Page 40 of Brighton Rescue (Pride and Prejudice Variation #23)

Brighton,

“Well, Elizabeth,” Lady Amelia asked with a twinkle in her eye. “What do you think of it?”

Elizabeth Darcy rose to her tiptoes to attain a little more height, and then lowered herself and turned toward her old friend. “On the one hand, it is quite incredible and indeed attractive.”

“And on the other hand?”

Elizabeth turned back to survey the Royal Pavilion and tilted her chin beguilingly. “On the other hand, it reminds me a little of Frankenstein’s monster; really, how many architectural styles can be crammed into a single, enormous residence?”

Lady Amelia laughed at this. Even after many years, she still found herself surprised and charmed by Mrs. Darcy’s utterances.

“There is some truth to that,” she commented as she and the Darcys began strolling back toward Hartford House.

“More sober architects find the Royal Pavilion rather ostentatious, but the King has never been a restrained, modest, or plain man. The Marine Pavilion was quite lavish by itself, and then our liege hired Nash to enlarge the Pavilion extensively; it took eight years, you know, to achieve its current form.”

“At truly shocking expense,” Darcy said, mulling over the enormous sums spent by the former Prince Regent, now King George IV, on his palace by the sea.

The pavilion itself cost at least four hundred thousand pounds to build in all its lavish glory, and the stables nearby, suitable for at least sixty horses and their grooms and stable boys, required another seventy thousand pounds.

“It is at least a fascinating structure,” Lady Amelia contended, “and Brighton has benefited in some ways by the King’s delight with it. But come, tell me about Frankenstein’s Monster! Did you actually read Shelley’s novel, Elizabeth?”

“I did,” her younger friend said, clinging more tightly to Darcy’s arm, “though I rather regret having done so. It is a terrifying book.”

“Frankenstein was a fool,” Darcy grumbled, causing his wife to laugh.

“Darcy is quite irritated with Victor Frankenstein, who is the creator of the monster in the book,” she said merrily.

“At a critical point in the plot, Frankenstein wanders off to find the monster and kill it, which permits the creature to creep into his house and murder Frankenstein’s new wife. My husband finds that objectionable.”

“It is!” Darcy said in a heated tone. “He was being threatened by an angry creature who had already murdered several of his family and friends; why would he leave his wife alone in the face of such an obvious threat!”

“I believe you are intended to suspend your disbelief,” Elizabeth said, “though I quite agree that you, my love, would never be so stupid as to create a vile monster in the first place, much less allow it to out-think you at every turn.”

“It sounds like an interesting book,” their hostess mused.

“It is,” Elizabeth said, “but not at all a cheerful one.”

They were by this time walking briskly back toward Hartford House only to halt in the verge between road and sea when a carriage pulled up beside them.

Elizabeth exclaimed in delight at the sight of Charles and Mary Bingley’s happy faces peering out the window of the vehicle; a moment later, more faces popped into view and Elizabeth heard screams of enthusiasm from the four young Bingleys, who were ecstatic to see their relations.

The din from the four Bingley children was too much for sensible speech, and Darcy, after a brief, roaring conversation with Bingley, waved them onward toward Hartford House.

“When are Jane and Gabriel arriving?” Elizabeth asked as soon as the carriage was far enough away to permit easy speech.

“They should be here within the hour,” Lady Amelia said happily. “Your younger sisters’ families are coming tomorrow along with Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam and their children, and Georgiana and her family.”

“I am overjoyed that Anne feels well enough to come,” Elizabeth said. “Her last birth was a difficult one. She is still not entirely well, and I believe this is the first time in a year that she has left Rosings..”

“I hope the sea breezes and fresh air will be a help,” Darcy said. “She has been much improved in health since Lady Catherine was forced into the Dower House, but she is still not a vibrant woman. We are all overjoyed that she has carried two healthy girls to term.”

“Indeed we are,” Elizabeth said, and then turned an arch look on the older woman. “I fear you will be entirely overrun with visitors, Lady Amelia.”

“Oh, my dear girl, you know I enjoy nothing better, though I am thankful you were able to hire two more houses in Brighton for the next few weeks. Even Hartford House would struggle to hold all of you. All the same, I hope you will all bring your children to enjoy the conservatory. I have some marvelous caterpillars and butterflies this year!”

/

Two mornings later, Lady Amelia Hartford sat on a wooden chair wedged solidly into the pebbles of Brighton Beach.

High above, the sun danced among the clouds, bringing scorching rays one minute, comforting shade the next.

The waves were gentle today, rolling and rippling forward endlessly but tenderly.

It was a perfect day for little children, their small pant legs or skirts raised high, to tiptoe into the surf and laugh hysterically as the water kissed their feet.

The Darcys were walking down the beach in the opposite direction from the Royal Pavilion, peering into tidal pools. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were arm in arm, their four children cavorting and bouncing in the shallow, warm waters.

Lady Amelia’s eyes shifted to Jane and Gabriel, who were standing nearby carefully watching their own children; nine year old Priscilla, the eldest, was solemnly playing in the pebbles with the heir to Beehaven, three year old Aaron Hartford.

Six year old Marianne was playing with her three Bingley cousins, two boys and a girl, who dashed between the waves and the beach and back to the waves.

Mary Bingley, who was expecting another child in a few months, was seated comfortably on her own chair with Charles Bingley standing between wife and progeny, eager to serve as necessary.

Down the beach a little, Lady Georgiana Warwick stood next to her husband, the Earl of Warwick.

Amelia smiled fondly at the couple; Georgiana had refused to marry without respect and love, and thus had been five and twenty before she wed her husband.

She was pregnant now with their first child, and Warwick, a tall, solemn young man with a passion for politics, held onto her arm with tender care.

Amelia’s gaze shifted next to the former Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty Bennet; both had made advantageous, though not brilliant marriages, to the relief of the Darcys.

Mrs. Bennet, with her head turned by her elder daughters’ connections to the haut ton, had spent years encouraging her youngest daughters to seek and find a noble husband.

Both girls had, to her indignation, insisted on placing character over rank.

Amelia spent an extra minute considering the laughing countenance of Lydia Hancock as she played with her two young sons in the surf; the woman’s terrifying experience with George Wickham had resulted in welcome, lasting change, and while Mrs. Hancock was still a bright, vivacious creature, she was also cautious and genteel in a way which quite delighted her family.

Mrs. Kitty Grove, happily married to a solicitor and also mother of two young sons, lived within ten miles of her youngest sister’s family in Hertfordshire.

Colonel and Anne Fitzwilliam would, Amelia hoped, make their way down to the sea at some point during their sojourn in Brighton; the trip on the previous day had proven a taxing one for Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and she was resting peacefully in her hired home a few minutes walk from Hartford House.

The only family missing was that of Gabriel’s older brother, Michael.

The heir to the Hartford estate in Kent had intended to bring his family to Brighton to holiday with the rest of the family, but a bad fall from a horse the previous week had resulted in a broken leg.

Michael would recover in time, but he was not capable of spending hours in a jolting carriage.

She felt a brief stab of disappointment; it would have been so perfect for both her sons and their families to be present along with the Darcys and the Bingleys and the Fitzwilliams.

Life was never absolutely perfect, after all.

It was a miracle, a gift of God, that the near disaster of young Lydia Bennet in Brighton had brought about so many wonderful results, most of all the marriage of her dear son, Gabriel, to the serene, patient, loving, devoted Jane.

She could only be thankful for all that had come to pass.

/

“Mama?”

Elizabeth looked down as her only daughter, seven year old Arabella, retreated from the edge of the water and took her mother’s hand in her own small one.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Can you tell me about when you fell in love with Father here in Brighton?”

Elizabeth looked down with a smile and tightened her grip on the little hand. “Of course, darling. Nine years ago...”

The End

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