“Aunt Catherine inhabits her pomposity utterly, and defines people based on predetermined categories. I am not unique in her pigeonholing me, that I am aware. How well does she truly know her own daughter, for example? The irony is that in defining and then dismissing me, she underestimated my resolve.”
“Quite so. As I know from experience with more than a few generals and high-ranking officers, intelligence is often not linked to wisdom or basic sense. Whatever the case with our dear aunt, you turned her interference to your advantage. Now you are bindingly betrothed to Elizabeth Bennet. Nothing more she can do about it.”
The servants interrupted the conversation momentarily to whisk the soiled plates away and deliver the vegetables. The colonel promptly scooped a mouthful of sliced carrots. Darcy stared at the steam rising from the mound of mashed yams on his plate while creating valleys with his fork tines.
“I can live with Lady Catherine’s disappointment, although our estrangement does pain me,” Darcy said. “What I wonder is how Lord and Lady Matlock will respond to my engagement with Miss Elizabeth.”
“My parents?” Richard’s surprised mumble filtered through half-chewed carrots. Swallowing, he wiped his mouth and gulped some wine before speaking further. “Are you seriously subscribing to Aunt Catherine’s wild allegations of father being of like mind? You know him better than that!”
“I do. I also remember the affair of Jonathan’s.”
“That was a completely different situation, Darcy, if you recall.”
“Actually, I was young, at Pemberley, and never learned the details. All I remember is my parents talking about it in vague terms, and that Lord Matlock was furious Jonathan wanted to marry someone deemed unsuitable. How was it different?”
“For one, my brother is the heir to an earldom. Secondly, he was barely nineteen. The girl was seventeen and the daughter of one of our tenant farmers. I may not agree with every social rule and law of the land, especially the ones that limit my inheritance just because Jonathan was born a year before me, but if Father had allowed him to marry a farmer’s daughter, the consequences would have been catastrophic. Jonathan was a fool, brash, and, let us be frank, thinking with his groin more than his head.”
Darcy continued to pick at his food when Richard fell silent. Clearly the affair with his cousin Jonathan was incomparable to his own. Elizabeth Bennet was the daughter of a gentleman landowner and not a poor farmer for beginners. Nor was Darcy a green youth or the heir to a peerage. That still did not guarantee Lord Matlock would be overjoyed, and while true that his lordship’s approval was not required, Darcy cringed at the possibility of another family squabble.
As if reading his thoughts, Richard explained, “What you also must not know, Cousin, is despite Father’s fury and refusal to sanction a marriage, he did not forbid Jonathan to be with Alice. That was her name,” he clarified when Darcy glanced up. “He knew better than that. My brother is not quite as stubborn as you, but close, and Gretna Green is temptingly nearby.”
They both smiled at that, Darcy adding a short chuckle. “This is interesting family history I never heard. What happened to Alice anyway?”
“Jonathan secured her a house in Arborville, with Father’s financial help and approval.” Darcy’s brows rose even as his lips pressed together in reproof. “Jon did love Alice, Darcy,” Richard insisted in defense of his brother, “and neither of my parents wanted him to be miserable. The relationship carried on for a year or so, until she married a surgeon from Derby. That was the end of it. Three years and numerous love affairs later, he met Priscilla. I doubt he is passionately in love with her any more than he was the others, but they do care for each other and, like it or not, she was born to be a countess. The point is”—he leaned forward, stabbing his fork Darcy’s direction—“your relationship with Miss Bennet is perfectly respectable and she is an excellent lady. Just because you were too stupid to comprehend this from the start does not mean my father will be.”
“Thanks,” Darcy intoned dryly.
“You are welcome! Glad to help,” Richard responded gaily. “The ace in your pocket, Darcy, is that you love her. If my gruff father, with his lofty airs and staunch conservatism, can soften in Jon’s affair, he will be a marshmallow with you. Hell, you are the only son of his dearest friend and beloved sister! You probably could marry a farmer’s daughter. Besides, if he does grumble or gripe, my mother will slap sense into him.”
“Here’s to hoping you are correct in your assessment.” Darcy raised his wineglass, Richard doing the same but halting before touching the rims.
“My assessment that my mother will slap Father? Because that would be entertaining to witness!”
Laughing, they drank to the toast—whatever it encompassed—and commenced eating without further interruption. Darcy inquired as to when Lord and Lady Matlock were expected to return from their holiday in Bath and if they planned to pass through London. Based on a letter written two weeks prior that had been waiting at his house along with Darcy’s, the colonel answered that they should be in Town within the week.
“I will be here and shall sing the praises of Miss Bennet. Fortunately, that is a painless task. By the time you return to Town later in the month, they will be rapturous over your engagement and dying to make the acquaintance of your beloved Elizabeth. Trust me.”
“Why do those two words passing your lips instill shivers of trepidation rather than comfort?” Richard grinned and said nothing. “Well, Colonel Trustworthy, I have another task for you. If possible, I would greatly appreciate your superb guardian and militant services in escorting Georgiana from Pemberley.”
“Stated like that, how can I refuse? When do you want her here? Or do you prefer I escort her to Netherfield?”
“That depends, I suppose. If you can get away in the immediate future, then it would be best to bring her and Mrs. Annesley to Darcy House.”
Richard assured Darcy he could manage the journey soon, and Darcy trusted his cousin’s promise and capability explicitly. Thereafter, they spoke mostly of topics wholly unrelated to romance. Darcy did tell him of Caroline Bingley’s maneuverings, those descriptions ridiculously embellished thanks, in part, to the drained bottle of whiskey. The one time Darcy again mentioned his wedding, Richard stayed him by holding up his cue stick—the men battling sloppily over a billiard table—and opined, “Darcy, all I need to know about your wedding, or any wedding for that matter, is the date and place. I will arrive on time, smile cheerfully, offer my congratulations rather than sympathies, and happily eat the breakfast after.”
If Darcy retorted, neither remembered. In fact, they remembered little else after that!
Chapter Nine
Fall Pruning of Prickly Debris
On the sixth morning after Mr. Darcy’s departure to London, Lizzy tied open her bedroom curtains and slid the window open. A cool breeze wafted inside, triggering a flood of goose pimples over her arms, but the sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky, promising a temperate day. The daily ritual of assessing the weather immediately upon rising enervated her mind as well as a splash of cold water or a cup of strong coffee. Rather than drifting off to the fields away from Longbourn, today her gaze fell on the arbor of unpruned climbing roses in the garden. Mr. Bennet employed sufficient persons to complete the vital chores for Longbourn’s maintenance, but ofttimes less important jobs went undone. Cognizant of the necessity in properly snipping roses before winter, and equally aware that she was an excellent pruner, Lizzy’s plan for the morning hours was decided.
Always the Bennet daughter who delighted in being outside and interacting with nature, Lizzy had dogged the steps of the grooms and farmhands since a little girl. Asking ceaseless questions of the workmen grew tiresome quickly, so in desperation, trowels, brooms, seeds, or anything handy had been thrust into the curious girl’s hands in an effort to silence her. The tactic worked in part—Lizzy far too insatiable for knowledge to completely halt her queries—and her becoming skilled at dozens o
f jobs rarely imagined by the average upper-class female the result. “Digging in the dirt like a peasant,” as her mother labeled it, was not a passionate hobby, but one she enjoyed upon occasion, especially when feeling a bit out of sorts.
Mr. Darcy is away in Town.
That glum reality influenced Lizzy’s urge to seek the garden. The soothing combination of being in the out of doors where the air was fresh and abundant with earthy aromas and performing tasks that were pleasurable—and in the case of the roses also helpful—was an irresistible draw.
After breakfast, Lizzy dressed in an old gown with a grubby apron, worn ankle boots, a floppy-brimmed hat with a yellow ribbon tied under her chin, and stained leather gloves. Admittedly she did resemble a peasant laborer, as Mrs. Bennet claimed. Ignoring her mother’s stream of dire consequences should Mr. Darcy discover dirt under her fingernails or a tanned tint to her cheeks, Lizzy exited the house and hastened to the solitude of the flower garden.
For a blissful hour she hummed and pruned. Frequently her mind strayed to her betrothed, wondering what he was doing and when he would return, but the business of precise rose pruning required enough concentration to shield against undue melancholy. In fact, her focus blocked the crunch of booted feet on gravel, Lizzy jumping slightly when a voice spoke behind her.
“Mornin’, Missy Lizzy. ’Tis a fine day for workin’ in the garden, sure ’nuff, though ’tis a mite on the warm side. Mrs. Hill sent me fetch a pail a water for ya. Should a thought it myself…Papa like ta tan my hide for being simple-headed agin.”
Lizzy stood, brushed the loose dirt off her apron, and turned to the young farmhand. Smiling affectionately, she asked, “Matty, how many times have I scolded you for calling yourself simple?”
“Lotsa times, ’spose, Missy Lizzy,” the blushing Matty mumbled into his chest.
“Indeed I have. Probably hundreds, and that is more than a lot. Remember what I remind you each time?”
“That I is kind and gentle, and those are ta best of all.” The blush deepened, but he spoke in a slightly firmer tone, cocked his head, and peered upward.
“Yes. And what else?”
“That no one is smart as me with fixin’ broke parts.” This time he added a bashful grin and lifted his head a bit higher.
“It is the truth, so never forget it. If Mr. Beller says otherwise, you tell him Miss Lizzy will be tanning his hide!” Matty guffawed loudly at that. The image, as she intended, was an amusing one for a host of reasons, not the least of which because Mr. Beller, Longbourn’s gamekeeper and Matty’s father, was well over two hundred pounds of solid muscle. “Thank you for the water, Matty. I do appreciate it.”
He was still snorting at Lizzy’s jest so merely nodded. Then, as he started to turn away, he stopped and gestured at the pruning shears she held in her gloved hand. “You gotsa loose spring there, Missy Lizzy. I can fix that quicker than lightning, iffin’ you want?”
Sure to his word, Matty returned in twenty minutes with pruning shears not only mended with a new spring, but also cleaned and oiled. A grateful Lizzy praised the beaming Matty, her effusiveness unequal to the minor repair but bolstering to the young man.
All the Bennet sisters, even Lydia, surprisingly, were fiercely protective of Matty Beller.
His age was unknown precisely, the orphaned boy taken in by the gamekeeper and his wife twenty years prior. The nuns at the Derby Home for Lost Children had found him abandoned, huddling in an alley and near death. They estimated he was three to four years, although it was impossible to be sure due to his extreme malnourishment. The Bellers brought him to Longbourn, Matty joining their family of five children who had similarly been saved from parentless situations. For two years he did not speak, and by the time he did, it was obvious that Matty was mentally damaged. Whether from birth or as a result of the deprivations afterward, none could say. Matty’s innocence enhanced his innate gentleness and sunny disposition, everyone pampering and adoring him. An instant favorite with his siblings and every child on the estate, to the Bennet girls, he was beloved as if their own little brother.
He was twelve years or so, healthy but still small, and with a mind stuck at a rough ten-year-old level, when a broken piston water pump left in a heap of parts captured his attention. Suddenly, as if magnetically drawn, Matty knelt on the ground, and with unwavering focus, repaired the pump as if a trained master. From that moment on, his mystifying talent to comprehend the construction of anything remotely mechanical earned him respect and a place of honor amongst Longbourn estate’s workers. No one was prouder than his father, thus the tease of Matty’s “simple-headedness” was an affectionate banter purely to induce laughter. Matty, even with his diminished intelligence in most aspects, knew he was special and a valued asset to Longbourn.
“Are you assigned chores today, Matty? Or are you free to help me with the roses? I could use the assistance in reaching the top of the arbor, and your company would be appreciated.”
The subsequent hour passed with an agreeable mixture of laughter and work. Lizzy explained why the branches must be trimmed at specific places and angles, demonstrating the techniques while he nodded seriously. How much of the science to pruning roses he understood was questionable, but his observational skills were keen. Once shown a procedure, Matty would mimic it precisely without fail for as long as the work continued. By the following day, more often than not, he forgot the process entirely. No one was disturbed by this, however, because being in young Matty’s presence was a true pleasure.
In his halting manner, with faulty English, Matty chatted as they snipped the dead flowers and withering stems, entertaining Lizzy with tales of his nieces and nephews primarily. Another favorite subject was the antics of the rabbits he was allowed to raise. Matty called them bunnies with individual names and personalities, and at times, as he rambled, it was unclear if he was talking about humans or animals!
Finally they neared the end of the arbor. Lizzy and Matty stood side by side on ladders, supporting each other as they reached to the branches curving over the arbor’s latticed ceiling. He cut the dried flowers, laughing as the petals fell onto his head, and Lizzy used the excuse of brushing them away to make his coarse hair stick up in wild spikes.
“Now you look just like a porcupine! No, wait, a hedgehog! Or maybe a skunk with these white petals,” and so on she teased, to his delight.
“All done, Missy Lizzy,” he announced with a last snap of his shears. “Lemme help ya down.” Jumping to the ground, he reached up to steady her descent, one hand raised to take her hand while the other grabbed the body part closest to his eyes, that being her right shin, skirts and all. Seconds later, she was safe on the graveled pathway beside Matty, both of them satisfactorily scanning the perfectly pruned roses.
“An excellent job, Mr. Beller,” she declared, the formality topped with a wink and pat on his shoulder. “I could not have completed this without you, kind sir. I shall be eternally in your debt.” Dropping into a deep curtsey while Matty flushed scarlet, movement in her peripheral vision captured her attention.
Standing in the shade of an elm at the far edge of the garden, close to the house, was Mr. Darcy. His face was obscured, but of course she knew who it was. Straightening from her playfully dramatic curtsey, Lizzy broke into an even wider grin and dashed down the pathway toward him.
“Mr. Darcy! You have returned. How absolutely wonderful! I hoped today, but could not be certain so came into the garden—Oh my! I suppose Mama was right this time. I must look a fright in this dress, and the gloves—Heavens!” Laughing, she tugged on the frayed gloves while trying to remove flakes of rose petals from her clothing at the same, which was impossible and increased her mirth. “Bother! Nothing to be done about it. You have caught me, sir…” She trailed off when an unhindered view of his face revealed a serious expression bordering on anger with traces of distress.
Frowning, she stepped closer. “William, whatever is the matter? Did something happen while you were away?”<
br />
Instinctively, she reached out to grasp his hand, startling when he jerked away. Then she flushed, assuming he was reacting to her grimy hands, although the severity etched onto his face felt extreme for a bit of dirt. Her happiness to see him and concern over some unknown tragedy mingled with vague irritation at his silence and behavior.
“My apologies,” she mumbled. Tossing the gloves to the ground, she attempted to find a clean area on her apron to wipe her hands. “If you wish to wait in the parlor, I will wash and change quickly. Then I can greet properly and we can talk—”
“Who is he?”
“What?” She swung her eyes to his. “Who?”
“That man. Beller, was it?”
For nearly a full thirty seconds, she stared at Mr. Darcy, clueless as to what or who he was growling over. Matty was Matty. Even her “Mr. Beller” jest was a rarity, so it did not immediately register Mr. Darcy was referring to him. Mainly, however, it was simply that no one thought of sweet, innocent Matty as a man! Chronologically he was, of course, being three-and-twenty at least.
Lizzy turned back toward Matty, who was raking the rose debris and paying them no heed. For the first time, she examined him with fresh eyes, astounded to note that despite his short stature and thin physique, Matty had indeed physically matured. Adding to her amazement was the realization that he was quite handsome. How extraordinary!
She laughed aloud, capturing Matty’s attention. He smiled and waved, Lizzy returning the bright smile and wave automatically.
“Clearly the two of you are extremely well acquainted.”
Caught up in the epiphany about Matty, Lizzy reacted slowly to her fiancé’s inference. When she did, the urge to dissolve into hysterical laughter was intense. Instead, she chose a different tactic.
Cocking her head, she replied innocently, “Yes, one could state our relationship in those terms, Mr. Darcy. I prefer to think of Matty as a special friend.”
Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) Page 23