Matlock greeted me first. “Darcy! Your brother said we should not look for you until the dinner gong. To what do we owe the honor?” His hearty welcome bolstered me a fraction as I advanced to shake Winston’s proffered hand.
“Forgive me for arriving early. I wished to... look in on George.” I cleared my throat discreetly. No need to expose awkward details, but perhaps key parties could enlighten recent puzzles surrounding my mercurial sibling? “He was riding out with Lady Lucilla when I encountered them earlier.”
Had I only imagined Belmont’s piercing stare boring into me? “Just so. My daughter and your brother seemed eager to explore local landscapes after yesterday’s... confinement keeping company indoors.” His sharp glance betrayed little beyond polished nonchalance. Winston appeared more ill at ease—perhaps fearing for his friend? Or his sister?
“I see.” I turned the cut crystal glass Matlock offered between restless fingers. “Then you passed a… peaceful afternoon yesterday?” At Belmont’s urbane nod, I pressed on delicately. “Forgive my curiosity, but George is a man of deep feeling regarding affairs of the heart.” I hesitated. “As his brother, I worry sudden squalls may capsize happy prospects without warning.”
“Let the young folks weather their seasons of storm and shine.” Lord Matlock interjected breezily, seeming at pains to dismiss my concerns. “We scarcely navigated our own courtships without some buffeting, eh, Belmont?”
His lordship merely elevated one sardonic brow, shaking his head slightly. “Fits of passion oft attend new love.” Still, that discomfiting stare probed as if discerning my very soul.
I mastered my irrational nerves under such piercing regard, adopting a tone of reasoned logic. “Most true, my lord. But not all lovers possess temperaments equally adaptable to wedded choreography. My own inclinations tend to be overly sober, while George never met an impulse he would not race recklessly after. His heart, I am convinced, is true, beneath any storms that might bluster.”
Why did justifying George suddenly seem akin to the labors of Hercules? I persevered on, pulse kicking faster. “But I am certain it is only due to the depth of his regard, such a thing being unknown to him before.” There! I had framed a diplomatic query without overtly naming my brother’s intrinsic flaws.
Winston shuffled papers nervously as silence expanded. At length, Lord Belmont drained his glass and leaned back. “Philosophers argue action springs more from inner virtue than external deed. If your brother and my daughter follow our examples, respect may yet temper passion’s excesses, however unlikely the pairing appears.” He regarded me with inscrutable intensity. “I begin to think your brother’s metal rings truer than the mere surface glitter suggested.”
I blinked, stunned by this oblique praise. But ere coherent response took shape, a knock heralded the butler, requesting Lord Matlock’s attention on some household matter. With smooth apologies, Lord Matlock exited, nodding me toward the sideboard hospitality as he went. Gratefully, I splashed a bit of amber liquid fortification into a glass before braving Lord Belmont alone.
Lord Belmont crossed one elegant leg casually over the other and regarded me through shrewd half-lidded eyes. “Come sit, Mr. Darcy. We have some matters to discuss.”
I perched warily, entirely off balance. To what did His Lordship refer? Surely, no residue from yesterday’s dust-up with George? I took a small bolstering sip, choosing discretion as the safest course. “I am at your leisure, my lord.”
Amusement lurked somewhere behind the keen nobility of his visage. “Indeed. I trust you had business at Pemberley yesterday? Word reached us of unrest at the mill.”
I froze. Blast! So, he had heard. I shifted uneasily. “Some... agitation did arise. But no harm done, and I daresay the men are even today seeing proof that I mean to attend their complaints. And I am reflecting on other means to—”
One greying brow lifted. “Reflecting, you say? These are not parlor debates but actual livelihoods hanging on such ‘reflections’.” Faded blue eyes held mine unerringly. “What qualifications justify your tinkering thus with other men’s survival?”
I bristled, my temper flaring. How dare he condescend to me, after I was the one soothing maddened workers whose complaints were anything but academic! I leaned intently forward, my pulse elevated. “The men who walked out yesterday were no theorists. And they are not the last to air legitimate grievances with industrial advancements and practices outpacing prudent reform!”
Belmont waved this aside negligently. “Every age imagines itself at a violent cusp of history never glimpsed before. But humanity adapts, and society progresses. Your generation will manage somehow, I daresay.”
I surged to my feet, indignation momentarily eclipsing discretion. “And if ‘society’s’ onward march tramples too many who are unable to withstand the relentless drumbeat of ‘progress’ in its wake? How can we reconcile the suffering such change creates?”
I paced, my frame tingling with the conviction that here was a man capable of comprehending complexity beyond rote defense of status quo, if only I could induce his complacent intellect tocare. “Forgive my bluntness. But how loud must the complaints become before they are heeded? Must humble men wait mute and passive for so-called ‘betters’ to acknowledge their cry?”
Silence greeted me. Lord Belmont merely stroked his moustache pensively, thunderous gaze unreadable.
“So.” His rumbling voice echoed suddenly loud in that still room. He gestured brusquely with his glass toward me. “Enlighten me, then, regarding what brilliant ‘reforms’ you propose for these downtrodden sheep flocking your mill?”
I hesitated before plunging headlong over the precipice. If speaking truth to power here brought mockery or rejection, at least I could say I had made the effort and not quailed in shame. I moved to stand squarely before my unwavering judge and jury of one. Then, in the simplest eloquence at my command, I pled the humble case of those whose hopes and lives hung now in the balance. And miracle beyond reason! Instead of derision, something almost akin to gruff admiration kindled behind those flinty eyes.
When I had finished, I stood awkward and exposed, awaiting Lord Belmont’s pronouncement. Would he crush clumsy enterprise with an arch word? Or might he discern in my awkward mixture of zeal and inexperience some grain worthy developing? I held my breath and waited.
Then, that imposing noble personage slowly unfolded from his chair. With lumbering dignity, he extended a large hand that I hastened to clasp in bewilderment. And to my shock, he favored me with a brief but undeniable smile.
“Very well, Darcy. I shall put your letter before the committee.”
Twenty-Seven
Elizabeth
IcrackedopenHelenWesting’s bedchamber door, relieved to find Aunt Gardiner in bright spirits tending her sister. Helen looked vastly improved from yesterday’s pallor and distress, calmly sipping some restorative beef broth.
She greeted me with a welcoming smile. “Come sit by me, Lizzy dear. My sister vows I must keep entirely abed until the child is born, but it will prove less tedious with such fine company.”
I arranged myself carefully on the coverlet edge, clasping Helen’s hand lightly. “You seem much better today! We have Pemberley’s capable midwife to thank, I daresay.” I studied her hopefully. “Was last evening comfortable after we left you?”
