Page 51 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn

Rosings

Kent

Sunlight and the faintest of breezes teased at the curtains, entering through casements thrown wide.

The ends of the curtains fluttered, pale yellow silk having replaced the heavy red brocade of Lady Catherine’s tenure.

Anne had not redone the entire house – she was not extravagant like her mother – but this sitting room she had altered to her own taste, with bright windows and light curtains and simple, sturdy furniture; blithely ignoring her mother’s dour predictions of fading.

It was a beautiful room now, not designed to showcase wealth, but elegant in an understated way, and pleasant to be in.

It was gloriously warm outside and Anne had every window open.

She had discovered some time ago that she felt much stronger and more vigorous when she received plenty of sunshine and fresh air .

There was a faint clink of cup against saucer, and she withdrew her wandering attention back to her guests. Mrs. Mary Turnball was taking a sip of her tea, but Mrs. Frances Bennet had set down her cup.

“Oh, Miss de Bourgh,” Mrs. Bennet said suddenly, “I do hope you will not be offended if I ascend to my bedchamber. I confess to being very tired after the journey from Longbourn, though it is only fifty miles, and the carriage was very well sprung indeed. But I am not as young as I used to be.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Bennet,” Anne de Bourgh said kindly. “We keep country hours, so dinner will be five, but do not hesitate to rest until then.”

“Oh, thank you!” Mrs. Bennet fluttered. “You are so very kind, and Rosings is such a grand house, one of the grandest I have ever seen. Pemberley is also marvelous, of course!”

“Pemberley is indeed impressive, but I prefer living in Kent. It is far warmer here than in Derbyshire.”

“I prefer warmer weather as well! Well, until dinner, Miss de Bourgh.”

“Until then.”

The older lady bustled out of the room and down the main hall, and Mary, who had been silent thus far, said, “Anne, please allow me to tell you again how grateful we are for your willingness to host our mother while the Darcys and Fitzwilliams are traveling up north in the Lake District. Mamma still does not do particularly well at Longbourn.”

“Oh, it is nothing, Mary,” Anne said, waving an impatient hand. “Compared to Lady Catherine, your mother is the sweetest tempered woman in all of creation!”

Mary chuckled and said, “I hope Lady Catherine has not been too trying of late?”

Anne leaned over to collect a macaroon from the tray, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed as she considered this question.

“She is tiresome, of course,” Anne said eventually, “but she has grown more accustomed to the reality that I, not she, am mistress of Rosings. I realized several years ago that if I give my mother an inch, she will take a league, so I never, ever give in to her demands. It is moderately fatiguing, but I am used to it now.”

“Rosings is thriving under your care, Anne,” Mary said. “I occasionally meet Mrs. Collins, the rector’s wife, who is a sensible woman, and she tells me that your wise stewardship has improved the lot of many a tenant farmer and his family.”

“I am glad,” Anne said simply. “I am grateful to Darcy, both for providing advice via letter, and also for recommending Mr. Newcastle as steward. Our old steward should have been pensioned off years ago, but Mother liked him because he never argued with her.”

The sound of a pianoforte playing nearby caused both ladies to turn toward the door, and Anne asked, “Is that your husband performing?”

Mary tilted her head and closed her eyes, opened them, and said, “It must be Georgiana. She made a mistake in one of the stanzas, and Isaac knows that piece very well.”

Anne shook her head in awe. “You obviously are a remarkable musician, Mary, to catch one little mistake.”

“I am exceptional, but then so are Isaac and Georgiana. And given that I am now a wife, a mother, and a rector’s wife, I am confident that in time, Georgiana will surpass my abilities.”

“Do you ever regret that you do not have as much time to play as you did in your single years?” Anne asked.

Mary, who was well acquainted with her hostess, knew there was more to the question than mere curiosity.

“I think that there are benefits to being married, and to being single,” she replied after a moment of cogitation.

“For you, in your position as mistress of Rosings, there are obviously advantages to staying single as a husband could take control of the estate. For me, given my financial prospects, it was better for me to marry. I can only thank God, and I do, that He led me to Isaac, who is kind and generous and my perfect match. Moreover, I adore my sweet Madelaine. I never knew how much I would love my own child.”

Anne nodded and said, “I used to think I could not safely bear children, but my health has improved so much – well, perhaps, one day, I will meet a gentleman whom I respect and trust, who in turn respects me.”

/

The Hursts’ House

London

“I really cannot decide between the pink sarsnet and the ruby silk,” Louisa Hurst fretted, shifting and smoothing her skirt across the couch where she sat. Adjacent to her, Caroline Bingley plied her needle, the sound of Charles’s pen filling the small room as he wrote a letter to his steward .

“The ruby,” Caroline said decidedly. “The pink does not flatter your complexion quite so well – it is more appropriate for a girl just out of the schoolroom.”

The two women broke off their conversation, and Caroline laid aside her embroidery as the door opened. The Hursts’ butler stepped inside, announcing, “Miss Bennet and Miss Lydia Bennet.”

“Lydia, Kitty!” Caroline cried out, rising to her feet. “Good morning!”

“Good morning to you, Caroline,” Lydia replied. “Good morning, Louisa. Good morning, Mr. Bingley!”

Bingley rose, bowed, and said, “Good morning, Miss Bennet, Miss Lydia.”

With the required introductions out of the way, Lydia promptly launched into her primary reason for calling this morning. “Mr. Bingley, Caroline, Louisa, thank you so very much for accompanying us to Drury Lane! I have never enjoyed a play so much!”

“It was quite magnificent,” Caroline agreed, gazing upon her young protégé proudly.

Lydia had, in the last year, grown only more handsome, and now rivaled her eldest sister.

She was also far better dressed now, thanks to Caroline and Louisa’s advice.

Really, the Bennets were not so very bad, though Caroline would never quite forgive Elizabeth for snatching Mr. Darcy from her.

But the deed was done, and Elizabeth was Mrs. Darcy; better by far to continue cultivating a friendship with the youngest Misses Bennet, since they were now related by marriage to both Darcy and the Earl of Matlock.

She was also genuinely fond of both the girls, and especially Lydia, so it was truly no hardship.

“Did you enjoy the play, too?” Lydia asked eagerly, and Caroline smiled and said, “I did, thank you.”

“Sir Joseph Tyrell could not keep his eyes off of you, Caroline,” Kitty commented, and Miss Bingley blushed openly. The baronet was handsome, charming, and not more than thirty years of age, and Caroline was quite hopeful of receiving an offer of marriage from the man.

“The acting was superb last night!” Lydia exclaimed, breaking into her thoughts.

“I especially enjoyed the speech in Act One, Scene Five by the ghost of Hamlet’s father.

” She took a step forward and her eyes fixed on a wall nearby, her gaze unfocused, her expression suddenly otherworldly. She stretched out a hand and spoke.

I am thy father’s spirit,

Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night,

And for the day confin’d to fast in fires,

Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

Are burnt and purg’d away. But that I am forbi d

To tell the secrets of my prison house,

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,

Thy knotted and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.

But this eternal blazon must not be

To ears of flesh and blood . List, list, O, list!

If thou didst ever thy dear father love

There was a moment of silence, and then Louisa and Caroline began clapping in genuine admiration.

“My dear, that is magnificent!” Louisa cried out. “I had no idea you are such an excellent actress.”

“Thank you,” Lydia said, her eyes sparkling. “I have long enjoyed learning verses and reciting, though ...” and here she allowed her face to droop dramatically, “I cannot, of course, go on stage myself!”

This was, her friends realized, a joke, and Caroline and Louisa laughed appreciatively.

Charles Bingley noticed that his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it immediately, though his heart continued to thud rapidly in his chest. He had always looked upon Miss Lydia Bennet as a girl, a mere child with a charming personality and a remarkable ability to please Caroline.

But she was not a child. She was an incredibly lovely young woman with extraordinary gifts.

This acting of hers, was it possible that she used her abilities to manage others?

He remembered her interactions with Mrs. Frances Bennet, and Caroline and Louisa, and he wondered if perhaps that charm and good humor were partially an act – not in a malicious way, but in order to smooth difficult social situations.

Maybe there was far more to Miss Lydia than a handsome face and fine form.

She was, he suddenly realized, at least seventeen years old. Not quite old enough to wed, but perhaps someday?

/

The Swan

The Lake District