Chapter 13

Barnet

Traveling the Great North Road

Friday, 14th August, 1812

After a pleasant luncheon in Islington, the party climbed back into the first carriage with Sir Christopher Harding, the impoverished son of a deceased baronet, taking the place of Captain Scofield. He engaged in cheerful conversation with Lydia as the carriage continued to roll north. Elizabeth, watching curiously, was impressed with the gentleman's demeanor and ability to keep Lydia entertained with his pleasant anecdotes about his time in London. Given that Sir Christopher had spent several Seasons in Town, he was able to provide descriptions of balls and visits to the theater, which were obviously of great interest to Lydia, who adored being in society.

Elizabeth realized that her body was relaxed, and it took her a moment to determine why. With Captain Scofield, while she admired him, she had to be ready to assist the conversation along, whereas Sir Christopher was well able to maintain a steady flow of dialogue.

She looked across at Darcy, who was, as usual, gazing at her, and she blushed before turning to look outside, whereupon she gasped.

"The obelisk of Barnet," Darcy murmured, softly enough that the others in the carriage were not disturbed. "Reputed to be where Warwick the Kingmaker fell during the Battle of Barnet."

Elizabeth stared at the stone memorial, a square shaft which rose some fifteen feet in the air, surrounded by a grassy area and flowers. "It is hard to imagine that this place was the locale of such an important and bloody battle."

This spurred an enthusiastic, if muted, discussion of the War of the Roses, and Elizabeth was not surprised to discover that Darcy had read even more than she had about that tragic war. The ensuing dialogue kept them both pleasantly entertained for some time.

/

Pemberley

Friday, 14th August, 1812

"My dear Mrs. Reynolds, how wonderful to see you again!" Richard Fitzwilliam exclaimed, grinning down at the woman who was hurrying toward him along the corridor.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam!" she said with a pleased smile. "It is so very good to see you after all this time! Welcome, welcome!"

"Thank you very much," Richard replied, beaming at the woman who had served as housekeeper of Pemberley for more than twenty years. Mrs. Reynolds had always combined efficiency with kindliness, and the colonel had fond memories of playing tag and hide and seek with Darcy and Wickham through the multitude of rooms on the main level of the mansion, and then repairing to a parlor for cakes and tea under the housekeeper's benevolent eye. Richard could not help but shake his head at the changes in all their lives. Darcy was now master of the vast estate, Richard a colonel in His Majesty's Army, and Wickham a reprobate and a villain.

"If you will come this way, sir, I will escort you to your bedchamber so that you can refresh yourself," Mrs. Reynolds said. "I hope the Blue Room is pleasing to you?"

"Yes, of course," Richard agreed and followed the woman up the stairs and into the family wing. At the far end of the corridor was the Blue Room, a chamber generally reserved for the male guests of Pemberley. Heavy navy velvet curtains hung at the windows, sunlight glancing off of cornflower wallpaper. A cluster of leather wingback chairs stood before the cold fireplace around a solid mahogany table, ornate carving running up and down the legs. Over on the dresser sat a plain white porcelain pitcher and washbasin, and a quilt in varying shades of blue covered the fourposter bed.

"Is Georgiana about?" Richard asked, pausing in the doorway.

"She is playing the pianoforte in the music room," Mrs. Reynolds said. "You remember the way?"

"Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds."

/

Thirty Minutes Later

The music room door opened noiselessly, and Richard stopped in the doorway, observing the room. Georgiana was seated in profile to him, intent on the pianoforte and the Mozart that was flowing out from under her skillful fingers. A delicate rose pink morning dress lent a touch of color to her cheeks, her eyes bright as stars as she played. Richard smiled to himself. His young cousin was truly a gifted player, and her joy when she performed was obvious and charming.

He glanced further down the room towards the windows and saw Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst seated on a divan against the wall, likewise watching Georgiana, and both sporting rapt expressions. His eyes dwelt a trace derisively on the ivory lace at Miss Bingley's neckline and the rustling silk of Mrs. Hurst's dress, contrasting them with wry amusement to Georgiana's modest muslin. Though it was, perhaps, acceptable for the two older women to dress more extravagantly than his young cousin who had not yet been presented to society, Colonel Fitzwilliam thought that they rather overdid it.

The girl's performance came to a triumphant ending, and Richard walked forward, clapping his hands. "Georgiana, that was wonderful!"

Georgiana's face lit up, and she was on her feet in a moment. "Richard! Oh, how wonderful to see you!"

"It is wonderful to see you, too," the colonel replied, stepping forward to pull her into an embrace. When he released her, he retreated a few steps and regarded her with wonder. "My dear, I do believe you have grown since I last saw you!"

Georgiana Darcy beamed up into the face of her favorite cousin. "Perhaps a little bit."

She turned and gestured toward the other ladies, who were now on their feet, and said, "Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. Richard, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley."

"Good morning, ladies," the colonel replied, bowing deeply. "If memory serves me, we met at the Earl of Chartham's ball more than a year ago?"

"Indeed," Miss Bingley said with a polite smile. "It is an honor to meet you again. Is Mr. Darcy with you, perhaps?"

Richard shook his head and said, "I fear not. His business has extended longer than he hoped."

"What a great pity," Miss Bingley said, obviously disappointed.

"Are you hungry, Cousin?" Georgiana asked. "I could call for tea, and maybe cook can bake some of your favorite macaroons?"

"In truth, I would like to stretch my legs before taking any nourishment, my dear. I spent much of the last few days on horseback, and I would take pleasure in a walk through Pemberley's gardens."

"I would enjoy that very much," Georgiana said and turned toward Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. "Would you care to join us?"

"I would enjoy that," Miss Bingley said with a gracious bob of her head.

"I appreciate the offer, but I must speak to Mr. Hurst," her sister said.

Richard nodded and gestured for the ladies to leave the room before him, whereupon Mrs. Hurst departed towards the great staircase, and Georgiana led the other two along the corridor toward the back door, which led into the shrubbery behind the east wing of the mansion.

Once they had achieved the out of doors, Richard held out his right arm to Georgiana and his left to Miss Bingley, and the threesome made their stately way down the broad path which led through the manicured bushes.

A lush riot of purples and blues and pinks and golds and yellows sprawled to either side of the white gravel path, which crunched like snow beneath their feet. Bees hummed lazily from one blossom to the next, black legs fat with yellow pollen. River stones lined the beds, keeping the soil in place and the gravel out. Soft breezes wisped through the garden, ruffling the lace on Miss Bingley's gown and setting the flowers bobbing.

The meandering path wandered into an avenue surrounded by neat columns of lime trees marching like soldiers down the vibrant green sward. Richard answered Miss Bingley's desultory conversational sallies with absent courtesy, relishing the good clean gravel beneath his boots and the dappling of sun and shade across the path and the verdant grass. He gazed down the broad avenue, straight and lovely, and said suddenly, "Let us walk here awhile."

The ladies turned with good grace, making no complaint about the light winds that tugged at their bonnets and skirts. The leaves above them rustled and tossed and whispered, branches swaying slightly before the breeze died down, and a halcyon peace settled over the walk once more. Hedges wound up to the avenue, a delicate vase set at the entrance to a twisting little trail vanishing off into the yew. Miss Bingley stopped to exclaim over it in delight.

"How utterly charming! We must turn off here," she said with an arch smile up at Richard. "Do say yes, Colonel."

"But of course," he agreed gallantly and turned his steps aside onto the flagged path. Their shoe-heels clicked along the slate paving, suddenly the only sound to be heard, all birdsong and water noises hushed by the close-clipped yew. A pervasive stillness lay over the dark hedges, leading one to feel as though they were wandering in a dream. But slowly the ordered labyrinth gave way to a wild and beautiful tangle of trees, bushes, and climbing vines, squirrels and mice and birds rustling their way through the underbrush.

Richard smiled around at the eruption of untamed greenery, feeling very much in charity with the land of his birth. The gardens in Portugal had been graceful and exotic, but nothing could beat merry old England in his opinion. Rosings, with his aunt's aristocratic taste ruthlessly imposed on every leaf and twig, was fine, while his own ancestral home of Greyhills was laid out in military-neat formation, and he enjoyed his walks in both places.

Lady Anne had designed the gardens of Pemberley with love and care, tending to them with her own hands while she lived, letting nature run rampant within the bounds she had set out. After her death, her husband had seen to it that her garden remained unchanged, a loving and living tribute to her memory. Even now, with Darcy in charge, Richard could see the affection and honor for Lady Anne in the way her garden was tended.

"Richard," Georgiana suddenly said apologetically. "I fear I must turn back, as I am to have a French lesson in a few minutes."

"Of course," Richard said with a smile. "Would you like me to escort you back?"

"No, pray keep walking if you like," Georgiana assured him, rising up on her tiptoes to plant an affectionate kiss on his tanned cheek. "I will see you at dinner."

He smiled at her and watched as she made her brisk way in the direction of the mansion, and then turned his attention on his companion, who had stepped away and was staring to the south, where a trout stream trickled down into a shimmering basin girded about with rushes and willows leaning over the water, while a pavilion on the other side was reflected in the glassy surface. Beyond the graceful little edifice, ashes and elms marched towards the horizon, vanishing over a distant hill. Around them stretched green wheat fields, the winds rippling them like waves across the ocean, dotted with horses and farmers going about their work.

The colonel took a step forward to assume his place by Miss Bingley and took a deep breath. It was wonderful to be here, in safety, far away from cannon and musket fire...

"It is such a marvelous view, is it not, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Miss Bingley said, and her tone was such that Richard found himself staring into the lady's face, which displayed a peculiar mixture of triumph and self-satisfaction.

"It is," he agreed, his brow wrinkled in some confusion. Why did Miss Bingley seem so very pleased with herself? "I have often thought the gardens and wildernesses of Pemberley to be some of the best in all of England."

"Oh, well, as to that, the gardens are well enough," the lady remarked in a condescending tone, "but the arrangement of the shrubbery and the like is rather outdated, you know. I believe Mr. Darcy has not made any changes since his esteemed mother, Lady Anne, passed on. I fear that his wife will be forced to spend a great deal of time bringing the gardens and views up to current fashion."

Richard's forehead relaxed. It was obvious that Miss Bingley was thinking that she would soon be Mrs. Darcy and intended to use her finishing school education and Pemberley's coffers to transform the landscape into something more to her liking. He was confident that he would hate any changes she made, but since she would never be Mrs. Darcy, it was nothing to worry about.

"I like them," he said simply.

Miss Bingley turned toward him, and in spite of the fact that he was some five inches taller, she somehow managed to look down her nose at him. "I suspect, Colonel, that your service in the army, while certainly most admirable, has not permitted you the time to learn the most modern methods of landscaping. Of course, it could also be argued that, as a gentleman, you have little interest in the details of creating glorious views."

"True enough," Fitzwilliam said agreeably, and they lapsed into silence again for a minute. The colonel cogitated during that minute; on the one hand, Darcy was an adult and quite capable of managing his own affairs. On the other, Darcy had always struggled to express himself well, and the situation was complicated by the friendship between his cousin and Bingley. Naturally, Darcy did not want to upset his close friend by being too blunt with his unmarried sister.

"My cousin will never marry you, you know," the colonel said finally. He did not mind if Miss Bingley was angry at him.

Miss Bingley froze for a few seconds and then spun to glare at him. "How dare you speak of such private things? And how do you know Mr. Darcy's intentions?"

"As to daring, well, when you have faced cannon and musket fire, you are less inclined to be concerned about verbal faux pas. As to being aware of my cousin's intentions – I have known him all my life, and I am entirely certain that you are not the type of lady he wishes to marry."

Miss Bingley's handsome face flushed with indignation, and she snarled, "I may not be the daughter of a noble, but I have been schooled in the finest seminary in all of London. I am educated, refined, accomplished, wealthy, and would be the perfect mistress of Pemberley!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam regarded his companion in wonder, and was startled when a tendril of admiration twisted in his chest. Miss Bingley was a handsome creature and always well dressed, but she had consistently seemed insipid in his presence. Her beauty was actually enhanced by her fury.

"My apologies," he said, lifting a placating hand. "You are indeed a lady with many fine attributes. I do not believe that you are particularly compatible with Darcy, though. For one thing, he far prefers the country to Town, and that is, I think, not true for you?"

Caroline Bingley gazed at him in astonishment and said, "I, erm, of course I like the country very well!"

"But you would presumably not be pleased to spend an entire year here?"

"Certainly not! But as Mrs. Darcy, I would pass many months in London during the Season."

Richard shook his head and said, "I am certain that Darcy would not like that. He is uncomfortable in Town and dislikes the Season. No, I believe once he is married, he will likely spend most of his life here at Pemberley, especially as the needs of the estate grow through the purchase of additional land."

Miss Bingley now wore rosy spots on her cheekbones, and her jaw was set. "It may be true that Mr. Darcy would prefer to be at Pemberley – it is a magnificent estate – but most married couples spend a great deal of time apart, after all. There is no reason I could not stay in London at Darcy House while Mr. Darcy oversees Pemberley."

"You are entirely correct," Fitzwilliam said amiably, "But George and Lady Anne Darcy enjoyed a marriage of love and mutual respect, not merely convenience, and were rarely apart. I am confident that Darcy wishes for the same in his own marriage."

The lady was staring at him in horror now, and she shook her head. "That … that seems impossible for the master of Pemberley, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Love is for the lower classes, is it not?"

"I think that love is for those who can afford it," the colonel replied grimly. "As a second son, I must marry a woman of substance. But Darcy, as master of a great estate, can choose to marry for genuine affection. Now he would not, of course, wed a dairy maid, but there are many women of our class, some of them poor, who are available to Darcy but are not available to me."

Miss Bingley's color had drained away now, leaving pale skin and wide eyes behind.

"You truly do not believe he is interested in me at all as a possible wife?"

"I am confident he is not," Fitzwilliam said, this time gently. "I am sorry."

Miss Bingley turned away and gazed out toward the bridge again, and now the colonel thought he saw a hint of wetness in her eyes.

He was surprised and also slightly guilty that she felt enough to actually cry. But no, he would set any guilt aside. Far better for Miss Bingley to accept reality than to continue longing for something that would never be.