“I beg to differ. It was lovely. Perhaps not of the quality to worry Mr. Beethoven that he has serious competition, but certainly enjoyable to hear.”
Georgiana laughed at Lizzy's tease. “No, I doubt any true composers need be threatened.” She sighed, her eyes suddenly dreamy. “It was fun to try my hand at writing. Lizzy,” she paused, speaking haltingly when she resumed, “do you believe, as Uncle says, that someday females will be able to… be more… be accepted beyond… not be frowned upon or chastised for pursuing… something else… or. Oh, I am making no sense!”
Lizzy laughed. “I understand you, Georgiana. Your uncle is a bit of a revolutionary, is he not?”
Georgiana nodded, giggling. “Indeed. Although I think he usually says radical comments just to see William's face and enter a debate. Still, it would be nice to have an option in life.”
“Do you not wish to be a wife and mother?”
“Oh yes! Yes, I do!” Georgiana nodded emphatically. “Very much! But,” she rose then, pacing with uncharacteristic energy, “there are times, when I am listening to music, or learning a new piece, when I will see notes upon a sheet in my mind. New notes, joined uniquely as the sounds play within my head, forming sections and whole movements. Cadenza, scherzo, ostinato, toccata. Melodies I have never heard before. Unfamiliar arrangements.”
She stopped, sighing and shrugging. “So I write them down, sometimes. Wondering if they are truly my own ideas or lost remembrances.”
“I see nothing wrong with you placing your musical visions upon paper, Georgiana. If this is a gift you have been granted, then explore it! Creating music, even if only enjoyed by a few, is a beautiful, worthwhile endeavor.”
“You do not think it silly? A waste of time?”
“Of course not. Why is it any different than painting or weaving? If you enjoy writing your own songs, you should. I know I would love to hear more. How many have you composed?”
“Only a few sonatas, an impromptu, and I am working on a nocturne. All of a romantic bent, thus confirming my hopes in life and lack of wild inspiration.” She finished with a laugh.
“What an accomplished woman,” Lizzy whispered with true pride and awe. “Your brother would be immeasurably proud.”
“Truly?”
“Without a doubt. He adores you, Georgiana, and only wishes for your happiness. You have no idea how proud he is of you. Play any of your tunes, especially the one you played for me, and he will probably burst from the joy.”
“Did you know that women are allowed to enroll as students at the Conservatoire in Paris?” She glanced at a nodding Lizzy, her cheeks rosy and voice wistful. “It must be amazing to be surrounded by people desiring to learn nothing but music. To be immersed in music all day. To meet great musicians and singers and composers.”
“You will travel to the Continent, Georgie. You know William plans for it. There you will encounter innumerable opportunities to enhance your skills. Paris is going nowhere and the Conservatoire will wait. Of course, this is provided you do not fall in love with the first man you meet at Almack's next spring.”
“Oh, heaven forbid! William would surely have a heart seizure! I think he would sooner allow me to take the Grand Tour or dwell in Paris than that! Frankly I pray I am refused so I do not have to face such agony.”
Lizzy laughed. “I am sorry to disappoint, my dear, but the odds of that are miniscule.”
“One never knows, Lizzy. The Patronesses are whimsical in their approval. I heard that Angelica Cole was refused and Mary Ward!” Georgiana sat next to Lizzy, her face pale. “William would be devastated if I was denied, but then I am terrified of dancing with all eyes upon me. Oh my, I truly am a mouse as Richard insists!”
“Silly girl! First, Richard calls you his 'little mouse' because you are sweet, adorable, and mild. Second, no Darcy will be refused at Almack's. And third, you have had some practice dancing while in Wales, and after your presentation at Court, Almack's will be nothing.”
Now it was Georgiana who laughed. “You say that because appearing at Court is what you dread!”
“Indeed I do,” Lizzy shuddered. “One look at the gate before St. James's Palace and I knew I never wanted to walk through them. How can you be so complaisant? I was perfectly content to forego all the 'coming out' nonsense. Why does William insist I must?”
“Because you are Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley. He is proud of you and wants everyone to know how immensely fortunate he is.”
“I shall trip over the formal gown and train, I know I shall. Or forget the proper phrases. The Prince will be insulted and I shall be mortified.”
“Nonsense. Aunt Madeline will prepare us adequately, and besides, it is in and out within five minutes. I, on the other hand, will suffer the trauma of a whole evening being stared at and probably tripping over my own feet. It shall be torture!”
“Be cheered, dear sister. William will be there with you as chaperone, most likely glowering at every eligible male in the dance hall, so none of them will have the audacity to ask you to dance anyway!”
Darcy resumed his forays into the storage areas of the attic that had begun with the quest for baby furniture. Along the way he discovered numerous boxes containing a plethora of infant toys, memorabilia, school implements, childhood clothing, and more. Additionally there were the odd pieces of furniture, old clothing and trinkets, and assorted items that frequently sparked a memory. Darcy was overjoyed and rather amazed, the hours spent in investigating the past quite pleasurable. He knew his parents had amassed a large quantity of keepsakes, their penchant for saving valued items a character trait passed on to their children, he just had not realized the breadth. Of course there was also an enormous quantity of what could only be labeled junk: objects that were clearly decades old, moldering and decaying into dust. His organized mind shuddered at the rampant chaos, and although he did not need to add another chore to his docket, he ended up embarking on an extensive cleaning mission. The household staff wasn't exactly thrilled by the expedition but did their assigned duties, while dozens of families in the nearby communities benefited from the used clothing and furniture.
Therefore, what had begun as a simple retrieval of cradle and rocking chair ended up being a massive scourging and a chance to revisit past memories.
Thus it was common during those long days of autumn for Lizzy to discover her dusty spouse surrounded by boxes and scattered piles of oddities. One such day, not too long after their return from the Lathrops, she heard the ghost of his laughter reaching her ears as she approached the narrow stairs leading to the eastern attic where the family artifacts were accumulated. She smiled as she mounted the steps, grinning further at the sight of him sitting on the wooden floorboards with long legs crossed amid the cobwebs and chaos. Coats and cravat had been discarded in the stifling heat of the airless room, folded neatly over a threadbare chair, his fine linen shirt smudged with grime and hands filthy. He was reading a tattered book of sorts, grinning and chuckling.
“What is so humorous?”
He glanced up at his wife, motioning for her to come forward and clearing a space amongst the clutter by his side. “Remember I told you that when I was a boy I attempted to write a story about traveling to another planet? My mother kept it!” He shook his head. “I never spoke of it to a living soul so have no idea how she confiscated it. She kept everything! Every report I wrote, test I took, all my tutor's comments and marks, love notes to my family. Georgie's as well. Her boxes are over there.” He waved to a group assembled in perfect order against a far wall. “I will bring those down so she can look through them.” He shook his head in amazement. “Unbelievable. I fear I have not been so diligent with Georgie's school work, but think Mrs. Reynolds has as some of the items I saw are from well after Father died.”