I am also very grateful. I have much to be thankful for in my situation, but more than anything else, I am grateful for you, my love. Were the worst to happen, were we to lose Pemberley and everything that accompanies it, I have faith that you would treat me as well as you always have. You would do right by me and the children, and you and I would work together to make the most of what we did have.
You would never gamble away your money while our children went hungry. You would never sell my jewelry to buy whisky. You would never seduce a merchant’s daughter and run away, leaving us both humiliated.
You are an exemplary man, my love, and I feel so very fortunate to have you as my husband.
I must attend Lydia now, for even Jane is losing her patience. That girl can make our mother seem docile!
I am taking the children shopping tomorrow for new shoes and a few other things. Please let Carter know to expect the bills so he does not think someone is using my name in Newcastle. With any luck, we will leave this wretched place by the end of the week.
Kiss the children for me and tell Bennet I am writing his letter next and I expect a letter in return. I love you all very dearly.
Your wife,
Elizabeth Darcy
Pemberley, Derbyshire
5 May, 1826
My Dear Elizabeth,
I am sorry you have to witness such deprivations. I am not entirely unaware of how the Wickhams were living, as my man has kept me informed, but there was little to be done about it besides paying the butcher occasionally. I am saddened to know that Wickham is up to his old tricks again. The man is nearing forty—has he no shame?
Spend as much as you like on the children—Pemberley can well handle the expense. As far as taking in young Matilda, I am open to the discussion, though I am not prepared to agree just yet. What is she like? Will she get on with our children? I imagine Elinor would like to have another girl in the house—she is rather outnumbered, poor thing. Perhaps we should have a trial period? Invite her for the summer, and if everyone gets along, we can make the arrangement permanent.
The legalities will be tricky. Regardless of whether Wickham is her natural father, he has claimed her publicly and given her his name. I will speak to the lawyer and see what can be done. If her true father were to attempt to claim her—and that likely means your sister would have to name him and admit to infidelity—that might make things easier, but it also may complicate it all more. We know nothing of his character, other than he was willing to bed a married woman and abandon his own child. Wickham may be easier to work on, but we do not know where he is. He may come looking for Lydia eventually, likely when he is in need of money as you speculated, but it is also possible he will board the nearest ship and not look back. It would be like him.
Please do not tell your sisters in case nothing comes of it, but I have sent men to all the major ports to ask about a man of Wickham’s description. I included the aliases he used in the past, but he may have picked up new ones in recent years. It is unlikely to yield much, but if it does, at least we will know.
I am proud of you for looking after your sister when it is distasteful to you. I know you cannot enjoy it, and you and Lydia have never been on particularly good terms. You are doing the right thing, my dear, and even though she will not show it, your sister is grateful.
Now that I think on it, why do we not have one of the boys come this summer as well? I will leave it to you to choose which one. If Bingley also took one of them and your sister Catherine the other, all the children would have a respite form their wretched situation and it would give Lydia time to acclimate at Longbourn without all the children underfoot. We might assess their characters and how they behave more effectively this way and know better how to go about assisting them. Perhaps the boys might be sent to school. It need not be anything fancy, but an education rarely harms.
I will look into it. Do be careful, my love. Wickham associated with unsavory characters and I would not want you about when they came looking for him.
Your husband,
FD
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
11 May, 1826
My Dear Husband,
That was the most interminable carriage ride of my life! Remember when we took Bennet and Elinor to Yorkshire and Bennet was sick all over the carriage? This was worse.
Lydia wailed the entire time—how she had lost her position, how she was humiliated by her husband, how everyone was being unfair to her. After all, she was not the one who seduced the shop girl. Then she blamed the girl herself, as if she has not done the exact same thing!
Jane and I did ask her about Matilda’s natural father. Turns out he is a sailor who was only in Newcastle for a short time. He is of Portuguese descent on his mother’s side and he is likely there now, never to be heard from again. Have you heard from your men at the ports? If Wickham would release his parental rights, or whatever the term is, it would make things a great deal easier. If he does not return, can another guardian not be appointed? Such as my father? One would think there would be a provision for this in the law, but everything I know of it shows it does not have the best interests of women or children in mind.
I like your idea of taking all the children for the summer. Kitty has written to say she is expecting again, so Jane and I have agreed to split the five of them between us. Matilda and Joseph (he is the next youngest child and five years of age) will come to Pemberley, and the Bingleys (bless them!) will take Jack, Beatrice, and Thomas. Kitty has said she will join us as often as she can. You don’t mind hosting her family for a time, do you? I have not yet issued the invitation, but it is only a few hours drive, and I know how well you like Mr. Cuthbert.
Now, on to Longbourn! The house is as it ever was, though the windows need painting. My mother is clucking like a hen about the children and her poor Lydia, but interestingly, she shows little patience with my sister’s antics, which is a refreshing change. Lydia has received no sympathy from our father, though I will admit she is due at least a little. She was fifteen when she made a foolish mistake that set the course for her entire life, and if she had learned anything from it, I should find her past stupidity much more forgivable. It is difficult to feel sorry for someone who refuses to learn from their own mistakes, but her current situation is pitiable, if nothing else.
Father has taken an interest in Jack, who seems somewhat studious. It may be that he is only interested in the books my father shows him because he enjoys the attention, but regardless, father is spending a good deal of time with him and I believe it will do them both good.
Did you read Bennet’s letter before he sent it? It was amusing, to say the least. Apparently, Elinor has stolen one of his toy soldiers and hidden it somewhere he cannot find it, and he is carefully searching the nursery for it. I imagine he will branch out to neighboring rooms soon, so it may be wise to inform Nanny.
