Beginning, Section II

Jump to new as of January 7, 2008
Jump to new as of January 12, 2008
Jump to new as of January 19, 2008

Posted on Saturday, 12 January 2008

Chapter Nine

Thursday April 30

I went for a lovely walk with Georgiana and Mr Beaupays in the shrubbery today! Georgiana was a little shy of him and kept her distance, so we managed to talk voraciously without excluding her. He told me all about his family.

“My mother died when I was fourteen,” he said, “and my father remarried two years later, and my stepmother’s name is Cordelia. I must admit we found it hard to get along at first, as I missed my mother immensely, and my stepmother is not much older than me, but now things are different. I have three sisters. The eldest is Laura, she is two years older than me at seven-and-twenty, and married to Sir William Carroll. They have a baby boy named Alexander. And my sister Viola is twenty, and unmarried. I think we are probably closer than I am to any other of my family. You see, Laura is sometimes quite vixenish, and Viola and I always used to form a gang against her! And my youngest sister is Elizabeth, and she is three years younger than you at sixteen, I believe, and not yet out. I also have a stepbrother and sister; Jonathan is eight, and Rose, or Rosie as we call her, is two.”

I am glad I talked to him about it, for he has such a soft spot for his family that I discovered a completely new side to him that you would never know just by looking at that fashionable exterior.

And then I told him about mine, and he thought the Bennet family story of the last few years was excessively amusing and fascinating—what with Lizzy hating Darcy, Mr Collins proposing to Lizzy and then marrying Charlotte Lucas, Darcy separating Jane from Bingley, Darcy proposing to Lizzy in Kent (I know that because Lizzy told me the other day, blushing), her fiery refusal, the accidental meeting at Pemberley, Wickham running off with Lydia, Darcy playing the avenging angel, and then the happy ending when both Lizzy and Jane were united with the men they loved.

Oh, I do like him a lot! He is not all baubles and finery, and if you know me at all, you will understand that I enjoy frivolity. And he does go deeper, even though as soon as we had finished speaking of our families, we were back to the best colour ribbon to go with a straw bonnet. He amuses me excessively and I feel very mature when I am with him. I wonder when he will propose to me?

Saturday May 2

Hello again, diary! I was unable to tell more of the enticing, exciting adventures of Catherine Sophia Bennet yesterday, because I was so busy having fun! What a nice excuse for not being able to do something! Much, much better than ‘I was busy organising Lizzy’s new baby’s life’ or ‘I had to see the doctor and was desperately ill’ or something horrid like that. However! I had a good day yesterday. There were a few bad points, but they pale in comparison to the good points, I think. Firstly, I went for a walk with Mr Beaupays, even though I had wanted to visit Louisa. And it was worth it because he hinted five times that he wanted to marry me! It really does something for a girl’s self esteem when yet another presentable gentleman wants to marry her.

And then Louisa and Alice Brandon came around, and Mr Darcy took us all for a picnic. It was very kind of him, for Lizzy is now very big indeed and cannot leave home, and I could tell he wanted to stay with her. But she laughed and told him to go with us, that she was fine, and so he did, reluctantly. And we had a wonderful time! We all rode there, and we stopped at the vicarage on the way and invited Mr Wakefield. I had wanted to invite Mr Beaupays, but no one thought of it, and I felt too embarrassed to just ask, outright, “Can we bring Mr Beaupays?” Georgiana would have giggled and Louisa would have rolled her eyes and Mr Darcy would have secretly smirked and I would have felt especially frivolous. But I do like Mr Wakefield, of course, and the lack of Mr Beaupays did not render the expedition completely without fun. Not at all! The weather was beautiful that day and the food delicious. I found it hard to look at Mr Wakefield for a little while, remembering the other day when Sir James cornered me, but he had evidently forgotten it, or pretended to very well. So after a while we were chatting away like usual, all awkwardness gone, which was a relief.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, “how long do you have left in Derbyshire?”

“Still a month,” I said. “I have enjoyed myself so much here that even a month seems too short a time!”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I have noticed that if you are away from home for a long time, as I have been, going home is very much a pleasure. But when I was younger and only went away for short trips, I always hated the very thought of having to go home, to normal life.”

“Precisely!” I said. “That is exactly how I feel. Right now I cannot really understand how I would ever want to go home, after the wonderful time I have had here, and thinking about all the limits there are at home. But time diminishes faults, and magnifies the good things, until home seems a positive pattern-card of perfection.”

“Very profound, Miss Bennet!” he laughed. “But you are perfectly right. I miss my parents and my sister at home in Yorkshire so much right now, for I have not visited my home since September last year. But I think when circumstances change, these longings change too.”

I wrinkled my brow. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, as of this time, the vicarage is not really home to me. There is only myself there; no family, no friends. But I think if I got married, this would change. I probably would not long for home so much anymore, because I would be perfectly satisfied with my home in Derbyshire. And the same with you; for instance, if you stayed in Pemberley forever, you would miss your home very much after a while, but if you got married and stayed here, you would be quite content, most of the time.”

I laughed. “Most of the time?”

“Oh, married people always have their little disagreements,” he smiled. “I should know, being a clergyman. I am sure that Mr and Mrs Darcy have arguments now and then?”

I raised my eyebrows and gave an expressive, “Yes!”

He laughed. “Be that as it may, they love each other very much—it is obvious. I doubt Mrs Darcy ever wishes she was back home in Hertfordshire, meaning no offence to your home, of course. She is just perfectly happy with her situation, especially because of the approaching birth, and no petty little argument with Mr Darcy will change that.”

“That is very true,” I said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t ever thought of that before. I hope I can ever love a man that much.”

He was giving me a rather odd smile as I looked up at him again. I don’t know why. He looked… oh, I can’t explain it. I’m useless at writing anyhow. But he seemed, without being bitter, to look at me as if… I give up. I cannot explain it, no matter how hard I try, and I have sat thinking at my writing desk for at least ten minutes trying to discern how it was that he was smiling. I don’t think there is a single word in the English language which describes it even partially.

We came to the river finally, sore from the saddle, and relieved to get down and EAT. I am afraid none of us were very dignified at all, but extremely ravenous, shovelling food down our throats as if there were no tomorrow. And it was delicious—anything eaten outdoors does seem to stimulate the tastebuds more than indoor fare, don’t you think?

The two men ended up going for a swim down the river around the bend, after sternly adjuring us not to walk that way (we giggled and they couldn’t help smiling), and we stayed behind, swinging our bare feet in the water and talking. It was lovely, I felt like a child again, barefoot and free. Close to nature, and happy, and careless. To my disappointment, Louisa again misinterpreted Mr Wakefield, and started teasing me about the way we had ridden together almost the whole way to the river. Honestly, she can sometimes be so blind. We are only friends – nothing more. I refuse to write any more about this particular topic because it is so ridiculous. I mean, can you imagine me falling in love with a clergyman?! Or, still more ridiculous, he falling in love with me?!?!

I suppose it would be more possible than it used to be. My sister Lydia would burst into laughter at such an idea, but people who know me now may not.

However, it has not happened.

The worst part of the picnic was when I went for a walk in the forest by myself to look for flowers to pick for Lizzy. To my utter embarrassment, I came upon Mr Wakefield, who had gone into the forest to get dressed again after his swim. He was shirtless and wet, and stupid, idiotic me skipped carelessly into a clump of bluebells, and froze at the sight of him, as did he. I am sure I have never gone so red, and my brain was screaming, “Quick! RUN, you dolt!” But my body refused to obey and I stood there, stock-still, staring at him, and right now as I write, a day later, my face still goes beetroot red at the very thought of it. Finally, “Miss Bennet,” he said, with a little smile on his face, and I said in a tiny voice, “I – I – I am sorry,” and rushed off. It took me a while to breathe again, and I had to sit down by the river and splash my face with water a little before I could go back to the girls looking semi-normal.

He is a very handsome man, as I think I have mentioned before. It would be a wonder indeed if my breath was not caught in my stomach and if my eyes did not boggle at the sight of him and if my heart started to beat a little (or a lot) faster, and it does not diminish my love for Mr Beaupays in the least.

It was totally impossible not to surrender to heightened colour when he and Mr Darcy came back, and although he would have seemed as unruffled as usual to anyone who was not particularly watching, he did seem a little conscious. Everyone noticed I was uncomfortable, of course, and asked annoying questions that I did not want to answer or be asked in the first place. How is it that I can be reduced to a stuttering, red-faced mess when something like this happens, and he can look as calm and ethereal as always?

That part of the picnic is something I want to forget as soon as possible, and just get back to my usual calm, unworried existence.

Luckily for my general wellbeing, Mr Darcy was anxious to get back to Elizabeth, and so we left at once. I rode at the back of the party with Georgiana and tried never to catch his eye, but sometimes it was impossible. He didn’t stop being as kind as normal, and I am very impressed with how he behaves when embarrassed like that, but I really wished that I could just get back to Pemberley and into my bedroom so I could blush as much as I wished, in PRIVATE, and think about everything that happened.

That night Lizzy started having pains. Mr Darcy panicked and sent for the doctor as soon as they happened, but when he got there, they had ceased. We spent the whole evening after that giving Lizzy massages and rubbing her feet, which are a little swollen. I am inclined to think she enjoyed the massages so much that she only pretended she needed them, but that is a very uncharitable way to think and I am sure that is not so. She also claimed she was craving chocolate cake and grapes, but when she said this, she had such a mischievous look in her eye that not even Mr Darcy, anxious to do everything correctly, was fooled. However, it was very enjoyable, because Lizzy was in a good mood, and we laughed the whole evening long—except for Mr Darcy, who was feeling nervous, inadequate and worried.

Today – well, all of this morning pales into insignificance and I cannot gather up the patience to write it all down, for I have just received a note from Mr Beaupays that he is going to come around in but half an hour. The anticipation is enormous. Somehow I know, diary, that he is going to propose today!!!!

Later

Mr Beaupays called around here punctually, and took me out for a walk in the shrubbery immediately. He seemed rather discomposed which made me feel very smug, because men are always discomposed when they are about to propose.

He sat me down on a stone chair, and stood in front of me, breathing quickly, and he said, “Miss Bennet, I have a certain proposition to lay before you. I beg you will not think me impertinent, but it has been in my mind almost as soon as I met you.”

I was finding it very hard to breathe normally, being in a flurry of nervous anticipation of the proposal that must follow.

He sat down beside me. “Miss Bennet, my sister Viola is coming to visit me soon, and when she comes, I would like to have a surprise for her.”

My heart beat even quicker. How sweet of him! He wants to propose to me so that he can introduce me to his sister as his fiancée when she comes!

“Will you decorate a bonnet for her?”

I cannot believe it, diary. I had such great hopes for him, and when he said this to me, it was as if suddenly I was seeing him for the first time. Does he think of nothing but fripperies, and how they relate to everything? There is no way on earth I can marry such a man. There would be no romance in such a marriage, no mystery, no safety! It suddenly became wholly borne in upon me that a marital relationship with this man would be disastrous for my own happiness.

It was such a shock, diary, as I had been so sure of everything before then. I just sat there with my mouth open. I stammered a little, then politely refused and ushered him out of the garden and back to his phaeton, refused his offer of a drive, and went inside to sit on my bed in horror at myself and my foolishness. Now that I think about it, I have deceived myself into being in love with three separate men over the last month. It is too much to accept. I must be crazed—destined for Bedlam, that’s me. Fickle, fickle Kitty.

I really don’t want to go home, diary. Now my only chance of marital happiness is with Mr Montgomery. I could always try to cut Alice out and get Mr Winter, but it would be cruel, I suppose. Besides, they are pretty nearly engaged, and I doubt he would permit Alice to be cut out.

I am going to cultivate my acquaintance with Mr Montgomery. I do like him. I have not had much to do with him over the past few weeks, and I think if I should get to know him better, I may very well fall in love with him. But this time I will be sensible and get to know him again before I declare myself in love with him.

Oh diary, I feel dreadful. I don’t much care about breaking Mr Gosford’s heart, seeing what he did to me (the scoundrel), but I know Mr Beaupays does like me a lot, and Sir James did too. Am I a monster? I feel one. I am completely and utterly decided that there is no way in heaven or earth that I could ever marry any of those three now, but I led them on and flirted and acted just like the peacock Captain Harper called me. I don’t think I shall ever be fit to marry anyone, the way I’m behaving. I hereby solemnly resolve never to flirt or lead anyone on or chase anyone again—ever.

I wonder will Mr Montgomery be in the village on Monday? Of course I will see him at church tomorrow, but I have a feeling much of that time will be spent being civilly disdainful to Mr Beaupays. I could sit by the tree outside the smithy reading a book from the lending-library at the fashionable time and corner him if he walks past. We will see.

Chapter Ten

Monday May 4

I saw Mr Montgomery today. My wicked plan worked!—although it was not so satisfying as I had hoped. And I saw him yesterday also, but that is not nearly so exciting, because today I schemed, and today some very thrilling things happened. However, as this is a diary and not a randomly assorted collection of mixed-up pieces of paper, I am going to steel myself and write my entry in chronological order.

Yesterday I went to church, rebuffed Mr Beaupays, and spoke to Mr Montgomery for about five minutes about not very much because he speaks quite slowly. There. I have done my duty. Oh, and also Mr Wakefield gave a very good sermon, as usual. Lizzy does not come to church now because she is so big with child. Or children, in this case. Mr Darcy hates leaving her.

Today! Today I was truly designing and artful, like the wicked girls in novels, and I hatched a plan to catch Mr Montgomery in town! First thing in the morning, after an agreeable sleep-in, I took the carriage into Lambton with Betty, my maidservant, in the pretence of needing to go shopping, and to the lending-library, and all manner of things. Betty is a very excitable girl of a romantic temperament, and she was only too happy to sit on the green and watch for Mr Montgomery. It must have been a boring morning for any girl who has only a moderate sense of romance, but I tell you the truth when I say that to Betty, sitting in the same place for a whole morning and taking part in a romantic conspiracy is an idea of heaven. I am forever nervous that Betty will fall violently in love with someone highly unsuitable like Mr Darcy, simply because he is miles above her in the social hierarchy and married to someone else. She would count it an honour to assist me to elope with anyone, no matter how unsuitable or undesirable they were; if I told her I was to elope with Mr Wakefield the clergyman, for heavens’ sake, she would not bat an eyelid and instead throw her whole heart into it and declare to me that she would never forsake my cause, or something rather dramatic like that. It is as if she lives, breathes, and feeds on scandal.

But she is a very good maid, and she knows just how to do one’s hair in the most attractive way. All her romantics and die-aways, while sometimes rather frustrating, mostly just serve to amuse me.

What am I thinking? Sometimes I go so completely off the subject of conversation I confuse even myself—especially myself! As I was saying, Betty was look-out for Mr Montgomery. I was to go around each shop, spending as much time as possible in each one so that I could be sure of seeing Mr Montgomery if he came to Lambton, at whatever time. When Betty saw him coming, she was to run to whatever shop I was in, I was to watch until he came near and then time precisely my bursting out of the shop, ostensibly to get someone’s advice on a certain matter—of course, he would be the nearest person, and I would have to demand his service, which, of course, he would be only too happy to give.

There were a few minor glitches in the plan, in that when Betty saw him, she gave a little shriek, sprinted in the most obvious manner to the carpenter’s where I was, opened the door, gasped “Miss Bennet—it’s him!” to the whole shop, at that moment full of customers. Of course, my cheeks went deeply red, embarrassingly enough. That was the first glitch, and so because the whole store was now watching me curiously to find out who the latest ‘he’ was, I could not bring myself to burst out the door and drag the poor man inside and expose us both to ridicule.

So I waited, my mind thundering obscenities at Betty’s lack of subtlety. I finally left the shop and changed to the lending-library, where I managed to lean on a dark, friendly bookshelf and gather my defences for a moment. To my great pleasure, he came around the corner of the shelves at this point, saw me leaning back on the shelf, raising my eyes to the heavens and breathing deeply, and he said, in that slow, languid way—“Miss Bennet! I am very glad to see you! But are you quite well?”

I, momentarily surprised, sprung upwards, but soon recovered my equilibrium. “Oh, I-I’m fine, thank you. And yourself?”

He thought for a moment. “I’m good.”

“Well,” I said after a pause. “That’s good.”

“Are you looking for books?” he said with a smile.

Don’t misunderstand me, I like him very much, but if one goes into a lending-library, and is at that current moment holding several books, one expects others to know without needing to ask that yes, one is looking for books. However, that cherubic, white-toothed smile of his goes a long way in reconciling me to that temporary lapse in intelligence.

“Yes, I am looking for books,” I said dryly. “Have you read this one?” I held it up.

“Yes, I have.”

“Did you like it, sir?”

“It was good.”

I don’t know what to make of him sometimes—he smiles so brilliantly and says the dullest things. “But I am finished now!” I smiled radiantly at him—have you ever noticed that amazing smiles on the faces of other people are infectious? “Will you come and walk with me outside?”

He smiled back. “Of course, Miss Bennet.”

We quickly edged out of the library; the librarian was looking at us suspiciously for talking in the rows. “How is your estate, Mr Montgomery?”

“Fair,” he said, ambling along slower than I ever dawdle.

To my embarrassment, we walked past Betty, who gave me a huge smile and a little squeal of excitement. I hope I am not the sort of person to condescend to those below me, but she really does forget her place sometimes. I don’t think he noticed though. He doesn’t seem to notice much. To think that I thought he was needle-witted when I first met him! Maybe it was his smiles. He is, nonetheless, very amiable though, I suppose.

Suddenly Mrs Brandon, Alice’s mother, came wobbling over to me as fast as her legs could carry her. “Miss Bennet! Oh, Miss Bennet!” she panted.

“What is it?” I asked, amused. Mrs Brandon gets in a flutter at the slightest thing, and it is really quite funny when she does, for she is so fat and round and red.

“Oh, Miss Bennet!” she gasped again, flapping her hands around. “The physician!”

“The physician?” I prompted her.

“Oh my, what a to-do… he has just left for Pemberley! Mrs Darcy… entered her confinement! He told me as he rushed for his carriage, and then I saw you and knew that Mrs Darcy would need you and thought, now, I must tell Miss Bennet, and –“ she jabbered.

“Elizabeth has entered her confinement?” I asked, shocked.

“Yes, yes!” she said, waving her hands around. “And you must go at once, for the physician left quite ten minutes ago, and if I had known you were here, I would have quite sprinted to tell you, and –”

“Thank you, Mrs Brandon,” I said firmly, sounding much more calm than I felt. I thought for a moment, and remembered that the carriage was not to come back for me for another half-hour. I turned hastily to Mr Montgomery. “Oh, sir, will you take me to Pemberley? I know it would be a great inconvenience, but I would be eternally grateful if you could.”

“Of course, Miss Bennet,” he said, although he sounded a tiny little bit reluctant.

I told Betty, who, wide-eyed, had run over at the very hint of scandal or mystery, to wait for the carriage and tell them where I had gone, and then I followed Mr Montgomery, who was walking maddeningly slowly to his carriage. I jumped up beside him, and he proceeded to drive through Lambton at a snail’s pace, while everything inside me, beside him, steamed and strained to be galloping towards Pemberley as fast as it was possible to imagine.

We trotted along the country road, I clenching my fists as he leaned back lazily in the driver’s seat. I could not believe it when he said, “It’s a beautiful day, is it not? I hope those rain clouds in the east don’t come this way.”

I gritted my teeth and replied, “Sir, do you think it would be possible to go just a tiny bit faster?”

“Faster?” He looked at me, confused, and then his forehead unfurled. “Oh! I see, you want to get to Pemberley to see your sister. Well, I understand completely, but I don’t much want to take this road any faster.”

I don’t know how I handled sitting there beside him, knowing quite well that if I took the reins, we would be off in a moment and at Pemberley in several minutes. It was torture. The entire time I was thinking of Lizzy going through pain, and Mr Darcy in spasms of worry, and Georgiana about to faint, and I knew I had to be there! My thoughts raged at Mr Montgomery and I must tell you now, I knew then that he could not be the one for me.

After a veritable age, we arrived through the gates. I jumped down before he had stopped, flung a curt “Thank you!” at him, and ran inside. The butler told me where they all were, and I rushed upstairs to see Mr Darcy coming towards me with an ecstatic grin on his face.

“Kitty! Oh, Kitty!” he said. “They are here, the twins are here! Elizabeth is fine!”

It was the biggest shock and let-down of my life. I had been imagining all manner of terrible fates; my sister dead, the twins dead, Mr Darcy dead with worry, Georgiana practically dead after fainting all over the place… I thought at least that I would be desperately needed! But no! They didn’t even need me to hold Lizzy’s hand! And instead of at least someone dead, everyone was fine, and the babies were born in less than two hours. I had been imagining at least two days of pain, screams and worry—especially with the babies born a couple of weeks early.

I very graciously congratulated him while my insides felt like worms fighting at Waterloo, and he ushered me into the room where Elizabeth lay on the bed, a little white, holding two bundles and smiling rapturously. Georgiana stood at her side looking adoringly down at the bundles, and the physician and midwife stood across the room smiling.

“Kitty,” Lizzy smiled, and nodded to me to come and see the babies. All my senseless anger evaporated (why had I felt so angry, anyway?), and I drifted slowly across the room, almost nervous to look at the two small bumps who had caused all this hubbub.

Two little round faces framed with dark curls, sleeping eyes tight shut, pink little lips and rosy cheeks. Beautiful and perfect as angels. I simply stared at them, my mouth open in a small involuntary smile. WHAM—just like that, Kitty is besotted. I, who had detested the very thought of babies. Lizzy and Mr Darcy watched my face, smiling also.

“Do you like them?” asked Mr Darcy.

“Oh yes,” I breathed.

“They are beautiful,” agreed Georgiana, obviously awe-struck and almost breathless.

I looked at Lizzy and smiled. “I wish I could have been here.”

“Oh, I do too,” she said, “but to tell the truth, I think now that it’s over I cannot remember a thing of it.”

I bent down and kissed her cheek. Suddenly I straightened up again. “Lizzy,” I said cautiously, “what are they?”

“Human beings, if we’re lucky,” replied Lizzy with an amused smile.

“No, no, you beast,” I laughed. “Boy, girl, what?”

“This,” said Lizzy, stroking one’s head, “is a boy. And this,” kissing the other’s, “is a girl.”

“Do you have names for them yet?” I asked, looking to-and-fro between Mr Darcy and Elizabeth.

“Yes, we do,” he replied. “My son here” (with relish) “is Ernest Fitzwilliam Darcy, and this little girl here is Isobel Janet Darcy.” He smiled at Lizzy. “I wanted her middle name to be Elizabeth, but my wife here insisted she be named after her aunt Jane.”

“Well, after all, Lizzy did the hard work,” I said.

“Two hours labour? I call that very easy work,” he grinned, teasing her.

“Oh, you,” she said threateningly. “If I was allowed to get out of this bed…”

I am so excited about the twins that now it is midnight and I still cannot get to sleep.

Georgiana slipped into my room about an hour ago and we shared a breathless conversation about how the twins were the most perfect niece and nephew ever seen, and I gloated over her that my sister Jane was newly pregnant and I would be getting another baby to adore—and hand back to the parent when they started crying!

Georgiana smiled. “It won’t be the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Kitty, this is the first time you have looked at babies that are your own flesh and blood, and you are blown away by them and completely knocked over with love. In the future you will judge every niece and nephew by these two, until you have your own baby, or babies, and then you will wonder how you could ever have thought that no baby could be more perfect than Ernest and Isobel were.”

I stared. It was the longest speech I had ever heard Georgiana utter. After an amazed pause I smiled a little bitterly. “I don’t know if I will ever have children.”

“Why not?” Georgiana asked.

“Well, Mr Gosford is a scoundrel, Sir James repulses me because he is simply too old, Mr Beaupays is too frivolous, and Mr Montgomery drives me out of my wits. I don’t think I’ll ever marry.”

Georgiana raised her eyebrows. “Oh,” she said gently. “Are you sure you’re not missing someone out?”

I thought hard for a moment. “I’m sure.”

She got up, smiling. “I’ll let you discover for yourself.” Then she left the room.

I am completely confused.

But now I think again of Ernest and Isobel, and a little smile comes over my face, and a warmth rises up inside me, and I think of perhaps one day holding my own little bundle, and knowing that it’s mine, and watching it grow up, as I will not be able to do with Ernest and Isobel—I will see them in short bursts and long waits—and cuddling it as much as I want, and… all those things.

I am coming across disgustingly sentimental and domesticated tonight. It is really quite shocking for someone like me.

May 4—the birthday of Ernest Fitzwilliam Darcy and Isobel Janet Darcy. How well that sounds!

Posted on Saturday, 19 January 2008

Chapter Eleven

Tuesday May 5

Oh diary, how busy I have been! Lizzy only got out of bed this evening and so Georgiana and I have been acting mistress of Pemberley. Lizzy is still rather tired, despite the quick birth. It must be draining, giving birth. She doesn’t mind a bit, and is quite happy, especially when Mr Darcy is there and they are both holding the babies and acting like little children themselves—gurgling and smiling and almost dribbling over Ernest and Isobel. I suppose I can’t really blame them. I almost do so myself. I’m not quite so doting a parent that I think it’s delightful and amusing when Isobel vomits on my shoulder. But she is so adorable that I forgive her very quickly. And I’m not quite so blind to their faults that I think Ernest is perfectly beautiful when he is screwing up his face and screaming. But when he is sleeping he looks so sweet and faultless that I forget he ever did scream.

Mr Darcy and Lizzy are truly dotty over these children. I’m sure it won’t stay quite so extreme that they enjoy even the shrieks in the middle of the night forever (last night was really a revelation to the entire household, and do you know how huge Pemberley is?), but I know without a doubt that Ernest and Isobel are very lucky to have parents that love them so much.

It makes me think about my own. Was I once a tiny little baby whom my parents adored and thought perfect? Probably not, because I was the fourth child, and another girl at that. I can’t see Father with a ridiculous smile on his face like Mr Darcy has had all today and yesterday, making baby noises, and I can’t see Mama’s nerves holding up to baby screams for long. It makes me feel a little envious actually. It also makes me resolve to thank God and never stop thanking Him for any children I may or may not have. At this stage, ‘may not’ is more likely a bet, as I am likely to die an old maid (see below). However, if it is a ‘may’, I never want to take them for granted.

Diary, the truth has suddenly stunned me – I cannot marry any of the men here! I feel quite upset really, especially after being so sure that one of them would do.

Wednesday May 6

A few visitors came today, to congratulate Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, and to inspect the babies. Firstly, Mrs Brandon and Alice came, as Mrs Brandon thought she had a prime role in the drama in warning me of what was happening. She was most disappointed to hear that I got there too late. Alice was also announcing her engagement to Mr Winter. I congratulated her whole-heartedly. I don’t think he and I would have suited anyway.

I have just read that paragraph over, and realised that I think of every single, eligible man I know as a potential husband. It is quite wicked. I wish I did not do so. I am as bad as Mama. How lowering a thought that is! I suppose Mama has her merits (I cannot think of any on the spot), but I do not exactly want to become like her.

And then Louisa and Lady Posy came to visit. I didn’t really talk to Lady Posy very much, on account of the last time I saw her being somewhat embarrassing, but after all, she did show me the bad side of Mr Gosford. And I am grateful that it happened then instead of after I was perhaps wed to him. But even though I was not feeling quite so aggressive towards her, I spent most of my time with Louisa, playing with Isobel while Lizzy showed off Ernest to Lady Posy. Already the twins share a bond with each other, I think. They lie in their cradles and look at each other, and if one picks Isobel up and carries her away, Ernest starts whimpering, and vice versa. I suppose it is comforting in a world of giants to have someone close by who is the same size as you.

And then Mr Wakefield came to visit, as he is the clergyman and will be christening the babies. He smiled and cooed over them appropriately, and then we had a nice long conversation.

“Yes, I am leaving in about three weeks now,” I said breezily.

“Not staying?” he asked a little cautiously, and why cautiously, I do not know.

“Oh no,” I said.

He got up. “I had better take my leave now, Miss Bennet,” he said. “I have some parish business to attend to.”

“Goodbye!” I smiled.

He paused, took my outstretched hand and instead of shaking it, gave it a small kiss. “Goodbye.” He is very sweet!

I was most embarrassed when Lizzy came over to me as soon as we were alone. “Kitty dear, what is this between you and Mr Wakefield?”

“What is what?” I said. “You’re not falling for the same foolish presumption Louisa seems to have fallen for as well, have you?”

“Kitty,” sighed Elizabeth, “the tumultuous state of my own relationship with Mr Darcy before our marriage makes me determined not to allow anyone to remain similarly blind. Especially one of my own sisters. Although it does make a good story, much pain would have been spared if things had been a little different. In your case, you do not realise something about someone else, and you do not realise it about yourself, silly blind little Kitty! I feel bound, as your sister, to tell you before you mess it all up.”

“Thank you for your implicit and steadfast trust in my judgement,” I said, a little amused. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Kitty, Mr Wakefield is in love with you, and you are in love with him.”

Blink wildly for a few seconds, gulp, stagger, and widen eyes. “What?!”

“You heard me.”

“Lizzy—you are raving mad.”

“No, Kitty, you are,” she said calmly. “You have been trying to fall in love with all the other men while you’ve been here. You have failed with each one. You are so blind to your own feelings that you don’t even realise that Mr Wakefield is another single man.”

“Well, just because he is a single man doesn’t mean I have to fall in love with him!” I said indignantly.

“No, Kitty, but that seems to be how you’ve been operating with all the other men.” I made an offended face and was about to retort back but she continued, ignoring me. “And anyway, I’ve seen the way you talk to each other, the way you treat each other… Kitty, when he is with you, he is animated beyond what I have ever seen; he smiles, he treats you with the utmost gentleness, he discusses anything and everything with you—he kissed your hand before.”

“So, he kissed my hand. He thus wants to marry me!”

“No, Kitty, I don’t mean that.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “It is just the combination of that and other things. And then there’s you—every time the door opens you look up to see if it’s him. If it isn’t, you frown, and if it is, you burst into smiles immediately. You talk about him to everyone. Haven’t you noticed how the other men always changed the subject when you brought up Mr Wakefield? If he thinks something, you think it is the gospel truth (though I am not insulting his very excellent judgement in any way). ‘Mr Wakefield says this, Mr Wakefield says that!’ And when you are with him, the way you look up at him would almost put me to the blush if I didn’t know you had no idea you were in love with him.”

“Enough, Lizzy!” I said. “I get the picture, but I assure you I don’t feel that way at all!”

She shrugged. “At least I tried.”

I am getting very befuddled. I may have sounded decided in my last comment to Elizabeth, but now my heart is running like wildfire and my stomach is jumping up and down. Do I, do I not? I tried to ascertain my feelings by plucking the petals off a daisy saying, “I love him, I love him not,” but then I lost track of petals, tore up the flower in frustration, and got even more confused. I must say that I don’t think I do, for how can you be in love with someone and not even realise it?

Thursday May 7

Diary. I am finding it very hard to breathe today.

I went for a solitary walk in the woods because I was feeling very pensive and thoughtful, and who should I come across but Mr Wakefield. Just the person I really did not want to see until I had done some more thinking. We almost bumped right into each other, and both stumbled and started blushing. I had never thought I could ever see him blushing. “Miss B-bennet,” he stammered as I whispered, “Mr Wakefield,” at exactly the same time.

“May I walk with you for a while?” he blurted out after a short but nonetheless uncomfortable pause.

“Of course! Of course!” I said, trying to be normal but coming off sounding very hoarse and over-polite.

We walked silently beside each other for a time. He seemed to be moderately comfortable while I blushed and perspired and adjusted my bonnet. The woods were very pretty, all shades of green, shadowy and quiet, and I tried to breathe deeply and calm myself down.

Suddenly Mr Wakefield turned to me, and all my attempts towards serenity were in vain. His eyes were not calm at all now. He was obviously nervous. “Miss Bennet, tell me –” He paused. “Do I have any hope? Any at all?”

I didn’t say anything, but I just looked at him, and all at once, in those deep brown, troubled eyes, I saw everything I had done with him and talked about with him over the last few weeks I had been in Derbyshire and my heart started to beat even faster and I knew that he did have hope. And I mentally kicked myself as hard as I could for my intolerable blindness but it didn’t hurt very much at all because suddenly I was grinning and happy—the superlative of happy—because I knew I was in love, and I knew that he, as unworthy as I am, loves me too. (Oh, I am an idiot! Again and again I ask myself, how could I have been so insufferably stupid!)

He saw the beam on my face and knew at once, of course, but I said it. “Yes. You have a ridiculous amount of hope.”

The smile that erupted on his face at that point was truly satisfying and complimentary, and so was the time that followed. We talked and talked and got everything out in the open and finally understood everything about each other.

“I knew you had no idea I was rapidly falling in love with you,” he said, “and you cannot imagine how painful it was watching men who obviously did not deserve you,” he laughed, “getting your attentions.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said sorrowfully. “You know I didn’t even give you a thought, for some silly reason. The very idea of Kitty Bennet in love with a clergyman would have thrown me into spasms of laughter just a year ago, and even though I knew I had changed quite a lot, this knowledge had obviously not passed into all parts of my brain. I believe if I had thought about it even in passing, I would have soon realised that you were the one I loved. But instead of thinking about it, I ran after the wrong men. Maybe it was some subconscious feeling that I did like someone; I just didn’t realise who. It took Louisa and my sister to first suggest the idea to me, and then today…” I smiled and shrugged.

“You found out?”

“Yes.”

He smiled at me for about the fiftieth time in the last two minutes. “I am so happy, Kitty,” he said impulsively. “I suppose I must say Miss Bennet, but you know I cannot call you that now. And as for myself… my name is Henry. If you want to call me that?” he said, suddenly adorably unsure of himself.

I smiled. “Henry is wonderful. I love Henry.” I gulped, realising suddenly again that I actually was in love.

Henry didn’t smile but instead moved towards me, taking my hands, with an unusually intense look in his eyes. My heart started pounding as I realised he was going to kiss me, and for one stupid moment I was scared (yes, I am a peacock, but I have never kissed a man before), but it was beautiful.

He drew away slowly, grinning in the most ridiculous way which made me grin even more stupidly than he. “Will you marry me, Kitty?”

I stopped smiling. All at once my inadequacies and foolish ways came pounding in upon me. “Henry, I don’t think I am good enough for you,” I said quietly. “You are so smart and wise and good, and I am silly and foolish and sometimes even wicked.”

“Not good enough?” he asked, astonished. “Kitty, I am often grumpy and unsociable and I am not at all rich. The thing always holding me back was my inadequacy. Finally I conquer that and you tell me that I am the superior one? You are wonderful and you are fun; you are natural and sometimes profound and you are cheerfulness itself. And I can talk to you about everything. Please marry me!”

How can one refuse such a plea?

Chapter Twelve

After a very long time, we managed to part at the gates of Pemberley, and I skipped inside, singing very badly. “Hello Lizzy! Hello Ernest! Hello Isobel!” I warbled in the direction of my sister and her children.

Lizzy inclined her head in a knowing way. “Catherine Sophia Bennet? What have you been up to?”

I blushed fatally, but was unable to school my expression into lazy incredulity. “Nothing!” It was a little too embarrassing to admit that Elizabeth had been totally right last night while I had been as foolish as ever.

“You are suspiciously happy,” she said, getting up and walking towards me in the style of an interrogator. “I surmise… that you are in love?”

“Why ever do you think that?” I asked, evading the question.

“Kitty, it is quite simple really—let me explain. You have been out of the house for at the very least two and a half hours. You left miserable and thoughtful looking, you return skipping, singing and smiling with a look of absolute satisfaction. Something must have happened during your walk, and these somethings always turn out to be romantic encounters. Tell me, Kitty!”

“I think Ernest wants something,” I replied weakly, as Ernest waved a chubby hand in the air.

“Of course he does not,” she said. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Oh, very well,” I said, unable to suppress a smirk. “You are right now, you were right last night, I do love Mr Wakefield and he does love me.”

Elizabeth immediately went into raptures which I cannot be bothered writing in here, except that they were very long, and dotted with smug exclamations such as “I told you so!” all throughout. Then she sat me down, and made me answer all manner of questions, until I (almost) wished it had never happened.

“He is going to Hertfordshire tomorrow to ask our father’s permission to marry me,” I said. “He said he could not wait. I really don’t see how he or Mama can see Mr Wakefield as anything but eligible. The only objection Father can possibly have is that I am too silly for such a man,” I sighed.

I sounded calm but actually I was tremendously scared. What if Father refused his consent? I know Mr Wakefield would never elope, being an honourable clergyman and all that. And I want to marry him very VERY soon because now that I know for sure I am in love I want to fix things so he cannot get out of it. (I don’t think he will, for he is the sort of man who is very decisive and who knows what he wants. I hope. Oh dear, all these doubts keep flying into my mind. What if I dreamed it all? Now that would be embarrassing.)

Only Elizabeth knows because he has not obtained Father’s permission yet. I made Lizzy promise to tell not a soul, even Mr Darcy (it would be too embarrassing if somehow this was all a dream), and she promised in a sinister whisper that she would be as silent as the grave.

Diary. I am so happy I cannot quite believe it has happened. Why would such an intelligent man pick me?! It might be that theory that intelligent men pick foolish women so they can always be in command. But I don’t think Mr Wakefield—Henry—is like that. And even if that is why, I will just make sure my hand is on top when we cut the cake.

Twenty-four hours ago I was confused and befuddled and worried and upset and basically a basket-case. Now, I may not be sure that I haven’t imagined the entirety of his feelings for me, but I know, without a doubt, that I love him. It makes me cringe to even think of my ‘love’ for the other men. A case of Aesop’s boy who cried wolf, don’t you think? I hope you believe me this time that he is the one for me.

He is truly the best man I have ever known, and the nicest as well. He is perfect in every particular; I have yet to see the ‘grumpiness’ and ‘unsociability’ he claimed has a hold on him sometimes. Wait!

Oh my goodness, he just came to my window! “Kitty!” he called, waiting for me to get to the window. “I know this is grossly improper, but I am leaving very early tomorrow morning and I want to say goodbye!”

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” I whispered anxiously when I ran to the window in my dressing gown.

He blew me a kiss. “Of course not, you silly goose! I can hardly stand waiting the night before I obtain your father’s permission!”

“Oh Henry, please tell him I am not so silly anymore! I am scared he will warn you not to marry me!”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me from marrying you,” he said firmly. “If I have to, I will kidnap you. Don’t give it another thought, my love.”

Of course this endearment made me quiver all over and swallow hard and I couldn’t say anything for a few moments. Finally, “All right, Henry.” Then suddenly I had a recollection. “Henry, did you know that my parents and my sister are coming here soon? In three weeks, to see Ernest and Isobel?”

“Yes, I know,” he said, “but I can’t wait!” He laughed. “I must go now. I am sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, not that you need it, but you see I had to come and say farewell.”

“When will you be back?” I asked quietly. “I will miss you so much.”

“If all goes to plan and I ride hard, I will be in Hertfordshire tomorrow evening, and I will return on Saturday to be back in time for church on Sunday. I will miss you too, darling Kitty. Promise not to forget me?”

“If you think I would forget you so quickly—” I said, but he interrupted me.

“I know, Kitty,” he broke in, smiling, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Now, I must be off, or someone will spot us, and we will be drenched in scandal. And you know that is entirely unsuitable for a clergyman of my calibre.” He paused. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said, and blew him a kiss, which he returned promptly.

Now I am lying in bed with a foolish little smile on my face that I find impossible to wipe off, and there is no way I can go to sleep now. Whenever I shut my eyes, I see his face, and I thank God for giving me him. I must try to get some sleep. No, I don’t see the importance much as he will not be here to see big circles under tired eyes, but that is not the point. I must get sleep because it is healthy, and because I know he would want me to. (Somehow I know he will not get much sleep tonight either. I will be willing his thoughts towards me every minute.) I must put this book down, and my quill, and be sensible.

Oh diary I am finding it very hard to be sensible and logical right now!

Goodnight.

(I am a fool, a dolt, an idiot! Why did I not realise before today?! Smack on the hand, Kitty! There. Now I have knocked some sense into myself, I can bask in my love and go to sleep.)

Friday May 8

I have spent today wandering dreamily around the hills with Louisa. By necessity I had to tell her, for it was impossible for me to hide the blissful, bovine-like smile on my face all day. She was very pleased, and unlike my sister, refrained the whole day from saying “I told you so,” which is very good of her.

I’m afraid I wasn’t very good company, for the whole day I was thinking of Henry and wondering where he would be and imagining my wedding dress and how well I would look in it. I think I will have to borrow Elizabeth’s veil, for it is the prettiest veil I have ever seen and I think it would suit me exceedingly.

If Father gives his consent.

Which reminds me, Henry will be asking for his consent as I write. That makes me very nervous. What will Father be saying or thinking?

Saturday May 9

This is the awful situation I have been imagining ever since I thought about it. Henry asks to speak to him, and they go into the library and sit down. Then Henry says, “I confess I have fallen in love with your daughter Kitty, and I request your permission to marry her.”
Father leans forward in surprise and says, “Did you tell me you were a clergyman?”

“Yes,” Henry replies.

“My poor fellow, on what pretext has my daughter persuaded you to marry her?” Father says.

“Pretext?” asks Henry, puzzled. “On no pretext at all; we have fallen in love.”

“Fallen in love!” wonders Father out loud. “But it cannot be so! Kitty is the silliest being alive, my good man, perhaps excluding her sister Lydia, and I hardly think she would make a suitable wife for a clergyman!”

“Really?” asks Henry gravely.

“Yes, oh goodness yes,” says Father. “I daresay she has not told you half that which she has done in the past! Why, she encouraged her sister to elope with a certain scoundrel last year, she chases all the officers in Meryton, she has never learnt to embroider, she . . .” And he goes through a list of all my various sillinesses until Henry is sitting quite shocked in his chair.

“I am sorry for wasting your time, sir, I did not know all this,” he says grimly. “I see now that asking Miss Bennet to marry me was a grievous mistake and I shall break all ties with her immediately.”

It is such a dreadful thing to think about, but so probable, that I cannot stop crying and imagining Henry coming back to see me and saying coldly, “I am sorry, Miss Bennet, but I see now that proposing to you was a mistake. I cannot marry you.”

Oh diary, if that happens, it really will break my heart.

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday May 10

Relief! Henry came to Pemberley for breakfast this morning—Elizabeth had sent a note around to the vicarage inviting him, without telling me. It was just as I walked dejectedly down the stairs, knowing that all was lost, that he came in the door. Involuntarily my eyes lit up and I ran down to meet him, and then all my hopes returned as he grinned speakingly at me, taking my hand to kiss it.

“He gave his consent?” I breathed.

“Of course,” replied Henry. “And he was very happy.”

Our eyes shone into each other’s for a moment, holding hands, and then Elizabeth walked in. “Oh, I am glad to see you here, Mr Wakefield. I presume all went well?”

“Yes,” he replied, smiling a little consciously at being caught. “Mr Bennet was very happy to give his consent.”

“I almost cannot believe it!” I said happily. “Did he warn you that I am not a suitable wife for a clergyman?”

“No,” said Henry firmly. “He is a sensible man and I think he knows that I am quite able to decide on my own who is a suitable wife for me.”

We went into the breakfast room, and we told Mr Darcy and Georgiana, who were thrilled for us too—good thing, because if they were not, I would have boxed it into them.

Church was lovely. All I could think about was that soon I would be sitting up the front, as clergyman’s wife. It makes such a nice picture, thinking of me all pretty among the bunches of flowers. And Henry did a lovely sermon on 1 Corinthians 13—the Love chapter.

We are going to announce the engagement in a few days, when Father and Mama and Mary arrive to see Ernest and Isobel. The only thing I am worried about is what people will think. Everyone knows I am That Girl who flirted with almost every eligible gentleman in the area. But really it is such a small worry compared to everything else I feel.

We are to be married from the Pemberley parish, because Father and Mama plan to stay in Derbyshire for a while. I am glad. If I was married from Longbourn, no one there would know how much I have changed. And Jane and Bingley will have to travel to Derbyshire for the wedding soon (although they don’t know about it yet), which will be in three weeks time, on May 30. Yes, it is a very short time, but I can hardly wait a week, let alone three!

Lydia is not coming, and I am relieved. I don’t wish her there to laugh at me marrying a ‘stuffy clergyman, for heavens’ sake’—I can almost hear her say it. And I couldn’t stand making Mr Darcy stand in the same church as Mr Wickham again. Elizabeth told me about all that last night. And I feel ever so guilty that I could have persuaded Lydia not to run off with Wickham if I had tried. But as Lizzy says, these things are in the past now, and there is nothing I can do to change them. Neither she nor Darcy feels any animosity towards me for what happened between Lydia and Wickham, and she says it is not my fault at all. She makes me feel much better.

Mr Wakefield came around for dinner, and we went for a walk in the shrubbery afterwards, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth following a short distance behind as chaperones. “Henry,” I asked, “was Father surprised?”

He smiled. “I won’t deny that he was a little,” he said slowly. “I explained that you had probably changed a lot, and then he shook my hand and said that he was glad, and said that if you loved such a man as I, it proved you had changed for the better.”

“That was amiable of him,” I said. “And true.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t know. Would you have been able to love me a year ago?”

“No,” I said frankly. “I was infatuated with redcoats and nothing else would do. Now I have changed.”

“Kitty,” he said, “why did you not think of me as an eligible suitor until a few days ago?”

I sighed. “I’m not altogether sure,” I said slowly. “I suppose the fact that I hadn’t quite realised I wasn’t so wholly opposed to clergymen as before—have you heard about my cousin Mr Collins? He is a clergyman, and such a pompous, slimy man that he put me quite off men of your order until recently. Henry, he really is horrid! Do you know, he keeps a special handkerchief in his breast pocket for the express purpose of wiping his forehead clean of the sweat which drenches it every few minutes? Are you not disgusted?! But it is not only that… I know, Henry.”

“What do you know?”

“You did not pursue me,” I said quietly. “You didn’t chase me or flirt with me or anything like that. You were there, but you didn’t tell me you were there. I, being rather vapid most of the time, did not think about you because of that. You fascinated me. But you were different to the others. You were unfamiliar.”

He looked closely at me. “I think you may be right. Was it a good or a bad thing?”

“Oh, good, definitely good,” I said. “You being different is what made me realise I loved you in the end.” I smiled.

“Right from the beginning, from the very night I met you at that dinner party here, I saw something in you to love. I thought about you all evening, but I saw that the other men were pursuing you, and I suppose I just wanted to be, and naturally was, different.”

“I’m glad you were different,” I said sincerely.

He stole a quick look behind us. Darcy and Elizabeth were round the bend in the path and we had a few seconds alone. He grabbed me and kissed me at once, and my head spun, and then he released me just as quickly, and we kept on innocently walking, arm in arm. My face was red but I was laughing, and we had a wonderful afternoon. I love him so much. It makes me laugh that a true and proper clergyman can be so much fun.

“Did you meet my mother and sister?” I asked curiously, that evening, after we dined and sat socialising in the parlour—Louisa came for dinner, and Mr Winter, Alice and her parents too.
“Yes, I did.”

I watched his features carefully, combing them for any sign of disgust or mockery. Of course he showed no signs of either—he is too good and kind—but rather, looked perfectly normal.
“They are very welcoming and kind, both of them.”

Well, yes, Mama would be if you are to marry me, Henry, I said to myself. “Did Mary like you? I am sure she did, for she admires clergymen excessively.”

“I cannot say whether Mary liked me above the ordinary or not,” he said with a grin, “but I liked her. She is quite shy, I think, but not unintelligent.”

I smiled. “I’m glad you like her. I used to detest her, but now that I have been writing to her and we’ve both grown up a little and become more mature, we get along quite well.”

“I am glad,” he said. “When is it that she and your parents are coming to Derbyshire?”

“They will be here on Wednesday—they decided to come earlier,” I said. I paused. “Henry-”

“Yes?”

“Oh, don’t worry.”

“What is it?”

“No, I feel silly.”

“I will not permit any future wife of mine to keep things from me,” Henry said firmly, but with a twinkle in his eyes and a kiss on my hand that belied his words. “Go on,” he prompted.

“Oh, no…”

“Oh yes, tell me!”

“Do you love me?” I asked finally, giving in, unable to hold back a smile.

“Now whatever gave you that idea?” he said, kissing my hand again.

“I like hearing you say it,” I coaxed, grinning.

“Kitty, I adore you, and for the rest of my days I will tell you that constantly.”

“Ooh, that’s nice,” I said. “Since we’re being so open here, I love you too.”

THE END