Now it was Richard's turn to smile. It all made sense to him now. She was a snob, a low-bred snob.
"There must be something you need. Why else would you lower yourself by associating with us paupers?"
"Lower myself? Your father would have it that it is you who is doing the lowering."
"My father is a imbecile and a snob. Much like you. The snob part, I mean. I suspect you are too intelligent for your own good."
He had hoped to rouse her into a reply. He was disappointed. "You will not attempt to defend yourself?"
Now she was the prim one. Her posture straightened, she kept her eyes directly ahead. "I will not. I think you are trying to flatter me in the guise of an insult."
"You would prefer me to flatter you outright?"
"I would prefer if you would not flatter me at all."
"You make it hard for a man to win your affections."
"I am not a prize to be won." Her spine had gone absolutely rigid now. She was angry. Good, he had her exactly where he wanted her.
"Quite right. I am the prize. Your father is purchasing me for you after all. I was baffled at first why a lady such as you would require the purchase of a husband but now I understand it."
"A lady such as me?"
"Yes, you are not disfigured or anything. I was half expecting a hunchback. Yet here you are, perfectly adequate in appearance."
Her eyes flashed. Miss I-Do-Not-Want-Compliments had some vanity after all.
"Well, I suppose I cannot accuse you of false flattery. Other suitors told the most outrageous lies."
"Oh?"
"One told me my hair was as dark as a raven's wing and my cheeks were blushed like the first blooming rose in spring."
"Really?"
"Truly. He also said my eyes are as blue as violets."
"Perhaps the poor fellow was color blind," suggested Richard.
"He would have to be."
"And your mouth, what have your previous suitors had to say about it?"
Miss Madigan's hand flew to her lips. She was self-conscious about her finest feature. Women often were. "My mouth? Nothing at all."
"Then they were fools. Those lips practically beg for immortalization at the tip of a poet's pen. I have never seen a mouth so inspiring of carnal cravings. But I had best not go into detail lest the conversation become salacious."
Miss Madigan's eyes widened, her cheeks flamed like a whole bloody bouquet of damask roses.
Richard was just beginning to worry he had gone too far when she said, "You are good."
"I am. Though I must ask what specifically you are referring to?"
"They told me you were charming and that I must watch myself."
"Oh, that—yes. Now that I have found my way through your defenses there is really no hope for you. We might as well decide all the particulars now. I was thinking mid-June, always a pleasant time for a wedding."
"You will have to do more than flatter my vanity to win my hand."
"I thought we decided I am the prize. Speaking of which, when will you start trying to win me?"
"When I decide you are worth the effort."
"You are uncertain? Pray, what else did the mysterious "they" have to say about me? Surely they told you enough to illustrate how very desirable I am."
"They told me quite a lot. But I am not certain I should believe them. I know they exaggerated some of it."
"Exaggerated how?"
"For one, they told me you were handsome," she said with a mischievous grin. She was paying him back for his earlier comment on her appearance.
"They did not mean to deceive, I am sure. It is most likely they saw me in uniform. The full regalia of the Horse Guards can make a plain man handsome and renders a handsome man an irresistible Adonis. It is a good thing for the ladies of England that my cousin Darcy did not join the Blues, else they would have been driven mad by how dashing he looked in uniform.
"And while I am speaking of Darcy, I must point out he is a contributor to my unsightliness. Any room he enters all the other men in it must become less attractive. When I drive you about the park tomorrow I will not have his splendor to contend with. You will find me adequate in appearance, perhaps even passably handsome."
He had expected her to immediately accept his sly invitation, but she ignored it, instead looking up the table to where Darcy sat.
"Your cousin is nice to look at, but—tell me—is he a foppish imbecile like most attractive men?"
"No, the pretty bastard is one of the best men you could ever meet with. If he had any regard for the rest of us hideous wretches he would have had the decency to be witless. I know now you must be wishing your father would buy him for you instead, but alas you are too late. I have reason to believe he is in love."
"With Lady Celia?"
"Fortunately for him, no."
"You do not approve of Lady Celia? But everyone says she is so lovely. And she is undeniably beautiful. Is she not the female equivalent of Mr. Darcy? Her beauty must make every other lady in the room pale in comparison."
Richard knew he was being tested. Miss Madigan's informative "they" was all-knowing indeed. He had hoped, seeing as Darcy had not known of his affair with Lady Celia, that no one else had either. It had been naive of him to hold such a hope.
With caution he replied, "That is true. But she is a vain and spiteful creature like so many beautiful ladies are."
"I see. Perhaps tomorrow on our drive of the park, when I have not her eclipsing beauty to contend with, you will find I am more than just adequate in appearance as well. I only hope my enticing mouth will not prove to be so appealing you lose your head and do something scandalous."
"You should not worry. If my admiration of your mouth does turn too feverish, you have only to open it and wound me with your barbed tongue."
She laughed. He quite liked her laugh. It was not hesitant and tinkling, but a resonant, rich laugh. The proper reward for wit well-executed. The game was on and he had scored his first point. He found himself eager to make his next move.
Chapter Twenty
She would not be able to outrun them for much longer. In truth she was not outrunning them now. The pale winter moon illuminated the night just enough to make out the glowing orbs, a dozen pairs of hungry eyes peering out at her from the sinister forest.
They would not attack. Not yet. They were too cautious for that. But her strength was waning, her burden growing heavier and heavier as she trudged through the ankle-deep snow.
I could run faster if I dropped the basket. Her heart clenched painfully as if punishing her for the thought. The basket was of a sturdy, serviceable design, the sort Mama would take when she visited the poor, but Lizzy instinctively knew it contained something more precious than castoff linens.
Just as she was about to give into her fatigue and pray for a quick death there was a break in the trees. A warm light blazed in the distance. Lizzy surged towards it, hope bolstering her stride. She passed through a garden, elegant even in the frosty night, with stately statues capped with snow, topiary bowing low as if to greet her. There was no time for her to take pleasure in the beauty; they still followed.
It was a house. That brilliant light she had taken for the sun rise was clear before her now, a grand hall its walls comprised entirely of glass like a conservatory, the interior lit by the flames of ten thousand candles. A crowd was gathered within, all of them garbed in finery, every face flushed with gaiety.
Except his face. Lizzy's eyes found him immediately though there must be five hundred people. His brow was creased, he examined the room with care pausing over each face as if looking for someone in particular. Was he searching for her?
"Fitzwilliam!" she screamed, but her voice was drowned out. The orchestra had just struck the opening note. The crowd, who had been standing about in a state of cheerful idle, now found a purpose, they began to dance.
Banging on the glass with her fist, again she screamed his name. But it was no use. The music
was too loud. Frantically she searched for an entrance. She did not need to look behind her to know the wolves had followed her. She could feel their eyes on her as they silently watched her with unnatural patience. They were more demon than animal.
"Fitzwilliam! Mr. Darcy! Look at me—help me, please."
She tracked him about the ballroom as he navigated the crowd. There must be a door. There must be a door.
There was no door.
The wolves were closing in now. Their hulking forms tensed for attack. Lizzy placed the basket on the snowy ground behind her, pressing it against the glass as she faced the beasts.
"Fitzwilliam, please." Her words were a pathetic whimper. All at once the wolves launched themselves at her, teeth bared.
Lizzy woke with a jolt. "Fitzwilliam," she cried, eager to feel his arms around her. His comfort did not come. She sat up in bed. The light from the window told her the morning was already well along, possibly already past. She never slept so late.
Beside her the counterpane was rumpled, the indent of his body evident upon the mattress. He was taking his breakfast perhaps. Lizzy donned her dressing gown and pattered downstairs. The dining room proved disappointingly empty. She met Mrs. Walters in the hall.
"The gentleman had an appointment," informed the housekeeper.
Lizzy thanked Mrs. Walters and put on a convincing smile but within her rose a desperate, necessitous feeling her independent spirit was most uncomfortable with.
It was a strange thing, Colonel Fitzwilliam reflected, how cleverness could make a plain woman pretty, but prettiness never made a stupid woman clever. He had a weakness for beauty. Fortunately for him he also had a great appreciation for intelligence.
Perhaps that was why he was finding Miss Madigan something frighteningly near lovely. And not just for her remarkable mouth. Her hair, which he had thought the night before to be a drab brown, in the golden sun of afternoon was revealed to be a pleasant coffee color and her eyes . . . well, they were still a very common gray, but when she spoke with passion they sparkled becomingly.
No one would ever call her a ravishing beauty in earnest, but lovely, yes, one could certainly call her that. Not that he would. Not anytime soon, at least, given how she felt about flattery.
"I am beginning to understand why they say you are eccentric," said Richard when Miss Madigan paused her narrative and looked at him expectantly. It was the only comment he could think to make. She had been explaining the newest method of extracting limestone, a process he had up till now thought to be straightforward, and he was not certain he had understood half of it.
She glared at him challengingly. "I suppose ladies are supposed talk about their new bonnets or the latest scandal?"
"Only ladies who do not like the gentlemen they are speaking to much," said Richard. He briefly returned her glare mockingly before giving the horses his full attention once more. It was the promenade hour in Hyde Park and navigating the crowded lane while nodding to all one's acquaintance was not conducive to conversation.
"What does a lady who does—perhaps—like the gentleman she is speaking to discuss?"
"It does not matter much. The only thing that matters is she should not try to make the gentleman feel like the village idiot."
"I wasn't trying to make you feel stupid. . . .Well, maybe I was. Just a little."
"I knew it!"
"I wanted to demonstrate to you how informed I am about my father's investments in hopes that you will see how prudent it would be to leave any future decisions regarding such investments to me. Especially if matters of business give you that glazed over look."
"Anyone would look so. You were lecturing me on limestone for God's sake."
"Not anyone. Some people are very passionate about limestone."
"You are one such person apparently."
"No, not really. I am passionate about making money."
With false shock Richard said, "How very vulgar of you!" The volume of his reply was perhaps ill advised, many an onlooker turned their way. Internally he vowed to veer off onto the next deserted lane they came upon.
"Yes, it is. Truly shameful. Which is why you ought to agree to allow me—should we marry, that is—control of the finances. You would not wish to dirty your pretty patrician hands with anything so common as money."
"Ah, I understand the purpose of your lecture now. You were complicating your explanations unnecessarily so I will think I have no head for business and stay out of your enterprises. Shrewd tactic.
"I must tell you I have never had much interest in matters of business, which is fortunate as it wasn't as if my father would ever have allowed me to pursue such plebeian interests if I had, thus I had planned—if we were to marry, that is—to hire some person to advise me on such matters. If you are telling me the expense might be saved by taking the counsel of my much savvier wife that is good news indeed."
She regarded him suspiciously. "Most men would not agree to be led by a woman in anything."
"Most men do not have Miranda Fitzwilliam for a mother."
Finding the less crowded lane he had been hoping for, he maneuvered over to it, mayhap with too much celerity for Miss Madigan grasped the side of the curricle and gave him a scolding look.
"I hope you are not too eager to take the reins of your father's investments," said Richard, "He appears hearty enough, he is younger than my father and less prone to over indulgence. I think it will be a long while before you will have a chance to demonstrate your acumen."
"Yes, but it is always good to have things decided. I must know your mind on this before the marriage. There is also of course the matter of my dowry."
"Oh?"
"A good deal of it will be settled on myself and on our future children, but I have arranged with Papa that some will be left unfettered by settlements. He has agreed to twenty thousand pounds to do with as I wish and I want to try my hand at investing. Money makes little interest sitting about it the Funds—I know I could do better. Papa started with far less and look where he is now.
"The problem, of course, is that legally all the money will be yours. I know you are not a gamester or any other kind of fool, but such a sum creates a great temptation. I would like for you to promise me upon your honor you will allow me control of my money."
She watched his reaction closely. Richard could feel her eyes boring into him even as he kept his gaze on the road. "You want my assurance that I will leave you to your own devices and let you play speculator?"
"Yes."
"But is investment not just another type of gambling?"
"Yes, but it is not so risky if one knows what one is doing."
"That is what every gambler says."
She gave him a superior smirk in exchange for his teasing.
"What of Kemery Abbey?" asked Richard after some consideration. Investments did not excite him, but the promise of having his own estate to run had been his initial motivation in pursuing the match.
"The estate you can do with as you like with, I have no special attachment to it."
"None? It was your grandfather's, your mother grew up there."
"My mother never loved it. Before Papa's money revitalized it, it was a dreary ruin. As for Grandfather, he had no love for me. After Mama died he had no further contact with our family."
"Yet he left his estate to you."
Miss Madigan shrugged. "He had no one else."
"I would have thought, given your interest in business, you would wish to try your hand at running an estate."
Richard teased, but her reply was all seriousness. "I know nothing about estate management. I've never had much interest. Industry is the future, why bother with something that will only keep me rooted in the past?"
"People will always have to eat. We cannot abandon our agrarian tradition completely," said Richard with great feeling. His own sudden defensiveness surprised him.
"Not completely, no. But with improvements in agricultural techniques that generate more
yield on less land, and with most of our crops being grown cheaper elsewhere, it is inevitable that we will move away from farming as a major source of income," with a sly smile she added, "No matter how hard the Tories fight progress."
If she thought to irritate him with her comment she was to be disappointed. Knowing as little about politics as possible was the best way he had found to prevent himself from having a political career. He did know he was grateful to have been in Spain when the bread riots caused by the Tory backed Corn Laws took place. Killing Frenchmen was one thing, trampling one's own countrymen—and women and children—whilst trying to keep the peace was another.
Not for the first time, Richard wondered what his father could be about getting Giles Madigan a seat in Parliament. The man must be a Whig. Was the money truly so strong an inducement? Richard could only conjecture. Lord Matlock never showed his hand, not even to his son.
"If your predictions are accurate it would seem I am doomed to failure. Tell me, will you share your industrial abundance with your old-fashioned agrarian husband or will you leave me to dress in rags?"
"Are you saying you will agree to my proposal?"
"Upon my honor I swear I will leave you to fritter away your funds as you wish whilst I toil away on the farm."
Miss Madigan snorted derisively at his jest, but looked very pleased.
"Is it all settled then? Are we to be husband and wife? I thought there would be more to it. I am a little disappointed, I must admit."
"It is not settled at all. I have many other questions before I decide if you will be allowed to woo me." Her pride was again revealing itself. Richard found he liked her imperious little smile.
"Ask away."
She paused to find her words and Richard suspected this was going to be a very awkward conversation indeed. Anything that could make such a plain speaking lady hesitate so was bound to be excruciating. "I have been informed you are a drunkard," she said at last.
Yes, horribly excruciating. He covered his internal cringing with a bark of laughter. "I am beginning to believe your informant is my Aunt Catherine."
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 17