Chapter Ten

August 6, 1812

The Lake House

Ramsgate

Elizabeth

It was with grand celebration and abject relief that Mrs Bingley joined her husband and sister for dinner in the dining room for the first time since they had taken residence at the Lake House. Charles could not contain his happiness and grinned broadly for the servants to see. Elizabeth’s heart warmed at this display of her brother-in-law’s deep affection for his wife, and she readily joined him in toasting Jane’s restored health.

Jane’s recovery progressed rapidly after that initial venture from her chambers. Her cheeks regained their rosy hue, and her hair returned to its former lustre. A small, but unmistakable swell now showed at Jane’s middle, just discernable under the folds of her gown, and Elizabeth often observed her sister gently resting her hand there, a contented smile playing on her lips.

With her sister’s return to health, Charles felt compelled to pen a note to Mr Blandishman, informing him they were now free to dine on whichever evening he deemed convenient. Mr Blandishman had visited the Lake House once or twice over the past weeks, at Charles’s invitation. The company of another gentleman had clearly done her brother good; though Elizabeth considered herself sociable, Charles’s need for society far surpassed her own.

Elizabeth’s first impression of Mr Blandishman, much to her vexation and satisfaction, proved to be accurate. She was vexed because she had hoped to be mistaken. The gentleman was perfectly acceptable but dreadfully dull. Her satisfaction stemmed from the knowledge that her powers of perception were not so deficient as she had feared, especially after her misjudgement of Mr Darcy.

Oh… Mr Darcy. Her thoughts turned to him often, and now that she could hold a rendering of his handsome face in her hands, it was no longer just his words that filled her dreams. Each time she closed her eyes, the pencil sketch came to life. She wondered at the timbre of his voice. Was it deep, like Papa’s, or perhaps higher in tone, like her brother’s? Or maybe it fell somewhere in between. Whatever it might be, the voice in her dreams was soothing, smooth as butter and sweet as honey. The thought of him whispering sweet nothings sent chills down her spine, setting her heart racing.

Logic warred with these fantastical imaginings, reminding her she had never met the gentleman, and that falling in love with a spectre was hardly sensible. Mr Blandishman, her mind insisted, was the safer choice. He was here, in person, and despite his dull personality, he represented a prudent match for the penniless daughter of a country gentleman. Still, she would stand by her resolution to marry for nothing less than the deepest love. If she could not find that with Mr Blandishman, then she would not accept his hand.

Through his inquiries and Mr Blandishman’s own accounts, Charles had learned that he not only owned his house in Ramsgate but also a small estate in Wiltshire, called Blandings. It yielded an income of around twenty-five hundred pounds a year. With no brothers or sisters, and his parents long deceased, his estate boasted several tenant farms and supported a thriving, albeit newly established, horse breeding business.

On the surface, everything seemed ideal. Mr Blandishman made no secret of his interest in Elizabeth and requested permission to call several days a week so that they might better come to know one another. Charles made it clear to Mr Blandishman that Elizabeth would never accept a marriage proposal for anything less than love. After several weeks, the gentleman expressed his desire to pursue a formal courtship, but Elizabeth had to inform him directly that, although she valued their acquaintance, it could not lead to anything more. Disappointed though he was, Mr Blandishman had no wish to sever ties with the residents of the Lake House, and so Charles tentatively agreed to allow him to continue calling—so long as he respected Elizabeth’s wishes.

The more time she spent with him, the more she found Mr Blandishman’s personality eerily similar to that of Mr Collins. He expressed interest in the oddest things and frequently made comments that left her blushing. For example, during one of their walks, they encountered a lady coming from the opposite direction whose appearance was rather unfortunate. She had a hawk-like nose, a narrow face, and wore a gown of an unflattering shade of puce that made her complexion appear sallow. Her bonnet was so large it seemed to swallow her whole. Mr Blandishman, to Elizabeth’s mortification, was not discreet in his observations. He loudly commented on the lady’s appearance, marvelling at the unfortunate creature she seemed to be. Elizabeth had flushed in mortification and cast the lady an apologetic glance before hurrying the man away. The lady had merely shrugged, her sad eyes downcast as she shuffled off down the lane.

When Elizabeth made any attempt to correct Mr Blandishman, he merely presented her with an amused chuckle and gave her a condescending pat on the hand. “Be not dismayed, my dear Miss Bennet,” he had said, sounding so much like Mr Collins that she wondered if they were related. “The lady has certainly heard such things before, poor thing. If she has not, it is high time that someone informs her of her unfortunate appearance.”

“It is not our place to do so,” Elizabeth responded firmly. “We do not know the lady and ought not to judge her based solely on her appearance. For all we know, she buys what she can afford or wears cast-offs from her employer or family.”

“You are far too charitable for your own good,” he laughed, the sound grating on Elizabeth’s ears like that of a braying donkey. She gritted her teeth and requested they return to the Lake House, pleading exhaustion.

Jane teased her about the connexion later that evening, further raising Elizabeth’s ire.

“Mr Blandishman seems taken with you, Lizzy,” she remarked, glancing up from her embroidery with a sly look. “Tell me, should we have the banns called?”

“Your imagination is very rapid, jumping from simple interest to matrimony in the blink of an eye. Mr Blandishman is at most an acquaintance. Did Charles not tell you I have refused to enter a courtship with him?”

Jane raised her brow. “He calls often; most mamas would consider that courting,” she said. “Our mother certainly would!”

“Mr Blandishman and I are ill-suited ,” Elizabeth confessed, fiddling with the fringe on a pillow before clutching it to her chest. “He reminds me too much of Mr Collins.”

Jane chortled, but when Elizabeth did not join her in laughter, she regarded her sister seriously. “Is he truly as bad as that?”

Elizabeth puffed her cheeks out and exhaled before sinking back into the plush cushions of the sofa. “He lacks our cousin’s sycophancy, but he speaks down to me, as if he knows better simply because he is a man.”

“Mayhap you should reveal your intelligence,” Jane suggested, drawing her needle smoothly through the fabric. “Many gentlemen court flibbertigibbets with nary an original thought. If he can see your worth, his attitude may change.”

Elizabeth had her doubts but nodded silently. Mr Blandishman did not strike her as the type of man who would appreciate a wife more intelligent than himself. For now, he respected her boundaries regarding their acquaintance. Should that change, she would refuse to be present when he called.

The following day, she hid in the garden when he came, and when Jane questioned her after his departure, she was unrepentant. Exasperated but amused, her sister simply handed Elizabeth the post that had arrived for her and returned to her tasks.

There were three letters today. The first was from Charlotte, and Elizabeth opened it eagerly. They were last together in April when she had visited Hunsford Parsonage for several weeks. Letters had been scarce since then.

July 30, 1812

My dear Eliza,

I have been a neglectful friend, and I beg your pardon. Parish duties keep me busy, and Mr Collins often requires my help with his sermons. Miss de Bourgh, too, claims much of my time, and I dare not refuse her requests for company lest I upset my husband and Lady Catherine. The first I could manage, were it not for the second.

With great pleasure, I write to inform you of my suspicion that I am with child. I cannot say for certain, as I have yet to feel the quickening, but the early signs are present, and I longed to confide in someone. I have not told my mother nor my husband; you have the honour of being the first to know. I imagine a few months will reveal whether I am to be so blessed.

Is Jane much improved? Your last letter worried me, and given my current suspicions, I confess I wondered if I would suffer the same fate. Alas, aside from a bit of nausea, I am well enough thus far.

You have told me much of the Lake House, as you call it. But what of Ramsgate? Have you been able to venture out more? Pray, do tell me of the sea, for I have never seen it and I must experience it vicariously through your descriptions.

Give my regards to Jane and Mr Bingley.

Yours, etc.,

Charlotte Collins

Elizabeth smiled with pleasure and set her friend’s letter aside. Imagine! Charlotte, a mother! It was most exciting, especially since it was possible that her friend might give birth to the next heir to Longbourn. Mama would be furious, and Lady Lucas exultant. Elizabeth would have to pen her best wishes to Charlotte directly.

The next letter came from Mama, filled with the expected admonishments that Elizabeth should find a husband. In her mother’s eyes, it was a travesty that her next unwed daughter had reached the age of one-and-twenty and yet remained unmarried. Naturally, there was no mention of Jane’s almost three-and-twenty years before she had wed.

The third letter was the one she most wished to read, and she broke the seal as quickly as she could.

August 5, 1810

Dear Miss Bennet,

Thank you for your generous gift—both the sprig of lavender and the sketch. The lavender sits proudly on my desk, and once it dries, I shall preserve it in a pouch to keep forever. As for the sketch, I have it nicely tucked away amongst my private correspondence, where only I can gaze upon your beauty. Have I shocked you, Miss Bennet, with my forward speech? Your sister Jane possesses considerable talent, and though you claim the likeness to be simple, your loveliness is plain to see. Would that I could behold the subject in person.

You asked after my parents, and I shall satisfy your curiosity. My father was Mr George Darcy, an only child, much to my grandmother’s disappointment. From her journals, I know she suffered several disappointments before carrying my father to term. How grateful I am for her success, for without it, I would not be here.

As the heir, my grandparents trained my father to manage Pemberley from a very young age. Though he was merely a gentleman, albeit one of means, he secured the hand of my mother, Lady Anne Darcy, the second daughter of the late Earl of Matlock. My mother was delicate in health, but she possessed an unyielding spirit and was a kind mistress, always fair to those around her. I never heard her speak a harsh word to anyone, even a servant.

My mother suffered the loss of children, as my grandmother did. She was very fortunate to survive her confinement with Georgiana. My father doted on her, and when she passed, he lost a part of himself. I do not believe he ever fully recovered. Their marriage was a love match, something rare for those of my station. I do not know if their relationship began that way, but it certainly became so with time.

Lately, I have been reflecting on my own expectations for marriage. Not long ago, I believed I would follow the tradition of securing an advantageous match, but in recent months, my views on matrimony have shifted. Six months ago, I did not believe love was a possibility. I now entertain the notion of setting aside my family’s expectations and pursuing happiness on my own terms. I am beginning to see that a marriage based on love is worth far more than one grounded in wealth or social standing.

But on to the more tantalising subject of Mr Blandishman. You have piqued my curiosity. What sort of gentleman is he, and what is his situation? Is he worthy of you? Are you entertaining his attentions? I trust your family approves—or have you, wisely, kept this gentleman a secret from your mother? I imagine Mrs Bennet would flood you with letters, eager to see you well-settled. You must tell me more of this man.

I thank you for sharing your aunt’s maiden name—Partridge. There were two such families in Lambton. One remains within the vicinity of the village, whilst the other moved away fifteen years ago or so. Your aunt must be Madeline Partridge, the daughter of the former innkeeper at the Rose and Crown. I remember that Mr Partridge’s health failed, and he left the inn to his brother and went to London in search of treatment. My father was told of his passing, but I heard nothing of his daughter.

Pray, tell me more of your aunt and uncle. Do they reside in the country or in Town? What is their situation? Perhaps Mr Gardiner is a landowner or prominent solicitor? I wish to know everything—about them and, of course, about you.

You asked when I must leave Ramsgate. I shall remain here with my sister until mid-September, after which we depart for London. There, I shall deliver Georgiana to my Aunt Matlock, where she will complete her education. She does not wish to return to school, and I have agreed, so I must also locate a suitable companion for her. We will remain in Town until the harvest is near and then go to Pemberley.

As I close this letter, I wish to tell you of an idea that has overtaken all my thoughts of late. It is rather bold, but I propose that we meet in person. I suspect our letters will cease to reach one another once I leave the Lake House. Therefore, I suggest we meet in April of 1813. This date allows ample time for my return to Ramsgate after the spring planting. For you, the wait will seem brief, but for me, separated by time, it will feel endless.

There is a tea shop in Ramsgate overlooking the sea. Its pastries and exotic teas are unmatched, and Mrs Peacock, the proprietor, exudes joy like no other . The shop is one of Ramsgate’s hidden treasures, and I share its existence with you in confidence. Swear to keep it to yourself, lest unworthy souls descend upon my favourite spot and deprive me of Mrs Peacock’s famous apple tarts before I can have my fill of them.

Whilst I do not yet understand what has kept me from the Lake House in your time, I promise that, if it is within my power, I shall be there to meet you on the day I mentioned above. Pray, say that you will agree.

I await your reply with eagerness.

Yours faithfully,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Elizabeth slowly folded the letter and carefully placed it with her missives from the past. Meet? In person? The thought was entrancing. She had never thought it possible, but now the prospect captivated her. The desire to meet Mr Darcy was undeniable, and she knew without hesitation that she would agree.

Mr Darcy’s remarks regarding Mr Blandishman made her laugh as she read, and his insight into her mother’s nature was uncannily accurate. He perfectly understood Mrs Bennet’s eagerness for her daughters to marry well, and Elizabeth had indeed kept Mr Blandishman’s interest from her mother for the precise reasons he had surmised.

Wasting no time, she sat down to write her reply.