“Raining the whole parade,” Matlock remarked, feeling his spirits lift, for there was nothing he loved better than the energy of a good storm. However, once inside, the heavy velvet draperies and thick carpets drowned out all but the clink of crystal and silver. There, candlelight required an adjustment of the sight, as well as an ambience of intimacy in the crowded main chamber.
“I took the liberty of booking a table in the far corner. Advantageous for casual observations, yet private,” Bingley whispered, following the Matre’d through the labyrinth of tables, most of them already occupied. It was at one such, already in the midst of dessert, that Darcy paused, greeting an elderly man, dressed in an elegance that bespoke quiet status and money. Accompanied by a lady of similar years, as well as a much younger gentleman, both of which he recognized, introductions were made.
“Lord Robert Cavanaugh, his lovely bride, Lady Vivien, and their son, William, whom if I recall correctly, is in his final year at Oxford. Studying medicine?”
“I am sir, but have not quite decided yet upon a specialty.”
“Plenty of time for that,” Darcy insisted, pleased that a man whose situation required no further income would make use of his education.
“Your memory serves you well, Darcy, and flatters me,” the old man replied, returning the greetings but studying Richard Fitzwilliam intensely before continuing. “So, this is the Matlock heir? A military man, from what I am told, well, I’d wager that experience will be of great use when you take your place in Parliament.”
“I can only hope so, sir,” Matlock replied, glad that the dim lighting would help hide his embarrassment.
“Well, we can all stand with a bit of improvement, and some good military order,” Lord Cavanaugh added, signaling an end to the meeting as his attention returned to his strawberry sponge.
The ladies, exchanging nods in departure, expected to see one another again, and were glad to make the acquaintance. Lord Cavanaugh, having been a member of Parliament since his early adulthood, was known for his fairness of mind, and his wife, for her lack of pretense. Moving on to the reserved table, all agreed that the positioning was indeed agreeable, allowing for a complete view of the room, with only Darcy being forced to keep his back to it all. Of this, he was glad, for there would be no more awkward glances that would demand his attentions. He wished to eat his meal in peace, amid excellent company, and not be set upon. It was not good for his digestion.
Richard Fitzwilliam, still inwardly flinching from his public acknowledgement as Lord Matlock, tried to relax, but suddenly found the new clothes restrictive, despite being custom made and no where near as tight fitting as his old uniform. Tugging at his collar, he drank his wine and scanned the chamber, half-listening to the idle conversation about him should he be addressed. In this, his eyes rested on several diners, speculating privately as to their lives and whether or not he wouldever, having the chance, call them friend. Unfortunately, this imagining did little as most of the patrons held nothing of interest, and were very much like his own party. A veritable sea of sameness, but in thinking this, allowed a chuckle of irony. No doubt, when presented with a similar scene of an officer’s mess, the array of crimson uniforms would blend together. Believing his chortle was in reaction to something she had said, Mrs. Bingley directed her lovely face in his direction. Known to be shy, Jane Bennet Bingley was a traditional English beauty, but beyond that, and a sweet nature which rendered her unable to find fault in anything, Matlock found little else to recommend her. No, he would be bored to tears if forced to keep company with Mrs. Bingley for long. He desired conversation beyond the weather and latest gossip. Looking about once again, his eyes drifted to a group of new arrivals. Led by a formidable lady that reminded him of his own Aunt Catherine, two other women trailed behind. The first, no more than a girl in reality, was fair and petite, resembling some sort of fairy sprite as the folds of her gown seemed to float about her. A pretty thing, if one cared for the fragile, willowy sort that always seemed on the verge of breaking. No, he cared not for that kind, and besides, she was but a child. Given the choice, he would have the lady that made up the rear of the party. Sedate and serene, clad in deep violet, this woman was an utter contrast, and far more compelling. For while the other two chatted amiably, she remained silent, speaking only when directly addressed by the old woman. Perhaps some sort of poor relation? Or even an upper servant? He could but speculate, and continued to stare, up to the point of rudeness when Elizabeth nudged his arm.
“Richard? What is it that has captured your attention so?” she demanded, but the voice was half teasing, and he reddened with the guilt of having been caught.
“I...er...I was just....”
“Just what? Staring at Lady Drummond’s niece?” Bingley supplied, “I believe she is Ariana Talmadge, daughter of Sir Peter Talmadge, of the foreign office. Her grandmother is seeing to her debut this year as her parents are presently in India,” Jane added, feeling the weight of her contribution with pride but could not apply a name to the other lady.
With this revelation, Darcy turned slightly, only enough to catch the barest glimpse of the subjects. He much preferred to focus on the remains of the delectable beef cutlet before him, but was nudged under the table by his wife who raised an eyebrow. Darcy, known on sight by nearly all of London, detested disturbing anyone during a meal, especially himself.
“Are we not attending Lady Drummond’s ball next week?” he ventured, hoping that any introduction could wait until then. But as expected, he was denied by Elizabeth’s gentle insistence, “We ought to at least say hello on our way out. They have just arrived and will be finished with the main course by the time our dessert comes....” she reasoned. Wasn’t the goal of attending the London season to find a bride for Richard? It was obvious that his gaze continued to stray in that direction. However, Elizabeth did not believe for a minute that his attentions had been caught by the whisp of a young girl barely out of the schoolroom. No, it was the far more alluring lady in violet. Now, Elizabeth too, was compelled to study her person. Speaking only when spoken to, and even then, the replies seemed brief. Perhaps she was not much for conversation? Or, as was most likely, uninterested in whatever was so animatedly being discussed. Either way, there was something in the woman’s air that many men would find attractive, and the Earl of Matlock was not immune.
Darcy, unable to deny his wife anything, now watched his cousin. Indeed, the man was interested, but if Darcy thought the choice odd, he was wise enough to remain silent, save for his acquiescence. “As we depart, if it will please you.”
“It does,” Elizabeth replied and squeezed Darcy’s knee beneath the table as she smiled at Lord Matlock, causing further embarrassment. Later, she would make a point to tell him how easily his countenance betrayed his feelings, a thing, he must learn to conceal. But, for now, she would enjoy a bit of matchmaking.
Unfortunately, the introduction was met with a measure disappointment. And afterwards, the Earl of Matlock felt like the greatest of fools. How easily he had permitted his imagination to get the best of him! Of Lady Drummond and her granddaughter, they were all that they appeared, nodding graciously as Darcy made brief introductions, including noting the acceptance to attend the ball. But of the serene woman, it seemed that she had been forgotten. That is, until Elizabeth boldly inquired as to her name.
“I do not believe we are acquainted, Miss....?”
“Mrs....Mrs. Blackpool,” Lady Drummond corrected, with a trace of absent-minded apathy coloring her voice, “Moira is a distant cousin.... recently from America.”
“Ottawa, in Canada,” Mrs. Blackpool added, but said no more beyond a polite nod. Not that it mattered, for the clarification of her married status was enough to place her out of contention. Perhaps as a friend to the ladies, but nothing more. No, it would seem that his quest would be far harder than expected.
~Fourteen~
One week later....
The time leading up to Lady Drummond’s ball in honor of her granddaughter were not spent in idleness. The gentlemen, occupied by the demands of business and Lord Matlock’s seat in Parliament, had departed early, not to return before dinner. But Elizabeth, suffering through a round of teas and calls, had compiled a list of eligible young ladies, or shall it be better said, potential candidates for marriage to an Earl. As requested, none of those were less than five and twenty, and each possessed a modest fortune. Of this particular item, Elizabeth felt hypocritical, for she had come into her marriage with less than five hundred pounds, and to a man of immense wealth. However, she also fully understood the worry over fortune hunters, those whose charm and manners disappeared once the vows were exchanged. As a result, she had but five upon her list, having crossed off Lady Gloriana Westlake as a definite no.
“That leaves only Miss Lucy Ayersby, Lady Matilda Albright, Lady Hetty Templeton, The Honorable Rose Carraway and Miss Angelique Robinson. If only I knew more about each, but I suppose some things must remain a surprise,” she muttered aloud, just as a maid announced the arrival of her sister Jane, and unfortunately, Miss Caroline Bingley.”
Smiling wryly, Elizabeth rose to greet her visitors, wishing that Jane had come alone so they might converse in private. But this time, the gossip shared by Miss Bingley not only held interest, but particular value if Elizabeth’s observations of Lord Matlock had been correct.
“My brother tells me that you ran into Lady Emma Drummond at dinner. Her balls are legendary! Everyone who is anyone willbe there, I have ordered a new gown, just for the occasion. Rumor has it that the new Lord Matlock will be in attendance, but as you and Darcy are out of favor with the family, I must seek an introduction on my own!” Miss Bingley declared.
To this, Elizabeth shot a sharp look at her sister, but Jane Bingley grimaced in desperation. Foolishly, she had allowed the inclusion of herself and Mr. Bingley in the Darcy invitation to slip, and once done, could not be corrected. Now, Caroline believed that she too, would attend, a mistake that Elizabeth desired to rectify.
“Oh Jane! I had not realized that she had sent an invitation to Bingley house, I should have reduced our acceptance numbers. I must send word at once that it will be just the three of us and not five,” Elizabeth lied, privately enjoying the barely concealed alarm in Caroline’s eyes.
“To Bingley House? But Jane, you said we were to be included with Darcy!” Caroline insisted, applying the blame to one who could not defend herself.
