I have given much more time to practising the pianoforte since I arrived, and my playing is at last beginning to reflect my efforts. Even better, when Georgiana and I play together, we have perfected the art of arranging the pieces so that her proficiency disguises my weaker talent. We played a duet for Darcy after dinner yesterday, and he seemed genuinely delighted with our performance. Whether we receive such generous praise from a less partial audience remains to be seen. I do not doubt that some of my imminent guests will prove suitably severe critics.
27thNovember
This letter has taken too long to write, but I confess, sending it is a daunting prospect. I dread that you will receive my news unwillingly and reply in bitterness. I dread more that you will not reply at all. Regardless, you can hardly respond to a letter that has not been sent; thus, I have at long last summoned the courage to post it.
I hope you and Bingley are in excellent health and wish you both a very merry first Christmas together.
Yours in love and hope,
Lizzy
Monday 7 December 1812, Hertfordshire
It wasseveral years since Jane had been in company with Marianne Etheridge, and she was surprised by how little the woman had altered. She had gained none of society’s graces, despite her time in Town, and had returned home after two Seasons still plump, awkward, and single. It was polite of her to call, however, and were it not for Elizabeth’s unsolicited and presumptuous counsel on how she might broaden her circle of acquaintance by seeking just such an audience, Jane might have been better pleased that she had.
“How are you finding it here at Netherfield?” Marianne enquired. “Is it strange to be away from Longbourn?”
“I am not so very far away, but it is refreshing to be mistress of my own house.” When Marianne made no reply, Jane continued, “And you? Do you find Meryton much changed since you went away?”
“Very little, for which I am excessively grateful. I have never been suited to London society. I am only sorry it took me so long to convince the rest of the world of that fact.”
Jane nodded. “As my very good friend Lady Ashby says, a woman ought to be sensible of her station.”
“Indeed.” Marianne looked at the clock. “Pray, tell me, how does Lizzy? Her marriage is quite the talk of the town.”
“Curious, then, that you feel the need to ask me about it,” Jane replied before thinking, unprepared for the mention of her sister. She hastily affected a laugh to disguise her bitterness and added, “But she is at Pemberley and means to stay there for Christmas, I understand.”
“One does not wonder why. I am sure that will be delightful.”
Jane knew of at least one person who would not agree. In her most recent letter, Lady Ashby had expressed her dismay at having been summoned to Pemberley and joked of being made to sit down with the tenants for a “Christmas mealserved with a garnish of gaucherie and a second course of impudence.” Jane felt the vast compliment of her ladyship’s admission of envy for her own, humbler arrangements.
Rather than speak any more of Elizabeth, she enquired as to the Etheridges’ plans for Christmas, which they discussed until the clock struck the hour, and Marianne all but leapt from her chair, insisting she would not outstay her welcome, and left.
Jane would not have objected if the visit had lasted longer, for she was expecting no other callers that day and was rather offended by Marianne’s resolve to go. She consoled herself with Lady Ashby’s assurances that, contrary to what Elizabeth might think, it was not for her to associate with a woman who had been slighted by the rest of society.
Pemberley
18thDecember
To Miss Mary Bennet,
I thank you most sincerely for your last letter. Life at Longbourn sounds very lively. Until recently, I should have said Pemberley was quite different, but that has not been the case these past four-and-twenty hours. All but two of our guests have now arrived for Christmas, and yesterday there was such a commotion! I have not seen my brother so cross for quite some time—but I am ahead of myself. Allow me to explain.
My aunt, Lady Catherine, arrived yesterday. I was shocked to see how frail she has grown. She was scarcely able to walk into the house, even with assistance. Whilst everybody was fussing over her, attempting to get her indoors and make her comfortable, your cousin Anna ran into the hall without looking and knocked her ladyship’s cane from her grip. I was very sorry for her, for she had been an angel until then and chose such an unfortunate moment for a spell of mischief. The cane fell across her ear and made her scream until she was snatched up by her father and carried off to the nursery.
It was then that Lady Catherine discovered the Gardiners were staying at Pemberley for Christmas.
I should never have thought, from that first sight of her, that she would have the energy for such a tirade as she then gave! I am ashamed to say she was very unkind to your aunt and uncle and demanded they leave. When my brother insisted none of his guests would be leaving, she turned her anger upon him and Lizzy. Lizzybore it with impossible civility, but Brother was not nearly so forbearing, and there was a terrible scene.
In the end, when nobody would yield to her demands, my aunt attempted to leave instead but was too weak to walk back to the door and almost fell. Mr Montgomery and my cousin Fitzwilliam were obliged to escort her against her will to her room, where Lord Matlock (her brother) instructed her to remain until she could “recall in which trunk she had packed away all her dignity!”
Be assured, I have spent some time with Anna since, and she is quite recovered from her fright and the trifling injury to her ear. Lady Catherine will not so rapidly overcome her wounded pride, I fear. Lizzy, however, spent an hour with her last night—truly, Mary, your sister is fearless—and whatever she said seems to have persuaded her ladyship against leaving.
Your aunt and uncle have been astoundingly gracious throughout. You must be proud to be able to claim such relations. Excepting Lizzy and the children, they are the only two people here of whom I am not at least a little bit afraid. Even my brother—nay, I daresayespeciallymy brother when he is as angry as he was yesterday—can be a fearsome creature. My cousin Fitzwilliam assures me matters will settle down in a few days, but his grandmother thinks otherwise and insists that, when my other cousin Lord Ashby and his wife arrive, the fireworks will begin in earnest.
I am not afraid, though. Not with Lizzy here. She has such a way of manoeuvring people out of ill-humours and encouraging them to good cheer. Already, she has persuaded my brother to overlook Lady Catherine’s incivility and have her seated next to him at dinner this evening. All apprehension aside, I believe this will be the liveliest and, I hope, the merriest Christmas Pemberley has seen in many years.
To answer your query: yes, Lizzy does very well. Very occasionally she tarries abed of a morning, but she assures me a little fatigue is quite common, and thus, you must be similarly assured that she is in perfect health. I share your anticipation for the arrival of a niece or nephew. Lizzy teasingly suggested that I watch Lady Catherineclosely during her stay for ideas on how best to go about the business of being an aunt—at least, I hope she was teasing, but I would prefer to be more like Mrs Gardiner.
