Rose and Lavender Water 01

Rose and Lavender Water

Part the First

1811, Hertfordshire

Bella could not remember it herself, but Mama told the story.  Elizabeth had been two years old, Jane three, when Mama had been with child, but this time with twins.  The birth had been difficult and after Mama had given birth to Mary—the third girl—the long awaited son had not been born, but instead a squalling girl with dark hair and violet eyes.  Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary had all favored Mama with honey blonde hair and blue eyes, but Bella favored no one.

Bella remembered it quite differently, but she would never tell a soul.  When she was eleven years old, Renee, her mom, had gone out on a date with someone whose name Bella could never quite recall.  Renee had never come home.  Bella had waited, biting her nails, long into the night.  She waited past midnight, past one, past two, past three.  When it was five in the morning, she took a flashlight and went out the door into the neighborhood in Phoenix, Arizona and fell asleep in the local playground somewhere around sunrise, the flashlight beside her.

She woke up in a bed in a room she shared with Mary, her twin, who looked as different from her as light does from dark.  Everyone called her “Isabella”—a name which not even Grandma Marie called her when she was angry—and Bella fell into her new life in bewilderment, learning how to curtsey, sing, and embroider cushions.

Years passed in this way, and if Bella remembered Renee or Grandma Marie, she did not tell anyone. 

She and Mary looked like two sides of the coin.  They had the same jaw line, the same nose, the same eye shape.  However, where Mary had sky blue eyes, Bella’s were a dark violet.  Renee had once told her they were Quileute eyes, but Bella could not quite remember what that meant.  They had the same forehead, but where Mary’s hair fell in honey blonde locks with a natural wave, Bella’s was a straight, dark brown that was nearly as black as the midnight sky, depending on how the light fell on it.

Jane and Elizabeth looked like Mary.  The three were obviously sisters.  Only Bella stood out.

The neighborhood much remarked upon it, but one only had to see Mary and Bella stand next to each other, see the turn of their faces, to see the resemblance, which quelled any rumors.

The years passed, and if Jane surpassed her sisters in loveliness, then Elizabeth surely surpassed them in wit.

Mary was skilled in the pianoforte, although she surely could not sing, but Bella performed with her in a rich alto.  The two sisters were often asked to perform at gatherings as soon as they were out at the age of seventeen, and Mary was happy to showcase her abilities with her sister at her side.

Both sisters were shy.  Mary was bookish, often reading Fordyce’s sermons, while Bella preferred a volume of Shakespeare or Pope.

Bella also loved horse riding, much unlike her sister Elizabeth who was afraid of horses and often went on walks of the country.  When Bella was a young lady out in society, she was wearing a dress of deep rose, her deep brown hair placed in a bun at the base of her neck, and a bonnet on her head to appease her Mama.  She was wearing the scent of rose water unlike Mary who favored lavender water.

She had saddled her horse Nell, a chestnut mare, and rode in the direction of Netherfield Park.

Bella loved the fields of Netherfield.  They were filled with bluebells and she would often ride there with a book of poetry and lie in the bluebells and read for hours.  Old Mr. Pitt had gone to Bath two years afore and certainly would not mind as he was not there. 

While reading The Rape of the Lock for surely the twelfth time, she heard hoofbeats, and she looked up over the bluebells, suddenly aware that she had discarded her bonnet, her nose in direct sunlight and therefore prone to freckling—or so Mama would say.

“Well,” a masculine voice said, “is she not a fine prospect?”

Bella stood, book in hand, and shaded her eyes, looking about her, only to see two horsemen not twenty feet from her.

“I think, Bingley, you have failed to notice that we are in company,” a second man said and he tipped his hat to her.  This second man, the one who had noticed her, was wearing a green coat and a striped cravat, with dark curls and verdant eyes.  He was unbearably handsome, handsomer than either of the Lucas boys whom Bella danced with at the Assemblies, and she immediately curtseyed, despite being in a field of bluebells.

The first man, the one who had first asked the opinion of Netherfield Park, turned his horse toward Bella as he had been facing away from her, and smiled at her. 

He was certainly less handsome and more boyish, with a crop of ginger hair and freckles.  Mama would certainly say that he had been in the sun and would prescribe lemon juice for his nose and cheeks.  “Ah, Madam!  I see we have disturbed an occupant of the house.”

“Netherfield Park is not mine,” she told him, lifting up her chin so she could look him in the eyes. “Mr. Pitt does not mind if I partake of his bluebells.”

“Ah,” the ginger haired one said.  “We have disturbed you, nonetheless.  I am Bingley of Scarborough.”

Scarborough.  Scarborough was a city.  No one was ‘of Scarborough.’  It was not an estate.  He was certainly not a gentleman then.  If he was looking at Netherfield Park, then he was looking to rent an estate and improve his prospects.

She curtsied again.  “Miss Isabella Bennet of Longbourn.”

Looking over at the second gentleman, she noticed that he was staring at her.  Perhaps he was unused to women loitering amongst a field of bluebells.

He shook himself.  “Darcy of Pemberley.”  Ah, so he was a gentleman, then.

She lowered her eyes in deference.  Indicating the great house behind her, she told them, “Netherfield Park is as you see her.  She is the greatest house in the neighborhood.  Old Mr. Pitt has been in Bath these past two years since.”

“She is a fine house,” Bingley agreed, turning his eyes from Bella and looking up at the house.  “What do you think, Darcy?”

Darcy was again regarding Bella, who had definitely noticed.  She hoped he was looking at her to admire.  If Bingley took Netherfield, would that mean that Darcy would be with him?  Was Darcy of Pemberley married or single?  There was no way to tell unless she inquired after his health and after the health of Mrs. Darcy.  Then he would hopefully indicate if Mrs. Darcy was his mother or his wife, but that was grasping.  Bella was too shy to even try to be grasping.  She certainly could not manage it coyly, not like Elizabeth.  Elizabeth would find out immediately during a conversation.

She glanced between the two men.

“I think it an excellent prospect,” Darcy returned, his eyes lingering on Bella before turning to Bingley.  “Surely Caroline and Mrs. Hurst would like it.”

Bingley considered.

Who was Caroline?—Bella wondered.  Was she Darcy’s or Bingley’s wife?

“I do think my sisters would enjoy being settled for the Autumn before returning to Town for Christmastide.”

Bella’s ears perked up.  Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were Bingley’s sisters?

She looked up at Bingley and considered him.  Well, at least Bingley was single.  Mama would be glad to hear it.  That did not say anything for Darcy.

“Have you come from Town?” Bella asked carefully, not wanting to intrude.  She looked at the sky.  “You will have fine riding weather back if you intend to make it before dinner unless you mean to stay in Meryton.”

Darcy regarded her again.  “And you, Miss Bennet,” he asked.  “How far is Longbourn?”

“It is the neighboring estate,” she told him, “on the other side of Meryton.  It is a three mile ride.”

He looked about.  “I do not see your horse.”

Bingley was now looking between them.

“That is because, Mr. Darcy, I have not whistled for her.”

Darcy looked astonished.

Bella’s Quileute father, Charles Swan, whose grandfather had been a member of the Washington tribe before marrying a Pale Face woman and moving to Forks, had taught her how to whistle one summer she had spent with him before she had gone looking for Renee and fallen asleep in a playground. 

Holding Darcy’s green gaze, she pursed her lips and whistled.  From the other side of Netherfield Park, where there was green grass for Nell to graze from, Bella heard her mare trot over, fully saddled.  Nell came straight over, tossing her head at the reins in her mouth and then stop at Bella’s side.

Darcy and Bingley were clearly surprised.

“That is an extremely well trained horse!”  Bingley complimented.

“I trained her myself,” Bella told him as she opened the side flap of the saddle and deposited her poetry book.  Then, reaching down for her bonnet, she secured it on her head, knotting the ribbons in a large and showy deep crimson bow jutting to the side of her chin just as Mama had taught her.  Next, with Darcy and Bingley still watching her, she inserted her foot in the saddle and hoisted herself elegantly up into the side saddle and adjusted her skirts.  It was a warm August day and she regretted that she was wearing a red pelisse, but it could not be helped.  “Shall I escort you gentleman on the road to London or Meryton, or would you like to see more of the exterior of the house?”

Bingley looked over at Darcy, a question in his pale green eyes.

Darcy, however, was still regarding Bella.  “If you could show us the house, Miss Bennet,” he requested.

“Of course,” she answered cheerfully, surprised at her boldness and she clacked at her horse, turning her toward Netherfield Park and leading the way.

Bingley and Darcy fell into a trot beside her.

“I take it,” Darcy opened as they rounded the corner of Netherfield toward the stables, “that your excellent father is still with us.”

“Indeed,” she answered.  “Papa is one of the foremost gentlemen the neighborhood.  The title may have to go to Sir William Lucas of Lucas Lodge, who was knighted by King George for giving a most excellent speech at St. James’s Palace, but we do not begrudge him that.”  She offered Darcy a small smile. 

She was now riding beside Darcy with Bingley on the other side.

“And do you have brothers?” Bingley asked from his place.

“Three sisters,” she answered.  “My sister Mary and I are the youngest two—twins,” she qualified.  “I am afraid I am very unlike my sisters.”  She stopped in front of the stables and waited for Darcy and Bingley to likewise stop.  “You can see the stables are well placed for a house of this size.”

“Yes,” Bingley agreed eagerly.  “Quite extensive.”

“I have never counted,” Bella admitted carefully to him.  “I would know not if you would want to.”

“There are well over twenty stalls,” Darcy told her.  “I have an eye for such things.”

“Indeed,” Bella agreed.  She looked over at him, and he was regarding her again.  Their eyes met, green to violet, and she paused a moment, before pulling on Nell’s reins to continue.  She pushed Nell into a trot and rode a little from the house toward the fields.

She could hear Darcy and Bingley behind her and when she was a good half mile out and at a good point, she stopped, waiting for them.

“The fields are to the left,” she told them, pointing.  “The Hatfields’ orchards are to the right.  You can just see them there on the edge of the property.”

“Do the Hatfields harvest apples?” Darcy asked perceptively.

“Yes,” Bella agreed.  “The crop should just be coming in.  The Lucas boys like to sneak in and steal apples and then leave them on our windowsill for me and Mary, but we always just pick them up and return them to Mr. Oliver and Miss Joanna, or pay them a penny if we eat them for our breakfast,” she admitted, shrugging.

“How do you know it is the Lucas boys?” Bingley asked, having come around on Bella’s other side.

She gave him a small smile.  “Why, because they always ask if we found the apples, of course!  They are quite ridiculous.  Joshua Lucas is only just sixteen, but he will make a nuisance of himself.”

A slight tension went out of Darcy’s shoulders and Bella wondered at it.  “Boys often muck about when they are but sixteen,” Darcy said.

“I will have to trust your word, Mr. Darcy,” she told him, “as I would not know myself.—Come see the front of the house.”  She looked over at Darcy and saw his green gaze on her again.  Bella really hoped he had not a wife.

They all turned and rode back toward the house. 

Coming around to the front of Netherfield Park, they saw the front with the split staircase, the lower servants’ entrance, and the upper entrance for the family. 

“As I said,” Bella told them.  “She is the greatest house in the neighborhood.  I am certain she will be most comfortable for Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”

“Yes,” Bingley agreed.  “I think Caroline will like it immensely.”  He looked over at Bella, whose gaze met his, and Bingley smiled boyishly. 

“When do you mean to take possession of her?” Bella inquired as she pulled her horse away and allowed Bingley and Darcy to lead her across the fields in the direction of the road that led out away from Meryton and in the direction of the post road.

“In less than a fortnight,” Bingley replied affably.  “I mean to try my hand at an estate before I make a purchase of one myself.”

“And will you make up the house party, Mr. Darcy?” Bella asked, “or is Mr. Bingley to start this endeavor on his own?”

“No,” Darcy told her.  “I mean to make up the party.  Perhaps I shall send for my sister although she is currently in London with the Masters.”

No mention of a Mrs. Darcy then, Bella noticed.  It was not like for a man to send for his sister and not for his wife.  She smiled secretly to herself.  It was near certain then that she and her sisters would have two new dance partners.

“In about a month, on the next full moon,” she told them, “we are to have a local assembly.  Perhaps you should get to know your new neighbors then, sirs.  Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst might also like a dance although it will be a country affair.”

The road split toward London and then out toward Essex.

They reined in their horses and Darcy pulled up directly beside Bella.  It was Bingley, however, who spoke.

“How absolutely pleasant!” he declared.  “A country dance.  Darcy, we must be sure to attend.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, not looking at his friend, but instead looking straight into Bella’s violet eyes.  “I take it, Miss Bennet, you, and of course Miss Mary, are out.”

“Yes,” she agreed, adjusting her reins and blushing scarlet, glad that the pelisse covered much of her chest and that her bonnet shaded her neck and cheeks.  “We are out although Mary does not care to dance.”  She smiled at the thought of Mary.  Bella and Mary were both quite clumsy in their childhood, but where Bella had learnt grace through dance and riding, poor Mary never quite outgrew it and preferred to sit out of a dance in fear that she might trip.

(Bella sometimes tripped on her hem, but she often lifted her skirts while walking which was unladylike but very practical.)

“Then I shall be glad for a dance partner,” Bingley told her gaily.  “Miss Bennet.  It has been a pleasure.”  He tipped his hat to her. 

She nodded to him.  “Mr. Bingley.  I shall look forward to seeing you at the Assembly.”  She turned to Darcy whose eyes were upon her again.  “Mr. Darcy.  I hope you shall enjoy Netherfield Park as much as your friend.”

“Indeed, Madam.  How can I do anything but with such happy prospects before me?”  It was clear that he meant that she was the happy prospect.  His eyes held hers for a long moment and Bingley was looking between them in confusion, having finally realized that Darcy was acting singularly.

“Well, Darcy,” he prodded.

Darcy held Bella’s gaze for one moment longer before turning to his friend.  “Bingley.”

Bingley spurred on his horse and they turned back onto the post road and Bingley took off.  Darcy glanced one more time at Bella, tipped his hat, and followed after his friend.  Bella looked after the two gentlemen, wondering at them, and considered what she should tell Mama.

When she arrived back at Longbourn, Mama was having a fit of nerves and Elizabeth was nowhere to be found.  Bella immediately found the smelling salts and waved them under Mama’s nose before calling for a strong pot of tea.  Now was not the time to tell Mama the news.

Dinner did not seem the time to mention it either.

When she crawled into bed that night, she looked over at Mary and grabbed the copy of Fordyce’s sermons she was reading.

“Bells!” Mary exclaimed.  “That was uncalled for.”

“I have a secret to impart to you,” Bella told her, marking Mary’s place and setting it on her bedside table where it would easily be in reach.  “But do not tell Elizabeth.”

Bella and Elizabeth did not get along.  Elizabeth often claimed that Bella was a trial, although Bella was uncertain as to why.  A resentment had built up between them in childhood, that had only increased when Mary and Bella had entered into society and had taken some of Mama’s attention.  Elizabeth, Bella secretly believed, had a jealous streak.  She strongly reminded Bella of Renee, and not in a favorable way.

Mary’s sky blue eyes widened.  “You know I should never tell Elizabeth a secret of yours.  What is it?”

Bella looked toward the door and seeing it open a crack, she got up to close it.  “I rode to Netherfield today.”

“That is not a secret,” Mary complained, reaching over picking up her copy of Fordyce’s sermons again.

Tiptoeing back toward the bed so the floorboards did not creak, Bella perched herself at the end of the bed she and Mary shared.  “That is not the secret, silly.  Two gentlemen came upon me on horseback.  They were there to appraise Netherfield Park as one of the gentlemen is thinking of letting Netherfield for some duration.”

Mary’s breath hitched.  “Did you speak to the gentlemen?  Were either an officer?”  This last question held great import and Mary held her breath expectantly.

Bella took her sister’s hand.  “Neither were an officer,” she told her carefully, “and if one were I would have inquired of him directly.  However, I spoke to the gentlemen at great length.”  Bella climbed into the bed and squealed.  “Mr. Bingley is the younger of the two gentlemen and he is the one who is thinking of taking up the estate.  He is to bring his sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.  It is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, however, who is most handsome.  I told them of the Assembly, and both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy assured me that they would be moved into the property in time to attend.”

Mary squeezed her hands.  “You say Mr. Darcy is handsome?”

“And he is unmarried.  He mentioned sending for his sister, but never mentioned a wife.” 

Mary regarded Bella for a moment.  “This is unlike you, Bells.  You are not prone to fancies.  It is I who has whimsical imaginings that will never come true.”  Her voice had turned sad now and she looked out toward the window where a single, solitary candle was lit.

“If your officer had eyes anything like Mr. Darcy’s,” Bella told her, “I can well see why yu have waited these three years for him to return to you.”

Mary smiled a coy smile to herself.  “I shall await the Assembly then, my dear sister, and we shall hope Mr. Darcy does not like the look of Jane or Elizabeth, though it is indeed true that Jane is the prettiest of us and Mama should like it most if Jane were to catch a gentleman of worth.”

“Mama,” Bella reasoned, “will wish for Jane to catch Mr. Bingley because the reports will all be of Mr. Bingley as his name will be on the lease.  Mr. Darcy will be free to ask me to dance as I believe he will.  He was regarding me as Joshua Lucas regards apple pie.”

The sisters descended into giggles at the comparison.

When they quieted and were lying on the pillows, facing each other with the sheets pulled up over their heads, only the candlelight on Mary’s side of the bed casting a glow over them, Mary whispered, “Tell me of their complexion.  You say Mr. Darcy is handsome, but you have never professed a man in the neighborhood handsome before.  I do not know what measure of a man you would find attractive.”

“Well,” Bella sighed, thinking of him.  “Mr. Darcy seemed tall.  At least he was taller than Mr. Bingley atop his horse.  He had a fine face with the most startling green eyes.  His nose was well proportioned and not at all ill on his face.”

Mary shoved her shoulder.  “Bells, that tells me nothing!”

“No,” Bella agreed, “and I cannot draw.”

“What of his hair?  Was it a fine head of hair?”

“Very fine,” Bella confessed, snuggling deeper.  “It was a riot of brown curls, much more brown than mine.  A true brown.  You know how my hair can seem like midnight at times.”

“Indeed,” Mary agreed.  “And Mr. Bingley?”

“A slighter figure and certainly a younger man.  He seemed boyish in his manner and his looks.”  She laughed.  “He had freckles on his face and hair a deep ginger with pale green eyes.  Not handsome at all I should wager!”

“Oh dear,” Mary sighed.  “Still, I daresay Mr. Bingley shall be a good dance partner and a good neighbor.  Neither requires good looks, only an amenable character.”

Bella sighed.  “You and your philosophizing, Mary.”

“You,” Mary accused, “are too taken to poetics with your Pope,” she poked Bella’s shoulder, “and your Byron,” she poked again, “and your Shakespeare,” another poke, “and Marlowe.”  She made to poke again but Bella caught her hand.

Bella was smiling nonetheless.  “Stop that.”

“Not with your bad taste in poetry.”

“It is not bad taste,” Bella told her.  “Your sermons are bad taste.”

“Reverend Avery would disagree with you.”

“Reverend Avery is a man of eight and thirty and enjoys his sermonizing every Sunday.  I swear you enjoy listening to him more than Mrs. Avery and Miss Avery.”

“And what if I do?” Mary asked.  “It is only because I understand—”

“Oh hush!” Bella demanded, used to the familiar argument.

Mary rolled her eyes, showing her good nature.  Sobering, she asked, “Shall you tell Mama?”

“I thought I would,” Bella told her carefully, “but she was prone to hysterics this afternoon, and I would not want to bring on her a need for her smelling salts or send her to bed with her ecstasies.  Better to let Mr. Bingley move into Netherfield Park and call upon Papa and have Papa tell her.”

“But what if Mr. Bingley should call upon you?  What if Mr. Darcy should come with him?” Mary worried.

“Do you think that is likely?” Bella asked worriedly, chewing her lower lip.

“I think it may be a politeness a gentleman newly in the neighborhood would consider if he has already met you.  You did tell him you were Isabella Bennet of Longbourn?”

“Of course I did!” Bella told her.

“Then we must consider it.” 

Bella sighed.  “This is a problem for another day.  I cannot do anything about it tonight.  Mama is already to bed and we should not even have the candle lit.  You know how Papa gets when he finds any of us reading late at night.”

It was Mary’s turn to roll her eyes.  “He thinks because we are women, we will strain our eyes when he stays up late in his study.”

“It is unreasonable, is it not?” Bella asked.

And with that the sisters blew out the candle and curled into the covers, Mary to dream of sermons and playing the pianoforte and Bella to dream of Darcy.