“I had tried to forget about her,” Elizabeth admitted honestly, having been preoccupied with the myriad of things to do.
“Impossible, and I fear that eventually, she will join us here,” Darcy replied, but felt her pain. The townhouse was one tenth the size of Pemberley, offering no way to avoid an unpleasant relation that could not be denied hospitality.
To this, Elizabeth sighed, but did not voice a complaint. No, despite the small miracle of Lady Catherine de Bourgh going back on her vow to never acknowledge either of them, it would appear that allowances would be made when a greater purpose was at hand. On her part, Elizabeth had told no one of their arrival save her elder sister Jane, adding a demand that she keep the arrival private. Married to one of Darcy’s closest friends, Jane Bennet Bingley, and her husband Charles, favored a London residence for now, but soon, would resume the quest to find an estate near Pemberley. At one time, Bingley had thought to purchase Netherfield, an empty but often let, house near that of her parents. Unfortunately, despite the estate’s lovely vistas and handsome neo-classical style, the place allowed for far too frequent, and often unannounced, visits from their mother. London, some twenty miles away, eased that tension somewhat, but Jane had other problems. And now, one of them was to become shared with Elizabeth. Having completed her sorting, she opened the first, having recognized Jane’s delicate hand, but no glad tidings of welcome were within, instead, a polite warning was issued, as well as an invitation to dinner. Looking up at her husband in dismay, Elizabeth relayed the contents of the letter.
“It’s an invitation from Jane, to dine with her and Charles at Harrison’s tomorrow. As cook is still awaiting the rest of her supplies, I will accept, but dearest, what shall we do about Caroline? Jane says she is staying with them; apparently there was some sort of falling out between her and Louisa.”
“Oh? Why am I not surprised?” Darcy replied, eliciting another eyeroll. He had many memories of the heated squabbles that took place between Bingley and his sisters, with Caroline often being the instigator of all. “I suppose she is going to be a pest.”
Elizabeth returned the assessment with a glare, for calling Caroline Bingley a pest was charitable. More than once, the woman had inserted a claim upon Darcy, and insult upon Elizabeth. Since their marriage, they had done their best to limit any association, but that also meant doing without the friendship of Bingley and Jane. Elizabeth missed her sister dearly and letters did not make up for companionship. To make matters worse, Caroline was unmarried at two and thirty, yet behaved like a girl of twenty when it came to men. If not for having retained her beauty, as well as a fortune of thirty thousand, she would have been considered officially ‘on the shelf’. Instead, she made every other woman, even those happily married, miserable. Richard Fitzwilliam, once beneath the notice of such women, would now be a prime target, for the one thing Miss Bingley craved beyond money was status. Pondering what to do, Elizabeth did not hear the announcement of a visitor until Darcy’s welcome drew her back to the present.
“Richard! We did not expect you for at least a fortnight! I trust all went well with General Higgenthorpe?” he inquired, noting the lack of a regimental uniform upon his cousin’s person.
“Not quite, but we can discuss that later,” he replied, turning his attentions to Elizabeth with a wry smile. “Hello, Elizabeth, I am a bit early, but ready to begin my quest to find a wife.”
~Ten~
Elizabeth, surprised by the show of eagerness, shook her head and laughed, for it was all too obvious that Richard Fitzwilliam had been long from society. While the London season was indeed the time for swift engagements, it was not without its problems. For one, there would be hundreds of young ladies on display, making it very difficult to sort through those whose sole purpose of marriage was to gain money, those who were desperately trying to hide some sort of scandal, and those who would simply promise a lifetime of misery. No, it was a precarious process, and one that must be taken slowly.
“I see you have chosen not to wear your regimentals, and nor are you attired in mourning,” she finally replied, glancing down at her own ebony silk gown. It was one thing to disregard protocols in the country, where gossip did not always reach, but quite another in town. Here, she and Darcy would comply, and so must Lord Matlock.
“Er, no... As expected, I must resign my commission. General Higgenthorpe considers it a conflict of interests, and after much consideration, I have to agree. However, it will not take effect until a suitable replacement is found,” he explained, omitting the six months’ time allotted should that not come to pass. He did not want anyone to feel pressured by time, resulting in hasty decisions. Or, so he told himself repeatedly. Marriage was for life.
“Ah...well...I suppose it had to be,” Darcy ventured, and seeing the discomfort the subject caused, quickly altered it to one that was perhaps, even more unpleasant. “Elizabeth and I have been discussing your predicament, and after seeing your attire, she iscorrect in her assessment. We must find you some new clothes, ones befitting your station.”
“I rather thought this coat was the height of fashion. Is it not?”
“Perhaps several years ago,” Elizabeth critiqued gently, for he was not alone in having no cares for material things, but the lack of it would be noticed, and therefore, cause for comment. Staring down at his cuffs and hem, it was the first time he noticed the dullness of the velvet and loose threads dangling from a button. He never would have allowed his uniform to be in such a state, much less consider wearing it in public. Sighing, he shrugged, “I am but an ignorant fool in these matters, and must defer to your superior judgement,” he admitted, knowing that whatever the Darcys had in store for him was far better than anything his aunt would dictate. Without a doubt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh would have him trussed up like a dandy, something he could never tolerate.
“I feel as though we shall come across as tyrants,” Elizabeth replied, for she had felt the same when Darcy had first brought her to London after their marriage. He had spent great sums of money in the creation of her trousseau, but it had been done out of love, and a desire to not have her feel embarrassment or be the subject of derision. Society was cruel in its judgements, and once judgement was passed, it was nearly impossible to be redeemed. The new Lord Matlock must make an impression, one that bespoke dignity and respectability, a reputation that had been tarnished by his brother’s excesses. But to her worries, Richard Fitzwilliam merely bowed, “I am yours to command, milady,” he promised knowing she had only the best of intentions, but Elizabeth Darcy laughed a gain and gestured to her husband.
“Actually, you will be mine, or shall I say properly, my tailor’s. I have already taken the liberty of securing Mr. Hilton’s servicesonce you actually arrived, but until your wardrobe can be sorted, a few of my things will do.”
“Oh dear! Is it as bad as that? I’m afraid, this is all I have besides my uniform.”
To this, Darcy held his tongue, but his countenance said volumes as he pursed his lips into a grimace of distaste. Never in the years of the cousin’s friendship, had pretense or polite lies been told. When Darcy had foolishly insulted Elizabeth with a botched proposal, Fitzwilliam had been the first to call him out. Now, it was his opportunity to return the favor, and within the hour, a footman returned, with the tailor and several assistants trailing in his wake. Each, carrying selections of fabric and other implements, were soon ensconced inside a spare bedchamber where the real work was to begin. The honor of dressing the new Lord Matlock was not lost upon the tailor, nor was the assurance of a considerable fee and boost to the man’s reputation as one of London’s finest clothiers. Of this, Elizabeth smiled in amusement, imagining her husband’s cousin standing for hours upon a footstool as he was measured and fitted. It was a necessary misery she had endured numerous times, but as it was for gentlemen only, she was left to her own devices. And in those, there was much work to be done.
First, she too made use of a messenger, sending an acceptance to Jane, and a request to add an additional, but unnamed guest to their dinner. The omittance was deliberate, but Jane Bingley was an astute lady, and would surmise the identity of the gentleman. However, as Elizabeth knew that Jane’s correspondence was often read by the intrusive Caroline, it would raise questions easily avoided by denial. She did not want poor Richard to be set upon so quickly, especially by one so predatory as Miss Bingley. Sorting through the rest of the invitations, she selected no morethan two events per week, leaving plenty of time for calls and such meetings as Darcy would choose. For despite directly requesting her assistance in finding a bride, this was the first introduction that the Earl of Matlock would have to London society, and very much a man’s world. That, and there were the additional duties required by the new peer. An appearance at court, as well as Parliament. So often, those whose seats in government were brought on by inheritance, were left absent beyond the minimum requirements. Of this, Elizabeth knew precious little, nor did she desire to learn, but merely allocated time and flexibility. It was the first real public appearance that had her worried. She had chosen a ball, held by Lady Emma Drummond, in honor of her granddaughter’s debut. Of Miss Lorna Talmadge, Elizabeth could hardly complain. A beautiful girl, just seventeen, and in possession of all the silly skills of deportment that deemed one ‘accomplished’. It had been a deliberate choice, for the Earl of Matlock would have no interest in someone that young, yet the appearance of an unmarried man of title would speak well for her. Only her brief acquaintance with Lady Emma gave her pause. If there ever had been a twin in spirit of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, it was Emma Drummond. Opinionated and prone to bullying, it was no small wonder that the two women were known to dislike one another, for how could one chamber ever be large enough to hold both? Smiling in amusement, Elizabeth penned her acceptance, neatly filling in the space for total guests with the number four, although no one would question the addition of another, should Jane and Bingley wish to accompany. Having far more limited connections, the Bingleys, while hardly idle, did not often receive invitations to events where titles were commonplace. No, theirs was the realm of comfortable wealth, but too recently removed from the occupational source which supported the elevation. It was a circumstance that rankled Miss Caroline Bingley to no end, forsince the marriage of Darcy and Elizabeth, there was far less contact between the families. Only when in London, could Jane and Charles Bingley make use of the connection, once distant, to the Earl of Matlock. It would be an amusing thing to observe, and one greatly enjoyed by Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, had she decided to come. But having herself recently wed, the former Miss Darcy was on an extended wedding holiday to the Americas and would not learn of the old Earl’s passing until her return. Darcy had considered writing, but had not wished to dampen his sister’s happiness. Georgiana, contrary to the rest of her relations, had held a fondness for George Fitzwilliam and would be upset by the news. Putting the unpleasantness aside, Elizabeth finished her correspondence, satisfied with the number and variety of engagements, and went to spend several hours with her son before taking her own rest. Since the boy’s birth, the once luxury of a short nap had become a necessity, often stretching longer if undisturbed. So, it was no surprise when her maid touched her shoulder, that Elizabeth found she had slept through luncheon entirely and it was now time for tea.
“The Master said you were not to be disturbed,” the servant insisted, before helping her mistress into a fresh gown and tidying the coiffure that had become mussed. “
“There we are, fresh as a daisy, as my Mama would say!” the girl declared, and with Elizabeth expressing her satisfaction, disappeared.
“A daisy that has not been watered recently,” Elizabeth added afterwards. Peering into the mirror over her dressing table, she pinched some color into her cheeks. While pale, she did feel refreshed, and went below to join her husband. However, the gentlemen were nowhere to be seen. Tea and sandwiches, enough for one, lay ready in the small parlor they favored whennot entertaining, leaving the sole attending footman to offer an explanation.
“Mr. Darcy and Lord Matlock were called away, but promise to return by dinner,” he declared, but could offer no reason as to why, only that a messenger had come shortly after the tailor had finished and that it had been from Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an admission that made him wince. Raising an eyebrow at the involuntary response, Elizabeth thanked the young man and took her meal in silence, enjoying a peace and quiet that she suspected would be very short-lived....
~Eleven~
Having chosen to take a hired cab to the fine hotel in which Lady Catherine de Bourgh had ensconced her presence, her nephews quibbled like school boys.
“Why do we do this?” Fitzwilliam inquired with a sigh of exasperation.
“Do what? Come running every time she calls...like dogs?” Darcy finished, knowing the answer, but finding it equally distasteful. Prior to his marriage, he had merely tolerated the old woman, even indulged her. Out of pity he supposed, but then, it had not the same effect upon him as now. His aunt’s constant criticism, particularly of Elizabeth, had worn his tolerance thin, making the breech imposed by his choosing Elizabeth over family opinions, a blessing in disguise. Even then, he knew it would be brief, for if there was ever one universal truth about his aunt, it was that she could never cease to interfere. No doubt also pondering this, the Earl of Matlock uttered a low growl, imitating those of Pemberley’s hunting hounds when they caught the scent. It made for a brief amusement before they need face the cantankerous old girl, and they quickly sobered as the Regency Arms came into view.
Rarely venturing into London anymore, but refusing to do without the smallest luxury, Lady Catherine de Bourgh had taken half a dozen rooms from which to conduct her stay. Of those, Darcy followed his cousin into a sumptuous parlor to wait. There, a tall clock ticked away the minutes as Lady Catherine took her leisure in arriving.
“Nearly thirty minutes...I shan’t wait another. It is beyond rude, even for her,” Fitzwilliam insisted, his countenance taking up a frown that had become far too familiar. When was the last timehe felt happy? With no answer, and despite the time, they waited another ten before a commotion was heard outside the door.
