“I do. Had he been to Lizzie’s liking, she would have wed him instead of stealing Fitz from Anne de Bourgh,” said Kitty.

“Well, her ladyship’s long dead, and her daughter with her,” said Mary on a sigh.

“And that is more evidence of God’s mysteriousness!”

“What are you wittering about, Kitty?”

“The attack of influenza that carried off both de Bourghs so quickly after Colonel Fitzwilliam’s marriage to Anne! Or should I say, General Fitzwilliam? He fell heir to Rosings and that huge fortune in time to be respectably widowed before someone else took dear Georgiana’s fancy.”

“Huh!” Mary emitted a snort of amusement. “Georgiana had no intention of settling for anyone except the Colonel-or the General, if you prefer. Though I cannot approve of unions between first cousins. Their eldest girl is so stigmatised that they have had to shut her away,” said Mary.

“The Bladon blood, dear. Lady Catherine, Lady Anne, and Lady Maria. Sisters all.”

“They married very rich men,” said Mary.

“And rightly so! They were the daughters of a duke,” Kitty protested. “Their papa was very high in the instep-the merest whiff of Trade was enough to kill the old gentleman. That was the General’s father-turned out to have made his fortune in cotton and slaves.”

“How ridiculous you are, Kitty! Is your life nought but gossip and gallivanting?”

“Probably.” The fire was dying; Kitty pulled the bell cord for Jenkins. “Do you really expect the Collinses to travel twelve miles to condole?”

“It is inevitable. Mr. Collins can scent a tragedy or a scandal a hundred miles away, so what are twelve? Lady Lucas will come with them, and we can expect to have Aunt Phillips here constantly. Only an attack of her lumbago prevented her coming today, but a good cry will cure it.”

“By the way, Mary, must Almeria sleep in my room? She has a tendency to snore, and I know there is a nice bedroom at one end of the attic. She is a lady, not an abigail.”