“Well played, Your Grace, well played. I must say, you have surprised everyone. I, naturally, knew all along...”
Elizabeth, unable to repress and eye roll, nearly sent Darcy into a fit of laughter, but unfortunately, Lord Matlock was not laughing as he scanned the chamber, searching, she knew, for a certain lady, as well as an escape from a present one. For Caroline, believing she held the upper hand in terms of acquaintance, now awaited a request for a dance.... a dance that was not to come. Instead, Lord Matlock bowed sharply and took his leave.
“Indeed...do excuse me, I believe I see Lord Cavanaugh and would like a word before Miss Talmadge opens the ball.”
It was an effective lie, and soon, the Earl of Matlock was gone, lost amongst the throng, leaving a disappointed Miss Bingley to set her sights elsewhere.
However, it was nearly an hour, and three dances later before Elizabeth spied her husband’s cousin, on the arm of Ariana Talmadge. Knowing he had been promised the third dance, she had chosen to watch from the sidelines. Having been left with an uneven number, the gentlemen had rotated, with one lady being left out in turn. Jane, even in her married state, had no difficulty finding other partners, nor did Elizaebth. But as her husband went through the steps with Caroline, she chose respite, for it also offered observation of Lord Matlock upon the floor. There had been no time to refresh his dancing skills, and she noticed several stumbles, each of which were gently corrected by his diminutive partner.
“Indeed, it is like a clumsy giant next to a pixie, but stranger matches have been made,” Lady Drummond whispered in her ear, having come up silently from behind, followed by Moira Blackpool, who by some miserable understanding, trailed her mistress everywhere.
Elizabeth smiled but made no comment, for she knew Matlock’s preferences, and the music had just ended, sending the couple towards them as Miss Talmadge was delivered back to the safety of her chaperones. In their wake, Darcy and Miss Bingley also ventured, with Caroline’s eyes upon Lord Matlock in opportunity. As yet, she had not danced with anyone who was not some sort of relation, and while distantly, so was he, the gossips would not see it the same way. But, as all good soldiers possess, Richard Fitzwilliam’s peripheral vision was excellent, as was his hearing, and he sought to once again, avoid unpleasantness with something far more appealing. With full knowledge that he could not engage Miss Talmadge again, he smiled genuinely, and offered his hand to Mrs. Blackpool.
“As Miss Talmadge has suffered enough, will you, Mrs. Blackpool, do me the honor of a dance?” he inquired, only to be sharply rebuked by Lady Drummond.
“Mrs. Blackpool does not dance; she is in mourning!” the old woman replied, with indignation and superiority dismissing her relation as unworthy. But Elizabeth suspected that Lady Drummond did not want competition for her granddaughter, not from any quarter. However, it was Miss Talmadge herself that came to Moira Blackpool’s rescue.
“Oh Grandmama! We all miss Arthur, but one does not cease living simply because someone dies...he would want Moira to enjoy life. It has been three years, what is one dance? Besides, Lord Matlock is also in mourning, yet he chooses to dance.”
“It is different for men,” she replied, but knew that any further argument was futile, and may result in embarrassment as far too many eyes and ears were upon them. Sighing in defeat, much to Miss Bingley’s irritation, consent was granted and Lord Matlock rejoined the dancers, accompanied by the lady of his choosing.In this, Caroline Bingley huffed with barely concealed jealousy, something upon which Elizabeth could not resist comment.
“Whatever ails you, Caroline? Did you not deem a mere colonel unworthy? Or, like so many others, has he improved in your opinion?”
The words, said in a tone of polite inquiry, had the desired effect, sending the unhappy woman in search of liquid refreshment with Jane trailing behind attempting to console the hurt feelings. It had been rather spiteful, but as Elizabeth watched the couple move fluidly through the dance, it was obvious they were well matched in form, if not yet in mind. Time would tell, but only if opportunity continued to arise.
And for Lord Matlock, the dance could have lasted forever as he smiled into the dark eyes of his partner, receiving one in return, but it was one of reluctance, as if happiness was a thing not to be had beyond a few brief moments.
“What is it? My apologies if I have done anything to upset you, or cause trouble with Lady Drummond.”
“There is no need, it is Ariana who will suffer her wrath, not I, but then, she is the only one who can stand up to the old girl without ramifications.”
“Oh dear. Is it as bad as all that? My condolences for your loss...”
“As you now know, it has been three years. I would have done with sorrow.... if only....”
But Lord Matlock was not to discover why, for the music had come to an end, and so, his time with Moira Blackpool. Returning her back to Lady Drummond’s company, he suddenly realized that not once, had he missed his steps, nor stumbled like a clumsy ox. No, she had moved with him as one. Was itbecause she was taller? Able to look him in the eyes without strain? Or was it something else? Something that had yet to be named? Lost in the pleasant discovery, he nearly collided with Miss Bingley, who seeing her chance, now blocked his path. In truth, he desperately needed a respite, somewhere away from the heat of the ballroom where he might collect his thoughts, but it was impossible. Now, but two options remained, one, to dance with a woman that had thought him unworthy of a second glance without his title, or complete rudeness. Quickly searching for an alternative, a third option, equally unappealing, offered compromise.
“Do excuse me, Miss Bingley, but I have promised the next dance to an old friend,” he insisted, for several months ago, he had said as much, giving hope to a woman that had tried unsuccessfully to trap him in to marriage. A matter of honor, on behalf of a dead man, but now, a temporary solution. Brushing past a now seething Caroline Bingley, Richard Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, bowed and offered his hand, much to the delight of Lady Gloriana Westlake.
“Lady Gloriana, so good to see you again,” he lied outright. “Might I have this dance?”
~Sixteen~
The following day, as others slept late, Elizabeth and Matlock sat sequestered in the mourning room, dining on what should have been breakfast, but as the hour was closer to tea, it comprised of cold meats and an array of leftovers.
“Do these events always end so late? Or shall I say early? The sun was coming up as we drove home. I do not believe I have ever kept such hours,” Richard Fitzwilliam declared with a yawn, foregoing tea for strong, black coffee.
“I am afraid so, one must get accustomed to it, something that I never have,” Elizabeth admitted, drinking her own tea and smiling wryly. Contrary to having had but three hours of sleep, she felt refreshed, thinking to have the house to herself for a time. But now, the company was exactly what was needed, for it allowed private instruction and candid discussion of the evening’s successes and failures. The announcement of the Earl of Matlock’s presence had nearly upstaged that of Miss Talmadge’s debut, something that might have been disastrous. It was indeed fortunate that Richard had not agreed to dance with the younger ladies, therefore drawing more attention than necessary. Peering over her cup at him, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in question as she spoke.
“Well? You danced with over a dozen ladies, did any of them strike your fancy? I mean, any besides Mrs. Blackpool?”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Not unless they overheard Miss Talmadge’s arguing on the lady’s behalf. The poor thing must live in misery under the constant demands of Lady Drummond, and widowed so young. I should think the old lady would have tried to marry her off before now.”
“It seemed she much prefers to retain a servant.”
To this, Elizabeth did not reply, for it was oft the case when those of a certain class were left widowed and without fortune. Lacking the skills one would need for self-support, they became dependent upon wealthy relations, who, with a desire to avoid embarrassment to the family, took them in. However, they were no better than unpaid slaves, constantly reminded of their status. It was something that she had feared before her marriage, for having four sisters and as women, unable to inherit their father’s estate, would have been left destitute. Making a mental note to find out more about Moira Blackpool, Elizabeth moved on to the others.
