“Why do you persist in this notion that my mother was unhappy?” Darcy demanded.
“You did not read the letters she sent me, young man. Ana has; she can attest to your mother’s overriding sense of misery.”
“Yes, Georgiana told me of the letters, and still, I must protest. I lived with her for fourteen years, and I witnessed many moments of joy.”
Lord Matlock snorted. “These moments of joy you remember—they are not true happiness! They are swells in an ocean—an illusion of height and movement atop all that cold, dark water below.”
“How poetic!” said his wife, holding out a teacup. “Now, perhaps refreshments—”
“True happiness,” Lord Matlock continued, waving away Lady Matlock, “is the stability of knowing one’s place. True happiness is…it is…” He looked around the room, almost wildly and without focus, as if some object within his sight might steady him.
“A fine pair of pistols,” said Grantley from behind his newspaper.
“No, no!” said Lord Matlock, still looking about. “It is…”
“A new dress!” cried Lady Sheffield, earning a giggle from her sister-in-law.
Lord Matlock frowned at the women.
“This vase!” declared Lady Matlock. She put down the teacup her husband had refused and picked up the piece of porcelain she and Elizabeth had spent the most time admiring earlier in the call.
Elizabeth waited for another expression of disapproval from Lord Matlock, but instead he clapped his hands together, an act that inspired Master Charlie to look up from the table leg he was trying to chew and mimic his grandfather.
“Precisely!” said Lord Matlock, earning a bright smile from his wife and a roll of the eyes from their children. He took the vase from his wife, examined it closely, and then slid it on to the table next to him. “Happiness is as solid and unchanging as this porcelain. When your mother left London for Derbyshire, she lost all she knew and loved. Anne’s place was amongst her own people and society. Perhaps if your father had spent more time in London himself, if he had taken a seat in Parliament…”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. “Uncle—”
“You cannot convince me otherwise,” said Lord Matlock. “You rarely saw her in a drawing room, full of guests, but I often did, and what sight it was! Anne could sit for hours with that quiet smile, and everyone in the room wished to talk to her. My dear Ana, you are quite the same! Today, did not everyone in the room continually look to you?”
Georgiana blushed. “I hope I did not command more than my fair share of attention, Uncle.”
“No, indeed, and that is what sets you apart, my dear! You would not be the center of attention, and for that very reason, you earn the admiration and trust of all you meet.”
This was high praise, and judging by Georgiana’s pained expression, unwanted praise, as well. Yet when Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “My father speaks truly,” Miss Darcy’s face lit up with the first truly joyous expression Elizabeth had seen on her new sister’s countenance.
“Whatever you call happiness, sir,” said Darcy, crossing his arms and thus stealing from Lady Matlock yet another opportunity of handing out a cup of tea, “there remain certain indisputable facts: you are not Georgiana’s father and she is not your sister. You have no right to decide her future.”
Such bluntness inspired a moment of uneasy silence, and Elizabeth, whose gaze moved from one unhappy countenance to the next, found herself wishing for a more cheerful prospect. She looked down at Master Charles, suspecting that his young face might provide a welcome change, and in some respects, she was correct: he grinned with unabashed delight from his spot on the floor. The reason for his good mood, however, gave Elizabeth no cause for happiness.
Though he had drawn breath for barely more than twelvemonth, little Charles Fitzwilliam had learned a lesson that many of us take our entire lives to discover: failure in one quarter of life may lead to success in another. He had been wholly unsuccessful in his quest to eat the table leg (it being far too round for his tiny jaws), but had instead discovered that he might wrap both hands around the table leg, thereby gaining the power of rattling the entire piece of furniture—as well as the vase atop it.
Elizabeth, who saw the vase totter and then tip, had only enough time to consider whether to speak or act, and to her credit, she did the latter. Jumping from the settee, she scooped the child into her arms a mere half second before the vase would have landed on his still-hardening skull. There was no heroic rescue for the vase, which shattered as it crashed to the spot of floor Charlie had just vacated.
Who screamed first, or loudest, was difficult to determine. Elizabeth knew only that it could not have been Charlie, who found the experience—which included tumbling across Elizabeth’s chest while she fell backward and landed rather indecorously on her backside—even more amusing than shaking the table. When Elizabeth caught her breath, she found herself face-to-face with the toddler, who giggled and jumped on her lap, yelling “More, more!” as he pulled on the curl that had escaped her disheveled coiffure.
“My son!” cried Lady Grantley from the settee, fanning herself with no more vigor than before the crisis.
“My vase!” cried Lady Matlock, pacing close enough to where Elizabeth sat that she could see the older woman’s stockings. This led her to realize that her own stockings were likely visible, and she thought to scramble to her feet, except that Charlie continued to bounce rather spiritedly on her lap.
“Are you hurt?” Darcy asked, kneeling beside her.
She had not the breath to speak, but Darcy seemed to understand the root cause of the problem. He lifted Charlie from her and plopped him rather unceremoniously in his father’s lap.
“My newspaper!” that gentleman cried, as the boy crumpled the report of Sir So-and-So’s speech in Parliament.
There was a flurry of activity that Elizabeth did not fully comprehend from her position on the floor, and though Darcy knelt beside her again, putting his arm about her as if to help her up, she found herself unable to rise.
“Have you been injured?” he asked, and the anxiety in his voice should have led her to respond quickly. No bones had been broke, no muscles torn or stretched; even her pride was in good order, despite the embarrassing fall.
Yet she remained where she was, captivated by the shards of porcelain that lay at the feet of Lord Matlock, who was busy trying to soothe the grandson that had been thrust into his arms by an annoyed Grantley.
Elizabeth met Darcy’s eyes. “Lord Matlock’s notion of happiness,” she whispered, “is far too fragile to suit me.”
Darcy’s eyes crinkled first in confusion, and then with laughter. “Apparently you and I prefer waves of cold dark ocean water to solid porcelain.”
“Yes. It seems we will only know a disconcerting happiness,” she murmured, squeezing his hand and thinking of her father’s words from what felt like a lifetime ago.
Colonel Fitzwilliam cleared his throat, and Elizabeth saw how he, along with the rest of his family, stared at her. A lady sprawled on the floor, talking nonsense with her husband, was clearly not what one expected to find in the drawing room of Matlock House.
With Darcy’s help, Elizabeth reassembled the facade of propriety (posture straight, ankles covered, countenance placid, eyes downcast) and waited—for what, she was not certain. There were so many topics ripe for discussion (Master Charlie’s distress, the vase’s destruction, Georgiana’s fate, the unseasonable weather) that Elizabeth could not guess which would come first.
“You—” began Lord Matlock, and Elizabeth repressed a sigh. She had been the very last topic of conversation Elizabeth wished to discuss with Lord Matlock.
“—are a very quick thinker, Mrs. Darcy.”
This pronouncement was delivered in a tone that seemed to contain equal parts approval and suspicion.
Optimist that she was, Elizabeth chose to focus on the approval. “Thank you, my lord.”
“It is I who should be
thanking you,” returned Lord Matlock with enough of a smile that Elizabeth supposed her optimism warranted. “Rather Master Charlie ought to be thanking you for keeping his skull intact!”
Master Charlie had transferred his attention to the gold buttons on Lord Matlock’s waistcoat and was thus far too busy to show gratitude, so his grandmother spoke for him, even going so far as to speak half an octave higher, in what she must have thought served as a faithful representation of a child’s voice:
“Oh, yes, you have our thanks, isn’t that right, my little Charlie chop!” Lady Matlock grabbed at the boy’s hand, waving it toward Elizabeth. The boy’s face screwed up, and Lady Matlock quickly dropped the fist, though whether she did so to stave off another tantrum or because the hand was covered in spit that she was trying to wipe subtly on her husband’s sleeve, Elizabeth could not tell.
Then Lady Matlock added, in a voice very much her own, “Betty!”
The servant came running forward, and Lord Matlock plopped the toddler into her arms.
“Did you realize,” Lady Matlock said, waving a finger in Betty’s face, “that this vase, which was broken as a result of your neglect, was the most sought-after porcelain in all of London?”
“You ought to pay more attention to Master Charlie, or we will find him another nurse,” said Lady Grantley from the settee.
Elizabeth watched as the nurse—who could not have been older than Lydia or Kitty—trembled and blinked, barely holding back tears, even as Charlie tugged at her servant’s cap and began to cry himself.
Every fiber of her itched to move forward and say something, and she might very well have done so—though it would hardly have helped Betty and might very well have embarrassed her further—had not she felt Darcy’s arm intertwined with her own. He did not hold her back, or even look at her; he was as captivated by the scene before them as she had been. No, it was not he who stopped her, only the knowledge of him. How could she speak now, when his happiness was at stake?
Was this what it meant to love? To silence part of herself, so that the object of her affection might find some measure of happiness? It seemed a noble definition in every way except in practice, for as she stood under the weight of that moment, she wanted nothing more than the simplicity of being Elizabeth Bennet.
Elizabeth Darcy, however, she was, and Elizabeth Darcy remained quiet—for Betty’s sake, for Darcy’s sake, and (it must be admitted) for her own—as the poor nursery maid fled the room with her charge.
As the drawing room door clicked shut, there followed a moment of awkward silence; no one seemed to know quite how to conclude this call that had been set up on the terms of judging Elizabeth’s worthiness. Surely her rescue of the youngest Charles Fitzwilliam boded well, and yet it gave little indication to anyone (Elizabeth included) that her heroics would translate into the more established modes of success sought by ladies of quality. Unless other London drawing rooms contained precocious toddlers to save, Elizabeth’s merits might not be immediately obvious to the rest of the Ton.
Eventually, Lord Matlock cleared his throat and said, “You are a most unusual woman, Mrs. Darcy. I cannot deny there is something agreeable about you, even if your connections are regrettable, your dress unfashionable, and your behavior less refined than might be wished.” He glanced at Darcy. “I am no longer surprised that you married her, young man, as you have always been an odd one yourself. While I cannot say yet that I approve your choice, we can at least be certain that you were not taken in by a fortune hunter.”
“No, indeed not,” said Lady Grantley. “She does not wear enough jewels to be a fortune hunter.”
“Sheffield might find her amusing.” Lady Sheffield tilted her head and studied Elizabeth, who had already been through so much in the past hour that she was no longer discomfited by this examination. “Yes, he might be willing to allow her to call at our residence, now and then.”
“Indeed! We will take you under our wing, my dear,” said Lady Matlock.
“And I daresay we might be able to teach her a little about fashion before next season,” said Lady Grantley. “I would not want her accompanying you, Ana, in so plain a gown as that.”
“I think she is quite lovely as she is,” said Georgiana, smiling at Elizabeth, “and I anticipate many charming days together this summer, when I go to visit Pemberley.”
She made this statement in such a natural way that it took almost everyone in the party several seconds to register her words.
“Of course,” she continued, “I am looking forward to spending this final month of the Season with you, Uncle and Aunt; you have been such gracious hosts, and there can be no young woman more fortunate than myself to have had such a delightful half year in Town.”
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, and then at Lord Matlock; the two men eyed each other warily, perhaps realizing that whoever spoke next had the power to build upon this fragile peace offering or destroy it completely.
“I suppose a visit to Pemberley would not be amiss,” said Lord Matlock. “Ana will travel with us when we remove to Matlock in June, and we may discuss then when she is to return home.”
“The place Georgiana calls home,” Darcy began, his voice so low that she doubted Grantley could hear it behind his newspaper, “is not for you to decide.”
“Do not the poets and philosophers agree,” his sister cut in with a bright smile, “that home is wherever one’s family is? And I am so very glad to count you, Mrs. Darcy, as a sister.”
“Yes, well, there will be more time for such sentiments at another call,” said Lord Matlock, clearing his throat. “You no doubt have other matters to attend to, Darcy. We will not keep you any longer.”
“Come, Ana,” said Lady Matlock, “you and your cousins must dress for tonight’s ball at Lady Reneford’s.”
Darcy frowned. “How is that Georgiana, a young lady not yet out, is attending a ball?’
Georgiana blushed, and Lord Matlock waved a hand. “Oh, do not be so old fashioned, Darcy. She does not dance—or not often; I do not see why she should not enjoy the company.”
“I will look after her, Fitz,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
This chivalry earned a bright smile from one Darcy and a frown from the other.
“Oh, Richard, you will be too busy dancing with the debutantes to sit with those of us unable to dance,” said Lady Grantley. “I do wish I might dance again, but in my condition…” She looked down at her waistline.
“Goodness, do not discuss such things in the drawing room!” cried Lady Matlock.
Lady Grantley ignored her mother-in-law and said, “It is a pity you were not invited, Mrs. Darcy, but then Lady Reneford is rather particular about fashion.”
“And yet, I do believe we could snag you an invitation to the Wallinghams’ dinner party tomorrow evening,” said Lady Sheffield. “Lady W. told me only the other day that the Viscount Caswell and his wife had left town unexpectedly, destroying her table set up for the evening. She will be glad to have a replacement! I will tell her to expect you.”
Elizabeth blanched. The next day was her uncle’s birthday, and she and Darcy had been invited to spend that evening with the Gardiners. Still, she looked at Georgiana, who appeared so hopeful, and said, “I suppose we…”
“I am afraid that will be impossible,” interrupted Darcy. “We will be dining elsewhere.”
“With whom?” demanded Lord Matlock. “Surely you can cancel. The Wallinghams are an important family, and it would be a great honor indeed for Mrs. Darcy to be in such company.”
“She will be with much better company, I assure you,” said Darcy, taking Elizabeth by the arm. “We will be dining with family.”
“Family?” Lord Matlock’s face screwed up in confusion. “What family do you have in town who are not in this very room?”
“An uncle, in fact,” said Darcy. “Mrs. Darcy’s uncle, Edward Gardiner, and his family live in town, and we have thoroughly enjoyed dining with them these past months. For one thing,
they never keep us waiting, do they, Elizabeth?”
It took every ounce of Elizabeth’s willpower to refrain from gaping, laughing, or both.
“Gardiner?” said Lady Matlock. “I do not know that family.”
“Where do they live?” asked Lady Sheffield. “Are they that family from the country who just bought the house in Hanover Square?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. Why, oh why, had Darcy brought the Gardiners into the conversation? She glanced at him, waiting to see him flinch under the realization that he had said more than he ought.
But his face was quite at ease—indeed, a smile played about his lips—as he said, “No, they do not live in Mayfair. They reside on Gracechurch Street. In Cheapside.”
“Cheapside?” gasped Lady Grantley.
“Fitz,” said the colonel, stepping suddenly into a conversation he had thus far only observed. “I believe you mentioned having business at the club later this afternoon? I do, as well, and could accompany you if we were to leave now.”
Darcy ignored his cousin, turning instead to his sister: “You would enjoy meeting them. Mr. Gardiner is well-read—he enjoys many of the poets you do—and Mrs. Gardiner hails from Lambton and knows all of our favorite haunts in that village.”
Georgiana flushed. “I am sure I would enjoy meeting any of Mrs. Darcy’s family, and yet…” She glanced first at the colonel, and then at her uncle.
“Ana will be at the Wallinghams. With us,” said Lord Matlock, stepping closer to his niece. “And if you knew your duty, Darcy, you would join us. Surely, Mrs. Darcy, your uncle will understand.”
Elizabeth, for whom words had always come so easily, felt entirely incapable of speech.
“You know, I believe you are right, sir,” said Darcy. “Edward Gardiner would understand. Indeed, he would even go so far as to forgive us for breaking our promise to him. No doubt he would urge us to do what we felt would bring us the most happiness.”
Lord Matlock’s lips twisted into something that resembled more sneer than smile. “Ah, good. He sounds a sensible man, but then these tradesmen often are.”
This Disconcerting Happiness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 35