William stepped forward and clasped his cousin’s hand—not in mere civility, but with the firm warmth of long-standing affection. Fitzwilliam returned the pressure without hesitation.
“You need not fear on that account. If I am so fortunate as to secure her affection, it shall be with constancy—and with the fullest respect for her family.”
Elizabeth smiled then, openly pleased. “I believe you will find her family most inclined to approve, provided you continue in that spirit.”
“Then I shall endeavour to do so,” he replied, the lightness returning to his voice. “But I cannot answer for the steadiness of my composure when she smiles at me.”
Glancing once more at William, she found in his answering look all the affection and quiet understanding that had steadied her from the first. Whatever brief tension had once hovered between the cousins had dissolved entirely; no rivalry remained nor any lingering resentment. Her grandfather’s most unsuitable arrangements had come to nothing, while in their place each had been left free to choose what best accorded with his own heart.
She hoped that her cousin—and the gentleman who might soon claim that title—would find contentment, whether with one another or with another suited more perfectly to their temperaments. For herself, she required no clearer proof than the warmth in William’s gaze that love, when freely given and freely received, wanted no contrivance.
That, she thought, was enough.
With that understandingregarding Netherfield firmly settled between them, Elizabeth felt a freedom she had not known since her grandfather first arrived back in Hertfordshire. It was in this spirit of renewed ease that they prepared to receive Lord and Lady Matlock.
The Matlocks arrived at Millwood Cottage only a few days later. Elizabeth had been delighted to meet them. Having heard such varied accounts from her grandfather, her intended, and the colonel, she had been uncertain what to expect from their coming. In the end, they proved different from any anticipation she had formed.
Lady Matlock was warm and engaging in a manner almost maternal. For a young woman who had lost her mother in early childhood and had never truly known that sort of intimacy, the experience was unexpectedly affecting.
Her Aunt Bennet had tried in her own way, yet she had never been inclined towards overt displays of tenderness for the orphaned niece placed in her care, and in later years had almost seemed to resent her presence—particularly as Elizabeth grew older and the advantages provided by her grandfather becameincreasingly evident. Elizabeth had always delighted in the visits of the Gardiners at Longbourn, for she valued her aunt’s warmth and easy affection; but Aunt Rosalind, although possessed of a gentler disposition, lived too far away for that daily familiarity from which true attachment is formed.
“My dear,” Lady Matlock had said, taking Elizabeth’s arm with affectionate familiarity soon after the introductions had been completed, “I know we have been obliged to make do with the dressmaker in Meryton for the present, but I cannot wait to introduce you to my modiste in London. I have never yet had the pleasure of taking a daughter to be properly dressed for her first Season, nor of introducing her to all the delights of ordering new gowns. I am very much looking forward to assisting you in that particular.”
Elizabeth had looked at her in some surprise.
“I have no daughters, dear Elizabeth,” Lady Matlock continued with a fond smile. “I cannot quite claim Georgiana as my own, and in any case she is not yet out. Of course, I have advised her where I could, but ordering gowns for a young girl is not the same as preparing a young lady to enter society. Granted, you will be presented as Mrs Darcy rather than Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but the pleasure will be no less delightful.”
Lord Matlock reminded Elizabeth, in some respects, of her grandfather, and in others of the colonel. More measured in manner and far less rough in expression than his son, he nevertheless gave the impression of a man accustomed to having his own way. There was, moreover, in his steady gaze something observant and composed, as if he saw more than he chose to reveal.
With Lady Matlock’s assistance, the wedding plans were settled quickly and with little difficulty. Elizabeth was certain her wedding would be precisely what she had always wished: a ceremony defined by its meaning, rather than its splendour. She pictured the small parish church in winter light, frost silvering the hedgerows beyond the churchyard, and William’s hand steady in hers as they stood together before the altar.
Of greatest importance, however, was the groom—the man she had chosen of her own accord. She loved him dearly, but she respected him as well, and it was evident that he respected her in return. That he had listened to her wishes regarding the disposition of Netherfield, along with so many other matters they had discussed during their acquaintance, filled her with a quiet and eager anticipation for the day to arrive.
In the weeksfollowing the arrival of Lord and Lady Matlock, the parties from Netherfield and Millwood Cottage spent only a small portion of their time amongst the inhabitants of Meryton. On one such afternoon in the days between Christmas and the New Year, at the mutual suggestion of both Matlock and Granfield, they paid a visit to Longbourn.
Lady Matlock and Mrs James were soon engaged with Mrs Bennet, whose satisfaction in receiving a countess beneath her roof could scarcely be concealed. Mary and Georgiana withdrew to the music room, where they played in turn and conversed quietly of music between the pieces. In one corner of the drawing room, Kitty and Lydia bent over a bonnet in need of alteration, whispering to one another as they worked. The presence of rank had subdued them more effectively than anyreprimand might have done; they were quieter than usual and did not laugh so freely.
Thus remained the two couples—one engaged, the other advancing with increasing seriousness—to occupy the centre of the room. They conversed together for a time, yet each pair found opportunity for a few private words as well.
Darcy had been surprised when, after only the briefest civilities with Mrs Bennet and her daughters, the two earls requested to be shown in to Mr Bennet. The gentlemen withdrew to his study and did not return until the carriage was announced and the party prepared to depart.
More than once during their absence, Darcy exchanged a look with Elizabeth. Neither chose to speculate aloud, yet both were aware of the unusual length of the interview. A few quiet observations passed between them, but their curiosity remained unsatisfied.
Whatever had transpired within the study remained between the gentlemen concerned. No explanation was offered, and none was sought.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Just after the New Year, the long-absent master arrived at Netherfield. In one of the few letters Bingley had contrived to send in the closing weeks of December, he had informed Hurst that their sister was established in apartments in Curzon Street—the situation, he maintained, being respectable and well-appointed, sufficiently within Mayfair to answer Miss Bingley’s insistence upon remaining in Town.
Darcy had required no further explanation to understand how such an arrangement had been managed. That Miss Bingley had refused any attempt to send her to Bath or elsewhere did not surprise him; that Bingley had not remained steady in his resolve did.
When Bingley arrived, however, the fuller particulars emerged as the gentlemen discussed the matter not long after his arrival. He had not merely declined to require his sister to pay her own rent; he had settled it for the year in advance, thereby relieving her of the immediate necessity of living upon her income. In addition, he had discharged the accounts she had accumulated during her stay in London.
“Caroline would not be satisfied with Bath, much preferring to remain in Town,” Bingley said in response to a question from Hurst, waving away his concerns. “Oh, I know that she attempted to speak to Lady Matlock and was rebuffed, but sooner or later, her friends will forget the incident and she will receive invitations again. For now, be pleased that we no longer have to house her or keep her with us.”
The Hurst townhouse having been closed, Miss Bingley had remained at an inn throughout their time in Town. There, with little occupation beyond her expectations, she had ventured daily into the shops, hopeful of attracting notice from someone of consequence. When few such meetings occurred, and even fewer invitations followed, she had consoled herself with purchases she neither required nor could reasonably sustain. Bingley, unwilling to deny her, had removed the consequences rather than the cause.
The entire matter had profited no one but the merchants; the accounts were settled, but the lesson—if one had ever been intended—was not learnt.
