Page 5 of The Shades of Pemberley

V ictoria Darcy was long considered to be the leading lady in the small market town of Meryton.

Not only was she an elegant, wealthy woman in her own right, but her husband had been the proprietor of the largest estate in the neighborhood.

The years since Robert’s passing had not affected Mrs. Darcy’s position a jot, for the hens of society still looked to her for direction and deferred to her when the occasion demanded it.

Not the sort of woman who strove to flaunt any perceived superiority over others, Victoria had long endured what she must, though she supposed she took some satisfaction in assisting the other ladies of the neighborhood.

In Mrs. Darcy’s life, her pride and joy was her son, Fitzwilliam.

Though she considered his first name pretentious and had not agreed with her husband’s determination to afflict the boy with it, her son was everything she might have wished when she gave birth to him, possessing a far nobler character than his father, who had not been bereft of virtue himself.

Fitzwilliam, though he was not an open man like his friend, Mrs. Bingley, was a good and conscientious man, liberal in his dealings with his fellows, inclined to charity, and needing little reason to do good, and in short, possessed the virtues many a man aspired to but fell short.

Yes, Victoria knew well that her affection was colored by the affection of a mother for her son, yet she did not consider the praise overdone.

Fitzwilliam was an excellent man, even if he, like everyone else, possessed his faults.

In considering her son in such a manner, another who was privy to her thoughts might have supposed she cared little for her late husband.

Such supposition was incorrect. Robert had been a good man in his own way; he had been just as liberal with the poor as his son, and had treated his fellow men with respect and dignity.

Where Fitzwilliam excelled and his father had not was the air with which he carried himself, his joy in life, in what he had, whereas the ambition to become more had always burned in Robert’s breast. Like her son, Victoria was aware of her late husband’s resentment at the vagary of life that had resulted in his inheritance of a cadet line of the family rather than the influential position occupied by his more illustrious cousins.

While Victoria could not know with certainty, such discontent, she thought, had led in part to his untimely passing.

Perhaps it was wrong to remember him in such a way.

Robert had been a good husband, considerate and kind, and Victoria had always thought him a handsome man.

Where her marriage had been unsatisfying was the lack of anything resembling admiration or affection.

He had considered such considerations perfectly useless, for life to Robert had been a business transaction, each step calculated to improve his family’s position and wealth.

Victoria did not know if he had striven to equal or exceed his cousins’ wealth and position in society, but since even he, in his desire to improve the family’s position, had not stooped to wishing ill on them, it would not surprise her to learn that he wished to exceed his cousins’ influence.

Such thoughts of her former companion were not welcome, and the further in the past his passing became, the more Victoria endeavored to think on it less, and the more she tried to remember the good that had come of their union.

Fitzwilliam was chief among what she considered good, but there were other things, such as the life he had provided her and the joy she had taken in her friends and small family.

Elizabeth Bennet had always held a special place in Victoria’s heart.

When she had been a girl, she had charmed Victoria with her natural vivacity and intelligence.

Even when she had presented a pretty, round cherub face, Victoria had expected she would grow into a girl of uncommon beauty.

The results were apparent for all to see, and Fitzwilliam, the passionate man that he was, never had any chance of resisting her appeal.

It had been a risk. Victoria had seen Fitzwilliam’s interest in Elizabeth long before he had understood it himself.

He was not the sort of man to watch a young girl through the eyes of a lecher, but she had charmed him as thoroughly as she had Victoria herself.

Pointing out his interest to him, even when Elizabeth had been young, had presented a problem, for Robert would have protested the notion of such a match vociferously, intending that his son marry a woman of the ton for the benefits of wealth and station, which he had hoped would exceed his own.

Victoria, however, had always known her son would not be happy with a society wife, no matter how much money or even beauty the woman brought to a marriage.

While it was calculated, Victoria had thought her persuasion enough to induce Robert to relent when the time came, her son’s happiness was sufficient to induce her to take that risk.

Robert’s early passing had rendered the point moot, and much like her son, while she regretted his passing, she was not insensible to the greater freedom it allowed Fitzwilliam.

Now that she was about to realize her greatest triumph, Victoria anticipated the coming union, the years she hoped to have in the company of her excellent son and his future bride.

The trick now was to endure the last few days before their nuptials; the primary obstacle to that was the bride’s mother.

In all honesty, Victoria was fond of Maggie Bennet, though she would admit that more than a little exasperation tinged her fondness.

The two women were the precise opposites of each other, for Maggie was a silly woman, prone to speaking without thinking, having little information or curiosity about the world around her, and fancying herself nervous.

How the woman might have behaved if she had not had the comfort of knowing her daughter would marry the wealthiest man in the district, Victoria could not say, though she shied away from even the thought of such an unrestrained Mrs. Bennet.

Victoria knew the entail played a large part in her current character, but even had she been secure all her life, Mrs. Bennet would never have been a tower of intellect.

That day, as the Darcys with their Bingley guest approached Longbourn, Victoria girded herself to endure Maggie Bennet, determined to ensure the arrangements were to Elizabeth’s taste rather than her often overbearing mother.

The battles between mother and daughter were known throughout the district, despite everything Victoria had done to mitigate them.

That day was to be the last time they met to decide on the last few items. Victoria was anticipating the peace she hoped would follow when they made the final arrangements.

“I apologize, Mother,” said Fitzwilliam as the carriage rolled to a stop, “but we appear to have left your sword behind. Perhaps we could ask the driver if he brought his pistol?”

“If I thought it would help, I might ask you to do just that!” rejoined Victoria, much to Mrs. Bingley’s amusement.

“On the contrary,” said the man, “I find Mrs. Bennet unassuming and pleasant.” Then he paused and winked, adding: “Then again, I will own that I have confined my attention to the woman’s enchanting daughter.”

“You have my apologies, Bingley,” said Fitzwilliam, “but I would never suggest any term resembling ‘unassuming’ to describe Mrs. Bennet.”

“I must agree with you, Fitzwilliam,” laughed Victoria. “Overbearing is often nearer the mark, though she does not intend to be so insistent.

“Now, please hand me down from the carriage so we may end the preparations at once.”

“Of course, Mother,” said Fitzwilliam. “Your wish is my command.”

As they entered the house, Victoria could confess that Fitzwilliam’s comments had not been far from the mark.

She had always found it necessary to steel herself to endure Mrs. Bennet’s ways, and these past weeks of planning had made that necessity even more pressing.

That day would see the end of such things, however, so Victoria did not shirk.

Intent upon her task, she allowed her dear son to guide her into the house.

“CHARLOTTE!” EXCLAIMED Elizabeth when her dear friend entered the room.

“Good morning, Lizzy, Mrs. Bennet,” said Charlotte as she curtseyed her greeting. “I hope I am not imposing this morning.”

“Not at all, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet. “We always welcome your visits.”

Charlotte was a dear friend to them all, a presence in her life that Elizabeth had always treasured.

There was no one Elizabeth considered more sensible than Charlotte, no one outside of her family and the Darcys that she esteemed more.

With genuine pleasure, Elizabeth invited her friend to sit with them, eager to keep her friend’s company until the Darcys arrived, which they would before the time of Charlotte’s morning visit had elapsed.

“So, Elizabeth,” said Charlotte at once, “how have you been occupying yourself? Or need I ask?”

“With wedding preparations, of course,” interjected Mrs. Bennet. “I must own that I am vexed with Lizzy, for she cannot see the benefits of my flower arrangements and insists on something different.”

Mrs. Bennet sniffed with what might be called disdain to one who did not know her. “In my day, young ladies deferred to their mothers in such situations as these, for a girl’s experience cannot compare with her mother’s.”