Chapter One
Town and country are different worlds. No matter how rich
and self-possessed they are, country-bred young ladies
need to keep their wits well about them when they come to
London.
The two eldest Darcy sisters were in the morning parlour
of a large town house in Aubrey Square, the home of their
cousins, the Fitzwilliams. Letitia, the eldest, was
sitting at a small elegant table, a sheet of hot-pressed
notepaper lying in front of her, trying to compose a
letter.
She put down her pen with a sigh of irritation. "The
noise," she said. "The constant sound of carriages and
horses and voices and dogs barking — however can people
support living in the midst of such a din?"
Her peevish tone wasn't reflected in the calm beauty of
her face, which with its wide brow and fine nose caused
her sisters, when in teasing mood, to call her Galatea,
declaring that she was exactly like a classical statue
come to life.
Camilla had none of Letitia's perfection of feature. Her
chief attributes were a pair of dark, expressive eyes, an
instinctive grace of movement and a lively countenance.
She was sitting at the window, delighting in the sights
and sounds of a smart London square and wondering at the
medley of smells wafting in from outside. She watched a
carriage and pair rattling by, driven by a stout young man
in a many-caped coat, his well-bred chestnuts picking up
their hooves in a brisk trot. The driver sent a lingering
glance towards a pretty governess in a blue pelisse who
was walking her charges, two lively little boys, along the
pavement. The smaller child was dragging a small wooden
horse on wheels, which kept on tipping over, his
brotherdarting back to set it right to the accompaniment
of squeals of annoyance and mirth.
A fine, tall footman in morning livery was exercising a
pair of cavalier King Charles spaniels, their feathery
tails waving to and fro as they frisked and jumped about,
uttering sharp barks. An oyster seller shouted her wares
in a great bellow of a voice, and a knife grinder cried
out for business on the other side of the square. A
delivery boy sauntered along the railings, whistling, one
package under his arm and another swinging round and round
on its length of twine.
"There are those who find the crowing of the cock and the
rumble of the farmer's cart and the baaing of sheep
insupportably noisy," she said, without taking her eyes
from the busy scene outside.
"Camilla, how can you say so? The tranquillity, the sweet
serenity of the countryside, the silent beauty of our
woods and river, I do so miss them."
Camilla listened with only half her attention as Letty
launched into her favourite lament of how unfair it was,
how unreasonable of their parents to drag them from the
peace and happiness of Derbyshire to a house in
London. "It is so especially hard on Belle and Georgina;
how they will hate to be staying here."
Camilla prudently kept her opinion on that to herself and
laughed out loud as the two spaniels twined their leashes
round the footman's handsome calves and threatened to
upturn him.
"Come away from that window, you must not be sitting there
for anyone to see."
"What harm is there in anyone seeing me? I'm not ogling
the footman, merely admiring the scene."
"Ogling the footman indeed! Camilla, don't say such
things. I know you mean it for a joke, but others won't
understand your sense of fun, and may take you seriously."
"Only a fool would take it seriously, and why should we
care for the opinion of fools? Besides, he is such a very
handsome footman."
Letty spoke with real earnestness. "Your free way of
speaking is likely to get you into such trouble! Mr.
Fitzwilliam would not approve."
Camilla knew that to be true. Their cousin, Mr.
Fitzwilliam, a fashionable, amiable man of fifty, had sold
out of the army and was now a Member of Parliament. He had
a strong feeling for the proprieties, and expected his
womenfolk to behave with decorum. There was bound to be
another side to him, shown only to his masculine intimates
and cronies at the club or at sporting events, a side that
would be a good deal coarser and not at all averse to
improper behaviour among females of the demi-monde, but
that was an aspect of his life that would not be seen in
Aubrey Square.
She also knew that Letty was Mr. Fitzwilliam's favourite
among the sisters, and always had been. She felt no hurt
at this, she knew that she didn't conform at all to her
cousin's ideal of womanhood. She had too much of a sense
of humour, too witty a tongue and too clever a mind, apart
from inheriting all her father's strength of character.
She wasn't a beauty like Letty, and she was quite aware
that she made her cousin uncomfortable; she could often
see him wondering what was going through her mind, and
fearing the worst.
Letitia was still prosing on. "Mama would tell you so, as
she has often had to, if she were here. Since she isn't —
and who knows when we may see her again, if ever? — it is
my duty to warn you about how you should behave. This is
not a country house, manners are different here."
"I had noticed," Camilla said dryly.
Letitia was just twenty-one, and perhaps felt the
importance of her position as the oldest of the five Darcy
sisters a little too keenly. Their father, Fitzwilliam
Darcy, had been sent abroad on a diplomatic mission, and
his wife, Elizabeth, reluctant to be separated from him
for a year or more, had chosen to accompany him to
Constantinople. The girls could profitably spend several
months in London, while their two young boys were to stay
at Pemberley, their house in Derbyshire, under the care of
a tutor and their maternal grandfather, Mr. Bennet.
There had been some talk of Mr. Bennet accompanying his
granddaughters to London, but he had been very much
alarmed at the plan. He had no notion of looking after
young ladies of fashion in London; he had found bringing
up his own daughters exhausting and troublesome enough and
would by no means embark on such duties again, not even
for a few months. He would be extremely happy to care for
young William and Charles and to keep an eye on the smooth
running of Pemberley in his son-in-law's absence, although
with his excellent steward and household staff, he
imagined the house and estate would manage very well while
its master and mistress were off among the Muslims.
Letitia knew, with a conviction amounting to certainty,
that Mama and Papa would never return. Even if they
survived the drive to Dover — such a dangerous road, the
coachmen inclined to go so fast, highwaymen lurking on
every heath — then the sea voyage would be bound to end in
a watery tragedy; should they somehow safely make it as
far as Ostend, then there would be the perilous journey
across Europe. "There are tracts of such wildness, forests
and hostile landscapes, wolves, bears and bandits," she
told Camilla.
In the unlikely event of their reaching their destination,
their fate would be sealed; if the Muslims did not rise in
revolution and mow them down with scimitars, then the
plague would carry them off. Or smallpox; only imagine
Mama all pock-marked and scarred if she by any chance
recovered.
"But Letty, Mama has been inoculated against the
smallpox," Camilla protested.
"Only the English variety. In Turkey, everything will be
different, and infinitely more dangerous."
At present, just three of the sisters had arrived in
London, Letitia, Camilla and Alethea, the youngest at
sixteen. With them had come Miss Griffin, governess to
Alethea. The other two sisters, the seventeen-year-old
twins Georgina and Belle, were presently staying with an
aunt in Worcestershire.
Mr. Fitzwilliam's second wife, Fanny, was a lively woman
in her late twenties, the mother of a young family who
thought it the greatest fun to have her cousins to stay,
and whose eyes sparkled with delight at the prospect of
parties and fashions and the gossip and liveliness five
young ladies would bring into the house. She would have
them all married by the time Darcy and Elizabeth returned,
Fanny declared.
"No, no," cried her husband. "You are not to be
matchmaking, the girls can very well wait for husbands
until their parents are come home."
"Letitia is one-and-twenty, and Camilla nineteen, more
than old enough to be thinking of husbands."
"Take them to parties and balls, rig them out in the first
style of fashion and let them enjoy what London has to
offer in the way of plays and music; that is quite enough
for you to be doing."
Fanny kept her counsel, exclaimed at the perfection of
Letitia's classically beautiful features, especially since
brunettes were all the fashion just now, privately thought
that the men would find Camilla's liveliness and laughter
more taking, and longed for the twins to arrive and
complete the party.
Now Fanny flew into the room in a babble of talk, as was
her way, in time to catch the last of Letitia's
predictions of gloom.
"Why, however can you speak so? Here is Mr. Tilson back
from China, with all his wits and health about him, and
Lord Wincanton goes backwards and forwards to America as
though he were posting down to Somerset. Travel these days
is so very safe and comfortable, you need have no concern
for your parents' safety."
"I hope you are right," said Letitia with a sigh. "I fear,
though, that they are sure to meet with some misfortune. I
shall be left, at twenty-one, to take on the care of my
brothers and sisters, and however shall I manage?"
"Lord, what melancholy thoughts," said Fanny. "Pray turn
your mind to something more agreeable. The dressmaker will
be here later this morning, and I long to see how that
Indian patterned muslin has made up."
Camilla regretted that Fanny had mentioned this, for
clothes were another bone of contention between her and
Letty.
"How can we need half so many dresses?" Letitia had
exclaimed when Fanny, tutting with dismay at their
countrified clothes, had summoned her modiste and reeled
off a string of absolute necessities: morning dresses,
walking costumes, afternoon dresses, ball gowns, carriage
dresses, a riding habit —
"Not for me, Cousin Fanny," Camilla said. "Letty is a good
horsewoman, but I never ride if I can possibly help it. It
is a form of exercise I do not enjoy."
"Even without a riding habit, you cannot possibly want so
many clothes!" said her sister.
"Fanny must be our guide," Camilla said. She loved
fashions and was perfectly happy to spend an hour or more
poring over La Belle Assemblée or inspecting muslins and
silks new in from France and the East.
"This is nothing," said Fanny. "Not half of what you must
have in due course. However, they need not all be ordered
immediately. First we must make you fit to be seen; those
sleeves are quite out of fashion, Letty, you would be
laughed at if you wore them out. Then you may look about
you at your leisure and choose for yourselves. You may buy
anything you want in London, anything you can think of.
And hats, too, your bonnets are quite hideous."
"The expense," cried Letitia.
"Oh, it is not so very much, and your papa is fortunately
so rich that a few dresses and hats will make no
difference to him. He would not want his daughters to be
dowdy, I assure you. He will expect you to be as elegant
as any young ladies in London, and I shall take pains to
see that you are; I have no wish to receive one of his
cold looks should he return and find a pair of frights."
"It is lucky that the others are still in the schoolroom,"
said Letitia. "They will not need new clothes."
"To be sure," said Fanny, her mind running on muslins and
trimmings. "Although I long for Alethea to be out, such a
pretty thing as she is. Are Belle and Georgina as pretty?
It is more than three years since I saw them. They will
mind very much not going about in society, I dare say, but
their turn will come."
"They must pay attention to their studies and music and
drawing and take advantage of London masters while they
are here," said Letitia primly. "They are country girls at
heart, Fanny, and I think will be glad to be spared the
rattle and bustle of too much town life."
An image of Georgina and Belle came into Camilla's mind.
Could Letitia possibly believe what she was saying? She
feared that she did; Letty wasn't given to considering
whether others shared her opinions. She always took it for
granted that her sisters agreed with her on all important
topics, regardless of evidence to the contrary. Since she
knew herself to be in the right, any objections were the
result of imperfect understanding, and she need not take
any account of them.
Camilla had her own ideas about the twins, chief of which
was that Belle and Georgina would assuredly scheme
themselves out of the schoolroom within a week of their
arrival in London.
Fanny was still talking. "We must find husbands for you
two; the twins will be grateful to me if I do so, since
they can then come out."
"Husbands!" Letitia was shocked. "Thank you, Fanny, but we
are not in London to find husbands. Our parents would not
wish it, and besides, for my part — " Her pretty mouth
quivered, and tears started in her eyes.
"Oh, my dear, how heartless of me. Only, you know, it has
been three years, and Tom would not wish you never to form
another attachment."
"It is not in my power to do so. I am the kind of person
who loves so truly that there can never be a second
attachment. Tom would have been faithful to my memory, had
I been cruelly torn from him, and I can do no less. He had
no eyes for any other woman but me, and I consider our
betrothal a sacred trust."
Fanny and Camilla exchanged glances. Camilla was perfectly
used to her sister's ways, and Fanny, who had a vein of
shrewd common sense beneath a frivolous exterior, was
beginning to take her cousin's measure. "So many women
lost lovers and husbands at Waterloo, it is all very sad.
Yet many of them have found consolation — after a proper
time, of course."
"Tom and I were soul mates. I was his first and only love,
and I shall remain true to him for the rest of my life, as
he was true to me."
Camilla couldn't help thinking of the two redheaded
youngsters who were growing up and thriving in separate
cottages in Hilted, the village nearest to Tom's house.
The flaming hair and freckles were unmistakable — even
Letty must have been startled by the likeness — and a
gossiping friend in Derbyshire had told her of another
child of just such a colouring born to one of the
chambermaids in a neighbouring house where Tom visited.
Letitia had known Tom Busby from childhood, and the
engagement had pleased both families, although Camilla had
had her doubts about Tom's enthusiasm for the match. "I
must, I suppose," he'd said to her one rainy afternoon as
they played cards in the yellow saloon at Pemberley. "My
parents expect it, and I've known Letty for ever, and I
always thought we'd probably marry some day or another — I
am fond of her, you know, very fond. Only she's such a one
for driving a man on. She's barely seventeen, too, it's
very young to be married. It would have been better to
wait for a year or two, perhaps — however, she is very set
on it."
Letitia's grief at the news of Tom's death at Waterloo had
been deep and lasting. Camilla, too, had been truly
saddened by his death and missed his company, but she felt
it was no justification for her sister's adopting a kind
of perpetual maiden widowhood. In the Middle Ages, Letitia
might have taken her woe and faithfulness into the
convent; in 1818, Camilla felt that time should be allowed
to heal her sister's sorrows and that reason — not to
mention those redhaired children — should remind Letty
that Tom was a man and not a saint.
"I hope we may enjoy the company of many new
acquaintances, Fanny," she said, "but I by no means wish
to find a husband, thank you. I have noticed that husbands
have a way of restricting a young woman's friendships and
flirts, and are prone to carry their wives off to
rusticate in the country."
Fanny shook her head at this and said that Camilla was
only funning, but Letitia was so shocked by these remarks
that it took her a minute or two to gather her wits for a
suitable rebuke, and she was forestalled by the entry of
Alethea, with Miss Griffin in tow.
Alethea, black eyes aglow, her curls in their usual
disarray, bade her cousin a civil good morning, cast a
knowing eye at Letitia and asked cheerfully what had put
her on her high horse now, and, tucking her arm into
Camilla's, began a passionate plea to be allowed to have
singing lessons with one Signor Silvestrini.
"Camilla, you love music as much as I do. You must see
that I have to learn with him. Why, there is no teacher to
match him in all London, in Europe!"
Camilla unwound her sister's arm. "I never heard of this
person; he is an Italian master, I suppose."
"I thought you were to take lessons with Mrs. Deane," said
Letty.
"Who will want me to sing sweet ballads and simper as I do
so," said Alethea impatiently. "Only you would think of
her for a moment, Letty. Now, Signor Silvestrini is a real
musician."
Letitia's eyes gleamed as she saw an opportunity to
preach. "Alethea," she cried. "Listen to the passion in
your voice; that alone is enough to warn us that your
music must be watched and the time you devote to it
controlled and curtailed."
Alethea rarely paid any attention to her eldest sister,
especially on the subject of music. Camilla saw that her
eagerness was going to provoke her into some hot outburst
that might alarm Fanny and would embroil them all in one
of Letty's tedious homilies on behaviour, emotion and the
degree of artistic indulgence suitable for a young lady —
that is, none at all, Letty's approved accomplishments
comprising no more than pale and innocuous water-colours,
dull pieces learned painstakingly for performance on the
pianoforte and a little exquisite embroidery.
This attitude wasn't shared, she knew perfectly well, by
their parents, who were pleased by Camilla's own
performance on the pianoforte and rejoiced in their
youngest daughter's much greater and very real love of
music, which was combined with considerable talent and
application.
Letty was being tiresome. Their parents had been gone for
a mere three days, and already she was inflicting her own
narrow way of thinking on them. Angry at not being left in
charge of Pemberley
and the family, she was nonetheless determined to take
control of her sisters.
Would Fanny stand up to her? Camilla doubted it. Letty was
quite as strong-minded as any of the Darcys, which was to
say strong-minded indeed; it was unfortunate that her
inclinations tended so very strongly to restriction and
repression and a numbing belief in propriety and
restrained behaviour.
Miss Griffin, a tall, gaunt woman with clever eyes,
intervened. "I did mention the matter of Signor
Silvestrini to Mr. Darcy before his departure," she said
in her deep voice. "He felt that we should approach him on
the matter of lessons, and that, if he would consent to
teach Alethea, for he takes very few new pupils, then it
should be arranged."
Alethea let out a yip of delight, Letty frowned, Fanny —
who hated dissension and, as an only child, felt uneasy
when the sisters argued — brightened. "That's quite
settled then. Only tell me when you would like the
carriage, Miss Griffin; I shall leave it all to you."
Camilla could see the light of battle in Letty's eye and
feared that a protesting letter would be off to Vienna by
the next post, there to await her parents' arrival.
"I think," said Fanny, when presently she found herself
alone in the room with Camilla, "that it would be very
fortunate if we were to find a suitable young man for
Letitia. To help her get over Tom's loss, you know, and
give her thoughts a new direction. Since he was a military
man, I'm inclined to think I should look around among my
acquaintance in the regiments; should she be likely to
fancy a fine, well-set-up hussar, do you suppose?"