1
DERBYSHIRE, ENGLAND. 1833
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when two young people meet, fall in love and become engaged, then it is only a matter of time before a wedding takes place. If there are no objections and no financial difficulties, then this marriage can happen quite speedily.
Sadly, in the case of Miss Cassandra Bennet and Dr Richard Courtney, two factors had delayed their longed-for ceremony. Cassandra, being related to the Darcys of Pemberley, had been thrilled when her Aunt Elizabeth announced that she would take charge of all the arrangements.
“With your own mother living away up in Newcastle, it is not practical, Cassandra, for her to be directly involved in all the decisions, although I know, of course, that she longs to play her part,” Mrs Darcy had said tactfully, not wanting to make it too obvious that Lydia was refusing to pay a penny towards the bridal clothes or bridal breakfast. The tone had been set when she hadn’t insisted that her daughter return home to be married.
Since the news had broken that her own scandalous marriage to George Wickham had been invalid and that Cassandra was therefore illegitimate, Lydia had stepped back from her role as mother of the bride and all the glory that went with that title. Reluctantly she had agreed to attend the wedding but, luckily for Cassandra and the Darcys, her husband, Colonel Allerton, had been sent to France with his regiment. His glowering presence would not be missed.
Cassandra, still in the joyous bliss of the newly engaged, agreed almost absentmindedly. She just wanted to marry her dear Richard and didn’t really care who or what was arranged for the day. But then fate stepped in—twice. The Darcys had already planned a coming out ball for their twin daughters who were turning eighteen, a grand affair to be held at Matlock House, their London home, at Christmas. It just wasn’t possible to plan a wedding so close to that grand occasion and so the middle of January had been agreed on by all as the next very suitable date.
Then, out of the blue, on the l0th of January, 1833, fate struck again, this time in a most unhappy way. Sir Edgar Courtney, Richard’s father, who had been ill for some time, died and the wedding had to be postponed. Richard and his sister, Susannah, who kept house for him were summoned north to the county of Northumberland to help their brothers with all the sad arrangements for a funeral and it was felt only fitting that late March would now be the right time for the postponed marriage to take place.
Pemberley at any time of the year was a magnificent sight but many thought that in early Spring it was at its best—lambs on the hills, green leaves breaking, daffodils and late crocii studding the gardens with purple, white and gold.
The great house had been cleaned from cellar to attics, its many tall windows polished to brilliance, ready for the influx of visitors from all over the country. The actual wedding would, of course, be held in the local church but there was to be a grand luncheon reception back at Pemberley and dancing in the evening.
The housekeeper, Miss Reynolds, relation to the elderly lady who had once greeted a certain Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her uncle and aunt on a memorable visit many years ago, was so busy that she was beginning to wish she had never heard the word “wedding”.
Finding accommodation for all the relations who were attending the ceremony was not difficult, because the one thing Pemberley did not lack was bedrooms. But making sure that Richard Courtney’s elderly aunt and Mrs Darcy’s own mother, Mrs Bennet and her sister, Mrs Collins had chambers of equal luxury and status had proved more of a headache.
Mrs Collins, in particular, was very alert both as to the situation of her room—the first had been declined as “too sunny”, the second as “too high up”—and her position at the dining-table—she was not seated close enough to Elizabeth. Mrs Bennet had already complained that the flowers decorating her room were not as splendid as those she had spied elsewhere.
The rest of the staff were suffering from a frenzy of cleaning and, as Grace, one of the maids said tartly in the servants’ hall as she tried to rest her aching legs, “if this is for a cousin of Pemberley, Lord help us when one of the Darcy daughters gets married.”
To all this Cassandra and Richard were happily oblivious and if they lay awake the night before the ceremony, it was not from an excess of hard work.
Just as the sun was breaking over the hills on the day of the wedding, a young woman, small, thin, brown eyed, her brown hair flying free over her shoulders, with a shabby old cloak flung over her plain day dress, slipped from a side door and ran down the path, between the fine arrangements of spring flowers that lined each side, down the steps that lead through the rose garden, where the bushes were still sleeping, into the flower gardens beyond.
Catherine Collins had arrived the afternoon before with her stepmother, Kitty, her half-sister, Harriet, and Mrs Bennet. In all the flurry of unpacking, taking tea, greeting aunts and cousins, showing Harriet off to everyone and then making sure that the child had her bread and milk before she went to bed, Catherine had had no time at all to explore.
She had been forced to sit beside Harriet’s bed for a long time—the little girl was too excited to sleep and so even investigating the wonderful house had been postponed. But this morning Harriet was still fast asleep and Grace, one of the Pemberley maids was on reluctant duty in the nursery. She had told Catherine, almost impudently, that she was a lady’s maid and made it quite clear by her attitude that she was annoyed at being told to take care of Harriet for a little while, but Miss Reynolds, the housekeeper, had insisted.
Mrs Bennet and Kitty Collins were still in their rooms, so Catherine had taken the chance to explore outside where no one could find her.
Being on her own, doing exactly what she wanted was such a rare occurrence that it went to her head like strong wine. Her whole life was governed by cries of “Catherine! Where are you? Catherine, bring me this, do that … ” There was never any time to stop and think, to be just herself. Now she gulped in deep breaths of the clear, pure Derbyshire air, wondering why it tasted so different from that in Hertfordshire.
The glorious woods were too far to reach this morning because she knew she could not be away from her duties to her sister for long, but she idled her way through the gardens, enjoying the arbours and statuary, the spring flowers and the new leaves bursting into life and hearing in the distance the cries of the sheep and their lambs up on the hillsides.
“I do wish Papa could see these gardens,” she murmured to herself. Sadly, she was well aware that Mr Collins was not and never would be a sensible man. He was pompous and some of the things he said in public and even from the pulpit of his church, made her wince and bite her tongue in shame. That the Darcys had no time for him was quite apparent from various remarks she had overheard, including her stepmother declaring to her older sister on their arrival that it was wonderful to be away from William for a short while!
But for all his faults, Catherine loved him: they shared an interest in nature and growing things, although whilst she found comfort in the beauty of flowers and trees, her papa preferred growing cabbages and lettuces. Catherine knew he would have enjoyed these wonderful gardens and was sad that his duties in the church living of Meryton prevented him from travelling north with the rest of his family.
“Oh, how pretty!” She had rounded a bend in the path and found it led to a small glade of trees where the woods began, clustered around a fish pond—a stone fountain splashed and played, fed by a stream that flowed through the grounds from the hills on its way to one of the many Pemberley lakes.
Thick green turf ran round the outside of the stone basin and, without a second thought, Catherine shook off her shoes and felt the soft damp grass under her feet. It was a glorious feeling of freedom as the light breeze rustled the branches and her hair, swept back in profusion, showed the chestnut and bronze glints that normally never showed under her severe braided style. She swayed gently to a tune in her head, then humming, danced a few little steps in time to the splashing of the water.
She wondered what it would be like to live with all this beauty around her, every day. Her home at Longbourn was very pleasant with a garden and orchard and a pretty wilderness alongside the driveway, but nothing compared to the grounds of Pemberley.
As she paced a few dance steps in the sunlight that was now piercing the leaves above her head, she chided herself. She was lucky to have been included in the wedding party. Cassandra was only a very distant cousin, indeed Mrs Darcy, her godmother, was a closer relation to Catherine: it was indeed kind of them to invite her.
It was difficult not to be aware of where you stood in a large family with so many different branches, hard not to realise that you were a very small, insignificant twig on one of those branches. Catherine had no high expectations of the years in front of her. If she did in fact marry—and common-sense told her that she probably would—the man in question would be one of her father’s junior clergymen who needed a wife and helpmate in his living.
Sadly, unless they came from rich families, young men just starting their careers in the church usually found themselves working in the poorest parts of towns and cities, not in beautiful countryside. Catherine could even have accepted that situation, been happy to have lived in genteel poverty if she had ever met a gentleman who appealed to her as a husband. Sadly, the junior clergy who had come to her attention so far had not inclined her to give up her spinster state!
She wished her grandparents, Sir William Lucas and his wife were still alive. They had, according to Mama Collins, often held grand parties with plenty of partners to choose from. But they had both passed away and her Aunt Maria had married a farmer and moved to distant Cornwall.
Yes, Catherine was well aware that her future was either a marriage of convenience or staying at home as unpaid nursery maid to her small half-sister. Living with a stepmother who spent most of her time complaining about her life had made Catherine determined that she would not succumb to groaning and grouching. It served no purpose and only annoyed everyone who heard.
She had long ago determined to be sanguine and resolute in facing these problems but deliberately buried under a heavy cloak of common-sense and staid manners, was a character that was at complete odds with her outward demeanour. It was this joy of living, a love of fun and laughter that now broke through on this glorious Spring day.
Sir Robert Courtney was not a happy man. Rising before dawn, he’d left Pemberley, striding out of the grounds and into the woods. He hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning, his mind full of his new responsibilities as the owner of Courtney Castle and the surrounding Northumberland estate. He was impatient for this wedding of his younger brother to be over. He was fond of Richard and liked the girl, wishing them both well, but time spent away from home was always a problem for him.
His father had been ill for many years and, refusing to take advice from his son, the estate had fallen into disrepair. Sir Robert knew that with hard work and money, it would flourish again, but although the hard work was not a problem, the money was. What he needed was a rich wife, but …
As ever he tried to put Lucinda, the wife who had died so tragically, out of his mind but it wasn’t easy. He knew his family wanted him to marry again and produce a male heir. The inheritance of the Courtney estate was passed down through the male line.
This especially horrified his other brother, Martin, who was next in line to inherit, an event that filled that young man with terror! His indolent life style mostly spent in the gaming houses of London and on the country’s various race-tracks, did not countenance the responsibilities such a change in style would bring about and Robert knew that within a year his brother would have run through all the money that the estate made and plunge the Courtneys into dreadful debt.
But marrying again filled Robert with despair. He had cared for Lucinda and had been deeply moved when she died in a coaching accident two years past. She had been so beautiful—with golden hair, tall and slim, accomplished in painting and music and with an oddly remote air that he had found intriguing. He had known her since they were children and had grown up determined that they would marry. How could he replace her in his life? Anyone else would be but a mere shadow. Except—and this was the point he came up against every time in his musings—there was Matilda.
His daughter was six years old now with the same fair loveliness which had adorned her mother. Matilda had been inside the phaeton with Lucinda when it had overturned on a steep slope outside Whitby. But somehow she had escaped unscathed, except that from that day on, she had never spoken. The child was intelligent, he knew that, and he blamed himself for not taking more time and trouble to reverse her affliction. He had been remiss to leave her in the hands of her nurse for the past two years but, every time he looked at her, he saw Lucinda and the pain of her death returned.
The only other member of the family who lived in Courtney Castle was his very elderly Aunt Honoria, who at this very moment was probably intimidating the other guests at Pemberley. She was a strict disciplinarian and he feared that Matilda was scared of her. No, his daughter needed a governess or, at the very least, a sensible, intelligent companion who could try and help her learn so that she could play some role in the life ahead of her.
Well, that was one decision made. He resolved to find a suitable young woman as soon as he could and resolved to ask Elizabeth Darcy for her help. She had a wide range of acquaintances; surely amongst them would be just the type of person he was looking for?
This break away from home had clarified his mind about marriage as well. He had experienced love and could see from Richard’s demeanour towards Cassandra that it was an enviable state, but this time he would marry for duty. He would not let his heart become involved.
“Abigail Richmond will accept my proposal,” he muttered now as he made his way back towards Pemberley along a narrow woodland track. “She does not love me and I do not love her, but it will be a sensible union for both of us. We have known each other since childhood, she was a great friend of Lucinda’s, she is good-looking, well-bred and wealthy and if she brings me an heir, then all well and good.”
Coming to a conclusion, he stopped to take a deep breath and then frowned. He could have sworn he heard singing. He followed the sound and from the shelter of the bushes he looked out to where a small glade had been cut into the woods and a pretty fountain played into a pool. And he smiled.
There, in front of him, was a girl, no doubt by her dress and appearance, one of the Pemberley maids, dancing on the grass, her bare feet wet with the spray from the fountain. Her beautiful long brown hair was swinging loose and with arms outstretched she was singing softly to herself, lost in a happy world of feeling and music.
For a moment the black clouds that seemed to surround him every day lifted, and he recalled how happiness had once felt. He was well aware that knowing he would one day inherit Courtney Castle had placed a sense of responsibility on his shoulders from a very young age. As he’d grown, the occasions in life when he could relax and have fun had grown fewer and fewer and with Lucinda’s death had vanished altogether.
He was about to step back and leave her to her solitude when the sound of clapping broke out. There, on the other side of the glade, stood his brother Martin, laughing down at the girl who gave a gasp and pulled her cloak firmly round her shoulders.
“Sir! You startled me!” Catherine was mortified to find someone watching her being silly. The young man was very good-looking; tall and slim, elegantly dressed, with sparkling green eyes and a wicked smile.
He swept off his hat with a flourish, one lock of bright gold falling over his forehead. “A thousand apologies, little fairy girl. But do continue with your dance or will you vanish into thin air now someone has spied you?”
Catherine felt her cheeks flush. “Sir, you must give me leave to retire to the house.”
Martin Courtney took a long stride forward and reached out to stop her as she backed away. This was the most fun he had had since arriving at Pemberley for Richard’s wedding.
He had been only too happy to leave London—and all the debts that he seemed to have incurred in such a short time. He knew he would have to have one of those boring conversations with his older brother before the day was out. He needed money and Robert would lecture and lecture—lord how strict and old-fashioned he had become since his wife died!
Although he found that exceedingly irritating, there was also some-thing sad about his brother’s situation. Martin could still remember a brother who had been ready for any adventure. For sure he had always known that he was heir to Courtney and apparently enjoyed working to enhance the family’s fortunes, but he had still had a light-hearted side to his nature.
He’d looked forward to meeting Cassandra, whom he had found beautiful but so in love with his younger brother that she had hardly looked in his direction once. The two older Darcy girls were too well mannered to flirt.
There was, of course, the youngest Darcy daughter, Bennetta, whose dark curls he found captivating, but she was not yet seventeen, admittedly old enough to marry but he could tell she was still a child in so many ways! He had to admit that flirting with her was a dangerous prospect, like playing with fire, even though her dark eyes had sparkled and gleamed mischievously in his direction. There was no way he wanted to incur the wrath of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy by becoming entangled with his youngest daughter. At least not for a couple of years! This maid, dancing to a tune she alone could hear, was the only other girl he had met who quickened his interest.
“Why, are you late beginning your daily duties? I am one of the Darcys’ guests. Isn’t it your duty to serve me?”
Catherine pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head. She hesitated; the man had obviously mistaken her for a servant but even so he should not talk to her in that intimate way. She knew that she should just tell him who she was and ask him to escort her back to the house, but a sudden most unexpected spurt of anger at his attitude kept her quiet. Let him be embarrassed when they met at the wedding later that day. She had done nothing to be ashamed about. She turned to go and the man reached out with a laugh and caught hold of her arm.
“Let her go!”
They both swung round as a tall, dark haired man with broad shoulders, pushed aside a tangle of overhanging branches and strode into the glade.
“You are up and about early.” The younger man turned to him as he spoke and released her with a smile.
The man glared at him and at Catherine. “I think it best if you return to your duties, Miss,” he snapped and she thought she could see cold contempt in his deep blue eyes. “Dallying in the woods is not a sensible course of action for a young woman.” He glared at the younger man, “And lord knows why you would wish to annoy Darcy by making free with his servants.”
Catherine didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Dallying! When had she ever done that? She didn’t even know how to dally.
The fair haired man had let go of her arm and was smiling at her. “I suppose you are right. Yes, pretty maid, as tempting as you are, off you go, back to the house.”
With a brief curtsey to them both, Catherine turned and hurried away.
“Stop!”
She turned, flustered, to find the dark haired man standing behind her. Without a word he thrust her shoes into her hands and she knew he was still watching as she took them and fled barefoot back down the path towards the house.
Elizabeth Darcy stood at a window of Pemberley, gazing out over the grounds to where the woodlands gave way to the Derbyshire hills: she never tired of this view that calmed her spirits and gave her joy. She felt exhausted; the wedding had been the day before and everything had gone well. The happy couple had left to spend a week in a small manor house that Mr Darcy owned just outside of Stratford upon Avon.
“You are tired, Elizabeth. You have done too much as usual. Why will you never learn to delegate to the staff? Miss Reynolds is quite capable of managing all the arrangements.” A warm hand placed on her shoulder, the voice in her ear of her beloved was all she needed to lean back, feeling his strength supporting her and all her cares drift away.
“No, not too much. Just enough. It is never the household concerns that are tiring, it is dealing with all the different members of our families and their various needs.” She turned in his arms and then, realising he was wearing his riding clothes smiled and said, “I see you are escaping from the ritual ‘after the wedding discussions’, my dear. How very wise.”
Mr Darcy shuddered. “I am rescuing Charles from the hell on earth of deciding whose hat was the most fetching, who danced with whom more than once and who will be the next in line to reach the altar. Sir Robert and the rest of the Courtney relations have already sent their thanks and left; they wanted to be on the road before dawn, as you know, so Charles and I will ride up onto the hills, exercise our horses and enjoy ourselves.” He bent and kissed her fingers. “I will see you at dinner, but please do not seat me next to Lydia or Kitty if you value my sanity.”
Elizabeth was still smiling at the dread in his voice as she made her way into the yellow drawing-room. She stopped in the doorway as she considered the occupants sitting on the sofas, drinking hot chocolate and eating little almond biscuits.
This was the first time the four sisters had been together alone for years and years. The only one missing was Mary, married to the Reverend Matthew Malliot, an elderly missionary. She led a very different life from her sisters, preaching to the people of Africa. Elizabeth always felt sorry for those poor people. Listening to Mary’s diatribes all day must be very wearying.
“La, Lizzie, do come and sit down. The chocolate’s getting cold.” Lydia had put her feet up on the sofa and Elizabeth could see a great deal of green stocking and the snags her shoes were making on the silk covering.
“Yes, I’m sure you have enough servants to run this vast place without you always having to interfere.”
Kitty sounded irritated, dissatisfied. Ever since she had married William Collins, following the death of his wife Charlotte, she had realised that her life style would never be as high as that of her two elder sisters.
The present Mrs Collins had hoped that when Sir William Lucas and his wife passed away, that their granddaughter, Catherine, would have inherited a tidy sum and therefore contribute greatly to the Collins‘ annual expenditure. But it had transpired that Sir William had made many foolish investments in the city and the knowledge of his wealth was based on nothing but rumours. Catherine had inherited nothing.
Sighing, she ate another biscuit: Kitty had found that food was an enormous comfort when your husband was a pompous fool—as her daily increasing girth showed only too well.
“Lizzie, you look tired. I’m sure you should be—it was a wonderful occasion yesterday. Cassandra looked lovely. You must be proud of her, Lydia.”
Elizabeth took her seat next to Jane Bingley and cast her an anxious glance. She was very pale which only emphasized the beauty of her face. A few months before she had given birth to her fourth child, a little girl they had named Alethea. This very late and unexpected arrival seemed to have drained her health and vitality.
“Oh lord, yes, I am proud, of course I am. I must admit she looked very pretty but then wearing that dress and that wonderful emerald necklace, so would any girl. Yours, I take it, Lizzie?”
Lydia had watched her daughter’s wedding with mixed emotions. It had brought back memories of her own marriage to George Wickham, a marriage she now knew to have been a complete sham. She recalled the vast, cold, empty church in London, the grim faces of her aunt and uncle and Mr Darcy. And there had definitely been no emerald necklace for her to wear on her special day! But she comforted herself with the knowledge that both grooms at her weddings, firstly to Wickham and then to dear Major Allerton, had looked far smarter and more handsome in their uniforms than the thin, dark-haired doctor that Cassandra had married.
Elizabeth nodded and poured herself a cup of chocolate. “The necklace? Indeed. Weddings are such fun and I have no idea when I will get a chance to dress another bride. The twins have no beaux at present and Bennetta’s choice is likely to be a pirate or a highwayman!”
Jane smiled. “My Beth will be eighteen soon and so I suppose I shall have to start thinking of what young man she will bring into the family.”
“At present all our daughters are closeted in the twins’ bedroom, refurbishing their bonnets for church on Sunday. And gossiping as we are, I have no doubt, about Cassandra’s wedding.” She glanced round the room. “But we are short of the family gathering. Where is Mama and I noticed that Catherine was not with the other girls?”
Kitty popped another biscuit into her mouth. “Mama is lying down, having an attack of nervous exhaustion from the wedding party. Catherine is looking after Harriet, of course.”
“But Kitty, you were given a nursery maid for the child when you arrived. It is surely not Catherine’s place to take care of her little sister all the time. She should be relaxing with her cousins.”
“Oh, she enjoys it. She adores Harriet.”
“But—”
“Oh don’t fuss so, Lizzie. Come and sit down and tell us who was the very old lady with that ridiculously large purple hat who sat right in front at the church? One of Richard’s relations, I suppose. I do declare I could hardly listen to the ceremony for laughing.”
Lydia and Jane chimed in with their comments and Elizabeth sat back, strangely dissatisfied. Catherine Collins was not a nursery maid, whatever her stepmother might think.
The following day found Mr and Mrs Darcy standing on the entrance steps of Pemberley, waving as two carriages made their way down the drive. “Well, my dear, there go the Bingleys with all their children and, to my lasting delight they have taken your mother and Lydia with them. When was that arranged?”
“Last night. Jane, whom I believe to be a saint in human form, told Mama that she needed her advice about some refurbishments she was planning for the house and Lydia decided that she will stay with the Bingleys until she makes her way north once more. I think she is going to try and persuade Charles to give her some money and I expect she will be successful. Charles is a dear soul but has no defences against Lydia’s wheedling and Jane is just as soft-hearted.”
“Did it seem strange to have your sisters together under the same roof?”
“Indeed it did. We sat yesterday, talking and squabbling and apart from Mary not being there to add her caustic comments, twenty or so years might not have passed!”
“Come and sit down. I will ring for coffee.”
Elizabeth smiled as they made their way down the main staircase and crossed the vast black and white squared hall towards the stairs that led up towards the next floor where the yellow drawing-room was situated—one of her favourite places to relax.
“You forget that we still have a house full of guests to entertain.”
A sudden screeching rang out and Mr Darcy flinched. “And that is the noisiest, I do believe.”
There was another screech and a small girl of about four came running from the passageway that led to the servants’ side of the house, clutching a piece of bread and jam in her hand. She skidded to a halt in front of the Darcys and peered up at them through a tangle of curls, then pushed the wedge of bread into a mouth that was already far too full, as if she was determined no one should take her prize away from her.
“Harriet Collins—what are you doing down here?” Mrs Darcy said, exasperated.
Just then, footsteps sounded and a small, thin young woman in a plain brown dress, her hair braided up around her head, came running into the hall. “Oh Harriet—there you are! Naughty girl. I have been searching for you everywhere. What are you eating—oh, you have jam all over your nice clean dress.”
“Catherine, my dear.”
“Mrs Darcy, Mr Darcy!” The girl dropped them a curtsey and then bent, trying to wipe jam off the wriggling and squirming child with her handkerchief.
“Catherine, we have discussed this before. There is no need for you to be so correct. Please call me Cousin Elizabeth. I am your godmother and your second cousin.”
The girl’s face blushed pink. “Yes, I forgot. I’m just so pleased to have found Harriet. Mama Collins has been asking for her for the past hour and she was nowhere in sight.”
Mr Darcy turned away from them with a curt bow. “My dear, I will leave you to these domestic problems and will see you at dinner.”
Elizabeth watched him go then, with a frown, turned back to Catherine who was struggling to stop the little girl from running off once more. “I don’t understand why you are in charge of your sister again. Where is her nursery maid? I know one was allocated to her when you all arrived for the wedding as Kitty had not seen fit to bring one with her.”
“Harriet—stand still and mind your manners. Your aunt is speaking. I am sorry, Cousin Elizabeth. Mama Collins prefers me to look after her. I do at home, you know, and Mama Collins thinks it is better if her little world is not disturbed by too much change. She is a very sensitive child.”
Elizabeth stared down with distaste at Harriet now standing, scowling at the floor, still munching on a huge mouthful of bread and jam. She was as tall as she was wide and although in Elizabeth’s opinion all children were attractive in their different ways, this child of Kitty and Mr Collins sometimes made her think perhaps she was wrong in this view. And if this child was sensitive, then the moon was made from cheese.
“Obviously Kitty knows her daughter best, but you look tired, my dear.” Swiftly she rang a small handbell sitting on a console table and when a footman appeared, she told him to take Miss Harriet to her mother immediately and if Mrs Collins queried him, he was to say that was Mrs Darcy’s orders.
When Harriet had been removed, she linked arms with Catherine and walked her upstairs into the drawing-room. “I was about to ring for coffee. Will you join me? We have had little time to talk since you arrived.”
Catherine sat and gazed around the luxurious room with its dark yellow drapes and furnishings. She felt anxious: it was all very well Cousin Elizabeth telling her sister what to do, but she knew Mama Collins would be very angry that she had somehow allowed Harriet to run off and ruin her luncheon with bread and jam.
“Did you enjoy the wedding?”
“Oh, what I saw of it was wonderful,” Catherine replied swiftly. “Cassandra looked lovely and so happy and Dr Courtney is a very handsome man, but sadly Harriet began to cry—she wanted to play with the flowers at the end of the pew—so I had to take her out of the church and missed some of the ceremony.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. She had certainly heard a child shrieking at some point, but it had quickly stopped and she hadn’t given it another thought. Just then another memory surfaced. “And the evening celebrations? I don’t think I saw you dancing, but there was such a crowd that I might not have noticed.”
Catherine folded her hands in her lap. This was so difficult; it made it sound as if she was ungrateful for the invitation to Cassandra’s wedding. “Harriet wouldn’t settle. Sadly she found her way to the kitchen and the servants plied her with cake and sweets. So she was a trifle ill and Mama Collins thought it best if I stayed with her.”
Just then a footman brought in a pot of coffee on a silver tray and Elizabeth dismissed him, serving them herself, She watched as Catherine sipped. Such a calm young woman, composed and obviously full of the same down-to-earth common-sense that had governed her mother, Charlotte, and led to her marrying William Collins so many years ago. But there was also a wistful expression in her eyes that was worrisome to Elizabeth.
“Do you miss your mama?” she asked eventually.
Catherine flushed. “Of course, I do! She was so gentle and kind and tried to help people. I try to be like her, but I’m afraid I will never succeed.”
“You are over twenty now, of course. Do you think of marriage yet. Do you have many beaux at home?”
Catherine shook her head. “Mama Collins often complains at the lack of eligible young men in the district, especially since the militia has left town. But she also says that she cannot do without me at present in helping to care for Harriet. Mama Collins is sure that in a few years’ time, when Harriet is older, I will make a match with one of the young clergymen Papa knows.”
Her voice trailed away as she realised she was finding it difficult to sound enthusiastic at the prospect ahead of her.
“And does that satisfy you, my dear? Looking after your little sister? I loved your mama, as you know. We were good friends for years. I am sure that the life of a nursery maid is not one she would have chosen for you.”
“Oh, I love Harriet, indeed I do, but sometimes I long to see more of the world.”
For a second the sensible Catherine vanished and, to her surprise, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a very different girl. “This is my first trip away from Hertfordshire since we moved there from Kent. I yearn to travel, to see different beautiful places. I would love to see the sea, to watch waves breaking on a beach. It is always described so beautifully in books. And do you know, I have never even been to London?”
“Well, that is a shame, although we have a house in London, I must admit I prefer the countryside. Still, you never know what life holds in store for you.” She smiled at her goddaughter. “If I recall correctly your education is far superior to that of mine or my sisters.”
Catherine hesitated; she felt that talking of her accomplishments seemed like boasting.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr Darcy’s aunt, whom I am named after, of course, although she was not my godmother, took a great interest in me when I was a small child and we were living near the great house of Rosings. She insisted that I had lessons in French and other useful subjects, gave me leave to use the Rosings’ library and even kindly suggested books that I should read to improve my mind. Her daughter, Miss Anne, taught me to play the piano a little and I enjoy painting and sketching when I get the chance. But that isn’t very often. I love plants and flowers, as does my Papa. We enjoy our garden together.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. It was so peculiar to think of Mr Darcy’s aunt doing something kind for a child who could have meant nothing to her. “That was good of Lady Catherine.”
Her namesake smiled warmly. “Yes, it was. I liked her. I know she appeared harsh and intolerant to many people, but she always had a pleasant word for me and I never found her unjust.”
Elizabeth found her lips twitching. Her own youngest daughter, Bennetta, had offended Lady Catherine so much when a child that she had refused to visit Pemberley for over a year. What was it about this small, slim person that had touched the heart of a dragon? What had the old lady seen that others had not?
“I am well pleased to hear it. Now, if you have finished your coffee, I suggest you go and find one of my daughters and ask them to walk in the gardens with you to get some roses into your cheeks.”
She sat thinking after Catherine left the room, recalling a long conversation she had recently had with Sir Robert Courtney. He was looking for a kind, sensible, intelligent girl, trustworthy and biddable, to be a companion to his young daughter in their castle on the Northumberland coast. Elizabeth Darcy thought she might know just the right person, someone who was, indeed, longing to see the ocean.