“You are also being accepted into Lady Matlock’s house for the day. That will not go unnoticed. The association will help to dispel the vitriol that is spread.”
Elizabeth’s stomach began to churn. “Why is she so determined to have matters as she arranges?” All of the character assassination and rumour mongering was not to her liking at all!
The dowager sat back in her seat and sighed heavily. “Catherine has always been difficult. She was eight when I married her father, and already a spoilt and unruly child. Her mother, who had passed almost two years prior, had indulged her. She also resented me for replacing her mother, not that I ever tried to fill that role with her. I did try to befriend her, but Catherine was adamant she would never accept me.”
The older woman’s eyes glazed as if she could see her memories before her eyes. “My husband married his first wife according to his family’s wishes. It was by no means a love match. He had hoped they could at least be friends, but Lady Charlotte despised him, and reared Catherine to be a younger version of herself. Poor Gerald had been miserable married to that woman and was broken hearted to see his daughter emulate her to such a degree.”
“Did he ever attempt to reverse the damage?”
“Yes, he tried to spend time with her, taking her on picnics and horseback riding, but he was always disheartened by the time they returned. When she came out into society, she set her cap on the wealthiest of the ton, but she was obvious in her machinations and many of the mothers did not like her.
“After she had been out almost four years, Sir Lewis de Bourgh approached Gerald as a prospective spouse for Catherine. His family required a portion of her dowry to save Rosings. The estate had had several years of poor crop yields, and it had threatened their solvency.” She snapped from her reverie and turned to Elizabeth. “Gerald arranged the marriage and Catherine never forgave him.”
“At least Sir Lewis managed to bring Rosings back before he died,” interjected Mr. Darcy. “And Lady Catherine’s steward is competent. He manages to maintain Rosings despite Lady Catherine’s arguments when money is required for tenant issues or repairs.”
The dowager gave a small snort. “She only notices that when it takes away from her plans within the house.”
“But why would she be so adamant that her daughter marry Mr. Darcy?”
“Do you not see, dear?” she asked gently. “Fitzwilliam has an estate left to him by his uncle, where he is already master. In addition, he is the sole heir to Pemberley, which is a larger, grander estate than Rosings, and he would gain Rosings by marrying Anne. The amount of wealth he would possess would rank him rather high amongst the Ton in regards to income. His wealth could also garner him the attention that could gain him a title as well.”
She looked over to find Mr. Darcy perfectly still, but appearing as if he would rather be squirming in his seat. She took pity on him.
“Grandmamma, I thought Aunt Elinor requested us to arrive just after nine.”
The dowager turned towards the clock and rose. “I honestly do not understand why. No civilized person will call before eleven. Fitzwilliam, remember to join us if your business with Henry is concluded in time.”
Biting her lip, Elizabeth followed while she glanced back at Mr. Darcy. He was exhaling a deep breath and rising from the table himself. Their eyes caught and he gave her a half-hearted smile with a nod, which she reciprocated with a small wave just as she disappeared out the door.
Elizabeth might not have alerted the dowager to the time had she known why Aunt Elinor had wished them to arrive so early. Upon their arrival, Aunt Elinor pulled out the last weeks’ worth of newspapers and insisted they review all of the gossip columns. Elizabeth would have preferred to pull out her fingernails one by one than listen to the rubbish she was being exhorted to learn, but remained polite as she attended—well, she could not help but roll her eyes from time to time.
“Darcy is not disposed towards a fondness for society, but the two of you cannot make a habit of shunning the Ton,” lectured Aunt Elinor. “And just because you are aware of the latest rumours does not mean you must disperse them as much of our sex will do.”
She nodded as she listened to all of it, but it made her discomfited. How much of this drivel could really be true, all of these people denoted by initials and supposed exploits? Married men and the women on their arms at the theatre—was she their wife or their new mistress? Young men and their supposed liaisons with certain daughters of peers. Who was seen where. The amount of balderdash was astounding! Did people have nothing better to do with their lives?
The time before calls seemed to plod on and on, but it did end, and she was now seated with The Dowager Countess of Matlock, Lady Matlock, and her daughter, Lady Grace. Together, they faced their guests, Lady Winifred Burke, Countess of Bletchley and her mother, Lady Eudora Burke, The Dowager.
“I was at the theatre, you know,” Lady Bletchley tattled proudly as her mother tittered. “She was always so smug when she married Lord Harrington, but I suppose she has had her comeuppance.”
The dowager leaned in with her eyebrows raised. “You were at the theatre last night?”
Lady Bletchley appeared bewildered but answered regardless. “Yes, we have a box and attend on a regular basis.”
“I wondered how you found the performance.”
Elizabeth bit her cheek to prevent herself from laughing at Lady Bletchley’s continued bafflement, as well as the Dowager Countess of Matlock’s questions.
“Oh,” exclaimed Lady Bletchley. “To tell the truth, I did not watch much of the performance.”
Aunt Elinor clasped her hands in her lap. “Such a pity! I had heard this production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream was not to be missed.”
“Had you?” Lady Bletchley’s wide-eyed surprise and confusion was tempered by her mother, who leaned forward in her seat.
“My daughter enjoys Mrs. Radcliffe as opposed to Shakespeare,” her mother clarified. “I must admit, I did not watch much of the play either. Donkey heads and fairies do not appeal to me in a story. I would much prefer if they did away with that load of tripe.”
“If we shadows have offended,
Know but this and all is mended.
That you have but slumbered here,
While these visions did appear,
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding, but a dream.1”
Elizabeth recited the lines with confidence, which prompted the dowager to smile before she turned her attention to the elder Lady Bletchley.
“Miss Bennet brings up an excellent line. Shakespeare himself gave the viewer a way to dismiss the entire happenings of the play as a dream if they wished. Tis a shame you do not enjoy the work.”
With a smug grin, Lady Grace dipped her head a notch in Elizabeth's direction. “I find there are few writers I prefer more.”
Lady Bletchley glanced over at the mantel as she brushed off her skirt. “I believe it is time for us to take our leave. We hope to call on Lady Wheaton before it is too late.”
Aunt Elinor stood with her guests and stepped to the side to pull the bell. “Ah, please give Lady Wheaton our best. I do so enjoy her company.”
Lady Bletchley and her mother departed, and those remaining at Matlock house released a deep breath.
“Lord, what fools these mortals be2!” muttered Elizabeth, breaking the silence.
Lady Grace sputtered and laughed while her mother turned a surprised eye.
“Lizzy, for shame!” Aunt Elinor’s face was scolding, but she was unable to hold the expression, and broke down into chuckles of her own.
“Are you going to admonish me as well, Grandmamma?”
The dowager grinned. “No, dear I will not. As it pertains to those two, I believe you have made an accurate assessment of their characters.”
“I find it difficult to believe that Lord Bletchley married a woman as witless as his mother.” Aunt Elinor was shaking her head. “Perhaps so she would not
have the intelligence to discover when he visits his mistress?”
“Does he really?” Elizabeth’s eyes bulged in surprise.
“You will find it is quite common, Lizzy,” said the dowager.
By now, she had questioned her decision to marry Mr. Darcy dozens of times, and once again, began to doubt herself.
“You do know you should not have anything to worry about in regards to my cousin’s integrity?”
She started at Lady Grace’s voice, and their eyes met. She had warmed to Lady Grace almost the instant they were introduced: she had such a happy disposition and witty sense of humour.
“He has always been the most loyal of cousins. This betrayal of his father’s wishes is really quite the aberration.”
Her grandmother shook her head. “Not when you consider he is following the wishes of his mother, Grace. He was always closer to Anne than George.”
One side of Aunt Elinor’s lips quirked up. “She drew him out of his quiet nature, much in the way she did her husband.”
His grandmother then focused on Elizabeth. “I should think you will have much the same influence on Fitzwilliam.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side a bit as though she were studying her. “From what he has said of your first meeting, he had to have been more talkative than is his wont. I am certain you will be beneficial for him.”
Her cheeks warmed as the ladies smiled at her. It would be a relief if she could prove to be a good wife. If only she could forget she was about to wed a stranger.
Lord Matlock remained once Darcy left the club. They had met with the investigator Darcy had hired the previous day, learning the man had not unearthed anything other than what they already knew, so Darcy had departed in the hopes of catching his friend Bingley while his sisters were either out making calls or receiving calls of their own.
He chuckled to himself at his nephew’s plotting. He could not blame him for wanting to avoid that Bingley woman, and since he was not yet a “gentleman” Bingley could not join White’s, which meant Darcy was forced to brave Miss Bingley.
Surveying the room, he determined he was not yet desirous to venture home. Entertaining callers was not a preferred activity, and most days, he tried to hide in his study while the women took care of their business. The last thing Henry Fitzwilliam wished was to make small talk if he happened to encounter those women as they were leaving.
Cards were a pastime he did not indulge in, except upon rare occasions, but today, the game was preferable to venturing home for the next few hours. He rose and made his way through the dark masculine-decorated rooms to the gaming den. Serious gambling was not available before evening, but a few friendly games could sometimes be found during the day.
His attention was soon drawn to a back corner where two men he knew, Mr. Reginald Grey and Viscount Hayes, were playing cards with a man unfamiliar to him. He approached the table, waiting for the hand to come to completion before interrupting.
“Grey, Hayes, may I join your game?” The two men grinned at him, and Grey pushed out a chair with his foot.
He took the seat, and while Hayes shuffled, he shifted to observe the stranger of the group. “And may I be introduced to the fourth person at our table?”
Grey sat forward. “Lord Henry Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, this is Sir William Lucas, of Meryton, in Hertfordshire.”
Since he recognised the name, he examined the man with interest. “Hertfordshire, you say?”
“Why yes.” Sir William was jovial as he spoke. “Are you familiar with Meryton?”
“I have heard of it.” He watched the cards as they hit the table, triumphant even before he had begun to play: providence had smiled upon him. “We passed through there, I would say seven or eight months ago, and saw the remains of a terrible carriage accident—appeared to have slid off the edge and down a ravine.”
A grave expression came over Sir William’s face. “I wish we had been able to pull the wreckage out sooner,” he lamented. “There had been too much rain and the ground was much too wet for my team to gain enough traction. It was a horrid, horrid tragedy, sir.”
“Oh?” His act needed to appear genuine, even though he lacked the skill to take the stage at Covent Garden.
“Yes, dreadful. One of our most prominent families was in that carriage—only one of their five daughters survived.
“That is most tragic!” He did respond in earnest. The plight of Elizabeth’s family was indeed everything dreadful.
His mind then turned to his next question. Sir William Lucas did not hesitate to speak, and at that moment, Henry Fitzwilliam had no issues prompting him to keep speaking. A great deal could be learned from this gentleman, and he would not depart until he was certain he had learned it all.
1 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, Scene II & Act III, Scene II
Chapter 7
Sunday morning, all of the Fitzwilliams, Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth attended St. George’s for services before they spent the afternoon at Matlock house. Elizabeth made the acquaintance of Arthur Fitzwilliam, Viscount Huntley, the eldest son of Uncle Henry and Aunt Elinor. A tall gentleman with sandy brown hair and blue eyes, he appeared a much younger version of his father and had much the same sense of humour as well.
How the beginning of the week had flown by! The dowager countess kept her busy making and receiving calls, appearing for another fitting for her gowns, and receiving the ensemble she would wear for the wedding. She was now embroidering her wedding gown in every moment of spare time she possessed, and when she was not attending dinners at either Ashcroft or Matlock House.
Elizabeth was also becoming more comfortable amongst the members of what would be her new family—with the exception of Mr. Darcy. That gentleman, who had spoken without difficulty in her Uncle Philips’ drawing room had been replaced with a quiet observer. He watched her, offered her his arm when necessary, and joined a bit in the conversation around them, but it appeared he no longer retained the ability to converse with only her.
A serious concern was that Mr. Darcy no longer displayed any intention of them becoming more than acquaintances, and that they would live as polite strangers. It was disconcerting, yet confronting him on the matter was not an option. They were always together in company or in the same room as a servant, situations not conducive to a private conversation.
“Grandmamma,” called Mr. Darcy, as he entered the drawing room. “I am to see Bingley this morning. He sent a message to inform me his sisters would be out of the house. After that, I will meet my uncle around one at White’s.”
Elizabeth glanced up from her embroidery frame in response to the sensation of being watched. Mr. Darcy shifted his gaze to his grandmother, who set down the book she was reading. She looked to Elizabeth, who had resumed her work because it could not appear as though his leaving frustrated her.
“Have you been to the bishop about the license?” Her tone was casual, yet there was a glint in her eye that gave an impression of displeasure.
“At the earliest, it was supposed to be ready Wednesday.”
“Which is today, Fitzwilliam.” Her voice held a hint of censure in its tone. “I do not think it wise to be left to the morrow, if it is ready.”
He clenched his jaw, but did not argue as one might expect. “Very well, I will stop at St. Paul’s.”
Bristling, Elizabeth continued her needlework in an attempt to again hide her frustration. Instead, she made a concerted effort to concentrate on the repetitive movements of the tambour stitches in order to ignore the conversation before her.
“I think the two of us must have a conversation this evening,” continued the dowager.
“I cannot think why.”
She peered up as he tugged his sleeves and adjusted his expression to be more neutral than it had appeared just a moment prior.
“That is exactly why.”
Elizabeth’s exasperation overwhelmed her, and she bit her lip in an attempt to prevent an angry tirade. He gave a farewe
ll and brief nod to them both and strode through the door.
She set down her needle as her hands began to shake. Tears began to well in her eyes, so she leapt up and rushed towards the door. “Please excuse me. I shall return soon.”
The sound of her name could be heard from the drawing room upon her exit, so she picked up her pace, almost running up the stairs to her chambers, breaking down once she was safely within the room and out of sight.
Her wedding was to take place in two days, and she knew him no better today than she did almost a week ago. The thought frightened her, but at this point, she was too involved in his family to simply ask for her and Hattie to be taken to the docks to board a ship—and that plan certainly had its drawbacks!
The mattress sank under her weight, as she laid upon it, allowing her tears to flow freely. Her emotions required purging or she would not have the willpower to continue holding them inside while in company. After almost five minutes spent crying into the counterpane, she resolved to no longer wallow in self-pity, rose to a seated position, and was drying her face when a soft knock startled her.
“Lizzy,” called the dowager through the door. “May I come in, please?”
“I will return in a few moments, Grandmamma.”
“Elizabeth Bennet!”
Her lip quirked up to one side at the use of her name. Her father did much the same when he was alive.
“It was obvious you were holding off tears when you left the drawing room. You will not be the first person I have seen cry, nor I daresay the last. Now, open this door at once.”
With a sigh, Elizabeth crossed the room and pulled the knob.
“Oh dear,” she said upon seeing Elizabeth’s face. “I know he can be frustrating when he closes himself off, but it is never permanent.”
The older lady placed an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders in a one-armed embrace, leading her to a sofa near the fireplace where they both took a seat.
An Unwavering Trust Page 10