“You will not be alone,” he added, more gently. “Reginald came back to Matlock today. He sent over a message this afternoon that he finally persuaded the dowager to receive Elizabeth, and we are all invited to Matlock in three days. I understand that Lady Matlock—that is, Reginald’s wife—is quite taken with our guests. It is my hope that you will all be in company a great deal while I am away.”
Georgiana groaned and rolled her eyes. “I thought I could manage until you mentioned Sheila Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy chucked her on the chin and laughed. “Perhaps Elizabeth will help you.”
Chapter 17
ReginaldFitzwilliam,ninthEarlof Matlock, barely resembled his younger brother. Slightly balding, several inches shorter, and with a far thicker girth, Elizabeth could have believed she was meeting Richard’s father instead of a brother who was only five years older. He bowed cordially—not nearly so stiffly as Mr Darcy once had, but then, neither did he possess about his bearing or expression the hint that his manner would alter significantly upon further acquaintance.
“Welcome to Matlock, Mrs Fitzwilliam,” he greeted her. “And Miss Bennet—a pleasure, indeed.”
“There,” the countess dismissed her husband with a flippant wave of her hand. “Now we have got the formalities out of the way. Come, warm up your toes! You must be chilled to the bone after that carriage ride.”
“Oh, not at all, Lady Matlock,” Elizabeth protested. “Mr Darcy had plenty of hot bricks in the coach.” The truth was that most of those had been claimed by Georgiana when they first set out, but Mr Darcy had made some odd remark about artificial dignity, and the bricks had been redistributed.
Elizabeth and Jane followed the countess in awe as she swept them into the bowels of the great house. For a fleeting instant, Elizabeth wondered why Billy had not been bouncing on the front steps to welcome them, but they soon found that this had been the countess’s design, for he was waiting for them in the drawing-room. Miss de Bourgh was there, too, seated on a gilded stool with a great ostrich fan in her hand and cocking a saucy eye at the new entrants to the room. Once Elizabeth had rounded the corner, she finally saw what the whole affair was about, for a photographer was just unpacking his equipment.
“A little surprise for you all,” the countess crowed in pleasure. “Darcy, I knew you would not have thought to have it done, and like as not would have found some excuse to avoid it all if I had warned you about it. However, you and Anne absolutely must take an engagement photograph before you sail for South Africa. I will expect a note of gratitude for seeing to the arrangements, of course.”
Elizabeth looked back at Mr Darcy, but no hint of surprise or humour—in fact, no expression of any kind flashed across his features. He merely nodded and adjusted his cufflinks. Georgiana left his side to seat herself in another corner, trying to vanish from the general assemblage.
“Lizzy! Jane!” Billy whispered loudly, waving them over to sit beside him on the sofa. “You will never guess—why, to be sure, I am all astonishment myself!”
Jane narrowed her eyes. “Billy, have you developed an accent?”
His face clouded. “Accent? Of course not, how silly. I have always talked like this.”
“Jane is right,” Elizabeth agreed. “You sound different.”
Billy’s cheeks reddened, and he glanced around. “Don’t embarrass me, Lizzy,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to sound like a hayseed around…”
“Anne, my dear,” the countess was calling, “are you quite ready? Darcy, you must sit here, and look, here is a walking stick for you to hold and monocle to wear during the photograph.”
“I do not use a monocle,” Mr Darcy protested.
“What does that matter? It makes you look more sophisticated,” the countess decided. “Now, take Anne’s hand, and turn just… no, no, you may not simplyholdthe monocle, Darcy. You must place it on your eye!”
“I will do no such thing,” was his obstinate reply.
“How can you be so tiresome? Well, well, discard it if you must, but I insist on the walking stick.”
Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand and snickered; a little too loudly, for Mr Darcy himself looked up and caught her gaze. Feeling impish, she adopted a stuffy air and held her finger up under her nose, in reminiscence of that time she had mocked him for his moustache. He broke into a broad grin.
“Oh, no, Darcy,” the countess admonished. “Have you no decency? Come, now, you cannotsmilefor your engagement portrait! Anne, lend me some support here.”
“You may as well surrender, Darcy!” the earl laughed from the far side of the room. “My dear, you ought to have him stand behind her. That is the way all the family portraits are done.”
“Very well,” the lady conceded. “But you must place your hand on her shoulder, Darcy, and Anne—yes, you rest your hand upon his and look up…”
Elizabeth’s eyelid was twitching, and she could not decide why, but somewhere in the middle of watching Mr Darcy taking his place beside his betrothed, her own smile had grown cold. She dropped any attempt at a cheerful expression because Jane was already looking at her curiously, and she sensed her teeth baring in a grimace rather than congratulations.
She looked down at her lap and adjusted her skirts—it was easier than watching the way Anne de Bourgh was gazing up into Mr Darcy’s eyes, and he down into hers. Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on her hands until the explosion of the photographer’s flash declared it safe for her to do otherwise.
“Now it is our turn,” Billy said.
“Wait… what did you say?” Elizabeth’s head whirled about as her cousin bounced out of his seat and beckoned to her.
“That was the rest of the surprise,” Lady Matlock informed her. “The photographer was already coming, and I thought how delightful for your family to have your portrait. Do you not agree?”
