Nameless by Julie Cooper
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Before I presented my ideas to Mr Darcy, I read everything I could on architecture and building, even on the soil of Derbyshire. Pemberley’s library made the research a pleasure. It was a worthy distraction from the ever-present concerns of inquisitions and public opinions and a nearby town simmering with unrest. I wrote extensively to Mr Martin; though he was not a builder of grand estates, there was little about the county and its resources that he was unacquainted with, and he was a regular repository of facts regarding Pemberley and its history. I was pleased that he seemed markedly enthusiastic about the potential for my plan, and what it would mean for the neighbourhood.
As to Mrs de Bourgh, I dismissed Mr Donavan’s nurse and hired one of my own—much to the good doctor’s chagrin and irritation. Nurse Rook was a deal less impressed with the doctor—though of course, she was too sensible to give him or her patient anything to complain about. In little asides to me, however, she gave it as her considered opinion that nothing was the matter with Mrs de Bourgh that fresh air, charitable works, and mind-improving reading might not cure, and that Mr Donavan merely played to her weaknesses. I was not quite so sure—and thus ‘in patience possessed my soul’.
Regardless, I was certain that Mrs de Bourgh would not slip away so easily from Nurse Rook, and a footman was permanently stationed in the corridor evenings and nights when she was not with her patient. It seemed to me that she was better off at Pemberley, where I at least knew that those to whom she spoke were loyal, and Mr Donavan was too aware of who paid him for his services to do more damage than his gossiping tongue had already managed.
The Easter holiday brought home more than simply Lord and Lady Cavendish. The Ringletons, the Smythe-Joneses, the Talbots, and the Howards—amongst others—were all in from town for the holiday, and either manners or curiosity or both led them to return my calls and subsequently host us for tea or dinner. The impetus behind such invitations did not offend me; I was equally curious about them. There were one or two probing remarks regarding our hasty marriage, which I managed to deflect, and a few comments on how greatly the first Mrs Darcy would be missed. Nevertheless, though the world, in general, had as little sense as Lady Matlock, a sudden change in Mr Darcy’s activities made it much more difficult for them to ascribe the worst possible motivations to so dignified a member of their ranks. He began joining me in my calls, doing his best to appear interested in the concerns of his neighbours—not always easy, when their interests were more in balls and entertainments than serious matters. He suffered it all for me, which touched my heart and made me love him even more, if such a thing were possible. I knew him so well now; his life had taught him to be serious and thoughtful, to make decisions with care, to be cautious and prudent. And yet, he had a dry wit and quick intelligence that made him interesting, and a generous heart and even temper that made him agreeable. The quality of his attention was remarkable. I believed that whatever the churning rumours, being in his presence reminded them all of who he really was, and who he had always been. It was simply impossible to consider him guilty of any crime, much less murder.
The visits went well, and I felt, for the first time, that I was beginning to plant roots. Though these neighbours were wealthier and more fashionably attired than the society to be had in Meryton, and certainly Cheapside, human nature was surprisingly the same. Mr Smythe-Jones was gregarious, complimentary, and not incredibly perceptive, much like Sir William Lucas; Lady Howard was an inveterate gossip such as Mrs Philips had ever aspired to become. The Ringletons both seemed sensible and agreeable as my aunt and uncle Gardiner, while the Talbots were pedantic and a bit tedious, like the Gouldings.
I quite liked Lady Cavendish; she was only ten years older than me, and though not handsome, very lively and clever. And she, like her husband, had no use whatsoever for the first Mrs Darcy.
“Oh, we liked her well enough in the beginning years,” she explained, the second time in as many days she had me over to tea. “She was so spirited and energetic. Always planning some new event, always so friendly and welcoming. However, she was impossible to truly come to know—one could only go so far and no further. I did not care so much about that—I do not require everyone to be my boon companion. But I began to notice a disturbing pattern. At one ball, Lady Howard hired pan pipes and drummers, giving a sort of Turkish flavour to her entertainment, which was very well received. The next thing we knew, Mrs Darcy held a masquerade, appearing as a Maharana covered in veils and silks, with what seemed the whole of Pemberley upholstered in satin cushions.”
“Exotic,” I murmured.
“Oh, very. Most of us were used to donning domino cloaks for such affairs, while there she was in golden satins and brocades, bird of paradise plumes crowned by a tiara of exotic stones. No one talked of anything else for a fortnight, and Lady Howard’s ball was of course compared unfavourably. And after that, ever so gradually, it seemed that if Mrs Darcy did not approve one’s entertainment, one was sure to receive a comeuppance.”
“How unfortunate,” I remarked, for I was not about to be led down any sort of revelatory path, even by Lady Cavendish, and seldom volunteered much opinion about her disclosures. It did not stop her.
“I did not notice for years, of course, because I am not one to pay overmuch attention to the foibles of my neighbours and she knew better than to try her little tricks against me. Until, of course, she did not.”
I raised a brow.
“Oh, yes—I think she decided that her popularity was such that she was ready to take me down a peg or two. But she attempted a more personal hit, and tried to seduce Cavendish,” she said baldly.
It was all I could do not to gape. I clamped my mouth shut to avoid expression of my feelings on the matter; my estimation of Anne’s intellect had taken a downward plunge after Mr Darcy reported the events leading up to her death, but this was mad, indeed.
Lady Cavendish’s expression grew thoughtful. “Something was different about her those last several months of her life. She was harder—or, as is most likely, who she had always been grew more obvious. I have never been pretty. My marriage was an arranged one, strengthening blood and fortune. On the surface, I suppose one might assume Cavendish to be an easy mark. At least, with the right incentive.”
“No one, ma’am, who has been in company with you both could mistake his respect and esteem for you,” I protested.
Her smile grew sly. “Cavendish adores me, as well he should. But she did not see it. She saw a man of average appearance wed to a woman even less handsome. She began with flattery. Cavendish repeated to me a conversation he thought odd—her fawning over some horse or other he’d purchased, calling him a genius, remarking upon his riding style. Cavendish was not charmed, only suspecting that she wanted to breed the horse.
“‘I believe, my dear, ’tis you she wishes to breed,’ I told him. He did not believe me, of course. Thought I was jealous or some nonsense. Over what, I ask you? I have everything I could ever want. I told him to watch himself around her, and eventually she grew bolder. He nipped it in the bud. Called on Darcy, told him to restrain her. Don’t know what all he said to him, but she never came near him again.”
I stiffened, imagining the deep embarrassment my husband must have experienced. I had a fair idea what Lord Cavendish would have advised. Repudiation. Public shaming. Public ruin. I felt I must say something, and did my best not to resent the necessity.
“As you most unfortunately discovered, his first wife was not a person easy to respect. I am grieved, indeed, for her thoughtless actions towards your family, but she is dead now. I thank you both, again and again, for your discretion while she was alive—it was all that is kind. I hope we can look towards our future friendship, rather than dwell upon past sorrows.”
“Hmpf. It was not kindness, as you must suspect. Cavendish told me to say nothing for Darcy’s sake, and I did not and never will. The rumours flying, here and in London, are particularly annoying to me as everyone assumes Darcy paid Cavendish to sweep scandal under the rug. Cavendish does not mind it, but I find myself irked.”
This reasoning softened my own annoyance—who could blame her? Certainly not me, and I came off my high ropes.
“My husband’s greatest fear is that, should her reputation become too sensational, it would cause even more negative consequences,” I explained. “The danger is that she will grow in the public eye from wicked to fascinating. She has hurt too many. They should not be required to hear of her with admiration or abhorrence, day in, day out, for the rest of their lives.”
“Very sensible,” she nodded with a measure of her own appreciation. “I suppose you must desire to begin launching house parties, to prove to the world that the new Mrs Darcy is every bit the equal of the former?”
I smiled with real humour. “I fail to see how the success of a house party, however magnificent, can take the measure of my character. I am inexperienced, of course, in my duty to Pemberley, but most of my attention has gone towards knowing and understanding the needs of our tenants, and what improvements might benefit us mutually. I was speaking to Mr Marley and he believes that what schooling we offer is insufficient and much in need of improvement. One of our oldest tenant families, the Martins, is willing to put up a new building for a school on their leasehold, and we intend to support its construction in every particular.”
“Do you not worry that you are encouraging disaffected persons into dissatisfaction with their place in life, causing more of the unrest so bothersome to so many?”
I withheld a sigh of disappointment at her attitude. “Perhaps more exposure to the great writers, the Scriptures, and philosophers will foment peace rather than discord. Certainly, having little or no access is not helping.”
But she grinned mischievously. “Do you know, Mrs Darcy, I like you. Marley likes you, and he is a fine judge of character, even if he is a vicar. Cavendish shall hold an envy-inspiring ball of the sort Marley disapproves of most, to welcome you to the neighbourhood. We shall invite some of your antagonists for spice, and as the weather is fine, do not be surprised if half of London attends.”
I was surprised at this generosity. “My lady, I am honoured,” I replied.
“I am Aurelia to you—we shall be good friends, shall we not? And we will make it a charity ball, and require large contributions to your school as the price of entry. I love to see my enemies pay, do not you?”
* * *
Mr Darcy demanded I acquire a new dress for the affair, even tried to insist I go to a London modiste—or have one brought to Pemberley.
“I have a number of beautiful dresses as yet unworn, including a ball gown or two, you have already purchased,” I reminded him.
“Ah yes. I have heard of your fiercely loyal following amongst the villagers now, a louder set than the naysayers. Still, you would have to spend a good deal more frivolously than is in you to quiet them all.”
“All that anyone really wishes for is prosperity. The more prosperous the town, the happier its residents. There are many hardworking, excellent people in Hopewell. Pemberley will help them in any way it can. You will see that I can be frivolous,” I assured. “Perhaps you have not yet seen the latest bills from Miss Bickford.”
He shook his head—for I was not fond of overspending, and he knew it—but laughed. “Miss Bickford’s ambitions shall soon require you to have the bed removed from your chamber to make room for her creations.”
“I know where another bed is.” I shrugged insouciantly.
“You do indeed,” he replied, his voice lowering a notch as he stepped closer. “Perhaps I shall be the one to require the furniture removal, so you shall only sleep with me.”
I knew he was teasing, but I grew serious, looping my arms around his neck. “I have perhaps grown too casual in assuming you never need privacy at nights, simply because I seldom do, and you never enforce a separation. You must only tell me, you know. You are too kind and might worry, I think, that you will hurt my feelings if you wish to sleep alone. I have invaded your private spaces—frivolously, even carelessly. Clara is forever feuding with Pennywithers because he will see to the laundering and pressing of any little articles of mine he finds lying about—only not to her strict standards, she claims. Which is nonsense, I tell her, as they look full new if he returns them. ’Tis only professional jealousy, as he will not share his receipts.”
He pulled me in more closely to him, laughing softly. “Last week Pennywithers passed by me with a stack of your things and a smirk, saying, ‘Very nice to see your chambers brightening these days, sir’—and I suddenly knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he never was fooled by Anne’s deceptions. I cannot imagine why I thought he would have been.” He kissed my hair. “My darling, those few nights a month when you choose your privacy are the longest nights of my life. You must do what makes you most comfortable, of course. But know I am longing for your return, and care little for any inconvenience, no matter the night. I require no privacy from you.”
And as he kissed me, I marvelled. He mentioned her simply, easily, and only because he wonders at his current happiness. She has lost her power over him, I think.
* * *
The Cavendish ballroom was not more majestic than Pemberley’s, but it was larger, and, like its master and mistress, the height of elegance. We stood with Lord and Lady Cavendish in an informal receiving line of sorts; I tried to memorise names and faces while utterly distracted by Lady Cavendish’s little asides.
“Ah, approaching is Lord Howard, one of your most vocal detractors. In a drunken rage, he challenged Mr Worthington to a duel and when he sobered up, realised Worthington is a crack shot. Failed to appear, he did.”
She smiled broadly in welcome to the peer. “Lord Cowar—oh, pardon me, Howard—my tongue is tripping! And what news from your son?”
Lord Howard flushed an unbecoming shade of purple, but quickly launched into a travelogue of his eldest’s Grand Tour, from which Lady Cavendish managed to expertly extract us to greet the next guest, the deaf, slightly doddering Lady Harrington, who shouted to the company at large that the tea cakes at Pemberley were much improved since ‘that new girl took over the run of the kitchen’. Mr Darcy stiffened, but I had to hide a giggle.
“The first Mrs Darcy had distinct opinions on each meal or refreshment served, and most often chose appearance over every other attribute,” Lady Cavendish whispered. “Word is, everyone is eating better now, above and belowstairs.”
I had to admit, it was somewhat of a chore to summon a ‘company smile’ when Mrs Longthorpe presented herself. “We have already met,” I muttered to my hostess, who glanced at me sharply.
Taking both her hands, Aurelia said, “My dear Isabella, I understand you have already made Mrs Darcy’s acquaintance. I wanted to assure you that the punch tonight is completely safe for consumption.” She turned to me. “At poor Isabella’s last garden party, three mice were discovered having a bit of a swim in her punch bowl. One of them leapt out and dove down the front of Miss Longthorpe’s gown—oh, I can hear her screams, still, as she slapped herself silly!” She chuckled, still clinging to the hands of a very red-faced Mrs Longthorpe. “Isabella finally captured it with her lace fichu. Did not Lord Dibley publish an epic poem of over thirty stanzas memorialising the event?”
“I am certain I could not say,” Mrs Longthorpe mumbled.
“Oh, but you were the talk of the town!” Aurelia began reciting, not precisely shouting but speaking with definite force:
“‘A Parent so Fearless Redeemed the Occasion’
“‘Of the Determined Vermin Bosom Invasion!’”
She beamed at Mrs Longthorpe, while those nearby tittered. I covered a smile. “So nice to see you again,” I called as she hurried away.
In this manner, I learned much more about my neighbours than I ever would have known after a year of formal invitations. Her aim, I was certain, was to help me see them as people, not as the ton sitting in judgment. Their foibles, flaws, and families, their ambitions and apathies were laid out before me in such a manner as to help me feel comfortable with mine.
“My father would have loved you,” I said, during a pause in arrivals. “He was a grand spectator of human nature.”
“He was,” my husband added, taking my hand. “It was not always comfortable to be an object of his wit, but it was always memorable.”
“Lady Cavendish seldom aspires to mediocrity in her observations,” Lord Cavendish remarked drily, but I thought I saw him wink at her.
The musicians began their playing, and the line disbursed as sets formed. I opened the ball upon Lord Cavendish’s arm, while Mr Darcy paired with Lady Cavendish. It was a lively country dance, and while not conducive to conversation, neither was Lord Cavendish silent.
“Aurelia has taken a liking to you, in case you could not tell,” he said. “Nothing would do but a lot of falderol and fuss on your behalf. She believes talk will die down quickly. Usually is correct, my lady is.”
“I am sorry her affection resulted in so much bother,” I smiled at him, glancing around at the marvellous decorations.
“No apologies,” he said gruffly. “Always liked Darcy. Been a good long while since we could do much for him.”
It was a lesson to me, I considered, when I had time to think about it later. Even when we believe ourselves to be utterly alone, there is help waiting in the wings. A situation is never hopeless, unless we give up hope.
* * *
To my surprise, I was inundated with invitations to dance. Most, as I am certain, were simply curious. However, I loved talking to new people and did not mind the conversational jousting matches from the more hostile. I found myself laughing frequently, and even when a particular jibe hit home, Aurelia had prepared me with enough fodder to man my own defences. Soon, all except for the most confrontational were treating me with civility and respect—and, as later became apparent, the most confrontational were seldom the greatest intellects. My upbringing had well prepared me to laugh at my neighbours rather than weep.
It was not until the supper dance that I paired, finally, with my husband. It was one of only two waltzes for the evening, and he had claimed both. He was the ideal partner, superbly fit and graceful; I could simply let him lead, knowing always, always, my shoe roses were safe.
We would be as silent, it seemed, as our first dance lo those many years ago. I was thankful to rest in his arms, enjoying the respite from enquiries and examinations, knowing my partner to be the most handsome man in the ballroom—though this was the least of his many attractions.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he murmured, sweeping me into a turn.
“You may have mentioned it,” I said, smiling up at him as we floated—or so it felt—across the ballroom floor. “It is difficult to feel anything but beautiful when decorated in the Darcy diamonds.” Earlier in the day he had given me the diamond-studded tiara with matching necklace. They had been his grandmother’s, and I wore them with love and pride.
Georgiana and Bingley swept past us, Georgiana sparkling with enjoyment, her face positively aglow. “She looks so happy,” he murmured.
“Plainly, she is,” I agreed. “And Bingley as well.” He had lost that paunch at his waist and appeared healthy and fit, much more so than…was it only four months ago that I had met him again? What was more, he looked into his wife’s eyes as he twirled her dizzyingly past, very roguish and delighted in his partner. “He is quite the showman, is he not?”
While Bingley was not the man I had once believed him to be, he was no villain. Although his wife had rather easily forgiven him, she had taken years to trust him again. He had loyally waited. I could not imagine wanting him for Jane, but I was very glad he was the good husband of my dear sister Georgiana.
Mr Darcy surprised me then, dipping me outrageously low as the music came to its climactic finish; his eyes bright with mirth, he dropped a kiss upon my lips and drew me up again to the sound of the gleeful, shocked laughter of those nearby. And I was perfectly, simply, happy.