to draw that are far more interesting than myself.”

This was said unkindly, and he moved away before I could say anything in reply, which was a good thing, for I could not trust myself to speak for several moments.

I spoke to few other people the entire evening, and left as early as I possibly could. I very nearly hurled the unfinished sketch into a fire when I returned home. But I could not quite bring myself to do so, especially as a fire would have had to have been made simply for the purpose of burning the sketch, and that seemed rather a big to-do for a spiteful gesture. I know not why I care so much. It was pleasant to have a friend, someone to talk to, and—well, it matters not. Tomorrow, I will attend another botanical exhibit. I had planned to finish Evelina tonight, but as I had only planned it in the hope of discussing it with Colonel Fitzwilliam when he next called, I see no reason to bother.

But do tell me all about how you are faring, dearest. Your spirits seem dull. You write that Mr. Hurst is a great help to you, and that is very good to hear. I am glad also that his health is improving, but then your husband seems the sort of man whose health is most positively affected by Bath: A man who becomes very ill when he wishes to go, and quite well again when he is there.

I send my love to you both.

Your sister, Caroline

July 6

Cousin,

I am out of sorts again, I fear. I suppose it is because I have so little to do. One would think that business so vitally important to my father that it must needs keep me in London for more than three months would occupy a greater portion of my time, but it is not so. It is a slow-moving thing, consisting of brief calls to men I hardly know and genial conversation lacking substance, yet always with subtle persuasion underlying every word. Deals and offers
made, seeming to have nothing to do with the true aims of either party, but both playing a sort of extended chess match, moving pawns and rooks into place until such time as the final strategy is revealed. I do not speak of myself as a player, you understand, merely a pawn.

I have not called upon Miss Bingley for two weeks. It is a bit cold of me, I suppose, but the sort of duplicity that you described has rather put me off.

The weather has been fine, neither oppressively hot nor miserably rainy, but the air is still thick and choking. The coal dust is dreadful. Why, I wonder, is it worse in the summer than in the winter? One would think that the winter, with the many fires that are burning in the many stoves in the city, would see the worst of it. It is one of the great mysteries of life.

I ought to call again on Miss Bingley. It is unkind of me to cut her so. I was not under any misconception about her, you know. She is much the same as any lady of the ton. (Do you dislike that word as much as I do? There is something very affected about it.) I have dealt with such ladies all my life. I did not expect any more from her. Perhaps I had hoped for more.

Lady Susan O'Brien, the one who ran off with the actor when she was young, and was exiled to the colonies for it, is in town with her husband. He has gotten some appointment or other, no doubt through the charity of her family. I did call. I thought it only proper, because her brother is a friend of my father, but though they are a lovely couple, I was ill at ease in their company. Perhaps my knowledge of their elopement was an unpleasant reminder of things best left unmentioned.

And now I have used up all of my news, and all of the news that I am likely to have for some time. I believe I will call upon Miss
Bingley tomorrow. Politeness demands it. I have no intention of staying for very long, however.

Yours, &c., R. F.

July 7

My dear Brother,

Might I impose upon you to write to your uncle and use your not inconsiderable influence with him to convince him to send me an advance on my allowance. I do not think this an unreasonable request, because—and do forgive me if I am failing to grasp some theory of economics that is beyond my ken—the interest from my twenty thousand pounds is, in fact, mine. I know that we poor females are hopeless with money, and I do so appreciate my uncle structuring the annuity so that I am paid only once per quarter, and must put myself to much trouble in order to take any sort of advance on the funds, but if I am willing to take such trouble—for the sake of a lovely necklace, which I am getting at a very good price—I find that I become rather put out upon receiving a letter in which I am talked to like a child.

Further, when you write, do tell him that I am not such a fool as to touch the principal of my fortune, and he need not concern himself about that.

All my love, Caroline

July 7

Dear Louisa,

Colonel Fitzwilliam called today. I was very nearly not at home to him, but I have been very much lacking in company of late, and I could not bring myself to turn him away, though he was so
unkind. He stayed a very long time. I hardly noticed how late the hour had become until after he had gone. It is very odd that time seems to fly by when I am in his presence. Our conversation was a bit strained at first. I do not know what he was told about me, and I do not care. We were soon on good terms again, though perhaps not on terms so good as before.