Chapter Six

July 20, 1812

The Lake House

Ramsgate

Elizabeth

Elizabeth ran a hand over her face and sighed as she leaned against the wall outside of Jane’s bedchamber door. Her poor sister… Jane grew more drawn with each passing day and Elizabeth did not know what more she could do to help. Her sister could keep nothing down but a bit of broth and weak ginger tea, and she now slept far more than she was awake. Charles, frantic with worry, had written to his physician in London, begging him to come to Ramsgate to see his wife.

No reply had come from Elizabeth’s Aunt Gardiner, either. Mrs Bennet would be of little help; Elizabeth knew her mama had been one of the fortunate women who had never suffered so whilst with child.

Elizabeth pushed away from the wall and made her way downstairs to the music room. The music she had found awaited her, and she spent the next half hour practising the first few bars. The piece was complex, but she was determined to learn it as best she could.

Smythe entered the room a moment later, bearing the post. Elizabeth accepted it, moving away from the instrument and placing it atop the stack of correspondence she had neglected in recent days whilst tending to Jane. A letter from her Aunt Gardiner lay at the top of the pile, and she eagerly broke the seal and began to read.

My dear Lizzy,

I was much aggrieved to receive such distressing news of our sweet Jane! Whilst I have heard of ladies suffering in such a manner, it was never my fate during any of my confinements. Although I endured discomfort in the early months with each of my babes, it always eased before I felt the quickening.

I would urge you summon a physician or midwife to examine your sister. If she can stomach broth and tea, it is some comfort, though not enough. Insist that she drink as much as she is able, and we must pray that her illness subsides soon.

We are all well here in London and look forward to seeing you as soon as may be. Pray, keep me informed as to Jane’s condition.

With love,

M. Gardiner

Elizabeth huffed in irritation. Her aunt’s letter offered no new advice—they had tried everything. It was vexing and frustrating in every way. Watching Jane waste away was agony, and poor Charles was beside himself. He spent nearly every moment at his wife’s side, leaving the room only briefly each day.

After setting the letter aside, Elizabeth sifted through the remaining post. Her eyes landed on the now-familiar handwriting of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Grateful for the distraction, she broke the seal and began to read.

July 17, 1810

Dear Miss Bennet,

I am pleased that you unearthed everything I intended you to find. I had wondered whether any of it remained, or if the staff had cleared it away long ago. Perhaps they had already replaced the blue chair or removed the garden tree.

If my grandmother laughed upon discovering my youthful folly, I know not. What I do recall is her scolding and my confinement to bed for the afternoon, without the reward of any sweets. My father’s rebuke followed shortly after, along with a stern lecture on respecting the property of others.

I wonder if my sister has forgotten she placed Father’s snuffbox in the tree. I am surprised to learn from your letter that it is still there. Had she remembered its location, surely, she would have retrieved it by now. As for the music, play it if you must; at least I am not present to endure the tune once more!

Georgiana is quite gifted at the pianoforte, her skills growing daily. Whilst I admire her dedication and encourage her pursuit, I must often tempt her away from the keys, as her singular focus on music had led to the neglect of other important tasks.

I am gratified that you found my apology acceptable and grateful for your forgiveness. I will do my utmost to treat you as the lady you are and never again behave in such an ungentlemanlike manner, I assure you.

The future is an intriguing notion. I once imagined it to be rather straightforward, yet now I find myself uncertain. How do our letters transcend time? I cannot say, nor can I fathom where to search for the answer.

You speak of being no one special. It would be dreadfully rude of me to disagree with a lady, but by agreeing, I would once again fall prey to those ungentlemanlike manners I have sworn to eschew. And so, I will simply say that I, too, have no heroics attached to my name, and do not know why I am favoured with this extraordinary experience. I humbly implore you to reserve your praise for one who truly deserves it.

Enormous pleasure fills me with your desire to continue our correspondence. I, too, desire it. The entire situation is intriguing, and it would be a disservice to abandon such a mystery before it reaches a conclusion.

You asked about the Lake House. As mentioned previously, it was named for my paternal grandmother, Amelia Lake. Her father built it for her mother, and it became part of her dowry upon marriage to my grandfather. My family spent many joyful summers within its walls and garden. Grandmama always took great care in maintaining the grounds. As a boy, wandering amongst the blooms felt like exploring a foreign land.

Life in Hertfordshire sounds ideal. As for me, there are only two Darcys left: my sister and myself. Miss Darcy—Georgiana—is much younger, and though she is a dear companion, it would have been a pleasure to have a brother or a sister nearer to my age.

Your father’s ability to manage a household with six females intrigues me. My own father, I daresay, would have sought refuge in his study to escape the ensuing cacophony. Then again, Pemberley is vast enough that such noise would not have overwhelmed him so easily.

My Aunt Catherine would have strong words regarding an estate entailed away from the female line. She is quite vocal in her opinions, convinced that a woman—she—is as capable of managing an estate as any man. Her husband did not see fit to enact such an arrangement, though, and upon his passing, left the entirety of his estate, Rosings Park in Kent, to his only child—my cousin, Anne.

Now to your questions: Pemberley is in Derbyshire near the village of Lambton. From the estate, the peaks are visible, and whilst I acknowledge a measure of bias, I declare it is the finest place in the world.

There is much to say about Pemberley but suffice it to mention the more notable features: a lake, a trout stream, a dower house, and both formal and informal gardens. My preference lies with the informal gardens, where nature blends seamlessly with the artistry of human design.

As for favourite books, such a thing is impossible to name—like choosing a single star from the heavens. Pemberley’s library is vast, and a testament to the work of many generations. The library at Darcy House holds equal treasure. I imagine you have discovered the modest collection at the Lake House by now. Whilst serious reading is my preference, I also take pleasure in novels, and since Georgiana loves them, I read each one myself before granting her permission to do so.

I have mentioned some of my family in this letter, but as you have requested, here is a more detailed account: Beyond Georgiana and myself, the family includes aunts, uncles, and cousins. My father was an only child, but my mother had one brother and one sister. I already mentioned my Aunt Catherine who resides in Kent with her daughter, Anne. Unfortunately, Anne is sickly, and her mother coddles her excessively. Lady Catherine has long hoped for a match between her daughter and me, but I have been steadfast in my refusal.

My mother’s brother is the Earl of Matlock, Uncle Hugh Fitzwilliam, whom I hold in great esteem. We affectionately know his wife, Lady Matilda Matlock, as Aunt Tilda. Their sons are Viscount Arthur Bramwell and the Honourable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Bramwell is older than I, but Richard and I were inseparable as children. Presently, Richard serves in His Majesty’s army, and your news of Napoleon has heightened my concern for his safety.

Now, allow me to pose my own inquiries: You mentioned your father’s estate is entailed away from the female line. Who stands to inherit it, if not his daughters? I would be interested to hear of any extended relations beyond your immediate family.

How fares your sister? My mother suffered greatly whilst expecting my sister, and I have often been told that it was a miracle she carried her to term.

What pursuits do you enjoy? Riding and hunting are personal favourites, and my estate offers ample opportunity for fishing—a pastime I enjoy when at leisure.

I eagerly anticipate your reply, though it seems there is little predictability in the time one must wait between letters. My impatience has only grown with each passing day.

Sincerely yours,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Postscript: I have undertaken an experiment and placed a coin beneath the seal of this letter. Should it arrive with the letter, we shall know that objects, besides our words, can traverse the boundaries of time. If it does not, we will learn there are limits to this curious form of communication—and I suspect one of my servants will chance upon the coin somewhere in the house.

“Well, well, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth murmured. “It seems we have a greater connexion than we suspected!” She turned the letter over and examined the wax seal. There, embedded within was a coin. She smiled. It would seem that Mr Darcy’s servants would not, after all, find a stray coin in his house. Resolving to answer the letter later that evening, Elizabeth went in search of Charles.

She found her brother in his study, his hair dishevelled as though he had been running his fingers through it repeatedly. His countenance was pale and drawn with anxiety.

“Are you well, Charles?”

“Hardly. It will be days before my physician can come from London, and I have yet to find a suitable doctor or midwife here in Ramsgate to attend my dearest Jane.” Charles sighed, his breath shaking as he did. “What will become of her, Lizzy? I cannot lose her.” He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

Elizabeth stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You will not lose her,” she said firmly, infusing her voice with as much confidence as she could muster. “Jane is strong, and with both of us by her side, she will eventually recover. Aunt Gardiner’s letter assures me we are doing everything right. It is only a matter of time before the nausea she is experiencing abates.”

“I pray you are correct. I cannot bear to imagine what might happen if you were not.”

“You will see, brother,” Elizabeth replied lightly. “Jane would never be so discourteous as to remain ill too long, especially with houseguests! What would she say if she knew I had refused every invitation delivered to your door?”

Charles’s lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through his otherwise worried features. “I am more concerned about what Mama Bennet would say if she knew I was failing in my duty to ‘throw you in the path of rich men.’”

She swatted him playfully. “Heaven forfend! Mama would never forgive us! It is settled, then. When Jane is well, we will attend every party and soiree in the hope of finding me a suitor.” Elizabeth grinned even as her thoughts wandered to her mysterious friend from the past. He was someone she would like to meet.

“Thank you, Lizzy,” Charles said, rising to his feet. “I believe I will look in on Jane now. Could you send for more broth and tea?”

“Of course.” She patted his shoulder and turned to leave the room.

“Lizzy?”

She turned and regarded him steadily.

“I promise you will see some society before leaving Ramsgate. It cannot be easy for you to be confined to the house so much.”

She smiled softly. “Your consideration does you credit, but I promise I have nothing to lament. Caring for Jane, and for the house in her stead, is my privilege. I am pleased to do it.”

Charles nodded, and Elizabeth left the study to request a tray for Jane. Once it was prepared, she carried it upstairs to her sister’s chamber. Her brother sat in the chair that he had placed beside Jane’s bed to remain near her, clasping her hand in his own. Jane lay back on the pillow, her face turned towards him with a gentle smile on her lips. They both looked up as Elizabeth entered, and Charles stood to take the tray.

“How do you fare, dear Jane?” Elizabeth asked, perching on the edge of the bed.

“I believe I am a bit better today,” Jane murmured. Her voice was still raspy, but there was a hint of colour to her cheeks.

“Then let us attempt to put some of Cook’s nourishing broth into you,” Elizabeth said. She and Charles helped Jane into a sitting position, placing a few pillows behind her back, and then set the tray across her lap. Elizabeth began to feed her sister but felt a pang of disappointment when, after only half the bowl, Jane turned her head away.

“No more, Lizzy,” Jane said. “If I wish to keep it down, I must stop.”

Elizabeth shared a glance with Charles but did not protest. She placed the spoon next to the bowl and moved the tray to the side table. “We can try more in a little while,” she said, struggling to mask her frustration and worry.

“I kept the broth down at breakfast,” Jane said. “That must be a good sign. Do you not think so?”

“I think it is an excellent sign,” Charles ventured. “Shall I read to you now, my love?”

Jane shook her head. “I wish to rest,” she replied. “I know you have work that needs doing. Better yet, take Lizzy to the shops. She has not been out of this house in days!”

“I am content to remain here,” Elizabeth protested lightly.

“I insist,” Jane said firmly. “Sally is here to look after me.”

Ultimately, Elizabeth and Charles left the house at Jane’s insistence. Whilst concern for her sister lingered, Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief upon stepping out into the fresh air.

“It is wonderful that the park is so close, is it not?” she asked Charles. “We need not call for the carriage and we will still be close to the Lake House.”

Charles agreed, but gave her a puzzled glance, and together they walked down the lane towards the small green. I shall have to be cautious of how I refer to the Lake House in front of others , Elizabeth chided.

They strolled in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Charles appeared contemplative, though his worry seemed to have eased slightly. Elizabeth’s mind drifted to the unanswered letter from Mr Darcy. Various responses fluttered through her thoughts, and she smiled, wondering how he might react to her impertinence.

“Look out!” A shout drew Elizabeth from her reverie, and she looked up just in time to see a massive dog bounding towards her. Never in her life had she seen such a large animal! The beast must have stood over six feet tall on its hind legs.

Charles quickly pulled her aside, off the walking path, as the huge black dog barrelled past, its lead flying wildly behind it. Just when she thought it would continue on, the animal skidded to a halt and turned to inspect them both.

Elizabeth’s brother pulled her farther behind him. “Back!” he commanded, but the creature paid him no heed. The beast sniffed about Charles’s pockets, clearly searching for something. “I have nothing for you in there!” Charles said, laughing as he pushed its wet nose away.

“Griswold!” came a shout from further up the lane. “Come back here, boy!”

The dog’s ears pricked, and he turned towards the man running up the path. In a few quick steps, the dog turned and went to him, sitting on his haunches and panting as though he had not just led his master on a merry chase.

“Shame on you, Griswold!” the man scolded, scooping up the lead and securing it in his grip. He turned to Elizabeth and Charles and bowed. “I am terribly sorry for my beastly animal! I assure you, he is a gentle giant, not vicious in the least.”

He straightened and bowed once more. “John Blandishman, at your service.”

Charles returned the bow. “Charles Bingley. This is my sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mr Blandishman said. “I am sorry if Griswold frightened either of you. Might you allow me to make amends? Perhaps I could extend a dinner invitation.”

“We are not socialising at the moment,” Charles confessed, “but once my wife is well, we would be happy to accept.”

Mr Blandishman nodded in understanding and handed Charles his card. “My direction,” he said. “Send word when you are available. Now, I best get this monster home! Next time, I shall send him with the footman. Mr Bingley, Miss Bennet, I bid you good day.” He bowed again, and Elizabeth noticed his gaze linger on her as she curtseyed in return.

“Well, that was a fortuitous meeting,” Charles remarked, offering his arm to Elizabeth.

“How so?” she asked, taking it.

Charles grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes as he spoke. “I was just lamenting that you have had little by way of socialising. Mother Bennet’s nerves will be all aflutter if she discovers we made the acquaintance of a gentleman during a walk. We shall have to accept his offer to dine as soon as we are able.”

Elizabeth laughed and raised her brow at Charle’s jest. “Only when Jane is well,” she insisted. Charles nodded, still smiling, and they walked on.

She mused over the man they had just met—Mr John Blandishman. The name seemed to suit him, as his appearance lacked vibrancy. Clad mostly in monochromatic attire, with ordinary features, he was far from striking. Sandy brown hair and mud-coloured eyes did nothing to lend him distinction. She could only hope his personality would prove more engaging than his outward appearance suggested.

She scolded herself lightly, acknowledging that her thoughts of Mr Darcy were affecting her opinion of this new acquaintance. It was rather foolish, really—the master of the Lake House could look as toadish as her cousin Collins!

Later that evening, Elizabeth finally sat to pen her reply to Mr Darcy. Exhaustion loosened her tongue—or rather, her pen—and she wrote more candidly than she typically would and poured her heart out to the gentleman from the past. It was well into the early hours when she sealed the letter. She resolved to place it on the salver in the morning, then went to her bed and fell into a deep sleep.