Netherfield Park Revisited (6 page)

Elizabeth was reminded of her father's words. Based undoubtedly upon his own experience, Mr Bennet had warned his daughter against making “an unequal marriage,” pointing out that it could only bring “discredit and misery.”

It had held no significance for her, because with Mr Darcy, she had a marriage built upon the strongest foundation of mutual love and esteem, which had only increased with the years. Her greatest satisfaction had been in seeing her father convinced of the rightness of her choice of husband and the happiness they enjoyed together.

But it did seem as if, sadly, young Jonathan Bingley had repeated his grandfather's error and allowed a pretty face and figure to lead him into a marriage in which the promise of perfect bliss had never been fulfilled.

Despite the clarity of her memories, Elizabeth said nothing of this to Darcy, out of loyalty to her father, except to comment on the unfairness of Fate, which allowed Jane and Bingley, who were an exemplary married couple, to suffer so much distress over the marriages of their two eldest children, who were, in every other respect, beyond reproach themselves.

Darcy agreed. He had great affection for both Bingley and Jane and shared their concern for the happiness of their children. Yet, he had to admit that as in the case of Emma, he could see no way out for Jonathan, unless he were to risk destroying his marriage, a union contracted in his youth with feelings and hopes that both partners seemed to have outgrown.

Try as they might, they could not satisfactorily explain Amelia-Jane's behaviour. As she had grown older, she had grown less rather than more committed to her marriage and the husband she had embraced with so much affection at seventeen. Elizabeth was bewildered.

“Why would a young, pretty woman with everything she could wish for—a handsome, faithful, successful husband, a pleasant home and loving family—set her feet upon a path that could lead only to calamity?” she asked plaintively.

Darcy had no immediate answer. He did not wish to distress her further by pointing out that pure petulance and self-indulgence might be a reason. He felt he had already been sufficiently critical of Amelia-Jane, who, of all Charlotte Collins' daughters, seemed to have inherited the least of her mother's excellent understanding and good sense. Even young Josie Tate, Charlotte's granddaughter, now Julian's wife, though not twenty-one, had more practical common sense and discretion, he thought.

Deliberately changing the topic, he reminded Elizabeth of their own daughter Cassandra, whose fifth child was expected in Autumn.

“Now, there is a good marriage,” he declared, and to his great relief, Elizabeth, temporarily distracted from her melancholy contemplation of their nephew's problems, smiled, recalling the happiness of their beloved daughter.

“Indeed, yes,” she replied. “Richard and Cassy are equally fortunate, and they know it. There will be much to do before the child is born. I have asked Jenny to have a list of things ready for my attention when we return to Pemberley at the end of Summer. She is already training her niece Margaret to help Cassy with the new baby.”

Darcy was glad he had succeeded in taking her mind off Jonathan's troubled marriage.

Soon, the shadows would lengthen across the meadows and engulf the valley in darkness. It was time to return to the house.

They rose and walked slowly up the path and through the grove of birch trees. When they reached the house, they were surprised to find a vehicle standing in the drive.

“It's the Grantleys' carriage, I am sure it is,” cried Elizabeth, hastening as she made for the front porch. “It must be Georgiana!”

Even before she reached the entrance, her sister-in-law came out to greet them, followed by Jane and Bingley.

Georgiana had seen them approaching as she took tea in the parlour. They greeted one another with great affection.

“Lizzie!”

“Georgiana, what a lovely surprise! You look wonderful. Is Dr Grantley with you?” Elizabeth asked as they embraced.

Georgiana turned to greet her brother, who was standing to one side, and declared that they both looked very well before explaining that she had written a few days ago to say they were to be in Winchester, where Dr Grantley was attending a function at the cathedral, and she hoped to drive down to Woodlands to visit them.

“Dr Grantley is at the Bishops' dinner tonight, and they are going to be busy all day tomorrow,” she explained, adding, “I did not know then that Frank was coming, too, but he decided to join us at the very last minute.”

“Is Frank here?” asked Darcy, to which a reply came from somewhere behind him as his nephew Frank, who had been enjoying a game of croquet, came towards them, his hand outstretched.

“He is indeed, sir, and very happy to be here,” he declared, dropping the croquet mallet.

“So here we are, Lizzie,” said his mother, “though it looks as if the post has been remiss and my letter has not reached you in time.”

“It has not, but no matter, you are very welcome,” said Elizabeth, “and will you stay tonight?”

“We would love to, if you have room for us,” Georgiana replied, to which their hosts answered that there was plenty of room and they could all fit in, especially if Frank did not mind taking the room at the top of the house.

Frank Grantley, at twenty-six, was the youngest of the Grantleys' three children, and an easy-going and good-humoured young man. He laughed as he called out that he did not mind where he slept so long as there was a pillow for his head and a blanket for his feet, before returning to the croquet game with Amy, despite the fading light.

As Darcy took his sister for a walk around the garden, Elizabeth went indoors to give orders for dinner and make arrangements for the accommodation of her unexpected but very welcome guests.

The arrival of Georgiana Grantley and Frank considerably lightened the atmosphere at Woodlands that evening.

She was such a pleasant, happy woman that she seemed to add enjoyment to every conversation, and her son, likewise, was determined to keep them all entertained with tall tales and anecdotes aplenty.

Notwithstanding his light-hearted attitude, he was, in truth, a serious student of Theology and Music and hoped to follow in the footsteps of his distinguished father at St Johns College.

He had apparently made friends with young Miss Amy Fitzwilliam, who had spent several weeks with the Grantleys at Oxford, last Christmas. They were obviously pleased to be meeting again unexpectedly, and Amy, an avid reader though not quite nineteen, was clearly very impressed with the well-spoken and exceedingly widely-read Frank Grantley.

“He reads all the time and knows so much about every subject under the sun,” Elizabeth heard young Amy declare to her mother, “and he plays the organ as well as the pianoforte!”

After dinner, which was the pleasantest meal, they repaired to the drawing room and, immediately, there were calls from Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam for music and song!

Caroline obliged and then Amy, who had brought her flute, was appealed to. Though at first she was shy and hung back, when Frank, who had heard her play last Christmas, agreed to accompany her on the pianoforte, she performed quite beautifully to very appreciative applause.

Georgiana, who was a teacher of music as well as a talented performer, was full of praise and young Amy was clearly pleased to be so noticed. Indeed, it was clear that her parents were very proud of their youngest daughter.

Elizabeth was glad to see everyone enjoying the fine entertainment; even Jane appeared to have forgotten Jonathan's troubles, temporarily at least.

It was a welcome change from the melancholy mood of the past few days.

Georgiana Grantley had no knowledge of Jonathan's marriage problems, being far removed from it all at Oxford. She was, therefore, spared the concerns that had obsessed Elizabeth and Jane for several days.

It meant that all of that evening and most of the following day, their talk was of Oxford and mutual friends, of Art, Music, and the progress of the Grantleys' two older children, Fitzwilliam and Anne. The former had married some years ago and moved permanently to London, where he worked as an architect, while Anne, who had ample talent and could quite easily have studied music professionally, had given it all away to marry a clergyman from Hampshire.

Her mother reported sadly that they saw very little of her, since she had two little ones who kept her very busy and her husband did not like travelling.

“I spent all of yesterday with them, while Frank and Dr Grantley were at the Cathedral, but would you believe that we could hardly speak two sentences together before one or the other of the children would interrupt and demand her attention?” Georgiana complained.

Elizabeth and Jane gathered from her tone that she did not approve. Her own children had always been very well behaved.

The best news of all was that Dr Grantley had been invited to teach next Summer at a university in Italy, and Georgiana would be going with him.

While everyone was envying her the wonderful opportunity, Frank groaned at having to spend Summer alone with both his parents away in Europe.

“Could you not go, too?” asked Jane, but that was apparently not possible.

His mother had already suggested that he take a vacation at Lyme Regis or visit his brother in London, neither of which seemed to attract Frank at all.

The delights of the capital had no attraction for him, he declared, and groaned again at the thought of Lyme Regis, pointing out that he had always hated seaside resorts, ever since his elder brother had buried him under a great pile of sand at Scarborough, from which early grave he had to be rescued by his mother.

Georgiana, laughing even as she attested to the truth of his story, had to agree that he was right. But she urged them not to feel sorry for her son, for he could quite easily occupy himself at Oxford. But Frank protested that nothing he could do at Oxford would rival the excitement his parents would be having in Venice, Florence, and Rome!

“Come now, think of the Palazzo Vecchio or the Chapel of the Medici and tell me, do any of you honestly believe that I, a humble student of Theology, could inform and entertain myself as well in any of the celebrated colleges at Oxford?” he asked, and seeing he had his listeners' sympathy, added, “No, I am resigned to my fate. I shall spend the Summer locked in the vaults beneath the library, perusing ancient texts and deciphering archaic versions of the Nicene Creed, until my eyesight is quite destroyed.”

“It will do your soul good, Frank,” Fitzwilliam called from across the room.

When they had ceased laughing, Darcy, who had remained silent, said, “If you care for the country, Frank, you could come to us at Pemberley. We cannot match the Palazzo Vecchio or The Bridge of Sighs, but I daresay we could find some things that would entertain you. There's excellent trout fishing and acres of woodland to explore.”

Elizabeth added her own voice to assure him that he would be most welcome and she knew he would enjoy the music of their choir and the Matlock Chamber Group, when Fitzwilliam intervened saying, “And if you tire of the pleasures of Pemberley before the Summer is out and would like a taste of the simple life, our farm is but a few miles up the road at Matlock. Caroline, Amy, and I would love to have you, would we not, my dears?” a proposition with which his wife and daughter readily agreed.

“Now there would be a real change from the dreaming spires,” quipped Bingley, and before another word was spoken, Frank had accepted all their invitations and was thanking Darcy, Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam, and Caroline for their kindness and promising to look forward to a vacation in Derbyshire, which he was sure would make up for the loss of the glories of Venice and Rome.

Only his mother had some reservations. “Are you sure, Lizzie?” she asked, reluctant to inconvenience them.

“Of course,” said Elizabeth. “With Julian and Josie settled in Cambridge, it will be very good to have some company and I am quite sure Frank will find plenty to occupy him in Derbyshire. We shall look forward to your visit, Frank, and do remember to bring your music with you.”

***

The following morning, Elizabeth rose late and, when she came down to breakfast, found only Jane at the table.

“It is such a beautiful morning, Lizzie. They have all gone out,” her sister said. The gentlemen are out riding, except Frank, who, I believe, was accompanying Amy and Caroline on a ramble in the woods.”

Elizabeth joined her sister and asked for a fresh pot of tea and toast to be brought to the table.

They had not been more than half an hour, speaking mostly of the happy evening they had all spent, when laughter was heard outside and soon Amy, Frank, and Caroline appeared, their arms full of wild flowers from the woods and meadows around the farm.

Young Amy, flushed and rosy from the early morning air and the exercise looked a pretty picture, with a sprig of blossoms tucked into her hair.

“Aunt Lizzie, could we have some vases?” she asked, standing in the doorway like some Grecian wood nymph.

It was so appealing an image; it made Lizzie wish she could paint.

When they had finished putting their flowers in water, they returned to the breakfast room hungry from their exertions and sat down as cook sent in more tea, toast, and honey.

Elizabeth was delighted with her unexpected visitors. They had brought lightness and laughter and a touch of fancy to Woodlands, where before, they had been so disconsolate.

She was genuinely sorry to see them leave and, as the carriage arrived at the front porch and Georgiana moved to the door, there were tears in their eyes as the sisters embraced.

Frank Grantley had kissed all his aunts on the cheek in the French manner, and, though he only kissed young Amy's hand, Elizabeth noticed a somewhat prolonged farewell between them as they parted.

She had heard just a hint of a promise to meet again soon—perhaps at Christmas?