Page 45 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

East Sitting Room

Rosings

Kent

July, 1817

The sitting room reminded Anne of the ocean with the wallpaper striped subtly in dusty teal and soft green, seascapes hanging on the walls, the carpet a dusky china blue, and gauzy curtains in blues and greens. The room lacked the gilt and glitter and intricate carvings that had filled Rosings during Anne’s life, and for that reason, it was her favorite. She found the colors soothing and the lack of ostentatious adornment refreshing.

Even the tea set on the table was adorned only by painted forget-me-nots. Anne Fitzwilliam huffed softly and involuntarily as she leaned forward to reach for it, her bulbous stomach making this process more difficult than it used to be. Adjacent to her, Charlotte Collins was perched on the settee with a grace that seemed truly unfair, considering her own expanded figure.

Anne poured tea into a cup and passed it to her friend with a grateful smile. “Thank you for coming here this morning, Charlotte. I appreciate your willingness to spend time with me when you have so much work to do at home.”

“Nonsense,” Charlotte replied. “Mr. Collins and I are most grateful for your friendship, and I always enjoy time together with you.”

Anne’s eyes twinkled, and she said, “I fear your husband is still horrified that Richard and I sent Lady Catherine to live in the Dower House.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed with amusement, but she merely said, “I think it is wonderful that your mother is able to stay in such comfort at the Dower House, without being burdened with the necessity of managing Rosings.”

The door opened and Richard Fitzwilliam entered, dressed in the comfortable garments of a country squire. He brought in the smell of grass and clover and the slightest whiff of horse, and he walked over to plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek before turning to greet Charlotte.

“Good morning, Mrs. Collins. I hope you are well?”

“Very well, yes, thank you, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

Richard nodded, turned to his wife, and said, “I intend to ride to the Balfours’ farm in a few minutes. That is so long as you are not concerned about my being away.”

Anne rolled her eyes at this. “As much as I wish that this child would make his or her appearance today, I fear there is not much likelihood of that, my dear. By all means, check on the Balfours. They will need that cottage repaired before winter.”

“Absolutely,” Richard agreed and looked at Charlotte. “Thank you, Mrs. Collins, for your assistance to that family. Fire is such a dreadful thing.”

“At least there was no loss of life,” Charlotte replied, “but yes, it is a hard time for the family and for the Drakes; there is not nearly enough room for two families in the Drakes’ cottage, even with most of the children married and gone.”

“There is an empty hunting lodge that can probably be cleaned up for the Balfours, but I need to speak to Mr. Balfour first,” Richard said. He walked over and kissed his wife’s bonneted head. “Be careful, my dear Anne.”

“I will,” she replied with a smile and watched as her beloved husband departed, closing the door behind him. She turned to Charlotte and grimaced, though her eyes were warm with affection. “My poor Richard is hovering over me so much these days. It is quite different from my mother, who looked at me largely to criticize, but I know he is terribly worried about my upcoming lying in.”

“You have an excellent accoucher in Mr. Snyder,” Charlotte said comfortably. “You know that my first delivery was a challenging one, and he was a wonderful help to me. I am confident all will be well.”

Anne’s expression eased, and she smiled. “I pray you are right. But tell me, Charlotte, is it common that I need the chamber pot every two hours at night now?”

“I am afraid it is!” her guest replied with a wry smile. “I am not quite at that stage with this baby, but for my boys, yes, the chamber pot was my dearest friend!”

Anne blew out a breath and laughed. She said, “I confess to some relief that this is entirely normal, though I do not look forward to another month of it!”

“I was always very eager to deliver my child at the end of nine months,” Charlotte agreed.

“Did you hear that my Cousin Georgiana is with child?” Anne asked.

“No! Oh, how wonderful!”

“Yes! She and Viscount Langley have been married only eight months, and she felt the quickening two weeks ago. We are all very happy for them...”

/

Drawing Room

Longbourn

Hertfordshire

“Oh, my dear Kitty, he is bigger every time I see him!” Mrs. Bennet cried out, gazing adoringly at her eight-month-old grandson, Stephen, whom Kitty was bouncing on her lap.

“I quite agree,” Kitty replied with a laugh. “He is also crawling everywhere. He keeps his nursemaid busy! Lady Lucas says that none of her sons crawled as soon as Stephen, nor were Charlotte’s sons so early to crawl. And Samuel, of course, is all puffed up that our boy is so strong and active at an early age!”

The door opened and Lydia rushed in, her eyes alight. “Kitty, at last you are here! Are you ready to talk about my wedding?”

Kitty handed her son over to Mrs. Bennet, stood up, and pulled her younger sister into a warm embrace. “I am, of course. My dear Lydia, many congratulations on your engagement to Lord Lyndon. ”

Lydia laughed and twirled her sister around. “I am so happy, Kitty! So very happy!”

Kitty allowed herself to be spun about and then planted a kiss on her taller sister’s cheek. “I think you are very well suited, Lydia.”

“I know that we are!” Lydia declared, dropping a trifle inelegantly onto a chair. Her little nephew, who had grown weary of sitting on his grandmother’s lap, squirmed, and Mrs. Bennet carefully put him down on the rug, whereupon he began crawling determinedly toward the cold fireplace.

“When will you wed?” Kitty asked.

“Not for three months,” Lydia replied with a sigh. “I wish it were earlier, but Jane is near her confinement, and since Lyndon is Bingley’s friend, we both wish for Jane and Charles to stand up with us at the wedding. Moreover, the Darcys said they intend to be in Town in October, and we want them to attend as well. We will be married at St. George’s! Is that not wonderful?”

“What about Mary?” Kitty asked.

“That depends on what is happening at Greymere, I suppose. I hope they can come, but it is a long way, and their baby is still young…”

She broke off abruptly, leaped to her feet, and rescued a book which had been foolishly left on the floor near the hearth, and which Stephen obviously had decided to eat.

“If all goes well, it will be quite a family reunion,” Mrs. Bennet said happily, accepting the little boy back into her arms. “All my daughters and their families, and Elizabeth and her husband and children as well. Oh, to have you all well married! I have nothing left to wish for!”

/

East Sitting Room

Greymere

Harold Stowe, master of Greymere, leaned back against the couch and stared out the window, his eyes fixed on the leaves which were fluttering and twisting on the oak tree nearest the house. His gaze lowered to the lawn, now well-tended, and then flickered to a distant fence, which was sturdy and entirely adequate to keep cows or sheep or goats from wandering far afield.

The door opened, and he turned toward it and then smiled at the sight of his wife, his precious Mary .

“How is Jonathon?” he asked, patting the cushion next to him. Mary joined him and, after leaning gratefully against him, closed her eyes while he put one arm around her.

“He is asleep again, thankfully.”

Harold gazed worriedly at her weary face and said, “You should take a nap, my love.”

“I will, soon, but I wished to ask you about the Roberts. Is there any news?”

“The apothecary is quite certain their children have but a cold, nothing more,” Harold said reassuringly. “Not the influenza.”

“Good,” she replied with a smile of relief, though she kept her eyes closed. “An influenza outbreak would be so dangerous for Jonathon given that he is so young…”

He nodded but held silent, and he was not surprised when, after two minutes, her breathing evened out, and she relaxed even further into his embrace.

He had plenty to do, of course, but would also happily spend the next hour, or even two, holding his dear wife, who had birthed their first child two months previously. The baby was a bonny lad, large at birth, and eager to eat, and while Harold had offered to hire a wet nurse, Mary was determined to nurse her child herself. She was tired, but Jonathon was now sleeping in longer stretches, and Harold hoped that the child would soon allow his mother the pleasure of sleeping the entire night.

He had met the former Mary Bennet at Pemberley the winter before last. The years since his mother, Moira Stowe, had been exiled to the Midlands of Scotland, had been exhausting. He was, he knew now, an intelligent man and had been blessed with a kindly sister in Elizabeth, a brother in Darcy, and friends in the forms of both Mr. Wickham and the steward, Mr. Martin. Nonetheless, after eighteen years of living as a lazy mamma’s boy, he had been forced to work hard to manage the estate, to decide how to spend limited funds, to wake up early and go to sleep late when necessary. He had not visited the pub in Claybourne even once for several years, as he did not have the time or energy to spend time with his old mates.

He had, those first six months, frequently missed his mother, even though he knew, in his bones and heart, that he was far better off without her. But Moira Stowe represented ease to her son. For all that she manipulated him remorselessly, he had not had any responsibilities when she reigned as mistress of Greymere.

With her confined to Winden Acres in Scotland, he had been forced to clean up her mess, a difficult task made even harder by Darcy’s unwillingness to spend extravagantly on Greymere. Harold knew, because Wickham had told him, that Pemberley brought in a clear ten thousand a year, and that the Darcys could have paid off all the debts along with fixing fencing and drainage and fallen cottage walls. But Fitzwilliam Darcy had said, very sensibly, that, while he was willing to assist his new brother by marriage, he would not throw money to fix all that had been broken during the years of Mrs. Stowe’s oversight. No, Harold had been required to consider what was most important, to curtail his wants, and to diligently pour everything he could into the estate.

After three years of hard work, Greymere was in far better heart, and he had been invited to Pemberley for the Christmas Season. There he met his half-sister’s adopted cousin, Mary Bennet, who likewise was visiting the Darcys for some weeks.

Miss Mary Bennet had proven very different from Elizabeth – no surprise, since there was no tie of blood between the former Elizabeth Stowe and Miss Bennet. She was blonde and blue eyed, rather quiet, and serious. She was also a marvelous musician, and the entire party had enjoyed duets with Elizabeth singing and Mary or Miss Darcy playing. It had been a wonderful time, and he had, with surprising haste, found himself falling in love with Miss Bennet.

He and Mary had spent weeks talking in parlors and walking along the paths of Pemberley, warmly dressed in wool and stout boots. Mary was more practical than he, a steady, encouraging, and kindly woman. He had thought her beyond his reach, only to be taken to task one day by Elizabeth, who assured him that Mary loved him and only wished to join her life with his.

He had offered for her that very day and been warmly accepted. After a separation of two months, during which he travelled to Greymere to prepare it for a new mistress, he had returned to Pemberley and wed his bride in the presence of her family, who had all traveled north to celebrate the nuptials. That was the only time he had met his wife’s family, and he quite liked them all. Mr. Bennet was obviously very intelligent, and Mrs. Bennet was voluble but kindly, and Mary’s younger sisters were lively and sweet. He had learned that most people considered Jane Bingley, pregnant with her third child, the beauty of the family, and Lydia the liveliest, but he could only think that Mary, with her blonde hair and grey eyes and slender figure, her kindness and honesty, was the most beautiful of them all.

They had been settled here at Greymere for more than a year now, and their infant son slept in the nursery where both Harold and Elizabeth had been so long ago. Life, previously tumultuous due to the behavior of his mother, Mrs. Moira Stowe, was now calm. More than that, it had come full circle. Once again, a baby Stowe slept above stairs, and once again, a happy husband and wife dwelt within the old halls of the mansion .

He gently kissed his sleeping wife on her cap and then looked outside the window again at the waving fields of grain, smiling with contentment and joy. He had never been happier.

/

Ravenswood

Scottish Borders

Annabelle Darcy, almost five years of age, bounced on the seat of the carriage, peering out the window. “I see the house! I see it!”

“I wanna see!” three-year-old Thomas lisped, leaning dangerously around his sister to also look out the window. Darcy reached out an adroit hand to catch his little son, smiling ruefully at his wife, who had little Simon nestled in the crook of her arm.

Elizabeth smiled back before inclining to look past Annabelle’s head at the approaching house. Ravenswood looked much better than the last time she had seen it, some five years previously. Dilapidated fences had been rebuilt and painted, stone walls had been repaired. The fields they had passed, before soggy and brown, now stood lush and green, tipping towards harvest-gold. The lawn before the house before them glowed emerald in the bright sunlight, not large but plainly well-tended. A dark glossy wilderness rose behind the house, enticing paths disappearing invitingly into the tangle.

Behind their own carriage rolled a caravan of luggage, maids, nursemaids, footmen, and other attendants. The children often rode in the second-best carriage with their nursemaids, who were adept at entertaining the little ones in an environment that mattered somewhat less if it was soiled. But Elizabeth and her husband agreed that they wanted the children with them for the first sight of the house that would, most likely, one day belong to Annabelle. Darcy himself was master of three smaller estates in addition to Pemberley, to divide amongst his children, and the couple had decided that since Ravenswood had passed from Isobel Stowe to her daughter Elizabeth, it seemed right that it pass from Elizabeth to her eldest – and currently, only – daughter Annabelle.

Thus Annabelle sat beside her mother for her first glimpse of the estate that would one day belong to her, though naturally the child did not understand that. As soon as the carriage stopped, she hopped to the floor, jumping in place until a manservant came to let down the steps and swing open the door. Darcy lay a restraining hand on his excited little girl’s shoulder and stepped out first before turning to lift first Annabelle –careful of both her dress and she herself – and then Thomas to the ground. He smiled lovingly in at his wife as she stood, gently cradling a cooing, drooling Simon in her arm, and he took her free hand to assist her carefully out to the drive.

Elizabeth took a deep, delighted breath of fresh air. A brisk breeze was blowing, most welcome after a sweltering Derbyshire summer.

The door to the manse flew open and Elizabeth smiled at the familiar man, who rushed out and down the stairs.

“Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!” Wickham exclaimed with a grin. “It is so good to see you again!”

“It is good to see you as well,” Elizabeth said truthfully. Darcy, she knew, had been cautious of his old enemy’s true intentions until about three years previously, but all the reports from Ravenswood had been positive, and both Darcys were now confident that Wickham had genuinely turned over a new leaf.

A woman appeared on the shaded porch, and Wickham turned and said, “Diana, will you not come down so I may introduce you?”

Elizabeth smiled at the lady who descended the stairs, graceful in spite of her obvious pregnancy. She was a pretty woman, with dark tresses and dark blue eyes. She was also surprisingly tall, only a few inches shorter than Darcy, and some four inches taller than Elizabeth.

“Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy,” Wickham said, “May I have the honor of introducing my wife, Mrs. Diana Wickham? My dear, Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy, and their children, Miss Annabelle Darcy, Master Thomas Darcy, and Master Simon Darcy.”

The two ladies curtsied, Annabelle bobbed her head, and Simon reached out baby hands toward the unknown woman.

“It is wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Wickham,” Elizabeth said, as she looked around anxiously for her elder son. She found him quickly enough, somersaulting on the lawn a few yards away, and chuckled. “Oh dear. The poor lad has so much energy, and we have traveled for some days.”

“That is quite all right, Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Wickham replied cheerfully. “Our Aaron is very similar. The energy of that child! But please, do come in and refresh yourselves.”

Another carriage had arrived by this time and had disgorged a number of servants. Priscilla and Gertrude, both nursemaids, gathered up the three Darcy children and swept them away to the nursery in the attics, and Elizabeth and Darcy made their own happy way to a pair of guest bedchambers, which were connected by a sitting room. It was, Elizabeth mused, a trifle strange to be placed in guest rooms, given that she was the mistress of the estate, but it was also practical. Ravenswood, so far distant from Pemberley, was thriving under the care of the Wickhams, and Elizabeth and Darcy were both grateful that the Wickhams were willing to live permanently in Scotland to look after the estate and her people.

With the assistance of her faithful maid, it did not take long for Elizabeth to change out of her dusty traveling attire. She then, with the guidance of a young serving girl of the house, found her way to the pleasant, warm nursery in the attics, well stocked with toys, where Priscilla was setting out a small meal for Annabelle and Thomas, while a fussy Simon was being rocked by Gertrude.

“He is hungry, Mrs. Darcy,” the woman said, and Elizabeth took the babe in her arms, sat down on a convenient rocking chair, and nursed him. When he was well fed and asleep, she handed the child back to his nurse and said, “Are you settled here well enough? Do you need anything?”

“Not at all, Madame,” Priscilla assured her. “We will fetch you when the babe needs to eat again.”

“Thank you both,” Elizabeth replied and knelt down to embrace her older two children .

“I will visit you both in a few hours,” she promised.

The Darcy children allowed her to leave without protest, as they adored their nurses, and Elizabeth, after a few wrong turns, found herself on the main floor, where the housekeeper guided her into the drawing room.

Elizabeth looked about the room with contentment. The last time she had been to the house, she had not even seen the drawing room, shooed firmly away from it by her solicitous husband. He had briefly described to her a scene of ruin, cobwebs and glass on the floor from broken windows, the cloth upholstery on the furniture rotted away, leaving only skeletal sticks of wood behind, all of it blanketed in a thick layer of dust.

The difference between that description and its current state was marked. Whoever had furnished it – Mrs. Wickham, most likely – had a skilled eye and sensible tastes. A dark navy carpet would hide the dirt, as would navy and dark maroon upholstery. The occasional cream-colored frill on various cushions or doilies on the dark wooden tables broke up the solemnity and brought a hint of light into the room.

There were few knickknacks sitting around, Elizabeth noted with approval. She knew from her husband’s correspondence with Wickham that he and his wife adored their little son, Aaron, as he was mentioned in almost every letter that otherwise contained largely estate business. This room showed definite signs that Mr. and Mrs. Wickham often had their son brought down from his nursery to spend time with his parents. The Darcys spent more time with their little ones than was strictly fashionable, and Elizabeth was delighted to find associates who also preferred to spend hours in the company of their offspring.

“Please do sit down, Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Wickham said, gesturing toward a seat near the fire. “Tea will arrive shortly.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, sitting down and reaching her hands out toward the flames. “It is surprisingly chilly today!”

“We were both surprised by that the first year we were in residence,” Mrs. Wickham said, just as the door opened and two maids brought in tea service. “I hale originally from Warwickshire, so it was a shock to live so far north where even summer is not particularly hot. I have come to love it, however.”

“I am glad,” Elizabeth said simply. “My husband and I are most grateful that you both are willing to live here and oversee the estate.”

“Willing?” Wickham demanded, arching one eyebrow. “It is truly a gift, and I hope you know how grateful we both are! ”

“It is obvious that you have done a marvelous job,” Elizabeth remarked, looking around her with satisfaction. “Ravenswood was in terrible shape when we last laid eyes on it, with leaky windows and tattered curtains. Given that there were only a few domestics living here, perhaps that is not surprising, but the tenants were suffering greatly as well.”

“Yes, and the winters are long and cold and dark,” Mrs. Wickham said, shaking her head. “Now that I am a mother myself, it grieves me that many of the tenants could not even keep their children well fed and warm. But that is all in the past. Thanks to your generosity in refurbishing cottages and mending fences and draining fields, the income from the estate has risen two and twenty percent in the last five years.”

This provoked raised eyebrows from both Darcys, and Wickham laughed and put an arm around his wife.

“Diana is brilliant with figures,” he explained. “I always had difficulty with it, as you know, Darcy. She manages the records of expenditures and income for the estate and never makes a mistake.”

“I do make mistakes,” Mrs. Wickham protested, “but I always check my work three times and do not think that many errors slip through.”

“Mr. Adair has assured me more than once that you are doing a wonderful job,” Darcy said .

“Speaking of Mr. Adair,” Wickham said, “we have invited him for dinner tomorrow evening. He is eager to see you again, Mrs. Darcy; he apparently still feels uneasy about his past decisions regarding Ravenswood and allowing it to fall into disrepair.”

“As your wife said, that is all in the past,” Elizabeth said, drinking the last of her tea. “And yes, I would very much like to see him again. Our lives have been sufficiently busy that we have not been to Scotland since our first visit five years ago. I look forward to seeing Mr. Adair and hope to meet more of my distant relatives from my mother’s side of the family.”

“We have met many a man and woman who share your red hair,” Mrs. Wickham said, “and you look a great deal like Mr. Adair and his grown children.”

“Our Annabelle shares her mother’s red hair,” Darcy said fondly, “and while Thomas had dark hair, Simon has so little that it is hard to tell yet!”

“He is quite bald,” Elizabeth agreed with a chuckle. “But come, Mrs. Wickham, I know that you are the sister of the steward of Greymere, but how did you meet Mr. Wickham?”

“My brother, Mr. Giles Martin, has a very pleasant cottage at Greymere, you know, and he invited me to stay with him for a few months’ time. I met Mr. Wickham, and while we did not much like one another on first sight, well, after a while, we grew very fond of one another.”

“You know that it was not that I did not like you, dear one,” Wickham said with a shake of his head. “I was afraid to talk to you! I do not know if you are aware, Mrs. Darcy, that my brother-in-law, Giles, is three inches taller than Darcy and massive. I was afraid he would take my interest in his sister amiss and squash me flat with one large fist!”

Elizabeth laughed along with the others and reached out to take her husband’s hand in her own. She trusted Wickham thoroughly now, but it pleased her that Mrs. Wickham had a strong and diligent brother to care for her. There was much to be said for having a loving and protective family.

She knew how blessed she was, how incredibly fortunate, to have been raised by the Bennets, and then to find a half-brother and extended family in northern England and Southern Scotland.

But the greatest blessing of all was her dear Fitzwilliam, who loved her, who cared for her, who occasionally argued with her, whose intelligence matched her own. They belonged together until death parted them, and she hoped, fervently, that such a time would be in the far distant future, when they were old and wrinkled and gray, but as much in love as ever.