Afterwards, when Matlock had reluctantly returned alone to his dinner guests, Moira Blackpool reflected upon the proposal. It had not been how she had dreamed it would be, for truthfully, she had not truly thought it possible. Oh, to be sure, a genuine affection existed between them, but when the chasm of rank and societal expectations was so wide, she had not dared to allow herself to hope. But now, the deed was done, sealed with a kiss, a kiss that was so different from those bestowed upon her by dear, departed Arthur. Richard Fitzwilliam was a far different sort, yet in some ways, very much the same. A soldier, one who placed honor and duty above all else. Those were the attributes she had admired in Arthur Blackpool, in addition to his dashing handsome features and charming wit. But it had also been those very things that had gotten him killed, for despite the horrid illness that did the deed, it had been his diplomatic mission to the infected camp that had orchestrated his death. And now, she would wed another, risking the same. Only this time, she need not fear being left impoverished should the worst happen. No, she would be the Countess of Matlock, a thing that brought its own miseries. Sighing, she smoothed a stray lock of hair from her sleeping son’s face. Francis needed a father, yet not many men were willing to take on the child of another, even when theman in question was dead. But there again, Richard Fitzwilliam was different, having developed an easy camaraderie from the first meeting. She should count her blessings and be content, but somehow, an unsettled feeling would not leave her in peace. Happiness, it seemed, always had a price, but when would payment be due?
~Twenty-six~
Oblivious to the musings of his intended bride, Richard Fitzwilliam had descended the stairs wearing a smugness of countenance that required, yet again, many lies to explain. Of these excuses, all but the Darcys seemed to believe, but when he informed them of what had transpired, complete understanding was added to hearty congratulations.
“We shall keep it between ourselves until Sunday,” he insisted, ensured of their shared secrecy. It was but four days, but a small ball would be held, inviting several of the ranking local families to attend in addition to the current party. It was only right to make the announcement when those who mattered most were in attendance. Of their opinions he cared not, only that Moira be seen and acknowledged. It was an irony that made him smile, for not once during either their early acquaintance, or deepening friendship, did Moira Blackpool ever mention his title or rank. It was as if it did not matter, quite unlike the rest of the fawning simpletons that had feigned interest in an old soldier. Even Ariana Talmadge had only called him ‘your Grace’ or ‘milord’, but then, she was a mere child, despite her unusual intelligence. And Gloriana Westlake, being the daughter of an earl, herself, coyly used the deferences. It was only Moira who treated him like any other man, and so it would continue. They would be equals, in all things.
However, until that hour in which their engagement was made public, keeping such a secret was the hardest thing. This was especially so when he continued to observe the horrid treatment bestowed upon his beloved by her relation. Lady Drummond was worse than any of Mr. Grimm’s fairytale wicked witches, finding satisfaction in the torment of others. Only the sidelong glances of comfort, and the few stolen kisses made it all tolerableas the days passed in what should have been delightful pastimes. However, almost as if in some collusion, Lady Catherine and Lady Drummond managed to contrive to have him always in the company of either Miss Talmadge or Lady Gloriana when it came to the amusements. This had left Moira often on the sidelines, either unable to participate at all or partnered with the doddering Lord Marlborough. Even when assisted by the new nursemaid to mind Francis, it seemed that she was coerced into playing the servant to another. Frustrated, Matlock often demanded that Francis be his partner, creating a comical but neutral pairing.
“What say you? A bit of lawn bowling? Shall we trounce Miss Talmadge and Lord Ordony?” he offered, his eyes resting on the child’s mother longer than was appropriate. But if anyone noticed, they gave no indication, suggesting the secret remained safe. Unfortunately, there was one, whose years of observation had made duplicity into an artform, who missed nothing. And when the time came to retire before dinner arrived, there were not two, who planned a clandestine meeting, but four.
Having decided that this was the only time in which a few brief moments of privacy were to be had, Lord Matlock had taken to walking alone, whilst the other gentlemen wiled away the hours at cards or billiards.
“A few brisk miles are necessary for my digestion...an old army habit,” he declared after offering an invitation to all, knowing they would decline.
“Once a soldier, always a soldier,” Darcy had replied jokingly, knowing the true reason for the absence. His own bride, taking time with their child, would send Moira from her chamber and the nursemaid upon an errand, to allow the lovers their privacy. But as a newcomer herself to Redbyrne, Mrs. Darcy did notknow the myriad of passages and alcoves the way someone who had grown up there did. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, lurking in the shadows, was acutely aware of all, and planned to put an end to it. By the third meeting, she had her own devices in motion, much to the delighted relief of Lady Gloriana Westlake.
Having grown increasingly jealous of Miss Talmadge’s youth and beauty, she had gone so far as to have the young woman’s wardrobe damaged. Three gowns had somehow been ruined, and one of her best slippers magically disappeared. But when placed in competition with a small boy, she was at an utter loss. Aside from making the child ill, or causing some manner of accident, Francis Blackpool would continue to be a thorn in her side. What man wanted a ready-made family? Was Lord Matlock truly that love-sick over a widow? In comparison, Gloriana believed that she had far more to offer, but every time she put herself forward, it was to be politely refused. And now, she had made a bargain with the devil herself.
“He goes to meet her every afternoon. But tomorrow, you shall be there instead.”
“So? He will simply refuse me. Tell me to ‘go rest’ or some such nonsense!”
“Not this time, for Lady Drummond and I will come along at just the right moment, and when we do.... Kiss him! All it takes is one small compromise and... voila! It is done,” the old woman declared.
“One kiss? I hardly think...”
“No, you would not. I believe you rarely think of anything worthwhile! As I have told you before, it is not the kiss that matters, it is who sees it! Until now, they have kept their meetings clandestine, with the help of that interfering ElizabethBennet, but no longer! No, by Christmastime, you shall be the Countess of Matlock, not some overstepping servant.”
It all sounded so easy, but when the time finally came, and Gloriana stole away from her chamber, it was to find the gardens empty and a great uproar occurring in the main hall. Male voices, shouting in accusation, were accompanied by the high-pitched wails of Ariana Talmadge.
“My Gideon! He is dead!” the girl cried clutching at the cloth draped form upon the floor. Blood, thick and crimson, seeped through the makeshift shroud, staining the silk of her gown as calmer minds attempted to pry her fingers loose. Frozen, Gloriana Westlake the sound of Lady Catherine’s footsteps approaching went unheard until the old woman’s sour breath was upon her ear.
“Dueling! Such nonsense, what a waste,” she declared flatly, miffed that her own plans had been delayed. But it could hardly be helped now. With scandal sure to follow, perhaps it was best that she returned to Kent as soon as possible? Abandoning the younger woman, Lady Catherine stepped forward, feigning an air of distress and concern. In truth, she cared not a wit that either of the young Marlboroughs had died, or the fact that dueling was illegal, let alone the social disaster that would follow fratricide. No, all that mattered was that Ariana Talmadge, by connection, was no longer a suitable candidate for marriage. It would be years, if ever, that the taint of scandal wore thin enough for anyone to make an offer of marriage, despite her youth, beauty or fortune. It was indeed a mess, and one that she would greatly enjoy observing...but from a distance. Venturing to where Emma Drummond attempted to placate yet scold her distraught granddaughter, Catherine de Bourgh proffered another to blame.
“My dear Emma! This is what happens when young ladies are not properly chaperoned! Ariana is young and impressionable, easily beguiled by young men whose intentions are less than honorable.”
Releasing the girl, Lady Drummond turned from her efforts, angry eyes scanning the gathering of servants and guests before settling upon the source of blame. Standing slightly apart from the crowd, Moira Blackpool was mute with shock, unable to speak as her name was called forth as responsible.
“This is entirely your fault! Had you been performing your duties to my granddaughter, none of this would have occurred! Your child should have been left in London, or better still, have died alongside his father! Servants have no business having children!”
By now, volunteers had been organized to search for Lord Ordony and a rider had been dispatched for the magistrate, as well as the local physician. Gideon Marlborough was beyond hope, but upon hearing the devastating news, his aging father had collapsed, requiring immediate attention. In this, Matlock and Darcy had taken charge, but upon hearing the accusations levied against Moira Blackpool, ceased their conversation as all eyes were drawn towards the beautiful violet-clad lady.
“Explain yourself! Where were you when my granddaughter was being seduced by not one, but two men?”
Outraged, Matlock placed himself between them, his countenance bearing a cold rage that terrified even Elizabeth as she had never before seen him so. But despite this, his voice remained low and steady as he countered the accusation with his own.
“If there is anyone to blame, he lies there, dead upon the floor. Stupidity is to blame, jealousy is to blame, as are the social climbing aspirations of every family present,” he insisted, pausing as he looked to Moira for what would be said next. “As for Mrs. Blackpool, the only thing she is guilty of is stealing my heart, but even that is untrue, for I have given it to her willingly, and as she has consented to become my wife, I shall tolerate no slander upon her name. Is that understood?”
The declaration caused a ripple of murmurs amongst those gathered. Some, daring to offer congratulations amidst the tragedy. For it was so, the two greatest fools to blame where the brothers, now forever bound by misery.
~Twenty-seven~
One month later....
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, held the hand of his new bride tightly, as if some ill wind might steal her away at any moment. Today was a day for happiness and new beginnings, but a pall of darkness seemed to linger, despite all efforts to put the past where it belonged. It had been a most trying time after the unfortunate death of Gideon Marlborough, yet they had faced it together, ignoring all the gossips, and blatant disapproval from those whose interference would never be tolerated again. The wedding, a small and private affair, was well attended by local families, who rightfully chose to ignore the London papers and the screaming headlines that compared the duel to that of the biblical Cain and Abel. For as the truth came out, the duel between the brothers had very little to do with Miss Talmadge, but rather, a long-standing quarrel, fueled by years of competition, and the affections of Ariana Talmadge being the final tipping point. However, seeing an opportunity that was not to be wasted, the young lady soon forgot her attachment to either Marlborough and made much of the attention, believing it made her all the more desirable. Eventually, time would place the scandal into the forgotten past, but the new Countess of Matlock would remain a bone of contention. It was one thing for a beautiful debutante to be passed over in favor of someone with greater fortune, but to have one’s own chaperone marry the most eligible bachelor of the season? Well, that was beyond embarrassing, and resulted in a severance of the connection.
Even sadder, was the fact that of all Lord Matlock’s considerable relations, only the Darcys remained steadfast, whilst others, despite Richard Fitzwilliam’s rise in status, opted to place their loyalties with Lady Catherine. Having departed as soon asarrangements could be made after the startling announcement of the engagement, none had heard a single word from the woman. Only the curt, but polite excuses given to avoid attending the nuptials by others, suggested that her opinions had carried far.
