Page 49 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn

“What?!” she finally shrieked.

“I am engaged to Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, suddenly worried. “Does that upset you?”

“You are engaged to Mr. Darcy?” her mother said, her blue eyes flared wide. “Mr. Darcy who is master of a great estate and earns ten thousand pounds a year? That Mr. Darcy?”

“That Mr. Darcy, yes,” Elizabeth said, relaxing.

“Oh, oh, oh! My dear Lizzy!” the matron cried, leaping to her feet, sending lace flying and embracing her second daughter fervently.

The ribbons, forgotten in her excitement, swirled and danced in the breeze of her swaying skirts.

“Oh, ten thousand pounds a year. We are saved, quite saved! No hedgerows for us.”

She took a step back and beamed at Elizabeth, who, while amused, could only smile back and say, “I am glad you are happy. ”

“Happy! Such pin money! Horses! Carriages! I am ecstatic! Now, about your wedding clothes…”

/

Longbourn

The Next Day

Charlotte’s fingertips brushed feather-light over her son’s downy head as he nursed at her breast. The room was peaceful and nearly silent, with only the distant chirping of birds outside the window.

Thomas’s tiny hand clenched spasmodically on her bodice and relaxed, his absurdly long lashes fluttering in milky baby dreams.

Josiah stood in the doorway a moment longer, watching his wife’s tenderness with their infant son, before moving into the room. Charlotte looked up at him. “You look happy about something, my love.”

“I am.” Josiah sat down beside her, tucking back a wisp of hair behind Thomas’s tiny ear. “Mr. Darcy just visited, asking for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.”

Charlotte’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Oh he did, did he? Just as I said he would? ”

Josiah laughed ruefully in return. “Indeed, just as you said he would.”

Charlotte nodded complacently. “Thomas is almost finished,” she remarked, looking down at the infant in her arms. “I will be down to greet our guest as soon as he is.”

Josiah nodded, stood, and slipped out of the room. Charlotte watched the door snick closed behind him before her gaze wandered over to the window and evergreen branches tossing beyond the panes.

Her dear Eliza would soon be Mrs. Darcy, and she and her fiancé would suit very well. Each had the wit and the energy to keep up with the other, and both could provide the intellectual stimulation each craved. They would, Charlotte thought, be very happy with one another.

/

Matlock House

London

It was silent in the breakfast room, broken only by the faintest of sounds of the crunch of toast and the crinkle of paper.

The sun, nearly at its zenith above, dusted the windowsills and the floor beneath the glass with bright light.

Lady Matlock sat alone at the table, slowly finishing her breakfast as she read a letter.

The peace was shattered as the door slammed open, and Lady Catherine marched in, looking irritable and indignant.

“Serena, I really must speak to you!” she exclaimed.

“Your servants here are dreadfully poorly trained. When I went to wash this morning – as every lady of good breeding should do, as it is imperative to be clean in one’s face and habits, well, the water brought for me was quite too hot!

Why, I nearly took a scald! The servants at Rosings know better than to ever bring water to a guest that is too hot! ”

Lady Matlock reached for her teacup, sipping at her tea throughout this diatribe, projecting an outward calm she did not really feel.

She did not relish her sister-in-law’s company, and dearly hoped Catherine would depart for Rosings soon.

Her constant nagging and harping was tiresome, and she inevitably ruffled any servant required to deal with her, which upset the peace of the entire household.

When her sister-in-law finally ran out of breath, Serena set her teacup down in its saucer and looked up, “Good morning, Catherine. ”

“It is not a particularly good morning,” her guest said huffily. “I slept quite ill; my guest chamber is drafty! You ought to do something about that!”

“I can move you to another room if you like.”

The mistress of Rosings waved a hand and said, “It matters not; Anne and I will be departing on the morrow. The air is not good for Anne here, and as for me, well, I do grow quite weary of all the noise and bustle of Town. I do not know how you can possibly enjoy spending months of the year here, Serena. I truly cannot!”

“Yes, well, we all have different temperaments,” Lady Matlock replied, her eyes dropping down again to the letter in her hand.

Lady Catherine was, naturally enough, extremely curious, but Lady Matlock was a peeress. She could not exactly order the mistress of the house to hand the letter over.

She walked over to the buffet, selected toast, eggs, and poured herself coffee, and then made her way to a seat near her sister by marriage. To her relief, Lady Matlock chose to put her out of her misery.

“This letter is from Darcy,” she remarked.

Lady Catherine took a large gulp of coffee in surprise, scalding her throat in the process, and then turned an indignant glare upon her companion. “Darcy? Why on earth is he writing to you?”

“It is to both Matlock and myself. Darcy informs us that he is engaged to be married.”

The mistress of Rosings squealed in astonishment and cried out, “What?”

“He is engaged, Catherine.”

“No, no, do not be foolish. That is quite impossible! He is to marry my Anne!”

“You are welcome to read the letter if you like,” Lady Matlock said, waving the letter in one delicate hand.

Lady Catherine grasped it and brought it up to her eyes and then squinted. It was not, of course, that her eyes were weak in any way. It was merely that she was upset at such a disgusting insinuation that her nephew might possibly make an offer to a female beside her Anne.

Dear Lord and Lady Matlock,

I am honored to inform you that I am engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sister of Richard’s fiancée, Jane Bennet. Richard and I anticipate marrying in a double ceremony in March, after our respective brides have completed deep mourning.

I have never been happier.

Respectfully,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Lady Catherine screamed.

/

Drawing Room

Netherfield

“Mr. Darcy,” the butler announced.

Caroline Bingley, who had been moodily flipping through a magazine of current fashions, leaped to her feet in delight. “Mr. Darcy!”

“Miss Bingley,” Darcy replied, bowing to the lady and then turned to Bingley, who had cast aside his own book and risen eagerly.

“Darcy! ”

“Bingley, it is good to see you.”

“Are you perchance returning to Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy?” Caroline asked eagerly. “I can order the housekeeper to make up your guest chamber!”

Darcy lifted a restraining hand and said, “No, I am only in the area for a few hours, but I could not leave without visiting you and telling you my news.”

“Your news, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley repeated, and even to her own ears, her voice sounded strange. There was a peculiar look of joy and cheer on Mr. Darcy’s face, and that was alarming considering that she still harbored the hope that she would one day be mistress of Pemberley.

“I am engaged to be married!” Darcy declared, and it took every iota of Miss Bingley’s self-control to keep from whimpering. Fortunately, her brother was exuberant enough to cover her own lack of delight.

“Engaged! Darcy, many congratulations! Who is the fortunate young lady?”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”

This time, Caroline Bingley could not control herself. She shrieked.