Page 27 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

She had been very pleased with Lady Honoria when the Lansdownes arrived; she was, Darcy suspected, pleased with her still.

Lord Lansdowne was a Whig of long standing and his Uncle Matlock’s confederate on more parliamentary committees than Darcy could enumerate. Lady Lansdowne was stouter, kinder, and seemed to have long ago surrendered any expectation of finishing a sentence in her daughter’s presence.

Lady Honoria had just taken several long minutes to explain why a woman of taste preferred Congou tea to Hyson. By the time the second remove was placed, they had travelled from China to Tuscany. They visited the British Museum, discussed the comparative merits of Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Gainsborough, and at last held a circular discussion of Mrs. Radcliffe in which Lady Honoria had pronounced novels a charming diversion for those whose understanding had not advanced beyond what a good education could supply.

Darcy’s head began to ache.

“Mr. Darcy,” said Lady Honoria, brightening, “I trust your sister is reading literature? At her age it is so essential. I always say that a young lady who has not yet formed her taste by sixteen will not form it at all.”

“My sister reads what she is inclined to, Lady Honoria, but in any case, her education is managed by her mother.” It was a warning, but apparently not one that Lady Honoria understood.

“Oh, but inclination is not enough.” She smiled at him with very white teeth. “I shall be glad to recommend some volumes, Lady Anne. There is a great deal of trash now in fashion. I do not say that we ought to be severe, only that we ought to be vigilant.”

His mother glanced at his uncle. Darcy recognised the look. His mother had been challenged in her own drawing room, upon the education of her own daughter, by a woman she was considering as a possible wife for her son. Only Lord Lansdowne’s usefulness to Matlock’s work in the Lords stood between Lady Honoria and an exceedingly polished set down.

“It shows wisdom,” said Lord Matlock from across the table, sending a warning look at his sister, “that you should be so cautious.”

Lady Honoria laughed warmly, accepted the remark as a compliment, and turned to a brief discourse on Mr. Pope, who had, she said, given the language several of its most enduring couplets, among them two that Darcy had known since he was twelve to be Mr. Dryden’s. He did not correct her.

Georgiana had begged off this dinner when they all met at breakfast. She would be taking her supper with Mrs. Annesley now, and perhaps reading a little Mrs. Radcliffe afterwards, preferring gothic terrors to his mother’s guest list.

Intelligent girl.

At breakfast, she would raise her eyebrows in silent enquiry. Darcy intended to answer with a single shake of his head.

“Now, Lansdowne,” Lord Matlock said, “tell me where you stand on Whitbread. I cannot get a straight answer out of anyone at Brooks’s.”

Lord Lansdowne, settled into his subject with something like relief. “The Regent had neither principles enough for the Tories nor loyalties enough for the Whigs, only an excellent instinct for preserving his own comfort.”

“I wonder if he means to keep us at all,” Lord Matlock said drily.

“I suppose he means to keep whoever is most convenient to him. Whether that proves to be us is, as you say, a matter on which I have lately become rather philosophical.”

“You and the rest of Brooks’s.”

Lord Lansdowne nodded. “Half the party still speaks as if His Royal Highness were waiting only for the restrictions to expire before rewarding his friends. The other half has noticed that he prefers Perceval to exertion.”

“A cruel observation,” Lady Lansdowne said mildly.

“An honest one,” said her husband.

His uncle and Lord Lansdowne both grunted. It had been a long year for them, revising old expectations at considerable social expense. Darcy had never expected the Prince Regent to behave in any way that would not assure his own comfort, but he sympathised nevertheless.

Lady Lansdowne agreed that politics was a great trial.

Lady Honoria, apparently satisfied that her father had assumed responsibility for the political portion of the evening, returned her full attention to Darcy.

She spoke on the prevailing taste in dress and asked Darcy how he liked her gown, a question to which no prudent gentleman dared reply with anything but a compliment. She explained her preferences in horses, including a full discourse on Arabians. And finally, she described her father’s latest evening at Carlton House, to which she had not been invited.

Darcy was beginning to regret not having paid more heed to Miss Macomber.

He made the responses civility required, listened to almost half of what Lady Honoria said, and watched his mother all the while. She had eaten less than she usually did, and her hand had gone twice to the stem of her glass without lifting it.

By the time the cloth was drawn, Darcy comprehended that his mother had revised her opinion of Lady Honoria.

Lady Honoria did not.

“My dear Mr. Darcy,” she said as she passed him on her way to join her mother, “I have so enjoyed our conversation. I feel as if we have known each other for years.”