“Francis...be careful!” a familiar voice warned as the child ran near the edge of a long reflecting pool as he tried to elude the waterfowl. Torn between watching the child and discovering ifhe was just imagining things, Matlock decided on the latter, and hiding his happiness, spied the woman who had plagued his thoughts, sitting upon nearby bench.
“Mrs. Blackpool! How good to see you again,” he declared, just as the boy abandoned his new friends.
“Mama! Did you see? Did you see me?”
For a moment, his heart skipped a beat, for although he was aware of her widow status, the thought of there being any children had not occurred to him. But it was only a moment, and his smile returned.
“What a handsome boy you have,” he said before she could acknowledge him, and crouched down to the child’s level.
“Who are you?” Francis Blackpool demanded, now standing defensively between his mother and the stranger.
“A friend of your mother’s...and perhaps now yours as well?”
~Eighteen~
Two weeks later....
The encounter, or so he liked to think of it, replayed over and over again as the days passed, and with them, four balls and seven dinner parties. During which, he made a deliberate point to dance with Miss Bingley to quell the gossips, as well as several new young ladies. The endless prattle went in one ear and out the other, but it seemed to appease the gossips and his name appeared no more. Not that he much cared. His mind had become set on Moira Blackpool, but somehow, they rarely seemed to attend the same events. And of those few, despite his regular requests to dance with her, he had been accepted only twice. It was as if, she too, was going out of her way to avoid being the subject of gossip. The first, but two days after the chance meeting at Kew, he had inquired as to her son, thinking the child a safe and neutral subject. However, Moira Blackpool had been reluctant, almost reclusive, as if the time spent in the famous London garden had never occurred.
“Perhaps it is the crowds?” he reasoned aloud, also wishing to avoid a dozen strangers listening to their conversations. He wished to know her better; beyond the short history he had managed to obtain.
“Moira Blackpool, formerly Miss Burroughs of Ottawa, in Canada. Her family is originally from Oxfordshire...Husband Arthur, captain in the Ottawa militia, married at eighteen, widowed at two and twenty. Smallpox...one child, a boy, Francis Arthur Blackpool.”
It was precious little, he knew more about strangers, thanks to Elizabeth Darcy’s well documented pedigrees of eligible young ladies. Sighing, he grew frustrated. Why could he simply not callupon the lady? Could they not invite her to tea...or rather, have Mrs. Darcy issue an invitation? What was he thinking? Was he becoming one of them? Donning what was quickly becoming one of his favorite coats, the Earl of Matlock studied his reflection in the small shaving mirror. He supposed he was passable, but far from fashionable with his close-cropped hair and clean-shaven face. Trends in hair and beards were something that he would never understand, for what was wrong with simply being practical? Deeming himself acceptable, he went below, pleased to find Elizabeth alone.
“Where has my favorite cousin gone off to?” he inquired casually. It was the first time since his arrival that Darcy had not offered to take him along.
“To see Charles Bingley, something about acquiring a parcel of land. We might all have gone, but Jane warned us away. Apparently, since you danced with her, Caroline has set her cap for you. Jane thought to spare you her machinations, but he should be home by dinner. Otherwise, we have no engagements, did you have something in mind?” she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
The gratitude he felt towards Jane Bingley was measurable, but so was his desire to see Moira Blackpool. However, now that the opportunity presented, he found himself a coward.
“I... I had rather thought to go out. I am unaccustomed to being in doors for so long, and....well...”
“You needn’t explain, I too cannot abide long hours in idleness. If you like, you are welcome to accompany me on a few social calls.”
“Social calls? Will there be complicated rules?”
“Heavens no, it is quite easy, we simply go from one residence to the next, remaining for an hour or so, then leaving, making the excuse of being required elsewhere should we dislike the company.”
“Dislike the company? But why call upon anyone you do not find agreeable? It makes no sense to me at all.”
“It is not supposed to make sense, but one must see people, and be seen in return. This is especially so if one is in the market for a wife.”
“So, you keep reminding me...”
“Then we agree, Lady Drummond’s residence shall be first.”
Initially, he was taken by surprise, but then laughed at himself, “Am I that obvious?”
“Not to anyone by myself and Darcy, but we know you best. Your eyes...they scan the ballrooms in search of her, registering delight or disappointment. And when you dance, it is as if there is no one else present. You are hopelessly smitten with Moria Blackpool...of that, I am certain, but does she reciprocate? That is the question.”
And indeed, it did. Matlock had revealed some of the details of his meeting with the lovely widow, for if he had been forced to keep it a secret, he thought he might burst. However, he had not made his feelings known, saying only that it had been a pleasant encounter and that he had found Mrs. Blackpool and her son, most agreeable. Of her son, he had felt it entirely necessary to mention, lest either Darcy or Elizabeth believe that he was unaware. If he eventually took the acquaintance further, it would be with the full knowledge that she would not come alone. And now, the prospect of seeing her again, under the direct observation of her family, he was all the more anxious.
“Now remember, we are officially calling upon Lady Drummond and Miss Talmadge. As Mrs. Blackpool’s position is somewhat vague, it might not be appropriate to ask for her outright. But...if she so happens to be present, there is no reason to not include her in conversation,” Elizabeth directed as the carriage bore them to their destination. However, Lord Matlock was unable to take the sage advice as the very lady he hoped to see, not only was in residence, but answered the bell.
“Mrs. Darcy, Lord Matlock, how good of you to call. There is quite a crowd today, forcing her ladyship and Miss Talmage to use the main parlor this morning. Please...follow me.”
To this announcement, both Elizabeth and Matlock exchanged glances, she of delight, but he, of worry, causing him to pause outside the entrance.
