Pemberley to Waterloo: Georgiana Darcy's Diary, Volume 2 (9 page)

Monday 26 December 1814

I did not break off at that point in the story last night just for dramatic effect. Kitty knocked on my door, and I had to quickly close this journal and slide it out of sight into the drawer of my dressing table. Because whatever she's done, it would be needlessly cruel to let her know that I was recounting the whole ugly little story in my diary.

To tell the story in order from the point where I left off, though:

Edward stopped short at the sight of Lord Carmichael and Kitty, and the hand that was holding the candle jerked with surprise, sending a spatter of hot wax onto the floor. But then he turned to me and said, very calmly, "Georgiana, I think you'd better escort Miss Bennet to her room."

Kitty opened her mouth and looked sulky, as though she were about to argue. Her hair was coming down, her lips were slightly swollen, and her cheeks were flushed. But then she glanced at Edward's face, and whatever she saw there must have made her change her mind, for she ducked her head and went swiftly past him towards the passage to her room.

I looked at Edward. He looked angry, but in a measured, composed way, and not the frighteningly controlled fury I've sometimes seen in him before. So I followed Kitty down the hall.

Though really I should not have bothered. She was alternately sullen and defiant and said only that she hadn't done anything so very dreadful, and no one here could punish her in any case, and that she would run away if anyone tried to stop her seeing Lord Carmichael again.

Finally my fingers were twitching with the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. So I walked out and shut the door on her and went downstairs to my brother's study. Since the ball was still going on, I assumed that was where he and Elizabeth and Edward would be found.

And in fact they were there, Edward and Fitzwilliam standing together at the hearth and looking grave, Elizabeth sitting on the sofa, her dark lashes sparkling with tears.

I slipped into the room and came to stand by Edward, putting my hand into his. "What's happened?" I asked him. "Where is Lord Carmichael?"

Edward turned, and the lines of worry and temper on his face lightened a little as his fingers tightened around mine. "Gone."

"Edward, you didn't--"

"Hit him?" Edward finished for me. He gave me a quick, wry flash of a smile. "No. However much I may have wanted to. He left here wholly unharmed. The trouble is, he refuses point-blank to marry Kitty. He says he has no reputation to lose, and he has no concern whatsoever for hers."

I wasn't surprised, really--although I did wish that my opinion of Lord Carmichael's character hadn't been so accurate.

Because of course marriage to Lord Carmichael would be the only solution, as far as saving Kitty's public character is concerned. Only Edward and I saw her and Lord Carmichael in the gallery--but that's only so far as we knew. Others might have seen them if anyone besides Edward and me went upstairs. Or some of the servants might. And others could well have seen them slip away from the ball together, which in itself would be enough to ruin Kitty's reputation, when a man of Lord Carmichael's character is concerned.

It may be cruel, it may be unfair to think that Kitty could be ruined forever, where nothing worse happens to Lord Carmichael than that he is confirmed as a rake. But it is the truth.

My brother cleared his throat. "He might be persuaded, though." His mouth twisted with distaste, but he said, "The fellow plainly likes money. He might--"

Elizabeth stopped him, though. "No!"

I've rarely seen Elizabeth truly upset; she's so good at seeing the humour in almost anything. But she was upset last night. Her eyes were swimming and twin spots of angry colour burned on her pale cheeks. "No, Darcy, I won't let you!" Her hands clenched. "It's unthinkable that you should be forced into buying a husband for yet another of my empty-headed sisters!"

She meant, of course, that just over two years ago when her youngest sister Lydia eloped with George Wickham, he would never have married her if my brother hadn't intervened to settle Wickham's copious debts and buy him a place in the army.

Fitzwilliam sat down at once on the sofa beside her and pulled her towards him, cradling her head against his shoulder and stroking her hair. "You can't think that there's any price I wouldn't pay to spare you worry, love."

Elizabeth shut her eyes and rested her head against him, tears slipping from under her closed lids. My brother hugged her harder. "Please, Lizzy, don't cry." He searched through his pockets for a handkerchief and finally found one, using it to wipe her cheeks. "Listen to me, love. We'll find some solution. I promise you." He kissed her temple.

Finally Elizabeth took the handkerchief from him, pressed it against her eyes, and then gave him a watery smile. "I'm sorry. I seem to be living up to everything everyone always says about women close to confinement."

Edward's eyes met those of my brother over the top of Elizabeth's head, and Edward cleared his throat. "Why don't Georgiana and I go back to the ball and see if any rumours are circulating about Kitty and Lord Carmichael? If anyone else did see them together, we'll surely soon pick up word of it. And that will help determine what's to be done."

My brother nodded to that. "Thank you."

Kitty must either lead a charmed life--or else Fate was simply sparing Elizabeth worry--because Edward and I didn't hear so much as a whisper about Kitty or Lord Carmichael all the rest of the night.

I even sought out Caroline. Because if anyone knew of any scandalous rumours, I was sure it would be her. And that she wouldn't in the slightest mind repeating them. But she didn't say anything--even when I ventured to remark that Lord Carmichael had left the ball very early.

Finally the ball ended. Edward had found Frank at some point during the night and told him what had happened. And Frank offered to see Elizabeth up to bed while my brother and I bid good-bye to the departing guests. Fitzwilliam asked Edward if he'd come and talk things over with him now that the guests were gone. So Edward kissed me goodnight and went off with him--and I came back to my room. Which was when Kitty interrupted me just as I was writing down what had occurred.

And that was when I did begin to feel genuinely sorry for her. Her face was all splotched and her eyes red and swollen. And she must have tried darkening her lashes for the ball last night, because her tears had made the kohl or whatever it was run in black stripes down her cheeks.

She asked in a tear-clogged voice whether she could come in and talk to me, and then flung herself down onto the cushions of my window seat when I said she might.

"What's going to be done with me?"

She still sounded sullen, but somehow I didn't feel the same impatience I'd felt before.

"I'm not entirely sure," I told her honestly.

"Elizabeth will never let me stay. Not now." Kitty picked disconsolately at a loose thread on one of the cushions. "She's so--" But her voice broke before she could finish. Her face crumpled and she started to cry: great, ugly, tearing sobs. "All I wa-wanted," she finally choked out, "was to change my life like my sis-sisters did. Like Lizzy and Jane. They both made brilliant matches. Jane is married to Mr. Bingley--who is very wealthy indeed. And look at Lizzy. Mistress of a place like this!" She gestured all about her. "And I thought--I thought, why shouldn't I do just as well as they? They're not so very much pr-prettier than me. Why can't I be wealthy and have carriages and jewels and beautiful gowns, too?"

She was still crying, but the words tumbled out faster and faster. "Ever since I can remember, all my mother has talked about is how we girls must all find husbands and marry as soon as we can. Because of my father's estate being entailed away. Do you know what it's like to grow up that way? It's hor-horrid! And it only got worse, not better, when Lizzy and Jane married so well and went away. And Lydia, who was the only one of my sisters who was ever any fun, is married and gone now, too. It's just me and Mary left at home for my mother to parade around and push on any eligible man who sets foot within five miles of the house--never mind if the man is old or ugly or has false teeth and stinking bad breath. John asked me to marry him, and I said yes, just so that my mother would stop and I could finally get away. But do you know what my life will be like if I marry John? Just like my mother's! He has no estate of his own--he's a younger son. What if I have daughters? I'll be left spending all my time scheming to get
them
married off, pushing
them
at any rich men who happen to come their way."

Kitty scrubbed furiously at her eyes, then lifted her head. "Maybe Henry--Lord Carmichael--will still offer for me, though. I know he likes me. And he did ask me for my opinion on the upholstery of his new barouche. Don't you think that shows he
must
have serious intentions? I think it was his way of hinting that I would be riding in the barouche myself a great deal in future."

I looked at her, with the eyelash tint smearing her face, the pretty pink gown she'd worn for the ball looking crumpled and her hair bedraggled as the curls she'd laboured over began to unwind. Maybe I ought to have told her what Lord Carmichael had said of her. Maybe it is crueler to let her have false hope than none at all. But I could not do it, even so.

All I finally said was that it was very late, and she ought to try to get some sleep if she could. And Kitty yawned, scrubbed at her eyes again, nodded and went quite quietly back to her room.

That was last night; I have not seen her yet this morning.

I did see Edward, though. He was alone in the breakfast room when I came down, since Elizabeth was still upstairs in bed and my brother with her. Edward wasn't eating, just standing in front of the window and looking out towards the winter-bare trees.

We didn't speak for a moment, just stood together. And then: "Edward, what are you going to do?" I asked.

Edward slowly shook his head. "I don't know." There was a furrow between his brows. "On the one hand, it's not really any of my business to interfere." He rubbed the space between his eyes. "God, I feel like some gossiping elderly spinster just thinking about it. And yet on the other ... on the other, John Ayres is one of my officers. A friend. What kind of a friend would I be if I let him marry Miss Bennet in ignorance of all this?"

"What kind of man is Captain Ayres if he can't see Kitty's character for what it truly is?"

Edward turned from the window and looked down at me. "You think I ought to say nothing? Communicate nothing to John?" He didn't sound angry or as though he were arguing, only a tired and as though he honestly wanted my opinion.

"I don't know." In a way, it doesn't seem fair that Kitty should suffer no consequences for what she's done. She has treated Captain Ayres appallingly badly these last weeks, even if he knows nothing of it. Besides which, if she
had
been seen last night by anyone but Edward and me, the scandal would have rebounded not only on her, but on Elizabeth, as well, since Elizabeth is her sister--which I'm sure Kitty didn't even for a moment consider.

But I was sorry for Kitty last night--and I am still, now. I can remember what it was like last year, when my aunt de Bourgh was determined to see me wedded to the suitor of her choice. And I had my brother and Elizabeth both to support me and argue against my being pushed into a match.

I was remembering, too, the last thing Kitty had said to me the night before, just as she left my room--which was to beg me to ask Cook to save some of the pastries from last night's supper for Thomas and Jack. "I completely forgot to bring them up any sweets from supper last night," she said. "And I promised them so faithfully."

"I don't think you should say anything," I finally said to Edward. "Let me speak with Kitty before she leaves. She clearly can't stay here, not with Lord Carmichael still in the neighbourhood, and I'm sure Elizabeth will want her to go. But let her break the engagement to Captain Ayres herself. She can do that without any lasting damage to her reputation in the eyes of the world. And I'm sure I can get her to promise that she'll do it. She doesn't really want to marry him."

Edward looked surprised--and then he let out his breath and relaxed. "You're absolutely right. That's much the best way." He slid one arm around me and pressed a kiss into my temple. "I think I'd better turn into one of those thoroughly cowed husbands who always do everything their wives tell them. You're obviously much better at all this sort of thing than I am."

He was smiling, but the furrow between his brows hadn't entirely smoothed out. "Edward, are you ... all right?" I asked after a moment's hesitation.

"Yes ... no." Edward rubbed his forehead again. "Just a headache, that's all." And then he saw my hand and reached down to lift it in his. He smiled again--a quick, flashing smile. "You're wearing the ring."

I was, of course. The heart-shaped emerald of the
claddaugh
ring flashed deep green fire in the morning light. I tugged Edward's head down and kissed him. That's really why I'm so sorry for Kitty. Because she hasn't found her own Edward--and probably never will, if she keeps on the way she's begun.

"I never took it off last night," I whispered against Edward's lips. "I'm not
going
to take it off--not ever."

Later ...

Kitty is gone.

I did speak to Kitty her about Captain Ayres, as I promised Edward. I told her that Edward had agreed not to mention anything of Lord Carmichael to John Ayres. But that she really ought to end the engagement.

I felt more than awkward, saying such a thing to her. Because we are the same age, and it isn't in any way my business to dictate to her. But she didn't argue, just nodded and said, "You're right. I know you're right." Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away and swallowed. "I'll write to him as soon as I get back to London. Poor John. He'll be so upset. But he doesn't deserve to be married to me. And I ought to let him know as soon as possible, so that he's spared the trouble of coming to Longbourn to see me when next he gets leave."