“Yes; she was all but mute when she first came to us. She was so shy and so – well, guilt-ridden, I suppose! – that she could only stare at the rugs.”
“The Bennet girls have been good for her, I take it. But wait – why, then, are you to go to London after the wedding? I would think that the last place Mr. Darcy would wish to take his sister!”
“His aunt thinks that thetonwill be so interested in the new Mrs. Darcy that any talk of Georgiana will fade into the background.”
“His aunt? The Countess of Matlock?”
“The very one. Evidently, she goes about in Society a good deal and so knows of what she speaks.”
Mrs. Gardiner frowned. “I cannot like this, Lizzy. You will be stared at and talked about a good deal, and I do not think you will enjoy it.”
“I do not expect to enjoy it. But if it will help Georgiana, then I will suffer through their insults and mockery.” Elizabeth’s tone was flat.
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head. “Remember that you can always come to Gracechurch Street, if it gets to be too much.”
Elizabeth thanked her aunt, well aware that her words were brave enough, but it was all she could do not to be very much afraid of the upcoming ordeal. She prided herself on her courage, but here in Meryton, where she was known and valued, it was easy enough to be courageous.
Would her courage fail her when confronted with the haughty, important members of theton, who would look down at her for her birth (lack thereof), her breeding (lack thereof), her dowry(lack thereof), her beauty (lack thereof), her accomplishments (lack thereof), and – oh, heavens, what else?
Chapter Sixty-Seven
After the holiday was over, all attention was directed to the upcoming double wedding. Most – nay, all! – of the effort was made by the family of the brides, while the grooms sat and agreed with whatever was said to them.
Elizabeth would have preferred a good deal less fuss and bother, but she could not deprive her mother of the great fun to be had in planning what was clearly to be Meryton’s event of the century. She had made it known that Colonel Fitzwilliam would stand up with his cousin, but had made no mention of the possibility of the Earl and Countess of Matlock attending. She understood it to be a remote possibility indeed, and there was nothing to be gained by bringing it up.
***
Mr. Darcy had received no further missives from his august relatives regarding their attendance at the wedding, andassumed that only the Colonel would represent the Matlock family. He was not in the least disturbed by this. He knew full well that the Matlocks felt they had endured enough from the Darcy branch of the family as a result of Georgiana’s disgrace; Darcy’s betrothal to an unknown country girl had helped the situation not at all.
Thus, it was a surprise to everyone involved when a shiny black coach, bearing the Matlock crest and a coronet with eight strawberry leaves, appeared in front of Netherfield the day before the wedding.
The coach contained the Earl and Countess of Matlock, as well as Colonel Fitzwilliam. The Colonel was known to Thurston, of course, but the Matlocks were not. They provided their names, and Thurston promptly announced the visitors to Mrs. Hurst, as they followed him into the drawing room.
That lady distinguished herself by neither fainting nor stammering as she welcomed them to Netherfield Park. Nothing in her demeanor indicated that their presence was a surprise.
She shot a quick and meaningful look at Thurston, who nodded and vanished at once to inform Mrs. Morton of the unexpected visitors. Mrs. Morton grabbed the nearest upstairs maid by the arm and whispered urgent instructions and then all but ran upstairs to tell Mr. Darcy of the arrival of the Matlocks.
“Bloody hell,” Mr. Darcy muttered once Mrs. Morton had left. He had not anticipated this at all, and he was not pleased to think that he would have to spend a good deal of time protecting Georgiana and Elizabeth from his relatives when what he really wanted to do, what he very much wanted to do, what heneededto do, was to spend his remaining days as a bachelor in joyous contemplation of marriage to the one woman in all of England he could love!
There was a knock on his door and it opened immediately, revealing a smiling Richard Fitzwilliam. “Did you say something, cuz?” he asked, striding into the room.
“I said ‘bloody hell,’ if you must know,” Mr. Darcy replied, frowning at his cousin.
“That is what I thought you said. I take it that my parents’ arrival was not the happy surprise we hoped it would be?”
“Not a happy surprise at all, and well you know it! Oh, I am glad to see you, Richard, of course, but can I expect anything from your parents other than criticism and sour looks?”
“You can,” said a voice from the doorway. The Countess of Matlock stood there, frowning at her nephew. “I am here to meet your Miss Elizabeth, and to take her measure.”
“I thought that would be the job of the modiste,” Mr. Darcy said, hoping that a bit of levity would help his aunt forgive his intemperate words.
But the Countess stared at him until he apologised. Walking into the room, she continued, “She will need to be taught – well, everything, will she not? And I may as well see what the girl is made of and how well she will take instruction.”
“I think you will find that she is not as hopeless as all that,” the Colonel objected.
Mr. Darcy looked at him gratefully. “Indeed, Aunt, I believe you will be pleasantly surprised.”
“I should like to meet her as soon as may be,” the Countess said. “I shall be ready in an hour.” She turned and left the room.
