‘It does not seem fair, does it?’ said Lizzy. ‘To think that Mr Darcy once paid such a sum to rescue her reputation! And here she is, twice-married, entertaining strangers and pouring port at The Craven Heifer, flourishing like the green bay tree – and because of her history, my father will still barely allow poor Kitty to leave the house, unless it is to visit me or Jane.’

Charlotte could not contain another burst of mirth. ‘Never before was a blameless party so thoroughly punished for the sins of another, but only if you consider visits here, or to the Bingleys, a punishment. Lucky Kitty, I would say. Truly, Eliza, it is a great pleasure to be here. And not because of the grand apartments and grounds, but because of the sense of welcome I feel, the peace, the time to reflect. I cannot think when I last enjoyed such repose.’

Her friend squeezed her hand affectionately: ‘I am glad you find it peaceful here, my dear Charlotte, and hope that it provides balm for your heart. It is restful – is it not? – being here together, like our maiden days. I am grateful for your company, and I feel better for your presence, and that of the girls. It was kind of you to come.’

CHAPTER X

WITH THEIR DAYS AT PEMBERLEY settling into a routine, Charlotte, for the first time in her life, found herself at leisure – a novel sensation. One morning Mrs Darcy was closeted with the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, checking the month’s accounts, and a nursemaid whose brother was a shepherd on the estate had taken the girls to visit his flock, and witness the antics of the lambs.

Charlotte had already taken her customary walk around the grounds, and now she sat by an unnecessary fire in one of the grand parlours, all ruddy wood panelling and chinoiserie. She yawned and stretched. She had written all her letters – Pemberley had a supply of paper and ink superior in both quantity and quality to anything she had ever seen – prompting her to write to her mother and Maria rather more frequently than she did when at home. Now she found herself with nothing to do. Idleness was anathema to her, and it occurred to her that she had the opportunity to practise her music for the first time in years. She considered which instrument should be subjected to her stumbling fingers. Pemberley had at least four: an imposing ebony six-octave grand piano in the Great Hall, a slightly smaller Broadway in the saloon, a beautifully painted harpsichord considered the property of Georgiana, and an older and inferior pianoforte in the schoolroom that had once been the domain of governesses.