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Chapter One

Posted on Sunday, 16 December 2007

Monday 30 March

And so I am off! Off, at last! Into the wild blue yonder. The thought that I am finally on my way to Pemberley makes me tremble with anticipation. To be almost-twenty and feeling very independent is marvellous. I am sure I do not know how I have borne the last months since both Lizzy and Jane, now Mrs Darcy and Mrs Bingley instead of the pretty Miss Bennets, went away. Only Father, Mama and Mary have been at home besides me, and have driven me to the very brink of mania, I am sure of it. Father, I suppose, has not—but you could not say that he has done anything to save me from it, either! He spends most of his time in his library, comes out at mealtimes alone, says not a word, and then returns to his library or goes for a solitary walk or something that does not involve any of us. Mama, as much as I love her, has seemed more and more like fingernails scraping on a chalkboard as time goes on, screaming for me whenever she thinks she needs something (“KITTY! Kitty! Come and do this!” or “Kitty! KITTY! Oh, drat the blessed girl, where has she got to?”), and Mary has sat and read her improving books or played her instrument and, all in all, ignored me.

But! Now I am AWAY! Off into the world at long last! I was forced to promise Father faithfully that I would not run away with a scoundrel like Lydia did—I wouldn’t want to, in any case—and after many tearful embraces from Mama and a half-hearted goodbye and ‘I’ll miss you’ from Mary, I managed to escape.

I am now sitting in a carriage bound for Derbyshire with my maidservant Betty, and no doubt you have realised already where I am; it is so bumpy my handwriting is very ill indeed. An hour has passed since I left Longbourn, and still my spirits are high and excited. I cannot sit still knowing I will be at Pemberley this time tomorrow and with my sister Elizabeth again! She is with child now, and the baby will be born in about a month and a half’s time. That is one of the reasons I am going; she is not allowed to run about much in her usual style and live her normal sort of life, and I have to keep her company and help her with things she cannot manage. Maybe I will even be allowed to help her when the time comes for the baby to arrive.

I do hope we will be apprehended by a highwayman. What a thrilling adventure that would be! Father tells me that highwaymen have long since died out, but I do not believe him. In my mind, Dick Turpin and Black Bess will always exist. I am forever loyal.

It will be interesting to see what Mr Darcy is like as a husband. He always seemed so stiff-backed and disagreeable, and although he is only about eight-and-twenty he seemed much older in terms of proud dignity, but while he courted Lizzy before their wedding, well, he suddenly became so different! He didn’t change one jot, but ... you just noticed more of him. His smiles, for instance. One day I suddenly noticed that he had the most beautiful smile in his eyes as he looked at Elizabeth, and I realised that he had always looked that way—you just never noticed, underneath that proud outer shell. He even made an effort to speak to me quite often. I liked that. I fear this is becoming very garbled, for I find it very hard to explain myself in this instance. I will just give up and hope that you, diary, may understand what I mean to say.

By the way, diary, on beginning you, I am perfectly resolved to be absolutely truthful with you. Nothing shall be hidden. Lydia kept a diary for a very small amount of time once, and she only wrote about what she would have liked the redcoats to say to her, and not about what they actually did say. I do not think that is correct. As you see, I have high moral standards.

I wonder if there are any redcoats in Derbyshire?

Tuesday, March 31

I am finally here and so tired I can hardly pick up the pen. I had a most wonderful adventure today, not exactly highwaymen galore, but still exciting; our carriage overturned, just in time! It was about three miles out of Lambton that it happened, a silly little man called Archibald Walters trying to drive a phaeton much too fast came around a corner and knocked right into us. We went tumbling all around the place, all our luggage fell out, he went purplish red (he was very fat and unctuous), and tried to help, but only managed to get in the way. Just as I was about to get very angry indeed, another carriage drove up, and it was driven by the most elegant of men! Mr Walters turned even more puce and the most-elegant man gave him such a quelling look and he helped us, and took Betty and me to Pemberley! His name was Mr Gosford, and do you know what he said to me? “Miss Bennet, I am very glad your carriage capsized.”

“And why is that, pray?” I asked (trying to be elegant).

“Because if it had not, I should have had to meet you at some demure little evening party where you would have been prim, proper and pale, but you looked so fetching back there with your eyes fiery and your cheeks red, about to begin screaming at Mr Walters.”

“Oh!” I said, losing my elegance momentarily in a frightful blush and a wicked little giggle.

“Why the laugh, madam?” he asked, looking at me with a twinkle in his eye.

“You are a dreadful tease, sir,” I replied.

“Well, I meant every word, Miss Bennet!” he said, pretending to be affronted.

I just laughed again and refused to believe him.

And then we came to Pemberley and I saw Mr Darcy and Elizabeth finally and thanked Mr Gosford with a pretty little curtsy and a mischievous smile. I caught sight of Lizzy rolling her eyes at Darcy with a smile at the sight of me, and felt ashamed, for I had vowed I would not embarrass them, and I had sworn I would stop being a flirtatious little peacock. (I had overheard Captain Harper calling me that and it had shocked me to the core. I never want to be called a peacock again.)

Then I went into Pemberley and was shown around and met Georgiana and I cannot write anymore because I am utterly wasted after my long day. Good night, diary.

I wonder if I will fall in love with Mr Gosford? He is no redcoat, to be sure, but he is very rich and very handsome.

Wednesday, April 1

It is strange seeing Darcy and Lizzy so evidently in love with one another. I suppose being in your natural habitat brings out the relaxation in a person, in this case, Mr Darcy. I knew that Darcy loves Lizzy amazingly, but I didn’t know quite how much Lizzy loved him. Why, I caught them kissing this morning, full on the lips, and they were not embarrassed in the least—saved that Darcy blushed and blustered a little when he realised I was standing in the doorway, gobsmacked, but he had such an uncontrollable grin on his face that the red on his cheeks was hardly noticeable.

Georgiana, Darcy’s younger sister, is an obviously sweet girl, and only a year younger than I, at eighteen. But she is so deathly shy that I am not quite sure how I am going to get any response out of her in the near future. This was our conversation today over breakfast:

Georgiana: Good morning, Miss Bennet. (Well, at least she initiated it!)

Kitty: Good morning, Miss Darcy. How did you sleep?

Georgiana: Very well, thank you.

PAUSE

Kitty: I am very impressed with Pemberley. It is so beautiful!

Georgiana: Thank you. My brother works constantly to improve it.

Kitty: Yes, that is obvious.

PAUSE

Kitty: Did you enjoy the winter?

Georgiana: Very much.

PAUSE

Kitty: (trying to think of anything suitable to say) What is your favourite part of the grounds here?

Georgiana: The lake.

BIG PAUSE

Kitty: (grasping at threads) It is a very agreeable day.

Georgiana: Yes.

And that was the general idea of the conversation. I hope I can draw her out of her shell at some point, because I get the feeling from Lizzy that Georgiana was one of the reasons I was invited. She certainly needs to get used to the company of people her age.

After breakfast, I had a lovely long tête-à-tête with Lizzy. I love it when Lizzy treats me like a real grown-up sister, and talks to me like she would talk to Jane. She used to be scornful of me, I could tell, but now she seems so happy that she has forgotten all my silliness in the past. We talked about the coming baby (she is much more calm about it than I would be), about the society in Derbyshire, about Mr Gosford (I was wondering who he was), and how perfect Mr Darcy is (well, she did), and about our parents. Then Georgiana came in, and Lizzy made her sit down with us and join in the conversation, and she actually contributed a few titbits voluntarily! It was an accomplishment indeed. I could tell Elizabeth was very pleased.

And you will never guess what my sister told me later! They are holding a dinner party for me tomorrow night, and inviting all their friends in the district! Mr Gosford is coming, among quite a few others, and some are YOUNG MEN. My heart is fluttering wildly already. I know I swore not to be so flirtatious and silly—that is my outer behaviour; I’m still allowed to be excited in my head, am I not? Lizzy said there will be dancing! But no redcoats. Even so, diary, I cannot wait for tomorrow night!

Chapter Two

Friday, April 3

Yesterday was the dinner party, and it was a raging success! I enjoyed every minute of it. It is so agreeable to meet new people, the majority of whom are amiable and amusing and eager to get to know you!

These are the people who came—(I am doing this in an organised way so as to organise my thoughts)—

Mr Frederick Gosford: I don’t think I described him before so I will do so now. He is very tall, and dark, and handsome in a rather savage, exciting sort of way. He is a heroic rogue; his image is perfectly conducive in my mind with that of a gentleman highwayman.

Miss Alice Brandon: A very sweet girl whom I hope will be my friend. She is already a great friend of Georgiana’s, through their music, and it is very encouraging to see that Georgiana actually does have friends. She has the fairest blonde hair ever seen and demure little fawn-like eyes, but she is by no means as shrinking a violet as Georgiana.

Mr and Mrs Felix Brandon: Alice’s parents, obviously. Very congenial, unselfish people. You warm to them as soon as you see them. They are rather plump.

Sir James Humphries: A man who is frighteningly young looking. Elizabeth asked me how old I thought him to be, I said thirty, possibly, but no, he is five-and-forty! He is dreadfully flirtatious and said to be looking for a wife. He amused me dreadfully and was always cracking funny little jokes.

Lady Posy Canon: I am not quite sure what to make of this one. She is a couple of years older than me and is the most bewitching woman I have ever met. I was mesmerised by everything she said, but she has such a dangerous sparkle in her eye and talks about such strange things and seems very independent and wicked. Not that being independent is necessarily a bad thing, but I just wonder—is she quite proper? I have an idea Lizzy doesn’t like her very much at all. She seems rather ... oh, I don’t know. It is unfair to judge, perhaps, on such a short acquaintance.

I know Lizzy and Mr Darcy don’t really approve of her, but tolerate her presence as one of the so-called élite of Derbyshire. They are very good and discerning people, and sometimes I think their judgement of others is worth taking notice of. Especially Mr Darcy’s. Lizzy was the one blinded by prejudice a year or so ago, after all!

Mrs Juliana Mansfield: Lady Posy’s aunt and chaperone. Very drowsy and boring. Doesn’t seem to care a fig what is going on, as long as her chair is comfortable.

Miss Louisa Tait: Lady Posy’s cousin who is staying with her and Mrs Mansfield for a while. She is very much like Lizzy, but less mature, so I warmed to her immediately. She shot me friendly smiles all evening, and when I finally managed to talk to her we had such a good time. I am quite determined I will be friends with her; I’m sure she is a very good influence for a once-was-peacock.

Mr Charles Winter: Does Charles Bingley have a long-lost twin? That is all I can say of Mr Winter. He even looks like him, and has the same Christian name. It’s actually frightening, perceiving the similarities in manner, character and appearance. He was very agreeable all evening and brought me about five glasses of punch—however, he did that to everyone, so one cannot hold it out as a potential compliment.

Mr Julian Montgomery: A blonde, cherubic looking boy who is actually a man but doesn’t look much older than I. In a way, languid and vapid looking, but, I think, intelligent. I liked him. He is very lazy, like me.

Mr Edward Beaupays: A veritable fashion plate. I shouldn’t expect he’d stay in the country for long. Still youngish for a Tulip of Fashion, about five-and-twenty, but well on the way to being the stereotypical lead dandy. Everything he says and does is of the latest fashion or will probably be the origin of one. However, he is friendly and agreeable, at least he was to me, and very easy to talk to. I shouldn’t be sorry to see more of him.

And last of all, Mr Henry Wakefield: This is the man I shall find it most difficult to describe. He is the clergyman of the local church. He is nothing like Mr Collins—something that must be said right from the beginning. I think he is about six-and-twenty. He is one of the most handsome men I have ever seen, with the most velvety, clear brown eyes my insides have ever squirmed at the sight of. He is very serious but very laidback at the same time; he is very friendly and open but he equally holds himself apart; I find it very hard to understand him. Of course I liked him, everyone seems to, but he is so unworldly, in a way, so calm and unruffled and kind and ... sincere. I do not know what to make of him.

The evening itself was absolutely delicious. Dinner was perfect. My dinner partner was Sir James, and we were sitting opposite Mr Gosford and Georgiana (who looked terrified and spoke not a word the entire meal—I must say Lizzy showed a great lack of judgement in placing poor Georgiana by such a potentially terrifying man). After dinner we retired to the drawing room, and Georgiana escaped to the pianoforte and we danced!!!!! First of all I danced with Mr Gosford (he is shockingly straightforward), and then with Mr Beaupays (who does everything with consummate elegance and poise, including dancing), and then with Mr Winter (who one could describe more accurately as rollicking joyfully than dancing), and then with Sir James (he is really very handsome for a man his age), and then with Mr Montgomery (who I must say is a very poor dancer—he makes no effort). And then with Mr Wakefield.

He was a sphinx in countenance, but for his eyes. They are wonderfully expressive and warm. And he was very kind, and conversed very sensibly and intelligently and warmly. “Miss Bennet,” said he, “do you enjoy Derbyshire so far?” Such a simple question, but the way he spoke it seemed to give it new depth.

“Oh yes,” I replied, “I am not sure how to explain it, but I feel as if I am coming home rather than visiting.”

He smiled in that way—he understood completely. There is no way I can describe it, but he seems to be very special, despite his choice of career. I can accept that I may be biased, however—it’s only that the very thought of Mr Collins fills me with dread!

And then we stopped dancing after a while, and he withdrew and we talked no more that evening. I could feel eyes watching me all the rest of the time, and I wonder now—am I to be the object of their affections? The thought scares me a little. They really were watching me. And these are good men, diary; in Meryton the only men who would fall for me in the slightest were the men who were too roguish to fall for Jane or Lizzy or someone good like that. Am I suddenly to be the Belle, the Competition Prize? (Of Lambton only, you know, I mustn’t make myself sound too important.) It makes me a little uncomfortable. Mr Wakefield wasn’t watching me. I was grateful for that. Those eyes boring into me would have been too much to bear. But diary—this is going to sound awfully conceited, but I don’t mean it to be; I just felt it – I could tell he was thinking about me. I could sense it.

Sunday, April 5

I went to church today with the Darcys, and sat in their family pew with them. All the men from the dinner party smiled at me. I smiled back warily because I still have not decided whether I am attracted to them or not. Mr Wakefield spoke on the text from the epistle to the Ephesians, chapter 2 verses 8 and 9: ‘For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God; Not of works, lest any man should boast’. I was riveted to everything he said. I cannot understand it. Every single verb or conjunction or preposition he said just came together and seemed to make sense when he said it, and I started to understand and I started to shiver—not that I have ever been exactly virtuous, but I had always assumed that if I just behaved most of the time and grew up to be a good old woman, then everything would be fine and I would go to heaven and that’s that. Mr Wakefield’s text shook me up.

Afterwards all the men and my sweet new girlfriends came and spoke to me. Sir James hurried up to me almost at once, and I blushed, because everyone in the church began looking at me and whispering. Of course I know that Sir James is on the catch for a wife—it’s most obvious to everyone—but I am much too young for him. Whatever happens between us will never be more than a friendly little flirtation. He grabbed my arm and walked me out of church, and all the other men scowled at him. I giggled because it was really rather funny, and he gave me this wicked grin. “How did you like the service, Miss Bennet?”

“I thought it was very good,” I replied seriously. “Mr Wakefield is a very good speaker. I was transfixed by everything he said.”

“I see,” said Sir James, frowning slightly. “Tell me, do you like Derbyshire?” I could tell he was trying to change the subject, and I don’t know why, but I was spared from answering him, because at that point someone more important than myself came up to talk to him, and I ran off to see Louisa Tait and Alice Brandon with Georgiana. Lady Posy doesn’t come to church. Louisa, Alice and I have already started calling each other by our Christian names. They are very very very sweet girls and I am so glad I met them. It would have been lonesome without anyone my age save Georgiana, who needs quite a bit of encouragement to even consider opening her mouth, and also, those girls are very good for Georgiana. She actually made SIX voluntary statements. I was amazed. And then Mr Winter skipped up. I get the feeling he has a tender for Alice, which is agreeable, because I had seriously debated falling in love with him, among the other four possible suitors at the dinner party. It is good that now there is less choice and less potential for indecision. Besides, Mama was quite determined that I should find a husband here, and I cannot deny that up to the present time, I am quite impressed with the selection of men. But I do see that Mr Winter and Alice would make an admirable match and that I, with Mr Winter, would never really be quite right. I cannot see poor Georgiana with any of the men here; she is quite terrified of Mr Gosford; she is much too young for Sir James, not only in age but in character also; Mr Montgomery would never appreciate her, he is much too insipid; and Mr Beaupays needs a stunning society woman. Which Georgiana is not—stunning, yes, but the very thought of giving balls or dinner parties gives her nightmares. And Louisa... well, I suppose I can see her with Mr Gosford, but you know, I’m not sure I want to suppose that yet. I’m not sure if I want him for myself or not yet.

Anyhow, Mr Winter went walking off with Alice, and Louisa, Georgiana and I discussed the weather for about two seconds before up came Mr Gosford! I watched Louisa and the gentleman himself carefully and I cannot discern any peculiar amount of regard. So all is well in that quarter and I am free to be friends with Louisa again! Mr Gosford started talking to me alone for a time, while Louisa and Georgiana chatted. “Miss Bennet, I hope you are none the worse for wear after the dinner party?”

I laughed. “What a silly question! Of course I am not! Do I look that hagged?”

“Oh no,” he said, smiling, “it was merely a polite, gallant thing to ask, you see. You should have replied, ‘I am quite well, thank you sir, although a trifle tired,’ or ‘Thank Providence, I am free from any complaint!’ Those would have been acceptable modes of reply.”

“Except I replied by insulting you,” I laughed.

“Yes,” said he, “but I have a thick skin. Insult me all you want; I enjoy it.”

And then Mr Beaupays came up and said to me, “I am sorry to interrupt, Miss Bennet, Mr Gosford, but I have been quite impatient to tell you ever since I noticed, Miss Bennet—your bonnet is quite ravishing.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” I said, curtseying, and smiling secretly.

Mr Gosford scowled at him. “Go find your own quarry, Beaupays,” he said in jest. “I was here first.”

Mr Beaupays, brows raised, smiled disdainfully back at him. “Don’t be a bore, Frederick.”

Mr Gosford grinned, and turned to me again. “Miss Bennet, before Edward jumps in again, will you do me the honour of allowing me to drive you back to Pemberley?”

“Oh,” said I, surprised, “errr… I shall go and ask Elizabeth.”

He bowed, and I went off to find my sister. “Lizzy,” I whispered to her, after successfully extracting her from a group of women, “Mr Gosford wants me to drive home with him. May I go with him?”

“It is entirely improper to allow him to drive you alone to Pemberley from church, Kitty,” said Lizzy calmly. “People will talk about it till Christmas and beyond if such a thing occurs.”

“Thank you,” I whispered back, and hurried back to Mr Gosford. “Lizzy says it is entirely improper.

He smiled and said, “Well, it was always worth a try, was it not, Edward?”

Mr Beaupays rolled his eyes, supremely unconcerned, and wished me a good day. I smiled back warmly, because as you know, I don’t want to restrict falling in love to only Mr Gosford as yet.

I realised soon that I didn’t even have to get into Mr Gosford’s phaeton to be gossiped about until Christmas. As Mr Gosford stayed by my side and we continued talking, all the middle-aged women stared and then started whispering furiously that Miss Bennet, that little girl who was related to Mrs Darcy, talking to Mr Gosford like that when she had only just arrived in Derbyshire!!!! I tried not to blush. He, noting my red cheeks, said, “Yes, the women do tend to gossip about anything and everything in a district like this.” I blushed still more, rather uncharacteristically, I suppose, but I giggled quietly also.

Posted on Saturday, 22 December 2007

Chapter Three

“May I call you by your first name?” said Mr Gosford.

I looked at him, surprised. “I hardly think it proper, sir. I am trying most fervently to be proper and not an embarrassment to my sister, and I have only just met you.”

He sighed. “In other words, no. What a lot of breath you could have saved by being impolite and abrupt.”

I giggled. “Yes, that’s true, and so here is my answer: no.”

“Well, I must acknowledge you are probably wise to reply in that fashion,” he said, smiling at me. “There will be enough gossip at my talking to you here, before I even know you properly, without the addition of my calling you by your Christian name.” As I looked worried, he continued. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty head about it, gossip of this sort always happens whenever I am around, and depend upon it, they will gossip more of me than of you. Small-town England necessarily lives and breathes and survives on gossip.”

I laughed again. “I think that is taking it a little far, sir. The structure of the economy may have a small part to play in the existence of a town, and so might the beauties of the surrounding area, and the virtues of its water, and really important things like that.”

“Ah, but the economy relies upon women meeting in the general store to gossip! And the beauties of the surrounding only play a part in that lovers take walks through them and provoke gossip! And what was your other argument? Ah!—the water. Miss Bennet, the good water of a town will only bring people to it that others can gossip about! You see, Miss Bennet, everything relies on gossip.”

“You are ridiculous,” I replied, my nose in the air. “I am persuaded you are just being contrary in order to argue, not because you believe it any sense at all.”

Now he laughed. “You may be right there, Miss Bennet, but at this particular moment I believe it with all my heart. Perhaps after an hour’s reflection I will decide the continued existence of a small town relies upon the success of the farmers. And then I will discover that it relies upon the fashions of the time. It does not take much to change any man’s beliefs, Miss Bennet, and I am no different to any man.”

“Now that I certainly cannot agree with,” I said, smiling still, but actually serious. “Any man with strong beliefs does not just change them on an hour’s reflection. If he sees they could be wrong, he will look into it for a very long period; he will reflect; he will study; he will ask the advice and opinions of those superior to him. Maybe once he has proved his previous beliefs wrong without a doubt, he will change them, but usually a man has confidence in any belief that is felt so strongly and he will not change at a moment’s notice.”

“Upon my word, Miss Bennet,” he said, “you are very thoughtful on this! Maybe you should become a clergyman.”

I smiled. “Well, Mr Wakefield is quite proof of my feelings. You listened to his sermon today; you must have seen his eloquence and his fervour and his conviction. Do you think he would just out of the blue change his beliefs if a friend told him an angel had truly come down from heaven to warn him that he was following the wrong path? No, of course not. He would look for proof and still would not doubt his own path. A rather unrealistic scenario, perhaps, but you must have seen him. He would not falter.”

Mr Gosford was frowning, and I was perplexed. Why did everyone frown whenever I talked of Mr Wakefield? Not everyone, of course, as at that time I had spoken of him only to this man and to Sir James. “Miss Bennet,” he said, “I wonder have you been on any expeditions around Derbyshire yet? No, of course you will not have had time to yet. Maybe we should organise a pleasure-bent party to show you some of the sights.”

Again, a changed subject! I did not understand it, and I still do not. But I let it go, and quietly replied, “No, I have not done any exploring. My brother-in-law talks of an expedition to a particular forest at some point—the name of it escapes me now, but Mr Darcy thinks it very beautiful, and Lizzy promises it is enchanted. I would be very eager to discover more of Derbyshire at any time.”

He was smiling again now; my brief sermon was forgotten. “I know a wonderful spot on Falconhurst Hill; a lake, and caves. It would be a most promising picnic spot. We must organise an outing. I daresay many would be pleased to come; I am sure even Julian Montgomery would bestir himself. There would be you, and Miss Darcy, Miss Brandon and Miss Tait. And I, of course, you could hardly not invite me when the idea was mine!”

I smiled. “Oh, what a disappointment.”

“Yes,” he said, “I am aware it is very difficult for you to suffer my company, but in this case (let me advise you as your elder), it would be only polite, I am afraid.”

“Then I suppose you may come.”

“And we must invite my great friend Archibald Walters,” he said mischievously. “A more handsome, amusing man I do not know.”

“Now that is rude, sir.”

“I am sorry,” he said, repenting slightly. And he listed the names of all the young or single people at the dinner party, except for Mr Wakefield, of whom I reminded him. He had forgotten him by mistake. “And another group outing we could have would be riding, through Benson Woods. They are delightful, and we could pick wild blackberries and eat them. It would be like something out of Mrs Radcliffe.”

Lizzy came up to me at this point; we were off to Pemberley. Mr Gosford gallantly escorted me to our carriage. “I will have to start organising this outing,” he said. “I declare I am looking forward to it already. I will call around to Pemberley another day to speak to you of it, and to Mrs Darcy, and we can arrange everything. It will be superb.”

I am still quite bemused how it is that men always change the subject when I talk about Mr Wakefield. I do not know why it is.

Monday April 6

Everything is organised for a picnic and outing. Mr Gosford came around today and persuaded Elizabeth to allow a picnic—she didn’t take much persuading really, and she and Mr Darcy were invited too, as chaperons. She laughed and laughed at that—being very young herself, only just two-and-twenty. But she has decided she must not go, for the safety of her unborn infant, although she would most fervently love to go. She is not supposed to climb hills at all, and that would be a necessity at Falconhurst Hill. And Mr Darcy will stay with her to placate her feelings in being left behind. What a nice husband he must be to have. And so we are not going to have a chaperon, as we cannot think of anyone else who would be proper and who would want to. Alice’s parents are of a comfortable frame of body and hate to climb hills, even little ones, and Lady Posy’s guardian is much too lethargic to even think of. At least Sir James is much older than the rest of us and can comfortably pass off as being our chaperon, if he is not too insulted by the idea. And so we are going on Thursday, and everyone we invited has agreed to come.

I went for a walk with Mr Darcy before dinner and found him most agreeable and disposed to open himself up and talk to me. I had thought we would be walking in silence and awkwardness, but he was most kind and thoughtful, and even funny at times. And do you know what? I had a part in his proposal, in a way!

“It was because you ran away to visit Maria Lucas that I had a chance to talk to Elizabeth,” he said. “And I am eternally grateful for that!”

I laughed and laughed. “I am pleased you find me so obliging.”

“Oh yes,” he said, “it was the finest thing you had ever done, in my eyes.”

“I am offended,” I smiled. “If that is the finest thing I have ever done—going to visit Maria Lucas—I am truly sunk.”

“Ah, but the finest thing you have ever done, in regards to helping me!” he said. “I did not mean to offend you.”

Poor man, he thought he actually had offended me. “Mr Darcy, don’t trouble yourself!” I protested. “It was simply a joke! I am not offended in the least.” I think he is going to need still more Elizabeth before he is quite adept in recognising humour, even the mild sort. But he is, without a doubt, much less stiff than he used to be, and all in all, I like him very much. I’m sure that if he were not already married to my sister, and obviously so happy with her, and if he were not much too mature for me, I would fall madly in love with him and forget about all the Mr Gosfords and Sir Jameses and Mr Montgomerys and Mr Beaupays on the planet, for he is very handsome, and certainly truly amiable indeed. He is the epitome of anyone’s dream of a handsome knight. In this case the knight is my brother, and I am very proud of him. I feel quite important going on walks with him.

In the evening, Mr Beaupays came by with a little reticule Lizzy had dropped at church and forgotten. He is very attentive to details like that – it is actually quite amusing. He was extremely concerned that Lizzy had been without her accessory for a day, and then turned his attention to me. “Miss Bennet, I was most struck by your bonnet on Sunday, as I said before. I wonder, where did you purchase it?”

“I purchased the frame in a shop in Meryton,” I smiled, waiting to see his reaction, “and I fashioned the ribbons and decoration myself.”

He blinked. “Upon my word, I am astonished, Miss Bennet. You must have some skill in bonnet-making!”

“Oh, no,” I said, “I have just been accustomed to fashion my own bonnets with my sister Lydia for a long time.”

“That is quite amazing,” he said, still unable to believe what he heard.

“I think you take it a little far, Mr Beaupays,” I giggled.

“Well,” he said, “perhaps I do, but I must confess I am amazed. You may have noticed.”

I laughed again. “Yes, I did notice.”

He got up. “I must leave now. My valet is awaiting me with a new suit, or so I hear. Oh, but Miss Bennet!” he said, clapping his hands together in a very fashionable way. “Will you consent to tell me what exact shade of blue is the ribbon on your bonnet over on that table?”

“I would if I knew, sir,” I replied, “but I don’t.”

“Oh, that is a pity,” he replied smoothly. “Cerulean, perhaps. Good day for now, in that case.”

“Good day, Mr Beaupays.”

Right now I am earnestly trying to decide which man I should choose. They all have good qualities. Mr Beaupays is very amusing and I don’t doubt he would make a very useful husband. And I should like leading society and throwing dinner parties and balls frequently and so on. He has a defect though; he seems like he would never fall violently in love enough to stop talking about clothes.

Mr Montgomery, as I have said before, is very lazy—a definite defect. But he seems to have a good sense of humour, something which I find invaluable in a man, and his laziness could suit me. I hate running around doing things energetically that I don’t enjoy one bit. It seems to me to be such a waste of time, and so no doubt I would have a bond there with him. He is nice, too. So far, looking back on my journal, I have only mentioned his languor. But he is amiable, and he does think of others’ feelings—whether he acts on them or not is another question.

Sir James is much too old, of course, but I really don’t see that as an insuperable obstacle. He looks so young that it would not really matter, and there are benefits to marrying an older man. But he is wonderful to flirt with, and he is very kind. Rich, too. Richer than Mr Montgomery, will probably stay rich whereas Mr Beaupays may end up running away to the Continent pursued by debts, like Beau Brummell did, and just as rich as Mr Gosford. Generous too, which could be a problem, but when we are married I will see to it that he does not give away too much. That is, if we are married. Sometimes I get caught up on an idea and run wild with it and forget that it’s not even close to settled yet. But there is something very tempting about the thought of marrying Sir James. I am sure I should enjoy it very much.

And Mr Gosford is of course witty, handsome, rich, clever, amusing, and in his own way, kind. He doesn’t stand nonsense. Which could be a good or a bad thing. Sometimes I am so nonsensical it makes me cringe when I consider my behaviour. But marrying him would be good for me, in that case. The main problem I see with him is that he is the sort of man whom I could imagine getting bored. I don’t know if I could trust him to stay true to me. That seems very old-fashioned nowadays; I know many society wives just turn a blind eye to their husbands’ little strayings. But I could not; not if I was in love, and I don’t understand why I could not. It always seemed to me that I was so much like Lydia, and Lydia would not care one little bit if Wickham strayed, as long as he came back home in the end. It has occurred to me now, then, that maybe I am not so much like Lydia as I thought. I have no desire to run away and elope, nor do I wish to marry a man who would be unfaithful to me. I am certain it would make me very unhappy.

But now I am straying, only from the subject. Of course it is silly to brand Mr Gosford as such a man! For goodness’ sake! I hardly know him yet! And although he does seem very wicked sometimes, he does have a goodness about him, in a way, I think.

I wonder which one I will marry? For I am sure I will marry one of them. There is no doubt about that. I can see that they are all falling madly in love with me, especially, at this point, Sir James. Mr Montgomery takes things so slowly that whatever happens in that quarter will be a long time coming. Mr Gosford likes me, I can tell, but he is careful too. And Mr Beaupays’ heart is unlikely ever to be touched above the ordinary, as we have already ascertained.

Chapter Four

Thursday April 9

I did not write for several days, because Tuesday and Wednesday have been spent madly rushing around Pemberley, Lambton and Derbyshire in general helping Lizzy. The silly woman has decided only now that it is time to ‘get things ready’ for the baby. Ominous words. She is rather swollen around the middle and is unfortunately quite content to sit in an armchair looking like an apple, ordering me round. Of course she is very polite and grateful about it, but she is desperate to get things done. I can’t think why she left it this late, or why Mr Darcy allowed her to, but now all the harrowing work has been left to me. Honestly, it is like Bedlam in here.

First I had to call in the painters and carpenters and so on, and ask them for suggestions for the nursery, which has not been used in years. Then I had to communicate these suggestions to Elizabeth, who waved them away at once, suggesting her own ideas. Then her ideas were pooh-poohed by Mr Darcy, leading to a long and explosive argument, in which I tried to mediate. (Of course they enjoy arguing and would stop at once if either party’s feelings were hurt. Which does not make my job easier, because neither’s emotions were crushed in the course of this argument.) I mildly suggested a few things, and then the builders suggested a few more, and then finally something was settled on, and work began.

Secondly, I took the carriage into Lambton and feverishly sorted through all the shops for fabric, baby clothes, other necessities, buying everything I saw as I was not sure what Elizabeth would like. I placed an order at the carpenter’s for wooden toys. I asked the dressmaker to come to Pemberley at some point in the afternoon.

Thirdly, I had to talk to a lawyer about birth plans and wills and so on, because Mr Darcy was busy with his bailiff, and I even had to try and remember the information outside of the few brief titbits I managed to jot down. If you are in any way acquainted with me, you will know I have no taste—no taste WHATSOEVER—for the law, and it bores me to tears. This is all while Elizabeth pleaded off, saying she was tired, for heaven’s sake, and sat down with a piece of embroidery and a cup of tea. Really, is it possible to be so foolish that you rely on Kitty Bennet, Peacock Extraordinaire, to handle your legal life? Of course Mr Darcy will talk to him later, but still I felt most uncomfortably responsible.

Then the dressmaker came and I had to sit with her and Elizabeth and organise what clothes should be made. This was much harder than it may seem, as every time a picture or example was brought out, Elizabeth threatened to make noises and exclaim over how small each little garment was to the point where we would not have been finished until midnight. I therefore had to detract her attention to other things, and we finally finished about two and a half hours later, by which time my head was sick and exhausted from all that quick thinking.

Right throughout this I was called on numerous occasions into the nursery to supervise procedures that I know nothing about and give advice without any idea of Elizabeth’s feelings. It was enough to turn me into a nervous wreck. At least Georgiana helped me on this; she has enough artistic sense to fill a palace.

Then on Wednesday there was still more work to be done. Lizzy was having small pains in her stomach, and although she was not disturbed greatly, Mr Darcy was, and he sent for the doctor from Lambton. I had to stay with Lizzy throughout this, running as fast as I could to fetch instruments and hot water and so on whenever the doctor asked me. Then Lizzy and Mr Darcy went into raptures when the doctor told them they’re having twins, and they all waltzed off and I was left to clean up, feeling very ill-used—although, of course, it is exciting that they will have twins! Imagine, two little screaming, dirty infants who are both convinced they are desperate for food, cleaning, sleep, in fact anything—ALL the time!

I then had to go into Lambton with messages, requests and orders that Elizabeth had forgotten before. Beef salami and nutmeg for Lizzy (she was having odd cravings); to the carpenter’s with an order for a cradle; more paint so the painters could finish the nursery; a second time to the carpenter’s with an order for a bureau; to the upholsterer’s with an old rocking chair Elizabeth thought would be lovely in the nursery; to the haberdashery store for fabric that would suit the armchair and the nursery—and more.

And then I met one of those fusty women from church who proceeded to imply to me almost directly that I was setting my cap at Mr Gosford, and at Mr Beaupays, and at Sir James, and then to assure me that Mr Gosford meant to marry in the nobility, and that Sir James loved to flirt but seldom meant it seriously, and that Mr Beaupays was in love with her spotty fourteen-year-old daughter Charlotte (a very improbable scenario as Charlotte is not even out, nor has she ever talked to Mr Beaupays, who regards her with civil disdain), and that Mr Montgomery was a lazy good-for-nothing. I endured it as best I could but was not able to extract myself politely—and the scandal there would have been had I been impolite!—when I saw Alice Brandon walking out of Hart’s and was able to lie that I had a message to give Miss Brandon from Mrs Darcy and must run after her. For goodness’ sake, I had not even been introduced to the woman, I still don’t know her name, and she takes it upon herself to act in the place of my sister! The self-importance of some people I will never understand.

My meeting with Alice was one of the only good points of the day. We talked animatedly for a while, several whiles in fact, but then she saw Mr Winter going into the grocery store, and suddenly remembered she had an urgent errand from her mother to buy a cucumber. I saw her coming out several minutes later, arm in arm with Mr Winter, patently lacking a cucumber. But I am not at all offended, rather I am pleased that such a sweet, good girl can be wicked enough to do such a thing! I wonder if Georgiana would do anything of the kind ever. I seriously doubt it, but as you know, nothing is impossible. With faith one can move mountains.

Wednesday evening I had to assist Lizzy again and sew and sew and sew and sew. I have never been a sewer, although I am such an accomplished hat-decorator, and it is the slowest work ever. I found myself drooping over like a wilted flower by the time we had finished, and I had to drag myself to bed.

But today is the picnic! We are leaving in some forty minutes. I must own I am extremely excited.

That evening

I have just arrived back from the picnic on Falconhurst Hill, and have dived into the house, said good afternoon to my sister and her husband, and after the necessary commotion which I will explain later, have finally escaped, changed into warm clothes and picked up my pen to write down to you all of what has happened today. I think it is very good!!!!

Well, everybody met at Mr Gosford’s mansion, Gosford House—which is WONDERFULLY amazingly splendid, by the way—and I shared a carriage with Lady Posy Canon and with Mr Montgomery. Mr Montgomery was too lazy to talk and so I spent the trip getting to know Lady Posy more and she is perfectly enchanting! Still rather wicked, I must admit.

“Oh, Miss Bennet,” she sighed, with a wicked little glint in her eye. “I was disappointed to hear you were at church on Sunday.”

“Why ever so?” I asked blankly.

“In my opinion, all the people who condone church are old fusties,” she said. “I stay home in protest.”

“Well, that’s rather silly!” I replied frankly. “All of the people going on this expedition today were at church on Sunday! I admit church has not always been one of the highlights of my life, but it is starting to grow on me, and I’m not ashamed to say so.”

She laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, Kitty—I may call you that, mayn’t I?—don’t get offended, you must know I try to get a rude retort out of everyone!”

“I wonder you should tell me, if you wish to do so!”

She laughed pleasantly. “Oh no,” said she, “I feel we shall deal extremely well together – that’s why I’m telling you pleasantly what other people only speculate about. Did you know I am the root of a lot of gossip?”

“I had an idea,” I said carefully.

“Yes, most people do,” she sighed. “It isn’t like I start gossip purposefully. Ever since I arrived in this district and didn’t come to church, everyone has thought me some diabolical force that must be downtrodden.”

“Doing it a little too brown!” I said with asperity. “People may gossip about you, in fact, I’m sure they do, but I hardly think they see you as such a thing!”

She smiled. “You see right through me, don’t you? I’m sorry if that was a little die-away. However, I am trying to paint a picture of your character in my mind, and I find that this sort of probing creates a very clear painting. If I said, what sort of character are you, Miss Catherine Bennet, you would reply with what you think you are. But this way I can see exactly what you are, without any bias on your side.”

“Hmm, very clever,” I said, nibbling on a nut from a bag she had offered me. “Rather dishonest, I could say, but still, actually quite clever.”

“You are not at all impressed with me,” she said. “You must remember I am several years your senior and know much more than you!”

“Oh, quite the contrary,” I replied.

“Do you mean to my first comment, or my second?”

“Both, I should imagine. I am, of course, impressed with you. And I know much more than you in some matters. Like decorating bonnets, for instance.”

She laughed. “Oh well, how can I stand up to that? I recant all that I said, Kitty.”

She is altogether very agreeable, and although she is rather unorthodox, I like her.

Reading over that last sentence, I find myself laughing at the absurdity of it—that I, Kitty Bennet, sister of Lydia Wickham, should say ‘although she is rather unorthodox, I like her’. In the past that was not an ‘although’ but a ‘because’. I must have grown up a significant amount since last year.

However, I must carry on to the rest of the picnic (which was vastly agreeable!). We arrived at Falconhurst Hill about half an hour after leaving Gosford Hall and immediately started exploring the caves and promenading the lakeside and climbing over the hill. I went for a walk along the ridge of the hill with Louisa Tait, Sir James and Mr Wakefield, and although it was quite cold and windy, I enjoyed every minute of it. Sir James was excessively attentive, and Louisa in high spirits, and even though Mr Wakefield had a permanent small smile on his face at Sir James making a cake of himself, I managed to have a very agreeable talk with him also. They are all excellent people—Louisa all that is friendly and amiable and vivacious, Sir James gallant and witty, and Mr Wakefield so… unreadable? No, he is not, I could read that smile perfectly. No, he is all that is dignified and bending, he is all that is funny and serious, he is all that is curious and calm.

I never know how to describe him. You will begin to think him a nonentity, an imaginary man. He isn’t. He has quality. That is all I can say. He fascinates me, for the very reason that I cannot describe him. He seems separated from most people. Everyone likes him, he is sought after for every social event, but he is different to them.

Anyhow (tossing aside that pensive and thoughtful moment for the more mundane Facts of Life), then we all found our way back to the lakeside, sheltered at the mouth of the largest cave, and ate a picnic which had been prepared by the hands of Mr Gosford’s excellent cook. Delicious!

Then came the exciting part which I have been longing to come to for an age now. But my innate sense of good penmanship (ho ho!) has forbidden me to jump straight to the climax. And so here it is now!!!! Prepare yourself to be shocked and amazed.

I was walking along the lakeside with Lady Posy when she dared me to walk across an old rickety bridge that stretched across the lake. It was a little rotten looking, and many boards had fallen through, but I, being a fool, gamely agreed to. I set off across the bridge at a steady pace, and was actually much more frightened on the bridge than on dry land, but I didn’t want to look like a little frightened child, even if I felt like one, so I kept on going. I reached halfway, I turned around, and Lady Posy called “You’re nearly there!” I cheered, the bridge broke, and I fell into the deepest part of the lake.

Deepest water and deepest terror engulfed me. My whole life seemed to flash before my eyes, as I have heard people say before. I had never tried swimming in my life and found, to my horror, that I could manage nothing now, in my billowing dress and heavy boots. I found myself thinking, while I fought desperately to catch a few gasps of air as I bobbed up and down in the water, that I wasn’t a very good Christian, and where would I go? Heaven, or the other place? Total despair. And then arms grabbed me and pulled me to the surface; he had dived in to rescue me, Mr Gosford was holding me up in the water saying my name over and over. I must confess I was quite in shock, and very limp and listless, and pints of water were streaming from me. He must have been quite worried. I woke up suddenly though, when I realised I was soaked, I had almost drowned, and I was in the arms of Mr Gosford. “Stupid girl!” he said mock-sternly. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. I felt very cold and white.

He looked at me sympathetically. “You poor girl, you must get warm as soon as possible.” I realised he was swimming back to shore with me, where all the others were waiting, gasping and shrieking. But all I could think about was that Mr Gosford’s arms were around me, and I blushed when I realised the effect water would have had on my white dress.

I found eventually that Alice Brandon had fainted, and that Georgiana was in tears. Everyone was white and shaking; imagine if Mr Gosford had not saved me! “How would we have ever told your sister?” asked Posy miserably. “And it was all my fault too! I am so sorry, Kitty!”

I was now sitting at the mouth of a cave with Mr Wakefield’s coat on (he had very generously and selflessly given it up to me) and a blanket around me, and Mr Gosford had taken off his wet coat and shirt and wrapped a blanket around himself also. “We must go home,” he said. “I dread what Mrs Darcy will say! Miss Bennet, I will take you in my carriage.”

We were the only ones in his carriage, as it would have been very uncomfortable to try and fit others in while we two were swarmed in blankets. “You should probably try to sleep, Miss Bennet,” he said. He seemed so concerned and affectionate!

But I insisted that I wanted to stay awake, and though my eyes closed several times in reflection, I maintained this determination. Finally, I burst out, “Oh, Mr Gosford, thank you for saving me! I was utterly terrified until you came!”

He smiled at me, took my hand, and kissed it, and I felt such a shiver running through me that I found it hard not to jump in shock. He continued to show me unexampled kindness, sweetness and affection, and by the time I left that carriage—I will say no more at present.

Lizzy and Mr Darcy are shocked, of course, and very concerned about me, but finally I managed to convince them that I am perfectly well. So Lizzy took me up to bedchamber, helped me change into my thickest flannel nightgown, put a hot brick in my bed, and brought me chicken soup, and now I am drinking the soup in bed, feeling deliciously appreciated, warm, and safe while I write. There was a brief moment of anxiety when I realised what the near-death experience had done to my hair. But all that feeling was soon lost in a dream about my rescuer.

Diary – there is no more confusion for me now. Mr Gosford it has to be. There can be no other alternative. He is a hero. I think I must be in love, for whenever I think of him, my heart flutters and I feel very weak and need to eat more soup.

I do hope he will come and visit me soon! He said he would call in tomorrow to see how I do. Tomorrow cannot come too quickly.

Posted on Sunday, 30 December 2007

Chapter Five

Friday April 10

I had a horrible dream last night. I was sinking, sinking, sinking, and something was pulling me down. It felt like I had lead weights on my feet. Everything was black, and all I could think of was Mama saying, “Oh, Kitty, you must go and meet the officers!” for some unknown reason. And everything was a mess. It was horrible and I woke up trembling. But now I am well. Because . . .

He called! I am in raptures! He is the most handsome, wonderful, kind man that ever there was. He brought me the most beautiful flowers and said the most wonderful things. Lizzy knows how I feel; it is most obvious to everyone, especially to him (he smiled and encouraged me!!!), and I feel like I am walking (or sitting on the sofa) on air.

I am sitting on the sofa in the drawing room at the moment, all wrapped up in warm things, but I am perfectly fine and Lizzy says that by tomorrow I will probably be fit as a fiddle. The doctor came to see me and agreed with her, and then Mr Gosford called, and then my other would-be admirers and friends. I feel sorry for Sir James, Mr Montgomery and Mr Beaupays in a way, but am so happy that I find it hard to dwell on such things. There is nothing like loving a man and knowing (because I do know, it is obvious) that he returns your affection.

But as I was saying, tomorrow I will be quite well, and I plan to go and see Lady Posy, who nearly was the death of me, although I do not hold her to blame. She is a very sweet woman, even though she sometimes says things even I cannot approve of.

Saturday April 11

I didn’t managed to see Lady Posy today, because Mr Gosford called! Lizzy invited him to stay for nuncheon, and then we strolled around the shrubbery together. It was heaven. This is what happened:

“Miss Bennet, I hope you do not still feel any bad effects from your misadventure at Falconhurst Hill?”

“Oh no,” I said.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, all anxiety. “When I think that it was I who suggested the scheme in the first place! How could I have forgiven myself if something worse had happened?”

“I have a very slight cold, sir, but nothing that is enough to keep me in bed, as you see.” I found it very hard to answer him, as all I wanted to do was stare at him and nod rapturously at everything he said.

“Miss Bennet,” he seized my hand, “please tell me, is there any person in Hertfordshire you cherish a tendre for?”

This, as you may imagine, left me quite breathless for a moment or so. I managed to recover myself tolerably well, however. “No, not at all.”

He smiled that wicked smile of his. “Good, good.”

“Why, sir?” I asked, smiling mischievously but trying to sound as if I didn’t care at all.

He reached over and tapped the side of my nose. “You may find out one day.”

I don’t really like people tapping my nose like that in general, but as it was him, I made an exception to my rule and grinned back.

Now, if that isn’t clear, diary, what is? He. Loves. Me. I am sure of it. Everything he says and does points to it.

Sunday April 12

At church today Mr Wakefield spoke on this text, and I am going to write it all out because I thought it beautiful : The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and plenteous in mercy. He will not always chide, nor will he keep his anger forever. He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities. For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy to those that fear him. As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us. That is part of the 103rd Psalm. Once again, he is unparalleled as a speaker—in my experience, anyway. He means every word he says, and although this is very embarrassing to admit, I was almost moved to tears at one point—I, Kitty Bennet! I think I will start reading my Bible more. I found that psalm to be very beautiful and I think it must be true, if it is in the Bible.

After the service, Mr Gosford came straight up to me, and we talked for a long time. He did not talk long to me today, he merely whispered, “I will not talk to you for long; last Sunday, the gossips had a field day.”

I scowled, trying to look pretty at the same time. “Must we care for their opinion?”

“I suppose not,” he said, “but after my commanding your time last Sunday, then my happening to save you from drowning (which, by the by, has spread all over the village), half the village has had me married off to you in a sennight. Yes, you are wondering why that is a bad thing, as am I, but really, I like to be unpredictable sometimes.”

I blushed and smiled and argued no more. I wonder when will he propose?

Monday April 13

Diary, I have been in tears all evening. My heart aches like it has never ached before—as far as I can remember. You will not believe what a low-down, wicked, cruel scoundrel Mr Gosford is, and I hate him.

Unfortunately I don’t hate him; if I did I wouldn’t be crying now, but after today, all love for him must fly. Am I trying to convince myself that I hate him rather than the opposite?

Lizzy has been sitting in my bedchamber with me these last few hours, stroking my hair and being extremely nice to me, and she is the best of sisters, but now she has left and I can have some time alone with you, which is a relief.

I went around to visit Lady Posy today, which I had planned to do on Friday but had not had time as Mr Gosford had come visiting. Her house is very nice—not large for a person of her importance (she is the daughter of an earl), but very handsome and lavish. I knocked on the door and the butler answered; he told me Lady Posy was in the music room; he opened the doors. There was Lady Posy with Mr Gosford, they were kissing on the sofa, and Mr Gosford had no coat on.

I cannot explain what a shock I had. The butler stood there for a moment with his mouth wide open and then scurried off, and I stood there in the doorway, stiff and unable to move, waiting for them to notice I was there. Finally they saw me, and both faces went beetroot red and as Mr Gosford jumped up and started saying, “Kitty!” But I shook my head and ran from the room out to the carriage, and he ran after me, pulling on his coat, and he grabbed my hands and wouldn’t let me go.

“Kitty, it was nothing! I promise you it will never happen again!”

“Leave me alone, sir,” I spat.

“Look, you have to accept that even married men do these sort of things! Do you really imagine that men don’t get bored?”

“Your argument is ridiculous and I beg you will let me go!”

“Kitty, you must listen to me! I think I am in love with you!”

I stared at him in disbelief. “I scorn your love! How can you even pretend you are in love with me?” The tears were beginning to fall now.

“It is true,” he said. “Please, Kitty, let me come back to Pemberley with you. I will explain everything.”

“There is no explaining to do,” I said haughtily, hastily wiping aside a tear. “I wish you will never come round to Pemberley again. I never want to see you again. You must have rats in your garret if you can possibly think that I would even consider marrying you.” I pulled myself away from him, and climbed into the carriage and the servant drove off quickly. I did not look at him, but out of the corner of my eye I could see him standing still in front of the house and then slowly going back in as I rounded the corner.

I burst into tears as soon as the house was out of sight, and when we arrived back at Pemberley I rushed to Lizzy and fell into her arms in floods of tears.

The most frustrating thing about the whole episode is that I am now beginning to think of all these clever and stinging things I could have said to him, and now I know that I really should have slapped him hard around the face and hopefully broken his nose.

I had a little obsession with him for but a few days. I suppose I must always be grateful to him for saving my life, but I don’t think I could have been in love with him, for although the shock made me reel and cry at first, now I am relatively calm—I just know what I want more. I do hope I never have to look at him again, but if I do, I will manage it with equanimity and I will conquer the urge to run at him, push him into a well, lock him up inside and never let him out. He is not worth my contempt.

Oh, diary, I may not have been in love with him, but still the tears seem to come. It must be the shock. After I had convinced myself so perfectly that he was wonderful in every particular and that he was going to propose to me, too!

There is nothing to do but fall in love with another man now. And I have thought about it this whole afternoon and I believe it must be Sir James. He would never be unfaithful to me. I will try and see if I can organise a meeting with him at some point tomorrow. It would be improper to visit him at his home, by myself, but maybe I can go into the village or something.

We’ll just have to see what happens.

Wednesday April 15

I came across one Sir James Humphries in the woods today! I was taking a walk with one of the dogs who happens to have fallen in love with me. The first meeting was very unromantic, unhappily. Our eyes met across the clearing; he took a step towards me and I to him. Unfortunately, at this moment Fella, the dog, noticed his presence and took instant exception to someone who was obviously trying to accost his mistress. He barked and barked and growled and growled and bristled and bristled until I yelled to Sir James, “I am so sorry, sir! Perhaps you should leave!”

“May I come and visit you at Pemberley soon?” he shouted, smiling.

“I would be very happy for you to do so!” I shrieked back above Fella’s cacophony.

I was so happy that he was going to come visit me that when he was gone, I only gave Fella a half-hearted smack on the nose, and he thought I was patting him, and wagged his tail vigorously and issued a few warning barks in the direction Sir James had backed. “Rascal!” I said affectionately, and we ran back to Pemberley.

When I arrived there, Mr Wakefield was there to visit, to ask after me, and to talk to Mr Darcy about a certain tenant. I was quite touched that he had done so, for he is a busy man. He is forever going around people’s houses and helping them and performing funerals and important things like that. I had a long conversation with him about forgiveness.

“What do you think about people who formerly were the silliest girls in England and still are very silly?” I asked, concerned.

“Look,” he said, smiling at me with a twinkle in his eye, “God forgives anyone anything. I should think that being silly is the least of sins. If you don’t have fun you don’t have joy, I say. If you are always excessively mature and proper, what is the point in being alive? Whenever I meet with my brother Charles, we have the silliest and best time in the world. And when I feel at all sad or stretched or tired, I think of my enjoyable times with him and I feel much better immediately. It is amazing.”

“Really?” I asked, smiling. “That is a very good philosophy. At least, I hope it is sound, because it seems very tempting.”

“Of course, there are times for seriousness,” he smiled. “Unfortunately. Silliness must be tempered with sound mind, or silliness can become an evil.”

“I suppose that is true,” I nodded, pondering. “Yes, it is true. If you are always silly and have great times without restraint or serious thought wherever you go, you will not know how to act when the hard times come.”

He leaned forward, a surprised look on his face. “That is very profound, Miss Bennet. I could not have said it better. To be sure, how can you comfort people who are mourning while you are bouncing off the walls grinning with la joie de vivre?”

I laughed out loud. “Bouncing off the walls?”

“Maybe a little of an exaggeration,” he smiled, “but you see what I mean.”

We talked about lots more things, not all of a serious stamp like that—we talked about family and friends (he was brought up in Yorkshire and his parents and sister Anne still live there, although Anne is engaged and will be married in September, but his brother Charles lives in London and his sister Juliana is married to a captain in the navy and is in Portugal at present), and we talked about the latest fashions among the dandy set (can you believe I discussed fashion with a clergyman?), and we talked about horses (which he has a passion for), and many more things.

And then Sir James walked in, and I, of course, was very excited, and Mr Wakefield looked a little uncomfortable and said his goodbyes, walking out to Mr Darcy’s study. Thinking it over now, I suppose he realised that as a clergyman it may not be quite proper to be sitting in a room along with a young woman (Lizzy had left momentarily to get a certain colour thread from her embroidery box) and having an animated conversation with her. I wish there were not silly little society rules like that. It was the most innocent thing in the world—why, indeed, should it be a worry that a clergyman was alone with me? Can you imagine him trying to seduce me or take advantage of me?! It would be the most ridiculous thing in the world! Why, I am certain he has never thought of me in that way at all! And I am glad, for I am sure I would not like anyone to try to make violent love to me, or impose on me, or anything of the sort! He is the most proper clergyman in the world—even more so than Mr Collins, and lots more fun. He never flirts or chases or anything like that, but he is excessively kind and good-natured to me, even though I am an almost-reformed peacock. He even let me wear his coat when I fell into the lake, which I think was very very good of him, and he was obliged to be cold in the wind for some time.

But anyway, after he left, Sir James sat down with me, and he was ever so agreeable and amusing. I am glad I chose him! I think he will be a very suitable husband. He told me about his other estates, which indicates, I think, that he trusts me and feels intimate with me, and he has several. His estate here is called Hawthorne Lodge.

“My estate here is not my largest,” he said, “but it is my favourite because the house is very pretty and comfortable and I love the countryside, especially that surrounding Pemberley. You are very lucky to be staying here, Miss Bennet. I also spent holidays here, at Hawthorne Lodge, as a child, and loved every minute, so you could say that whenever I think of Hawthorne, pleasant connotations come to mind.”

I smiled. He speaks so well, and so affectionately of his house that it is very pleasing. “What are your other estates or houses like, sir?” I asked. “Where are they?”

“Well, I have a house in London,” he said, (here I mentally congratulated myself on choosing him—a grand house in London to go to in the Season is one of my ideas of heaven!), “on Grosvenor Square. I don’t go every Season, and only go there briefly for business, so it is probably a waste of money, but I do like my house there and don’t want to give it up—” he hesitated, “and I always thought that if I got married, “ he looked at me with a little blush, “my wife would like to have a house there. Do you think she would?”

“I think she would adore it,” I said firmly, trying not to blush.

“Good, good,” he beamed—and to my horror, for a moment he reminded me of Sir William Lucas, walking around Lucas Lodge with that smirk on his face saying ‘Good, good, capital, capital,’ but fortunately the vision faded and he looked quite normal and handsome—certainly nothing like a red-faced squire. “I also have an estate in Cornwall that I do not visit very often; I am actually thinking of leasing it to tenants. It is not very handsome, although the grounds are good, but I am quite happy leaving the grounds to the management of my bailiff there. Yes, by Jove, I do think I will rent it out! There seems no point in keeping the house unoccupied. I will talk to my lawyer about advertising it as soon as I go home today.” He beamed at me. “Thank you for the idea, Miss Bennet!”

“Me?” I asked, surprised and amused. “I didn’t say anything about it!”

“It was your presence,” he said. “It inspires me.”

I laughed again. “Very well, sir, if you must think so. Do you have any more land?”

“Yes,” he said, “I grew up on my estate in Herefordshire, which is very large and grand, and I have an estate in Wales, but I have been thinking about changing the ownership of that to my cousin for some time now. You see, I was the heir to my uncle on my mother’s side, because his son married without the father’s approval, and he cut off his son and changed his will to favour me—thus I gained the Wales estate. My uncle was not a very… amiable man, although I hesitate to speak ill of the dead, and I have often felt uncomfortable that I took the inheritance that should have been my cousin John’s, when I was already perfectly well-off, while he has to scrounge and save every penny now. Yes, I think I should do so. It would make me feel terrible forever to hurt John and his wife, whom I like very much, and even though in a worldly sense I should keep the estate for the benefit of any children I may have in the future,” here he looked furtively at me again (!), “I would not feel comfortable keeping it.” He was studying my face closely to see my reaction. “What do you think?”

“I think it would be a very generous thing to do,” I said truthfully, “but as you said, this may injure the prospects of your future heirs. It is a difficult decision, but then, you already have several estates, and it is not certain that you will have children, is it?” I do not particularly want screaming children running around the place, and so I suppose I would bear one son to please Sir James and to provide him with an heir, but I draw the line at more.

“Oh, no, of course it is not certain,” he agreed, “but I do think I may get married very soon. Which would present a new perspective to the question, would it not?” He looked at me slyly.

“I suppose so,” I said, for it was all I could think of; my heart was beating wildly.

Elizabeth then came back into the room, and was surprised to see Sir James there. “Good afternoon, Sir James!” she said. “How do you do?”

He stood up, smiling, and kissed her hand. “Very well, ma’am. I trust you are well?”

“As always,” she smiled back.

He is so very polite and genteel! I am very proud of him. He will be a wonderful husband to have.

Chapter Six

Friday April 17

I met Mr Montgomery today in Lambton today, and I did feel it in my heart to be sorry for him, because he obviously likes me, and if I hadn’t chosen Sir James, who knows whom I would be marrying soon? But I quietly and kindly repelled him whenever he tried to flirt, and the poor man looked quite unhappy. Of course I was civil, and I do like him as a friend, so I enjoyed meeting him, but otherwise I was thinking of Sir James the entire time, and when I finally saw him coming out of Hart’s, I excused myself quickly and hurried over to speak to him. He was in a hurry to go to a meeting with his lawyer about changing the Wales estate over to his cousin, but he spared a few minutes to talk to me, and he kissed my hand most graciously when he left. Of course it was a disappointment that we had not time for anything above the merest commonplaces, but still, seeing him at all is a joy to me.

I met up with Louisa straight after, and invited her over to Pemberley. Georgiana had gone over to Alice Brandon’s home for the afternoon and so I would be alone and probably bored, as Elizabeth wasn’t feeling quite the thing and was resting today. She agreed to it at once, and I realised she must dislike living with Lady Posy immensely, and would be very happy to go somewhere else for once. She said she is going home to Lyme soon, where she lives with her father, and that “she must confess she could hardly wait to leave Maples” (Lady Posy’s home), and return to her beloved hometown. She misses the sea immensely, and she very kindly extracted a promise from me that if I was able, I should go and visit her in Lyme after I finished my time in Derbyshire. Unfortunately I believe I shall be married by then so I will not be able to, but I am sure I could persuade Sir James to take me there—I have always LONGED to see the sea, and was immensely jealous of Lydia for another reason than the officers encamped there when she went to Brighton. Now, I am glad I did not go, because the likelihood would have been that I copied Lydia and ran off with an officer, and how can that ever compare to marrying Sir James Humphries? He is much richer and probably much more agreeable than someone like Wickham will ever be to Lydia!

Louisa and I had a famous time all afternoon. We explored the grounds together, which I have not been able to do so much of, and discovered so many pretty places that I thought I should weep that Pemberley didn’t and never will belong to me! I found that she too loves plays, especially by Shakespeare, and we have decided to form a dramatic club. Just the two of us, for it would be grossly improper to include young men in the club, and we don’t want Lady Posy, and Georgiana and Alice are much too shy for such a thing. We found a wonderful grove in the forest—a sheltered clearing, with a big tree that has branches so low and broad that we can use them as a stage! There is also a stream nearby, which always appears in a drama, and we even found a rowboat some way down the river which we borrowed and dragged up the stream closer to our grove. We have great plans for the grove, and are going to see if we can even bring some garden furniture, or build a little hut!

Of course it has to be perfectly secret, for if anyone found out what we were doing, I am certain they would turn it at once into a big joke, and I am desperate to do this soon, for I am sure that a married woman cannot do things like this without consulting her husband, and as nice as Sir James is, I’m sure he would laugh and laugh.

We have started with Romeo and Juliet, as Louisa knows it nearly by heart and as I love that particular drama above all others. We think we will also do The Lady of Shalott, although it is not Shakespeare, nor a play, because of the handy stream. Louisa said I may be the one who floats down pretending to be dead and holding the flowers, which is very kind and obliging of her. It is so wonderful to finally find a friend who wants to do things like this too! Those who know me would never guess how I love dramatic and mournful plays, and how many times I imagine myself as the heroine. It is like I am one Kitty when I read or watch these plays, and then another Kitty when I am an ordinary, flirtatious peacock. When I am a peacock, I am anything but romantic and mysterious, but when I am one of those heroines, I am so miserably romantic that you might scream in disgust at the soppiness.

We thought we should probably return to the house when it started clouding over, and we ran the whole way back, chattering excitedly, because it is very agreeable to find an almost soul mate. Louisa and I are quite different when we are our ordinary selves—I am a peacock and she is an albatross. That sounds absolutely ridiculous. I mean that she is at least dignified although very fun, while I am silly and laughable. Although, as Mr Wakefield said, silly is good, while I can be serious.

I have thought over his words very much, and I am greatly indebted to him for he has relieved my mind a lot. God seems very frightening when you don’t know him, but I think I do know him a little better now, and my evening prayers seem to make more sense now, and if I read my Bible, always less often than I should, it does seem to lodge in my mind in a way it never did before. I can even quote verses now that I have learnt without being forced! Mr Wakefield actually is on my mind quite often, because he is such a perfect example to me of how I would like to be. I am sure he has faults, but I have a feeling I would like those faults.

Lizzy invited Louisa to stay for the evening meal, for she is feeling much better. So Louisa was very happy to, and we had a very agreeable evening, for Georgiana came back from Alice’s, and we all played cards together, even Mr Darcy! And soon enough, I suggested Snap (my favourite card game ever!), and it turned into such fun, and it was almost a riot in the drawing room that evening! I won, as usual. Even if I am not the most accomplished person in the universe, I must say I am very good at Snap. We were playing for colossal, if imaginary, scores, and I am now in possession of two hundred thousand imaginary pounds. Mr Darcy was very competitive, and actually looked like he was going to sulk for a moment or two when I won, but he restrained himself and contented himself with making a face at me when no one was looking. I burst out laughing. He is really very funny.

Sunday April 19

In church today, Mr Wakefield spoke on Jonah. He said that we can do the silliest things imaginable sometimes (with a quick smile at me), because we are scared of doing what God has told us to do, but God will keep on telling us to do it, and if we just give up our fear and turn around and do it, everything will work out for the best. It was very interesting. I had never realised how funny the story of Jonah was. It almost says, “God told Jonah to go and preach to the Ninevites. So Jonah ran in the opposite direction.” The whole church was laughing at some points. Mr Wakefield has a great skill.

Unfortunately I had to see Mr Gosford today. He ignored me and looked pointedly in the other direction all service. I think he was embarrassed to be dropped by me as a suitor. But when I was walking out of church on Sir James’ arm, we walked straight into him, and he bade me a stiff, “Good morning, Miss Bennet,” and I smiled back, “Good morning, Mr Gosford!” Well, yes, I was a little uncomfortable, and it probably showed, but I was determined to show him I didn’t care a jot about what had happened, well, that I did care, but I didn’t care enough to go into spasms of depression or something. Sir James noticed something though, and he asked me, “What is wrong with Mr Gosford?”

I coloured up, and said something like, “I don’t know! Hahaha!” I will need to be doing some thinking, for I’m sure many people will be asking that same question, and only I, Lizzy, Lady Posy and Mr Gosford himself know the answer.

Sir James looked at me gravely. I think he saw right through me. “Really?”

I changed the subject, because I don’t want to lie to him, but I’m sure it will come up again. He allowed me to distract him, but I know he didn’t forget it.

Monday April 20

Louisa came over to Pemberley today to visit, and we managed to escape after luncheon to our grove. She dragged along a big sack the whole way and would not reveal what was in it until we arrived there. It was wonderful! She had asked Lady Posy’s groom to teach her how to carve letters in wood, and she made a sign saying ‘Kitty and Louisa’s Grove – Keep Out!’ She had also brought a hammer and nails, an old carriage-roof to drape over our stage, and she had commissioned the groom to make several small seats that sit on the branches perfectly! I had never imagined the like! She is certainly a very resourceful girl. She also brought a wooden box with boiled sweets in it that locks with a padlock and chain, and sits in a small hollow cavity in the tree. She gave me a tiny key to hang around my neck for it. I am sure I was never so excited. Louisa is so imaginative.

Being so excited by this time, we plunged straight into the acting. We decided to do Lady of Shalott at once, as I was wearing just the right type of dress, and we picked some bluebells from an obliging collection nearby and hastened down to the stream. I carefully got into the boat, and lay down, and Louisa thoughtfully put her pelisse under my head so I would not be too uncomfortable. Then I clutched the flowers in my hand and shut my eyes, and it was all very dramatic and satisfying, and Louisa pushed me off the bank. Unfortunately the water was too shallow for the boat to move at all at this point in the stream, so Louisa was obliged to pull me down the stream a little until the water was a little deeper and I was drifting off, but I did not quite like having my eyes shut, for fear and for boredom, so after a while I sat up and waved at Louisa who was walking along by the boat. It was very merry, if not very romantic at all, and we talked to each other while I drifted along. She threw me a piece of cake she had brought along, and I ate that, and then to my horror the stream suddenly got wider, the banks got higher, and I had drifted into the lake!

“Louisa,” I called, “you haven’t by any chance brought oars with you, have you?”

“Oh no!” she cried. “Kitty, you must jump out!”

“I can’t!” I called back. “It’s too deep! I’m scared!”

“Of course you are, I’m sorry!” she said, remembering my near-drowning incident. “What shall we do?”

“I don’t know!” I was starting to panic now, and it was impossible to stop a few tears squeezing out. What was to become of me? Why did I forever do the silliest things possible? The more I drifted, the deeper it got, and the more impossible it was to jump out, in my mind. Of course it would only have been about waist height, but I have developed a deep fear of water ever since the Falconhurst Hill incident, probably due to still more nightmares. It seemed as impossible to me to jump into that water as to jump off a cliff. Meanwhile Louisa wrung her hands on the shore and called out meaningless and unhelpful advice to me. “Put your hands in the water and paddle!” she shouted. I tried, and moved even faster in the wrong direction. “Jump up and down!” she cried. “It might make the boat move against the current!” I tried and the boat rocked so hard it almost tipped over and kept moving with the current. At least she was trying.

Suddenly a figure emerged from the woods, and on seeing our plight and asking Louisa what on earth was going on, he took off his coat, jumped into the lake and waded out to me. It was Mr Wakefield, of all people. I was deeply embarrassed. Of course a clergyman would disapprove greatly of playacting. I had reached the middle of the lake by the time he waded up to me. “Good afternoon,” he smiled, holding onto the side of the boat. “It seems to me you are in trouble. Would you like some help?”

I couldn’t help smiling. “No, thank you, sir, I would like to live here forever.”

“In that case…” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Just a joke!” I assured him very quickly. I own I was not really worried about social appearance anymore and wanted nothing more than to get off that lake and back onto dry land.

He saw the frightened glint in my eye and was at once very kind and gentle, squeezing my hand which was tightened on the side of the boat like iron. “Don’t worry, Miss Bennet, I’ll have you back to shore in no time. You will be fine. Just breathe deeply and think of hot chocolate in bed in the morning. I’m sure it will help.”

I closed my eyes and thought of it as he pushed me back to shore, and derived a most irrational comfort from the very thought of that hot mug of chocolate that Betty brought me every morning. He was right, it did help, and by the time I had drunk it all, I was back at shore, and he was picking me up out of the boat and climbing up the bank to deposit me next to Louisa.

“Oh, thank you so much, Mr Wakefield!” I could hear her saying as he set me down gently and as I tried to de-panic myself. “Look at you, you’re all wet! Imagine what could have happened had you not gone out!”

“It would probably not have been as desperate as the case at Falconhurst,” he was replying, “but still, it must be very frightening for you to have been in another dangerous position, Miss Bennet. I am happy I came to be here.”

I nodded dumbly and murmured, “Thank you.”

“May I ask what on earth you were doing?” he said, curious.

I went bright red and Louisa and I looked at each other, biting our lips. He looked to and fro at us, at the boat, at the stream, at the bluebells I was clutching tightly in my hand still—and he started laughing quietly. “You’ve been acting out the Lady of Shalott, have you not?”

We stared at him. “How in all manner of wondrous things did you know?” I heard Louisa whisper.

“My sisters used to do it all the time, and they would order Charles and I to help them in all manner of things; picking flowers, repairing boats, you name it. In fact they had a dramatic club, and Charles and I were included because they needed males for most plays—but only because of that and not because they liked us, they always hastened to remind us. I was Romeo once when Juliana took a fancy into her head to play Juliet. It was such a laugh.”

Isn’t he the nicest clergyman that ever there was? If Mr Collins had heard I was acting out the Lady of Shalott he would have read me the harshest lecture that ever was spoken and condemned me to hell the way he did Lydia and advise my parents to have nothing to do with me.

He left pretty soon after then, being rather wet from the waist down, although he was quite cheerful about it and said the sun would soon dry him off. I am so relieved he was there.

Posted on Monday, 7 January 2008

Chapter Seven

As soon as Mr Wakefield left, Louisa and I linked arms and walked back towards the grove. “I know you like Sir James, Kitty,” she whispered, “but have you realised Mr Wakefield likes you—very much indeed?”

I burst out laughing. “Oh, Louisa, what an amusing thing to say!”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why? I think it’s obvious! He is always looking at you and being especially caring about you and…. many more things!”

“Of course he doesn’t like me in the way you are suggesting! He hasn’t once flirted with me or said a thing to suggest anything of the kind. He’s simply a very nice man with no amorous intentions whatsoever!” I laughed again. “What a ludicrous suggestion! I promise you he will never have thought twice about me!”

“Kitty, do you really think Mr Wakefield is the type to flirt, or chase you?”

“Well, I suppose not,” I admitted, “but I am sure you are wrong! He is kind to everyone. How could such a thing be true? I beg you will stop talking about it before I split my side laughing!”

“Very well,” she said. “I must say you are a simpleton, though.”

I rolled my eyes, changed the subject and walked faster. Really, Louisa is admirable sometimes! The things she comes up with! I said before that she has an imagination and I am beginning to think it exceedingly overactive!

Wednesday April 22

Poor Lizzy is feeling very unwell today, and Mr Darcy, who was very worried, asked me, when I went into Lambton, to procure some restorative things for her, and to ask the physician to come and visit. I am persuaded that it isn’t a very threatening situation, but still it is worrying when a pregnant woman is sick; there is no telling what could happen. So unfortunately when I saw Sir James in the village I was not able to speak to him for long; I had to buy the things, and then see the physician, and I didn’t want to waste time. Therefore I only managed a “how do you do?” and a quick explanation before I rushed off. The physician took the restoratives with him, leaving me with time to talk to Sir James, but by that time he had left the village. It puts such a damper on one’s spirits when one misses out on things like that—especially when one is already worried about one’s sister! But I met Louisa, and she has agreed to come and visit tomorrow. We are going to do Romeo and Juliet, and she said I can be Juliet, because she likes doing male voices! It will be such fun.

And then I met Mr Beaupays, who I haven’t seen for some time except for church, and he was very kind. He came over and complimented me on my pelisse, the silly man, and was most flirtatious. I should have been happy to oblige him had I not already been in love with Sir James. But as the situation stood, I was very civil, and excessively nice, but not flirtatious. I know what is proper, and I have sworn not to ever come close to doing what that horrible Mr Gosford did.

I saw Mr Wakefield too, and he paused to speak to me, but hurried off soon after. There was nothing in his manner that was flirtatious at all, and even though I looked closely, I could discern no signs of him wanting to fix his interest with me. Louisa had obviously been mistaken. She must have thought his general kindness to me meant he was in love, but it is not so. He has never so much as cast a fulsome compliment my way, nor has he looked at me above the ordinary. But then… that is not his style, is it? And I have detected a slight consciousness in his behaviour sometimes. I know he likes me in a friendly way, for he looks at me with such a warm eye. But he cannot love me, can he? For he never singles me out obviously or flirts or anything of the kind, as I have explained before. But he did pick me up ever so gently when he saved me from the lake several days ago. It intrigues me, really, for so far in Derbyshire I have been accustomed to the single men flirting outrageously with me, with the exception of Mr Winter, who is already taken.

Oh diary, now I remember that dinner party. I just flicked back to look at my entry that time, and I wrote that I could tell he was thinking about me. And it was true. He was. And he still does that. Like the time Sir James came in and he decided to leave at once, almost embarrassed, as if he had been caught.

I wonder, but it is all conjecture. However, I cannot deny he intrigues me immensely, although my immediate reaction is to scoff away any idea that he likes me above the ordinary.

Anyhow, I am in love with Sir James, am I not?

Thursday April 23

Oh, diary, something so exciting and wonderful happened today! Guess! Well, you’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you:

Louisa and I went to our grove again and we continued on with Romeo and Juliet, and we got to my favourite part, Act 2, Scene 2. I was Juliet and Louisa was everything else, in this case, Romeo, because she thinks it’s amusing to do male voices. I stood up on our stage, and she sat below, and I cried out in great fervour my part.

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name: Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

Louisa said in an aside in her hilarious man-voice which almost caused me to succumb to laughter, “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

I continued. “’Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself though, not a Montague. What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O! be some other name: What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.”

To both mine and Louisa’s intense surprise, a voice came from the forest! “I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptiz’d; henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

We stared, our mouths wide open as Sir James strode in, smiling. We were completely silent for what seemed like an age before he burst into laughter. “I’m sorry, Miss Bennet, Miss Tait, but I couldn’t resist. Have you formed a dramatic club?”

Louisa stared still, but I started to smile. “You wretch,” I said. “How dare you invade our hallowed hall?”

He grinned at me. “A dramatic club! By Jove, that’s amusing!” He burst into laughter again, and I admit I probably would have been quite annoyed at the way he treated it as such a joke if he had not just pretended to be Romeo while I was Juliet!!!!

We walked back to Pemberley all together, and he stayed for dinner, as did Louisa. I think she was a little provoked at the way he teased us constantly on the walk back, and dropped subtle hints of it all evening, as we had made him promise not to reveal it to anyone, and she was very quiet all evening when in our company, but I am sure she is just tired.

Saturday April 25

Oh dear. I almost cannot make myself believe what happened today. I am very unhappy. I’m not sure what is wrong with me, really, but… you will see.

I was going for a walk through the woods—this time not with Fella, and now I almost wish I had been—and I met Sir James, and of course was very happy with this situation, and I knew that this would be a perfect time for him to propose and so was very excited. We started to walk along together.

Well, he started to tease me almost straight away about the Romeo and Juliet incident, and this served to annoy me a little and regret that we were not already married so I could give him a good set-down. But with the delicate state of affairs, I felt it would not be wise to do so, in case he decided not to propose after all.

Then he stopped suddenly when we reached the stream, and he turned to face me and took my hands, and my heart stopped and my brain started screaming, ‘This is it, you idiot!’ at me, and I thought he was going to say something, and my mind screamed, ’Propose!’ but he just stared at me, and then. He positively attacked me with kisses.

The strangest thing is that I was repulsed. All at once his age hit me, and I started to think, ‘He is old enough to be my father!’, and I felt no attraction to him whatsoever, and his kisses scared me, and I pushed him off me. He, unprepared for this, fell to the ground and jumped up again, a little red-faced and dishevelled. “Kindly keep your hands off me, sir!” I heard myself saying. Why, why, why, I don’t know. As Kitty Bennet I must have accepted any kiss of any presentable man. I think I must be a Catherine now, even if I am still called Kitty. Because I hated every second that his lips were on mine, and as soon as I got back to Pemberley I scrubbed them furiously.

But he stared at me, and he exclaimed, “What on earth?!”

“I said,” I repeated, “kindly keep your hands off me!”

“Kitty,” he said weakly, “what is the matter? I love you! I need a wife!”

I stared at him. “I don’t think you do love me,” I said. “You said it yourself, you need a wife! I, for one, do not want to marry you.”

“Kitty,” he said.

But I interrupted him. “You should call me Miss Bennet, sir.”

“Miss Bennet,” he said weakly, “you encouraged me to suppose that you desired my attentions!”

“I admit at times I did,” I said, reddening. “But sir, I don’t want to marry you anymore.”
“I cannot believe it,” he said firmly.

“Try,” I said.

He lunged at me again, and kissed me, and this time I struggled immediately and pushed him away. I was red and angry and my bonnet had fallen off. “How dare you, sir?!” I cried. “If you touch me again, I’ll –”

He was looking shocked. “I’m sorry, Miss Bennet, I don’t know what came over me… I suppose I’m just disappointed.—Oh, Miss Bennet, but think of the children!”

“Children?” I asked, completely befuddled.
“All the children we could have!”

I nearly burst out laughing. “You think I want to have children?”

“You don’t want them?”

“No!” Now I suddenly felt terrible. After all, I had encouraged his attentions and it was all my fault. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I cannot marry you.” I ran away, and he stormed off, and the worst of it is that as I just ran behind a bush and out of Sir James’ sight, I ran straight into Mr Wakefield. We both went red and I froze.

“I’m sorry, Miss Bennet,” he said. “I couldn’t help but hear. I was just walking through the forest and happened to pass by here.”

The poor man was evidently very uncomfortable and ashamed of being the eavesdropper, even though he had obviously been an unwilling one.

“It’s…. it’s fine,” I whispered. I couldn’t look him in the eye without turning even redder. “I suppose that was very improper.”

He raised his eyebrows as I looked beseechingly up at him. “You did not seem at all improper to me,” he said. “In fact, you behaved very well.”

I tried to smile, but found it was beyond me. “I hope so,” I murmured.

“Miss Bennet, there was nothing you could have done about it except what you did do, and you did well. I promise you.”

I looked up at him again, and he had the kindest expression on his face; his eyes are such a velvety, sincere brown. He is surely one of the nicest men I have ever met. “Thank you,” I said. “That makes me feel a lot better.” And it did.

He smiled, touched his hat, and was gone. I ran back to Pemberley. He had helped me but he had not cured me completely, and I sat on my bed the whole evening sobbing at my own stupidity in imagining myself in love with one man when really I am in love with Mr Beaupays. How can I be so blind? I will hunt him out tomorrow at church.

Chapter Eight

Sunday April 26

I saw him today! I also saw a very embarrassed Sir James who hardly looked at me and a haughty Mr Gosford, but Mr Beaupays was there and he walked me outside after the service and was very agreeable and kind and made me such a number of pretty compliments. I was walking on air!

“Miss Bennet,” he said, “you look remarkably well today!”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, smiling back. “You don’t look particularly ill-looking yourself.”

He only half-laughed, and I could tell was secretly a little concerned. “Not particularly ill-looking? A compliment indeed! I am glad I took such care with my apparel in that case, if I earned such praise from your lips!”

Sometimes the way he speaks and his expressions make me want to double over with laughter. Very improper, probably, but I am afraid that is how things stand. I love every little bit about him—well, almost—but his whole life seems to be governed by clothes and appearance and such trifles. Trifles, indeed! The whole of high society seems to be run by them, and at times, it worries me. Would he like me if I were not pretty?—and I know I am, unfortunately—yes, very vain, but could anyone be so foolish as to think themselves only mediocre if someone like Mr Beaupays is attracted to them? I have changed somewhat over the last year. Anyhow, it worries me. What if I were Mary in appearance and Kitty in heart? He would look at me and raise his eyebrows with a little conceited smirk, I am sure he would, and then he would pay no more attention to me ever again. When we are married I will have to make it my job to educate him in this matter.

I managed to restrain myself this time from bursting into very improper tears of laughter, and made do with a small smile. “Oh, don’t worry, sir, you would grace any fashion plate.”

He smiled again, relieved. After we dined at the Brandon house, he drove me home in his phaeton although he is terribly bad at driving. He concentrates grimly on the task as if it were as important as life and death, staring ahead, but trying to talk flat out at the same time. He drives too slowly on the straight, and takes corners much too fast, and has no grasp of balance or relatives. I was concerned all the way and even begged him to let me take the reins after again coming close to an upheaval. Not that I can drive much better, but at least I do know to slow down at corners and speed up on the straights.

“No, no, no!” he insisted. “I am quite fine. Not the most skilled whipster, I admit, but I can manage tolerably, I am sure.”

I wasn’t quite sure, but I consoled myself with the notion that if he overturned us, he would have to be very gallant and handsome to make up for it. It was a wonderful drive; contrary to what you may believe, his head is not wholly taken up with trifles and ribbons and bonnets. We had a very interesting discussion about different species of trees which grace the road to Pemberley (some people in my history would not believe I could ever be interested in such things). I must admit though that after several short minutes of that, he clapped his hands (I watched the reins in concern), and said, “Enough of that dull stuff! Who is your favourite seamstress?”

I smiled in amusement. I used to think I might get bored and tired with his ever-continuing theories and wanderings on clothes, but when I think about it now, it just serves to amuse me. And how many women have complained about their husbands being absolutely impervious to the claims of fashion? At least I shall not be one of them! And if I ever get tired of it, I shall visit my perfectly serious, thoughtful and boring sister Mary, and rush back to him in a day, happy and grateful to have a frivolous husband.

No. That is cruel. If I did not wish to keep a strictly authentic diary, I would cross that out immediately. Mary is not all bad. She can find it in herself to be companionable, and I must admit I have never tried to draw her out. Poor thing, in fact, she must be very lonely sometimes. Father hardly tolerates her, and Mama is, frankly, on the far, opposite end of the spectrum from Mary and I doubt she would ever find it any comfort to have Mama’s approval. Lydia and I teased her and Jane and Elizabeth are no more than tolerant of her.

I feel terrible, diary. Thinking about it makes me feel like a horrible, unsisterly, inhuman beast. I hereby resolve to be kinder to Mary when I next see her. I don’t have great hopes of becoming friends with her, but at least I shan’t be conscience-stricken whenever I think of it.

Tuesday April 28

I had a lovely day yesterday, diary! Mr Darcy, Elizabeth, Georgiana, Mr Beaupays and I went out for a wonderful picnic in the woods, and we picked blackberries and ate them. It wasn’t so perfect an idea as I thought it would be because the wild blackberries ripped both mine and Georgiana’s dresses slightly—which quite shocked Mr Beaupays into despair—and Elizabeth couldn’t get near the berries because she is so large now! But it was still a delicious afternoon, and we were very lucky to have Mr Beaupays with us. He turned up in the morning, just as we were setting out, and Elizabeth, noting my sudden exuberance, invited him too. She is such a kind sister! I shall be always grateful to her for this trip to Pemberley, although I must say I shall never think of those horrible couple of days organising her baby’s life without a shudder.

Anyhow, we sat and ate heavenly food from the Pemberley kitchens, spread out over blankets, and drank Pemberley’s prize wine. I must say that the food was miles better than anything Mr Gosford’s startlingly mediocre cook made for the Falconhurst picnic. And Mr Beaupays and Lizzy cracked jokes, and Darcy, Georgiana and I smiled and ate, and I had a very stimulating conversation with my brother-in-law (whose name I have never managed to pronounce aloud, though urged to—I fear my sense of humour would overcome my sense of better judgement in calling him Fitzwilliam) about the importance of having a good clergyman in a district and what a difference it made to the overall climate of a town. Mr Beaupays joined in the discussion at some point and quickly manoeuvred the subject to something else, I forget what, but it was very interesting, and he was very nice to me. As soon as I got home, I flopped on my bed, starry-eyed, with a goofy smile on my face, and thought only of him. I think that this time, it is the real thing, diary. Mr Gosford and Sir James were interesting interruptions in the story, you could probably say. But I have a curious feeling that Mr Beaupays is who I will end up with.

Reading over my diary now, I realise that from the way I have described him, you may have concocted an image of him in your subconscious mind that is far different and much worse than the real picture. It isn’t like that. How can I explain what he is really like? It isn’t so much what he says and does that makes him special; it is the way he smiles, or the way he takes one’s arm when handing one down from the carriage. Or the way he pretends to be impervious and inalterably strong, but has a little vulnerable look in his eyes whenever he looks my way. Or the way I can tell—I am sure—that very deep down, he does realise that some things are more important than clothes. (And of course he is very handsome but that doesn’t matter at all!—only a little bit.)

You see, diary, he is really a very nice man and I should love holding dinner parties for all the cream of society.

And today was a nice day also, although I did not see Mr Beaupays. But I had a lovely afternoon in the grove with Louisa, acting out the Scottish play. Louisa was Macbeth and I was everything else, except when Macbeth wasn’t in a scene—then Louisa took another part. I can tell you honestly that we scared shivers down our own spines being the weird sisters. Shakespeare is just dramatic enough to be out-of-the-ordinary and just realistic enough to be dramatic and spine-tingling. I would love beyond all things to be a playwright! Well, maybe except for marrying Mr Beaupays, but still, I think it must be such a romantic life! Louisa wishes to be one too.

“Kitty!” she said in inspired tones, eyes wide and hands grasping mine. “We should write our own play!”

So we are going to. It will be fun that I am sure can never be equalled. She is to come around to Pemberley tomorrow, when Alice comes to visit Georgiana, and we are to start our play. We don’t have any ideas yet, and although I have racked my brains, the only ideas that pop into my head are things like, ‘a Scottish Lord who meets witches who make him ambitious, which causes him to kill the king,’ or ‘a Moor who becomes jealous of another man’s supposed hold on his Venetian wife and kills her’, or ‘two lovers whose families are desperately opposed to each other’. They are wonderful ideas but unfortunately have already been used. Isn’t it annoying when you are trying so hard to think of something, and everything else pops into your head? Like when you say, “I would like to write a book like such-and-such,” and then find it difficult to think of anything but the exact same storyline of such-and-such. Or, “I would like to write a song like such-and-such,” and ever since then your head has been bombarded with the tune of such-and-such when you are trying to think of a different tune, all of your own. Such things have nearly caused me to rip out my hair in frustration many times.

Wednesday April 29

It may seem strange, diary, that I hardly talk about Georgiana. I suddenly realised in bed last night that I have scarcely said a word about her, except my first impressions and the bare facts. Well, we are not the best of friends, but still get along rather well indeed. Our personalities being so different, we find it hard to relate perfectly, but I like her a lot and think she is very sweet, worthy, and generous. Of course we have our differences and would find each other’s constant company a little irksome. But we have our own friends, and do our own things, and therefore get along remarkably well for two very different people. I like her very much indeed.

I also realised that I hardly mention a change that has greatly affected my life in general. Ever since I first heard Mr Wakefield speak, I have been thinking more and more about God, and … well … I think God just seems more real to me now. I have been reading my Bible more and I am starting to understand it more. I am realising now what it means to be a Christian, and it is certainly not just going to church and saying grace at mealtimes. The thing that cuts through the outer layer and reaches my core the most is the fact that I know I am guilty and unworthy of being loved by such a person as God, but that Christ still died for me, while I was still unworthy. There is a verse in the epistle to the Romans that says ‘For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die. But God commandeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ I find it very hard to explain, while I know I am still the same Kitty, peacock and all (though trying hard not to be)—but I know that when I first discovered that Christianity wasn’t just about putting your tuppence in the collection bag, I was plain scared. Because I knew that I wasn’t there. But now, as I know more about it, and more about God, I feel much better, because I know now that God is a forgiving God.

Well, that was a very large rant about something that used to be an absurdity and a bore to me. Pray forget it if you wish, but remember that it is important to me.

I told you yesterday about the play-writing Louisa and I were to attempt to do today. Essentially it was a mess, but it was an amusement, I suppose. Our end result was not satisfying, perhaps, but Louisa has persuaded me to think that when I am a famous playwright, I will look back and laugh and say, “That was the beginning of a rich and wonderful career.” Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe not!

I shall show you an excerpt of our inspired reflections.

Enter butler.
Butler: “Good evening, master.”
Master: “Good evening, Samson. I am feeling very sombre tonight and would like to have a glass of port and a pastry, if you please.”
Butler: “Will that be a blueberry or an apricot pastry, sir?”
Master: “Blueberry, please, with that wonderful glaze Cook does, and a sprinkling of icing sugar. And then call in my lawyer.”
Butler: “At once, sir. Will you take the 1645 port or the 1701?”
Master: “It is a difficult decision. Which do you recommend, Samson?”
There is a crash outside.
Butler: “Oh, sir! I just heard a crash outside! What do you suppose it could be?”
Master: “Burglars, perhaps, or maybe wolves. I shall take my revolver and check.”

It is a frightful embarrassment to me because it is so boring and it winds around in circles dreadfully. I don’t think we had a plot at all. It was about a Lord who has a son who has an incurable disease who wants to marry someone, and the Lord is having trouble with funds and housebreakers, and the butler, meanwhile, is being threatened by thugs to murder the Lord or his family will suffer, and the person the Lord’s son wants to marry has a dark secret we have not quite decided on yet, and meanwhile there is a war going on in the back garden, the French versus the English, and a lot of the play seems to refine upon Louisa’s taste in food. I want to tear it up, but as I explained before, Louisa persuaded me to keep it. I feel she is overly optimistic. I don’t think playwriting is written in the stars for me, somehow. But I will keep it, if only to humour her.

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