Page 111 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

Not all of it, for some of it was not his to tell. But he did explain how he felt, what Miss Elizabeth said she had overheard on the night Georgiana played the pianoforte, the rumour about Aldridge, the proposal made in haste because he had thought another man might speak first, how Miss Elizabeth had been angry with him.

His mother listened without interrupting. That alone told him the matter was grave. Twice he stopped, certain he had said too much or too little, and each time she waited for him to resume.

“Did you explain Miss Finch?” his mother asked when he had finished.

“I could not. I did not know what it was that Miss Elizabeth had heard. I knew only that she believed you were planning an engagement.”

“There was a plan.”

“Not with me, I hope.”

“After you told me you had no interest in Miss Finch, I began to think Richard might suit her very well. He has property and a fortune now, and she is both direct enough not to be over-awed by him and perceptive enough to see that his humour conceals a great deal of feeling. She even loves horses nearly as much as he does.”

“She complained about her horse for ten minutes.”

His mother stared at him. “Fitzwilliam, she told me that her mare was heavy in the shoulder, badly handled on the left rein, and inclined to rush a fence when checked too sharply. Those were not idle complaints. She knew precisely what was wrong with the animal, which means she loves to ride.”

Darcy sat back. “Excellent. Then she and Richard may discuss their horses at leisure.”

His mother ignored this. “I begin to understand. I paid marked attention to Miss Finch and placed her near you more than once. We were all speaking at some length together after Georgiana played for us. That same evening, Miss Elizabeth heard only part of something about Miss Finch and then supplied the rest from what she had already observed.”

“She supplied it incorrectly.”

“Yes,” his mother said, growing thoughtful. “But not unreasonably.”

He disliked the mistake, disliked even more that he had been called to account for something in which he had no hand, but he could not disagree. Miss Elizabeth had watched his mother in her element since December. She had seen Miss Finch and other ladies repeatedly placed by him, might even have heard some speculation. From where she stood, the conclusion had likely seemed inevitable.

He was staring at the catalogue on the desk again and made himself look away. “She said something that I am still grappling with. I did not understand it, not really.”

His mother waited.

“She said, ‘I cannot be chosen in this way.’” He hesitated, mulling that over as he had all week. “In what way? Was it only that I was too hasty?”

“Chosen,” she repeated. “In this way?”

“That is what she said. I cannot be sure she even meant to say it aloud. She had refused me already, so it was not the proposal, or not only that.”

“No,” his mother said slowly. “You do not understand it because it is more about what I have done than what you have.” She rose and went to the window. “All winter I asked myself which man would be her match. I enjoyed her as a challenge. Mr. Cresswell, Mr. Reed, Mr. Fulford. Mr. Aldridge, at the last. Someone else if he failed. It did not occur to me that Miss Elizabeth might actually mean it when she told me she did not wish to be matched at all.”

“She did not.”

“No. And when you proposed the moment you believed Mr. Aldridge might, she had every reason to think she was merely being passed on to you.”

“I did not regard her as something to be passed anywhere.”

“But she could not know that. She saw me arranging introductions, encouraging attentions, deciding which man suited which woman. Then you came to her in haste only because another man had forced you to act.”

Darcy looked away.

“I loved her before Aldridge.”

“Yes. But you kept it carefully hidden.”

He could not argue with that. What had Miss Elizabeth actually seen? A man who avoided her for more than two months upon advice she had never heard, who had contrived meetings in the park he never admitted were intentional, and who had stood beside Miss Finch when his mother bade him do so. Every kindness he had offered her had been presented as mere courtesy, and therefore it had been accepted as such.

“I made her feel observed,” his mother said. “Assessed. Her own wishes would settle themselves, I supposed, once I had found the correct match. It was wrong for me to do it, and it was wrong for you to let my arrangements determine when you spoke.”

“She could not have thought you arranged my proposal.” If his mother had arranged it, he would not have blurted out his feelings like a simpleton.