Page 30 of The Last House in Lambton (Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

M y letters always arrived in a bundle, since my father only sent Mr Hill to the post office when it suited him—in other words, rarely.

Thus, under the sweet supervision of Miss Darcy, who, not knowing my family, looked terribly pleased for me to get what must certainly be happy news of loved ones, I read that things at home were much as they always were.

We put great stock in correspondence, but having relied entirely upon it for news of my family for more than two months, I had come to the realisation that it was a highly overvalued form of communication.

Only by piecing together what bits one or the other of my relations felt inspired to share, could I get any sort of a picture of reality—and that merely an uncertain sketch.

Papa had been out in the fields, ostensibly out of interest in the state of the soil, but most likely wishing only to escape the noise and to look deeply into his own mind without being harassed.

Whatever the case, he had turned an ankle on one of the furrows.

He was a grump , according to Kitty, a beast , according to Lydia, and a poor, dear man who did not once complain, according to Jane.

To Mary, he was much to be pitied because he could not go to church, and to my mother, who deigned to write to me, he was likely to sink into a decline on account of weak bones.

Jane, who had gone home for Charlotte’s wedding, had not been allowed to return to London, and I pitied her extremely. But it was on account of Mr Collins’s wedding that my mother forgot to have disowned me, writing …

…and such a popinjay was Mr Collins he did not so much as compliment poor Charlotte on her dress, only asking me if I thought his waistcoat was splendid and going on at length about how his patroness had made a gift of it.

I am certain it was handed down from the woman’s dead husband, for it was in the style my grandfather would have worn.

In any case, dear Charlotte looked far older than her years, Lizzy, but even I did not think she deserved to be positively overlooked by her bridegroom…

Jane had said of Charlotte that she looked as beautiful as she had ever been, had bade a most affecting farewell to her friends and family, and had stepped bravely into the hired post chaise with Mr Collins, who expressed an urgency to be away that struck my gentle sister as perhaps unhandsome.

To me, it spoke of lust or a desperation to return to the bosom of Lady Catherine de Bourgh—perhaps both—causing a shiver to run up my spine and a prayer to fly straight up to God in sincere gratitude I was not his unfortunate bride.

My father made no mention of his ankle, but of the wedding he wrote,

You would have been diverted, Lizzy, to have seen our neighbour’ s sly looks at what will be Mr Collins’s house when we had them to dinner.

I am certain Lady Lucas itched to peek at the bottom of her plate to ascertain which house had the distinction of making what will be his china service, for having secured him away from one of my daughters, it has just now occurred to her that his inheritance will necessarily belong to her eldest born.

In comparison to the dignified serenity in which I was now nestled, these tasteless bits were discouraging enough, but it was Lydia’s letter that caused me to flush red with fury and to wish I could board the next packet to America and take my chances with savages.

From what I could gather from my other letters, the militia still featured large in Meryton society, and the officers met with everyone’s hospitality equally.

I was somewhat disturbed to ascertain, however, from hints dropped by Jane and outright boasts from Mama, that they were most often at Longbourn.

My mother doted upon anyone in a red coat and had one or more officers at her table any day of the week.

This was certainly unhelpful in quelling my youngest sister’s propensity to flirt. She wrote,

La! You will never guess what Mr Wickham has said of you, Lizzy.

I read on with a dreadful suspicion I was about to be strongly annoyed after such a preamble.

He says you are lingering in Lambton to catch sight of Mr Darcy, you sly thing. And he cannot blame you for throwing your handkerchief in his way, though you do not like him, for who would not try for such a fortune as would fall to ‘Mrs Darcy’! Ha-ha.

Mary, being an odious busybody and thinking she must always act as chaperon, overheard what was meant to be a private conversation, and she protested that you are not a lady to be on the catch for anyone, and then Mama, having her ears on the prick for any talk of ‘catching’ beaus then said she might yet forgive you if you could achieve a brilliant match.

How dare he! Then and there, Mr Wickham fell into my black books, and it was only with the strongest degree of resolution that I refrained from showing my feelings of outrage, stifling a strong urge to jump out of my chair and pace to-and-fro uttering curses and lamentations for having ever liked the man.

On top of everything else, he had assumed I had known Lambton was close enough to Pemberley to stumble upon Mr Darcy!

In fact, I had never given one thought to where Mrs Jennings lived in relation to the man.

Lydia, too, came under the glare of my disapproval, for it was clear she only wrote to me to share this on dit and to gleefully triumph that I was no longer Mr Wickham’s favourite, for why else would he say such a thing about me outside of my hearing other than spite?

Even my youngest sister, who was as astute as a rusted hatchet is sharp, could glean this much.

“Is all well?” Mr Darcy asked smoothly.

Lord! When had he come in? Why would he trouble to sit with us anyway? Had he been watching me read my letters?

“Oh well,” I said lightly. Again, I do not know why I could not issue a polite lie to the man, but I could not.

“You must surely recall Hertfordshire and its myriad examples of village life, Mr Darcy. There is always some trifling upset, particularly to girls of a certain age, and my family is made up entirely of girls, if you recall.”

“Do you have sisters?” Miss Darcy asked in surprise. “I would dearly love to hear about your family—forgive me. I should have enquired long ago…” Her voice faded into embarrassed dismay.

“Would you? Perhaps tonight, when Mrs Jennings has won all the little prizes we have gathered, I shall tell you about them. Mr Darcy, I am certain, will be only too happy to be excused, for he has met them, and they are, save my eldest sister Jane, all extremely silly.”

“No!” she laughed. “Surely you are being unkind.”

“Your brother can attest to the generosity of my calling them merely silly,” I replied with a chuckle. “Might we again plunder the bric-a-brac box for our game tonight?”

“Better yet, I shall take you up to the nursery. There, we shall find a bounty of buttons and cards and I-know-not what else.”