At St. James’s

It was to be a gay party. Darcy and Elizabeth, with Colonel Fitzwilliam, were to escort the three young ladies to London. Anne de Bourgh, of course, had seen a goodly number of London seasons, being full ten years older than Georgiana and Kitty, but she thought it best to act the ingenue and hope that by the side of the younger girls she would catch some of their youthful spirits and dewy-eyed freshness.

Many a woman at eight and twenty eight is still as handsome, or more so, as a girl much younger; but it was not so with Anne. Her disappointment with her position in life, at being a spinster at such an age and not a grand lady in her own right, had given her a permanently sour, discontented expression. Even though Lady Catherine was most diligent about advising her to smile, innumerable times every day, it did seem as if her dire warnings of what would befall her if she did not do so, had been to some purpose, for Anne’s face really had frozen in its sullen pout.

“Goodness,” whispered Kitty to Georgiana, as they mounted the steps into the carriage, “is your cousin always so ill tempered? She looks as though it had rained her whole life long.”

Georgiana shook her head slightly. “No, Kitty. She is very much to be pitied,” she whispered back.

Kitty was amazed. “Pitied! Why, she is rich, she is Miss de Bourgh of Rosings. An heiress. I am sure many girls would be only too happy to change places with her.”

“I know what you mean,” answered Georgiana, “but we had best not speak of it now, but only try to be agreeable.”

“Well! I only hope being mewed up with her does not prevent us from having some good fun,” said Kitty, and flounced into her seat.

The carriage

Darcy helped Elizabeth to her place, opposite the young ladies.

“There, my dear. We shall be on the way in a very few moments. The luggage is all securely stowed, and I believe you have all the conveniences you need – ”

He stopped. “What is it, Darcy?” asked Elizabeth.

Heavy running footsteps were heard issuing from the house, and the ladies peered out the open carriage door to stare in amazement. It was Lady Catherine, precipitating herself along the gravel sweep of Rosings.

“Yoo hoo! Darcy! Fitzwilliam!” she cried. She had on her grey steel satin tippet, but her black lace bonnet was somewhat askew as she ran. Continue reading →

I recently completed the third draft of my next Jane Austen re-imagining, When They Fall in Love, but before diving into the next round of edits, I decided to re-read Pride and Prejudice cover to cover for the fourth time, and I opted for the annotated edition edited by Patricia Meyer Spacks. After finishing the book, I realized that this story is so rich in nuance that it would take a dozen readings to fully appreciate Austen’s work.

While reading the now familiar text, the editor pointed out a few things that I had failed to notice in my first three readings. For example, did you know Mr. Darcy’s uncle was a judge or that Wickham’s father was a solicitor before becoming steward at Pemberley? We all know that Mrs. Phillips was a gossip, but did you know that by offering a hot supper at one of her gatherings (cold suppers were now the norm) and by allowing her guests to play the card game lottery tickets, a rather noisy game, that she was displaying her vulgarity? How about this gem: Buried in Austen’s beautiful prose are hints that Sir Lewis de Bourgh was a parvenu. Why? Rosings Park was not old enough to have been passed down from generation to generation. How do you like them apples, Lady Catherine?

But then there was a show stopper—something I had missed entirely. From Chapter 33:

MORE than once did Elizabeth in her ramble within the Park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought; and to prevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him at first that it was a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was not merely a few formal enquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions—about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins’s happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings, and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying there too.* His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant any thing, he must mean an allusion to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed her a little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in the pales opposite the Parsonage. Continue reading →