Page 63 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

LADY ANNE

A s I watched my son and his wife traverse the halls of Pemberley, I was overjoyed that I had been able to be of assistance to them both.

Perhaps things had not turned out exactly as I had hoped—I had not counted on that termagant Caroline Bingley to have Fitzwilliam’s beloved snatched away to Scotland in an effort to prevent their marriage—but the couple had found a happiness that was exactly what I wanted for my son.

Elizabeth proved to be a most delightful young lady.

My intervention, alongside that of her grandmother, Mrs. Hannah Bennet, spared them months—perhaps years—of uncertainty.

It also had the unexpected benefit of protecting the youngest Bennet girl from near ruin.

Neither of us saw fit to burden our loved ones with that particular truth, but I had been appalled to learn what that scoundrel Wickham had attempted with Georgiana.

What he meant to do to Lydia Bennet would have been even more unforgivable.

Now, with Elizabeth’s confinement drawing near, I found myself on the brink of becoming a grandmother.

Although it pained me that I would not be present to greet this new generation, I took comfort in knowing that my dear friend and sister, Helen Fitzwilliam, stood ready to fill that role.

I was also reassured by the presence of Elizabeth’s Aunt Gardiner—an admirable woman I recalled slightly from her time in Lambton before her marriage—who, with her husband, would no doubt serve lovingly as grandparents on the maternal side.

Elizabeth’s Grandmama Bennet, Hannah, kept me informed from time to time about her son and daughter, who had been left behind in Meryton.

They had still been ostracised by the rest of the village after their daughters departed, and that had only become worse when Jane left for London with Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam.

Lady Lucas had spread the gossip of the marriage, and when Mrs. Bennet appeared at church the Sunday after Jane left, she had been nearly torn apart by her former friends and neighbours.

Instead of attempting to make any apologies or to do anything that might remedy the situation, the lady did as I suspected she had always done—took to her bed and blamed Elizabeth for the misfortunes that had fallen on her.

She did write letters to each of her daughters at Pemberley, but as soon as they were read, they were tossed aside.

Again, had the lady made any attempts to atone for her actions, her daughters might have found it in their hearts to forgive her eventually, but she had not done so.

Her letters were full of the same rants and complaints that she made to her husband—who also did not listen to her—so they were cast into the fire.

Eventually, Jane wrote to her mother, informing her that no further letters would be accepted at Pemberley, as no one in the household wished to waste their money receiving correspondence that was full of complaints and served no useful purpose.

The sisters discussed it, much to the amusement of myself and their grandmother, and elected Jane to write the letter since they felt their mother might listen to her.

If she continued, then Lydia would write, but regardless, any further letters from Longbourn would be refused and returned.

Hannah told me that the reaction to both of those letters, since it had been necessary for both Jane and Lydia to send letters, had been typical for the lady.

She had reacted poorly to the knowledge that neither her “most beautiful daughter” nor the daughter who was most like her wished to hear from her with screeches and swoons and had required substantial aid from the servants in the form of aromatic salts and attention.

Regardless, the Bennet girls had settled most happily at Pemberley and proved delightful additions to the household.

Although my sister Helen had offered to sponsor the elder sisters, Jane and Mary, for a Season in London, both preferred to remain in Derbyshire.

The son of a neighbouring family, Matthew Walker, had been courting Mary for several months, while the parson at Kympton had begun to pay Jane frequent visits.

The Walkers’ estate was modest—perhaps comparable in size to Longbourn—yet it was far better managed.

Fitzwilliam, at first, had struggled to approve of these suitors for his sisters, wishing instead that they might secure husbands amongst the ton and of a rank nearer his own.

However, Elizabeth persuaded him to look beyond considerations of status and to consider only whether the matches brought his sisters happiness.

The reminder of my own intervention in his courtship was not lost upon him, and he soon yielded.

He continued, nevertheless, to observe the courting couples with far greater vigilance than he had ever wished during his own; but I supposed it was natural for a brother to guard his sisters with a degree of scrutiny he would never welcome for himself.

“Perhaps they are not the fine matches that the sisters of a Darcy might expect,” Hannah said as she approached, “but I am pleased to see my granddaughters happy with their choices. Kitty and Lydia will find their own in time, but they are young yet.”

“I have always wished for my children’s happiness above all else,” I replied. “I know my husband grew bitter after my passing, but had Fitzwilliam married as his father intended, he would have become cold and unfeeling. He needed Elizabeth.”

“And my Lizzy needed a man like your Fitzwilliam,” Hannah said with a warm smile. “He keeps her grounded, and she keeps him on his toes. They are perfectly suited to each other.”

“They would have found their way to each other eventually, even without our interference,” I said with a sigh, recalling the debate that had nearly prevented our acting in the first place.

“After months of your son trying to talk himself out of love and my granddaughter despising him?” Hannah scoffed.

She had been the one to urge me to stop that fateful insult—and while the outcome had turned out well, neither of us had predicted the particular twists the story had taken.

Still, things were resolved more quickly than they might have otherwise, and while they had struggled, at least they had been convinced of the other’s love.

“And that was before the proposal,” I added with a groan. “I love my son, but had I been able, I might have slapped him myself. Thankfully, it was not necessary in the end.”

Hannah laughed. “I am still astonished Lizzy did not.”

We continued to watch the young couple for a while longer.

I suspected I would soon become a grandmother—and Hannah, a great-grandmother—and I did not particularly relish being nearby when that time came.

I knew my son would be utterly overwhelmed once his wife entered the trials of childbirth, and while I sympathised with Elizabeth, I could not help but feel grateful it was not my burden to bear.

My husband had been protective, but Fitzwilliam—having lost both his parents so young—took protectiveness to an entirely different level.

When I noticed the vaguely familiar flinch on Elizabeth’s face, I indicated to Hannah that it was time for us to go. “We can come back when the babe is here, but this is not the place for either of us, not now.”

“Madeline is not my child, but I am glad Lizzy and the others have her,” Hannah said with a smile. “Shall we go and see in whose affairs we might next contrive to meddle for a while? ”

“I think there has been enough of that, Hannah,” I replied. Then after a moment, I spoke again. “At least for now. Perhaps the next generation will need some help.”

THE END