Page 130 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“Two hundred six. Fitzwilliam saw the list. Typically, there would be guests who do not appear, but this is your mother’s new home and the entire ton is eager to see it.”

Beside her, Mary took a deep, nervous breath. In an attempt to distract her, Elizabeth asked, “Have you had any word from Longbourn? I hardly receive any letters these days.”

“Longbourn is loud,” Mary said with a winsome smile. “Now that he is a little older, Mamma has Tommy carried down to the drawing room every day for callers to admire him. Kitty and Lydia are quite in love with him and insist that everyone else ought to be as well. Papa has taken to reading in the nursery in the evening.” She leaned in. “He writes that it is the only room in the house where nobody argues with him, but I think he likes to read aloud to our brother.”

“And Mr. Collins?”

“Wrote to congratulate them,” said Mary. “Papa did not think it sincere.”

Elizabeth laughed aloud. Several heads turned as people began to arrive, but she did not care in the least. “Has Charlotte written?” She did feel some pity for her friend, but then, it had been Charlotte’s comment that had resulted in a little Master Bennet.

“She added a note to Mr. Collins’s letter. She seems perfectly content,” Mary told her. “I think perhaps she did not wish to return to Hertfordshire after all. Though she did ask whether your husband has another living in his gift somewhere outside of Kent.”

As more guests began to stream in, Elizabeth left Mary with Georgiana to discuss their music sheets. She made her way over to where Uncle Gardiner stood near the card room, where he was currently in the middle of losing an argument.

“The children and I want you for the whole summer,” said Aunt Gardiner.

“The warehouses do not run themselves.”

“You have an excellent clerk who knows the business nearly as well as you.”

“Uncle,” Elizabeth said, “you must be aware that you cannot win.”

Her uncle crossed his arms over his chest. “Ten weeks,” he said. “And I shall want ample time to take Edward fishing.”

“Done,” said her aunt. “You are witness to his agreement, Lizzy.”

“We are looking forward to seeing you all,” Elizabeth said. “And Mary too, if she likes it. Fitzwilliam has promised to take us all to Dovedale.”

Aunt Gardiner did not answer at once, and when she did, her eyes were a little too bright. “Please tell Fitzwilliam that we shall greatly anticipate it.” Uncle Gardiner took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

Colonel Fitzwilliam found them a minute later with the former Miss Finch, now Mrs. Fitzwilliam, on his arm. At the wedding breakfast, he had asked Elizabeth to call him Richard. And in September at her wedding breakfast, the former Miss Finch had not asked but rather informed Elizabeth that they were now cousins, and she was to be addressed as Arabella.

As far as Elizabeth could tell, Richard and Arabella had spent nearly all the time since their wedding disagreeing about horses and sheep. This was done, however, with the greatest satisfaction Elizabeth had ever witnessed in a married couple except herself and her husband. Well, and perhaps the Wickhams.

“Have you heard about Sir John?” Richard asked.

“No,” Uncle Gardiner said.

He set his glass down. “My aunt found him his huntswoman. Russian father, English mother, brought up in Leicestershire, rides like a hussar. Sir John took her out to see how she would do.” He paused, plainly relishing it. “She took a fence he refused to jump.”

“And?” Elizabeth asked.

“And he proposed at the second covert. She would not answer him until the ride was finished. They were married a fortnight ago.”

“He talks of her precisely as he talks of the mare,” said Arabella. “A pretty seat. Good hands. Does not scream at a wet ditch.” She turned to Richard. “It is a good thing I have broken you of that habit, for I am not as forbearing as she seems to be.”

“My dear, I could never mistake you for a horse,” he said. “A horse is easier to manage.”

“It is good that you did not marry a woman who requires managing.”

He smiled into his wine. “Indeed it is.”

Fitzwilliam shook his head. “At this rate there shall hardly be a couple in all of the ton who was not matched by my mother.”

The room was completely filled with guests now, but because they would come and go over the course of the evening, the rooms felt animated rather than oppressive, and Elizabeth did not become overheated.

Lord Milton came to stand by the window. Lady Milton, the former Lady Honoria, stood nearby, engaging in lively debate with Sir John’s half-Russian wife about whether Bonaparte was at last weak enough to be toppled.