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“I wonder how you can sew for so long and have such an occupation hold your attention, sister.” Caroline Bingley had clearly tired of the silence that pervaded the parlour, for after unhappily attending to her book she, at last, laid it down and turned her hawk-like attention to her sister, who was busily stitching at her handiwork.
“I enjoy the opportunity to develop my skill,” Mrs Hurst said sweetly. “Although I recall you never did possess the dexterity required for sewing.”
Both sisters scowled at one another, before turning their attention to the third young lady present. Georgiana had been sitting at a desk in the window, nursing a letter she had received that morning from her brother. He had dispatched a servant in response to Mr Hurst’s invitation to the newly arrived Mr and Mrs Darcy to join them at Lattimer Place for dinner that very evening and had included a sealed note addressed to Georgiana herself.
“I wonder what it is that so occupies your attention, Georgiana, dear.” Mrs Hurst peered over towards the window. “Is that the note that arrived this morning? I wonder who can contrive to write to you here.” She laughed. “Is there some secret admirer we are as yet unaware of?”
Georgiana coloured, glancing over at the sisters.
“No,” she said, simply. “It is merely a short letter from my brother.”
“Your brother!” Caroline trilled. “Do tell us of Mr Darcy’s news. Are they well settled at Pemberley? What do he and dear Eliza plan to do with their time now that they are in Derbyshire once more?”
“You may ask him yourself,” Georgiana said, folding her letter and slipping it out of sight. “They will be joining us for dinner this evening.” She ducked her head in a polite nod towards Mrs Hurst. “He thanks you for the invitation, Mrs Hurst, and passes on his good wishes and gratitude for your inviting me to stay.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs Hurst waved Georgiana’s compliment away with the hand that still gripped her needle. “You are a delight, Georgiana dear, and no trouble at all! I only wish you might stay here always.”
Something in this compliment apparently nettled Mrs Hurst’s sister, because Caroline stood and walked pointedly towards the window, putting more distance between her and her sister and moving closer to Georgiana.
“I am sure you are eager to see your brother again, are not you?” Caroline asked, watching her carefully for any reaction. Georgiana strove to keep her features impassive, not because she feared to betray her feelings but rather because she did not wish Caroline Bingley to be informed of them. She had always considered Charles’s sister a friend, but lately, coming to know her better, had begun to think that that lady had striven to show only her most agreeable traits to Georgiana, in the hope of endearing herself to her and by extension to Mr Darcy. Now that her brother was married, Caroline’s interest in Georgiana waned, and she was less careful of her. Georgiana had witnessed too many mean-spirited exchanges between the two sisters, and even been on the receiving end of Caroline’s sharp tongue on one occasion, to altogether trust her host’s sister.
“We have been parted some time,” Georgiana said, carefully. “It is always pleasant to be reunited with one’s family when they have often been far away.” She smiled. “I am sure you feel the same about your brother, Miss Bingley, and it is for that reason that you went with him to Hertfordshire, to begin with.”
This caused Caroline to straighten, and smile icily in Georgiana’s direction. It had been evident to her, though she doubted Caroline Bingley realised as much, that Caroline’s arrival in Hertfordshire with her brother had been at least as much to do with Mr Darcy’s being in their company as it was in her desire to be close to her brother.
“You are so right, Georgiana.” She laughed, affecting a lightness that did not translate to her features. “The things we sisters must do for our brothers. It is too cruel, really, for I am sure they do not think of us half so often!”
Georgiana’s thoughts strayed to William, and she opened her mouth to counter Miss Bingley’s assertion with one of her own, yet, to her surprise, the name on her lips was Charles Bingley’s, rather than Fitzwilliam Darcy’s.
“Your brother certainly seems very fondly disposed towards you, Miss Bingley.” She nodded deferentially towards her host. “And to you, of course, Mrs Hurst. Did not he take Netherfield Park precisely so that the two of you might be with him for the autumn?”
“Yes, and look where that has got us!” Mrs Hurst laughed, setting aside her embroidery that she might more fully involve herself in the discussion between her two friends. “Mind you, I cannot lament leaving Hertfordshire behind.” She exchanged a glance with Caroline. “It was not so charming a place as I had been led to believe. And the people!”
A muffled hiss from Caroline was prompt enough to silence Mrs Hurst before she said any more, but Georgina’s curiosity was piqued.
“I rather thought that you had made friends there, Mrs Hurst. Am I mistaken? Mr Bingley certainly seemed enchanted with the place. He has been telling me stories of Meryton, of the regiment stationed there, and of the families you associated with.” She smiled. “One in particular, of course, for it appears both my brother and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, lost their hearts to Hertfordshire.” Speaking the words aloud, she laughed. “You must forgive my poor attempt at humour. Yes, Mr Bingley had nought but good things to say of the Bennet family, and has striven to endear them all to me.” Her voice hitched a little on the all, but it was apparent that neither of her companions noticed. Mr Bingley had told her a little of Elizabeth’s character, but Georgiana refused to be drawn too much on her new sister. She had, when William first wrote of his engagement and later marriage, been delighted, and waited with eager expectation to receive her new sister. She had so often lamented her lack of feminine company and female friendship that she was eager to expand her circle to include one so witty and intelligent. For she must be intelligent if she has induced my brother to wed. How suddenly and how completely her thoughts had changed!
“You must be somewhat acquainted with Miss Elizabeth - with Mrs Darcy as she now is, Miss Bingley. Pray, tell me a little more about her, for I have heard a great deal from both my brother by way of letters and your brother’s stories. Yet I am inclined to think that Mr Bingley so good-hearted he would never dream of saying a negative word about any young lady. You are far more shrewd a judge of character. Tell me, then, what is she like?”
This was as fine an invitation as Caroline Bingley had been offered and she waited no time in sharing her opinion with Georgiana of her dear friend, Eliza Bennet - sorry! Eliza Darcy. True to Georgina’s expectation, Caroline was not complimentary, although she drew short of outright criticism it was apparent from all that she did not say, as much as what she did, where her true opinion lay. Georgiana frowned. This Elizabeth Bennet seemed like the very last person in all the world her brother might one day be induced to care for. How then had she succeeded in winning his heart? Witty, Charles had said, and intelligent. Scheming, Caroline implied. Sly. Had her brother found himself a victim of the very sort of conniving person he had sought to extract his sister from?
***
THREE DOORS DOWN, ON the left... Elizabeth reached for the handle, throwing open the door triumphantly...only to realise the room she was standing outside was not at all the room she intended. Parlour, not library. Both rooms were deserted, as the occupants of the house were busy and Elizabeth had decided to embark upon a leisurely exploration of the library...if only she could find it! She considered retracing her steps to Darcy’s study, where he had barricaded himself with a mountain of notes and the current ledgers for the estate which needed looking over in advance of a meeting with his steward. He would welcome the distraction, Elizabeth was sure, but she had no great desire to admit to her husband, again, that she could not navigate their house. He would find her circumstance amusing and would struggle to hide his smile as he rose from his seat to help her.
No. Elizabeth lifted her chin. I shall find the room myself, and never admit to getting so thoroughly lost! She began walking again, dismissing the parlour and striving to find her bearings. After two further fruitless attempts, she gave up, and chose a door at random, surprised to find that in this instance, she was correct.
“Finally!” she cried, dancing across the threshold and happily crossing to the bookshelves. A movement from within startled her, though, and she drew back, surprised to find the room was not empty, as she supposed.
“Mrs Darcy!” George Wickham had been seated at a small table, poring over several volumes. He struggled quickly to his feet, closing books as he moved, and arranging them clumsily into a pile.
“Oh, Mr Wickham!” Lizzy took a step back towards the door. “Forgive me, I did not realise anyone else was here.”
“No more did I!” Wickham laughed, uncomfortably. “Indeed, I was not aware anyone else knew of this room, nor had need of it.”
“Mr Darcy introduced me to it a day or two past,” Elizabeth said. “Only I have struggled until now to find it again.” She pulled a face. “We are not all so well-acquainted with navigating around such a large house as this.”
“No.”
Wickham’s one-word answer gave Elizabeth pause, and she was surprised to see his features lifted in a wry, self-deprecating smile.
“Do, please, go on with your work,” Elizabeth said, reaching quickly for a book - any book - and planning her retreat. “I came only for something to read. Having accomplished that, I might set to just as easily in the parlour, or...” Her forehead creased in anxiety. “Or any other room than this!”
“You certainly have plenty to choose from,” Wickham said. “That is, of course, assuming you manage to successfully find your way back to the parlour.” He smiled. “Is not my wife there? She talked about playing the piano this morning, and so I assumed her to be fully occupied.”
Elizabeth shook her head. The house was silent, for if she had heard music she might have lingered closer to listen more, and maybe asked if Anne wished for company, rather than wandering the halls alone and getting herself thoroughly lost.
“Perhaps we will go and look for her, then,” Wickham said, casting a regretful glance over his shoulder at the books. “I ought not to have assumed free rein to colonise the library as I saw fit. I am sure many things have changed in the years I have been away from Pemberley, not least who is granted uninterrupted access to this hallowed space.” This time his smile was a little bitter, and Elizabeth lifted her chin, reminding herself that no matter how many memories Wickham possessed of this house, she was now its mistress and need not feel cowed.
“I give you leave to stay and study if you wish. I am sure Darcy would not mind that.”
Wickham laughed.
“I am quite sure he would prefer it. Come, Mrs Darcy, I see you are loathed to take a step further into the room, and instead linger in the doorway lest we are discovered here together. Let us avoid the threat of gossip and step out into the corridor, where we might talk without fear of being spied upon.”
Clutching her book close to her chest, Lizzy stepped out into the hallway, waiting for Wickham to join her, and they began a very slow walk in the direction of the parlour. They had not gone but a few paces when Wickham paused, tilting his ear up.
“You are right, there is no sound of a piano to be heard. Perhaps Anne changed her mind.”
“Perhaps she struggled to find the piano, to begin with,” Elizabeth said, gloomily. She had always prided herself on her excellent sense of direction, but perhaps that only applied when she was out of doors, and not to a large house that she must learn to navigate alone.
“Anne could find a piano anywhere.” Wickham arched an eyebrow. “Much like you and libraries, I wager. Yet unlike you, she has also spent a little time here already in her life. Pemberley can be a rabbit-hole to those who do not know its idiosyncrasies.”
“You do know them, I assume?”
“I know some of them. Are you aware, for instance, of the priest hole on the east stairwell?”
Elizabeth’s surprise indicated she was not.
“I will leave you to discover it, next time you are in search of some occupation. It is tiny, certainly not large enough to conceal any gentleman of the cloth I have ever come across, but perhaps the Papists were of slighter stature.” Wickham laughed. “It provided an excellent hiding place for two young boys always getting in and out of trouble, I will say that for it.”
“You and Mr Darcy?”
“Indeed.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, and Wickham appeared to be lost in thought before he spoke again.
“You have heard only of our falling out, Mrs Darcy, and so I imagine it quite strange for you to think me and William were ever friends.” He smiled, bitterly. “I think it strange myself, these days. I confess to holding so much of a grudge against him, for so long, that to recall our carefree childhood games is almost like remembering a dream.”
He said no more, but something that might have been pain played out across his features.
“Mr Wickham, you speak of trouble-making, and carefree childhood games,” Elizabeth prompted when she could no longer bear the awkward silence. “Surely it must have been one rather than the other.”
“Spoken like a true lady!” Wickham laughed again. “Yet I imagine you would have been sympathetic to boys’ scrapes, much as Lady Anne was, and given way to our apologies, rather than holding fast to punishment.”
“It rather depends on the scrape, I imagine,” Elizabeth remarked, remembering, with a grimace, the punishments she had endured from her mother after tearing yet another dress by climbing a tree or being too absorbed in a novel to notice a nail at precisely the wrong point in a wall. Her father had been more generous, and his “punishments” more often than not consisted of being kept in his study to “think over her behaviour”, otherwise known as to take her place as his opponent over the chess board.
“Aye, and the intention behind it.” Wickham’s laughter died away. “In which case, Darcy would be spared every beating and they would be revisited twice upon my own head. You need not wonder, Mrs Darcy, which of the two of us was ever the instigator of our crimes.” His smile faded. “You need also not wonder which of us suffered more greatly at the hands of our fathers in terms of punishment.”
Recalling her own close relationship with her father, Elizabeth felt a wave of sympathy for Wickham, whose eyes flashed with anger at some memory he would not be drawn to share.
“Well, Mrs Darcy. Here is the parlour.” Wickham bowed. “I trust you will find a comfortably sunny spot in which to enjoy your book. I must away and find my wife, for goodness knows where she has hidden herself.” He glanced at her anxiously. “Do you wish for company, or would you much prefer to be left to your reading? I do not ask for myself, but for Anne.”
“Of course she may join me!” Elizabeth said, with an energetic nod. “There is the piano here, she might play if she wishes, or any other quiet occupation that would suit her.” She lowered her voice. “If she wishes.”
“I am sure she will. Do not fear our imminent arrival, though. You will manage at least some progress in your reading before we return to disturb you.” Wickham winked. “I have yet to find her, after all, and we both know how difficult it is to navigate such a house as this. I may be gone quite some time, Mrs Darcy...”