“Your consideration knows no bounds, Richard,” Georgiana said.
Richard frowned at this compliment, and when Darcy caught his eye, the colonel flushed and looked away. Georgiana must have noticed this exchange, for she, too, blushed, and the three of them finished the short trek back to Grosvenor Square in uncomfortable silence.
*
“Sit with us,” said Lady Grantley, patting a spot on the settee between Lady Sheffield and herself. The combination of the two ladies’ voluminous gowns and Lady Grantley’s rather impressive girth caused Elizabeth some trepidation, but she managed to squeeze between her new in-laws without, as far as she knew, damaging their dresses.
Lord and Lady Matlock sat in large, plush chairs across from them; Lord Grantley sat off to the side, behind a newspaper.
Lady Matlock stared at Elizabeth for a long moment before she finally spoke. “We have been so very interested in meeting you.”
Elizabeth smiled but knew not what to say.
She need not have worried; Lady Grantley quickly filled the silence. “We hardly knew what to expect, knowing nothing of your family. I must say, you are prettier than I had heard! Though—may I be honest, dear, as we are now family?—I do think your dress is rather drab.”
Elizabeth worked to keep her face serene; laughter would hardly do in such a circumstance. Her lady’s maid, an aging yet spirited French woman called Bisset, had argued for half an hour with Mrs. Annesley on the choice of her gown, the maid wanting something with more color, lace, and flounces than Mrs. Annesley, who had believed modesty and humility would best serve Elizabeth’s goals. Elizabeth had compromised, the fabric displaying a rich green hue with some lace on the sleeves and bodice, but no flounces whatsoever. She resolved to tell neither woman of Lady Grantley’s views for fear of making Bisset too bold and Mrs. Annesley too unhappy.
“How do you like town?” Lady Grantley continued. “Do you dread returning to Pemberley, now that you have tasted the charms of London?”
Before Elizabeth could answer, Lady Matlock said, “Oh, Bella, you do chatter!”
“Indeed she does,” said Grantley, from behind his newspaper.
“You must not mind what she says,” Lady Sheffield added. “I am sure we have heard nothing unfavorable about you.”
“I have, too!” Lady Grantley leaned over Elizabeth and wagged a finger at her sister-in-law. “Mrs. Thornton told me only yesterday that she had called on Mrs. Darcy last week and been amazed that Fitz would throw himself away on such a plain creature. But do not worry overly much.” Lady Grantley tapped Elizabeth on the hand with her fan. “Mrs. Thornton has very little taste.”
“I have heard only praise from a source I trust much more than Mrs. Thornton,” said Lady Matlock. “My dear Richard found you quite charming. He was sorry not to be here today, but the army makes many demands on him.”
“I am glad to have earned his good opinion,” Elizabeth said, “and was honored that he should attend the wedding.”
“Oh, the wedding!” cried Lady Sheffield. “I do wish I had been allowed to go, but of course, I was betrothed by that time, and…well, in any case, you must tell me all about your festivities. What did you wear? Who attended? What foods were served afterward? You must describe your cake!”
“One would suppose,” Grantley said, snapping his newspaper shut and scowling at his sister, “that a woman just married would be done with this kind of nonsense.”
“Oh, I can never have enough of weddings!” She turned to Elizabeth. “Was it not the happiest day of your life?”
How could Elizabeth picture anything other than her father, his eyes staring blindly at the ceiling, his body devoid of breath and spirit?
She opened her mouth to speak—to say some polite phrase, some few words that might allow her to answer Lady Sheffield without making mockery of her own feelings—but could do little except force herself to take in air without gasping. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, Elizabeth knew all she had to do was blink—oh, Mrs. Annesley, how right you were!—and she might turn a tolerable visit into a disaster for her husband and sister. “How little self control she has!” Lord Matlock would declare. “If she cannot sit through a call with her relations without making a display, how can she be expected to shepherd Georgiana through her first Season?”
“It was certainly the happiest day of mine,” Lady Sheffield continued, heedless of Elizabeth’s struggle to maintain composure.
“You had an odd way of showing it,” said Lord Matlock. “You wept through half the wedding breakfast.”
“Oh, I always cry when happy!”
“Are you happy, Mrs. Darcy?” inquired Lord Matlock, meeting her gaze.
She wondered if this question was motivated by concern or contempt. Did he know of her predicament? Could he see, from the distance of his massive armchair, that she was on the verge of tears? Even if he could not see how her eyes shone, he must have noticed the brightening of her nose, which had the unfortunate tendency of reddening whenever she was about to cry.
What Lord Matlock did not know about Elizabeth Bennet—or Elizabeth Darcy—was that her courage always rose with every attempt to intimidate her. Besides, his was a question more easily answered. For all the challenges she and Darcy had faced during their courtship and early marriage, she could say without hesitation, “I am indeed happy, Lord Matlock.”
Elizabeth then turned to his daughter. “I have heard from many that your wedding gown was stunning.”
“Oh, yes!” she cried, and then launched into a ten-minute description of not only her gown but her attendant’s gown, her mother’s gown, and the gown of her husband’s sister (“a horrid little thing, if I may be honest,” Lady Sheffield confessed, leaving Elizabeth in some doubt as to whether the gown or the girl wearing it had been objectionable).
Such a long monologue left almost everyone in the room dispirited. Grantley, his wife, and even Lady Matlock (who seemed, by her own dress, the kind of woman to find pleasure in finery) slumped in their chairs, as if Lady Sheffield’s reminiscing, so full of gesticulation and liveliness, siphoned off their own energy. Lord Matlock crossed his arms and stared pointedly at Elizabeth, who felt herself quite at ease, now that she knew she would be required to say very little for the rest of the call.
Indeed, Lady Sheffield had hardly taken a breath when Darcy, Georgiana, and—to everyone’s surprise—Colonel Fitzwilliam were announced and ushered into the drawing room.
Elizabeth saw immediately that the walk had done nothing to improve the mood of either Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam looked just as grave as his cousins.
“Why, Richard!” cried Lady Matlock, rising and holding out her hands. “We had thought you too busy to visit today!”
“I wonder how you came to think that,” replied the colonel, bowing and offering but a curt kiss to his mother’s gloved knuckles, “when you did not bother inviting me.”
“Do not pout, Richard,” said Lord Matlock, who stood and clapped a hand to his son’s back. “We know how the army relies on you.”
“That, and we had no desire to hear yet another request for funds,” said Grantley, opening his newspaper once again. His words were slightly muffled by the pages, but still Elizabeth could hear the disdain in them. “What’s your cause today, Richard? The washerwomen who launder your uniforms?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam flushed.
“That is enough from you, Charles,” Lord Matlock said. “Now, Richard, come greet the ladies. ”
Under the intensity of Lord Matlock’s gaze, Elizabeth attempted to rise from the settee with some semblance of grace, but felt herself jostled by the ladies on either side of her, who bumped and elbowed her as they rose and held out their hands to the colonel.
To his sister and brother’s wife, he gave only the perfunctory bow, but for Elizabeth he managed a smile, as well. “Mrs. Darcy, it is a great pleasure to see you again. It is a shame we could not meet in town before today. Had I not found my way here this morning,
I might have missed this opportunity, as well.”
As Elizabeth curtsied, the colonel added, “I hope this will not be amiss, but let me also offer my condolences for your family’s loss. Though I had only a brief opportunity to speak with your father at the wedding breakfast, he impressed me with his wit and wisdom. I wish I might have known him longer—and was especially grieved to hear that he passed only a few hours after my departure.”
“Thank you,” she managed. She saw, through a blur of tears, how rapidly Darcy made his way to her. He could not stand directly beside her, as he would have had to push Lady Grantley out of the way. So he stood a few feet off, watching her with that gaze she might once have mistaken for hauteur but now recognized anxiety and concern.
Lady Sheffield turned and gaped at her. “On your wedding day? Do you mean to say your father died on the very day of your wedding? How terrible!”
Lord Matlock glared at his daughter. “No doubt it would have been a terrible occurrence on whatever day it happened.” To Elizabeth he added, “My daughter’s prattling about weddings must have caused you some discomfort.”
She met his gaze and saw his features soften as he spoke. He offered no condolences of his own; she supposed that he meant to show his sympathy through scolding his daughter.
Red-faced and near tears, Lady Sheffield replied, “Oh, but I did not know!”
Elizabeth offered her a tremulous smile. “Indeed you did not, and I took no offense, Lady Sheffield.”
“It is one thing,” said Darcy, “to act without meaning to cause injury—and another thing all together to take actions calculated to cause pain. I am certain that my cousin, at least, meant no harm.”
“Fitzwilliam, please do not—” Georgiana began.
“Do not try to placate your brother,” interrupted Lord Matlock. “He is spoiling for a fight, and so I shall give him what he wants. Let us be open and discuss what we are all thinking. Mrs. Darcy, you are not the wife we would have wished for our nephew. Family, you must understand, is of the utmost importance to me, and the inferiority of your connections has caused grave concern.”
“So I have been led to believe,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady, even as she thought of Lady Grantley’s impertinent remarks, Lady Sheffield’s prattling, and Lord Grantley’s rude behavior throughout the call. If these were the types of connections she ought to have, then surely her own family’s silliness should have provided her with some advantage in life?
“Without name or fortune, can you be of help to your new sister when she comes out, Mrs. Darcy?” Lord Matlock continued.
“I would not hinder her progress, Sir.”
The two of them locked gazes for a long moment.
“There is something decidedly direct about you,” he said eventually. “I cannot deny that you possesses an uncanny sense of composure. You are clever, as well. Do not think I have not noticed how you engaged others to speak so that you might not say anything to embarrass yourself.”
This stung. What constituted good manners in all other circumstances had somehow become further proof that she was a charlatan and interloper.
Darcy must have shared her feelings. “You would find fault if she had spoken! I dare any of you to claim, upon honest reflection, that you have any supportable complaint with my wife’s conduct. It is her family—who are respectable, but wholly unknown to you—that you object to, and there is nothing more to be said on that subject. We are married, and my wife has brought only happiness and honor to the Darcy name.”
Elizabeth had to call on every bit of her vaunted composure to keep herself from throwing her arms about her husband.
The Fitzwilliam family were equally moved: There were sighs from Lady Matlock and Lady Sheffield, a giggle from Lady Grantley, and, perhaps most telling of all, a newspaper dropped in surprise by Grantley. Georgiana’s eyes filled with tears, and the Colonel murmured, “Well said, Fitz.”
“Yes, well said,” agreed Lord Matlock. “And yet all your noble words suggest, Darcy, is that you love your wife—an admirable and even enviable state, but certainly nothing when it comes to determining Mrs. Darcy’s fitness as someone to oversee your sister’s entrance into society.”
“You concern yourself too much with Georgiana’s future, Sir,” said Darcy. “She is a Darcy, and as such—”
“She is a Fitzwilliam, too!” Lord Matlock’s face grew red. “She is my niece, and I have come to see in her all of the qualities that made your mother such a beloved sister to me.”
At that moment, the drawing room door opened, and a footman announced, “Master Charles.” Elizabeth could see no one who might fit the name; she saw only a young servant girl, whose forehead was crinkled with worry lines as she said, “Watch the table there, Master Charlie!”
Elizabeth heard him before she saw him—a few “ga ba ga ba” sounds and the thumping noises of someone who knew not how to walk softly, even on fine Persian rugs. Around one of the large armchairs he came, half tumbling into view, clapping his chubby little hands when he saw he was among a class of giants, some of whom wore bright colors and smiled down at him.
“There is my favorite little man!” cried Lord Matlock, his voice rising half an octave as he reached down and scooped up the toddler.
In the presence of his grandson, Lord Matlock appeared a changed man; smiling and energetic, he might have been mistaken for the boy’s father. (That gentleman had frowned and retreated behind his newspaper.) As she watched him muss his grandson’s hair, Elizabeth wondered if Lord Matlock had ever scooped up Lord Grantley, or if he had only learned the skill when his own children had grown far too large to carry.
“Why do we not all sit?” Lady Matlock said. “Richard, your arrival, as welcome as it is, distracted us from admiring Mrs. Darcy’s gown. You there, Betty,” she added, waving a hand toward the nursery maid hovering the doorway, “order some refreshments.”
As Betty bobbed a curtsey and departed, Lady Grantley said, “We were not admiring Mrs. Darcy’s gown. In fact, I believe that I said—”
“Do not try and distract me from the true conversation, unpleasant as you might find it,” said Lord Matlock. “Not even my little man here has made me forget my point.”
Perhaps not, and yet the little man, who struggled mightily to escape his grandfather’s hold and resume his exploration of the room, began to wail. Elizabeth glanced at the boy’s parents, expecting one of them to react, but both Grantley and his wife seemed content to maintain their current activities of reading (though what that thin newspaper contained allowing for nearly an hour’s rapt attention, Elizabeth could not guess) and fanning. It was a lovely fan, all ivory and lace and pearls, and yet it moved with such rapidity that Elizabeth, sitting in such close proximity, feared one of the more delicate decorations might detach and launch itself into the air. Lady Grantley seemed to have no such qualms; she continued fanning, watching her son squall with a placid expression.
“Do you suppose he wants a sweetie?” said Lady Matlock. “Oh, where is that nurse with the refreshments?”
Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy for Betty, who was expected not only to care for the child but also to fetch food and drink for a party of nine in fewer than five minutes.
“Perhaps, Uncle, you might let him free,” said Georgiana, reaching from her seat nearby to place a hand on her uncle’s forearm. “You know how Charlie enjoys walking, now that he is able.”
“Yes, you know your cousin well,” Lord Matlock said, “and yet I fear he will bump one of the corners. I would not want my little man to break his head now, would I?” Lord Matlock tickled his grandson’s chin (which had no appreciable effect on the boy’s mood) and placed him gingerly on the floor, as if the carpet might cause further harm.
Charlie immediately quieted, aside for the few grunts it took to get him from a sitting to standing position.
“Oh, good!” said Lady Matlock. “And here are the refreshments, too!”
As several servants entered
with trays of refreshments, Lord Matlock said to Darcy, “Did you not see how Ana’s counsel was both wise and gentle? Your mother was no different. Such sweetness and strength combined, my father used to say, and I see the same perfect mixture in your sister.”
Darcy’s expression softened. “Uncle, no one can share your admiration for my sister more than I.”
Georgiana blushed and said, “You are both too kind to me, and so you must see why I do not wish to be the cause of strife between you.”
“You are not the cause, my dear,” said Lord Matlock.
Elizabeth saw how Darcy’s jaw tightened, but somehow, he managed to speak calmly: “Your concern for Georgiana is most appreciated, my lord—and yet, I do not see how your attempts to marry her off serve any purpose other than your own.”
“Marry her off?” Lord Matlock shook his head. “I do not want to marry her off to just anyone, young man! That is what happened to your mother.”
The color drained from Darcy’s face, and whatever sympathy he may have felt for Lord Matlock seemed to have disappeared. “Do not dare insult my father, sir.”
“Your father was a respectable man—but no match for Lady Anne Fitzwilliam. She accepted the first proposal that came her way, and my father, God rest his soul, did not object. Had my father shown Anne’s future the kind of consideration I would show Ana’s, she would have led a much happier life—and a longer one, too, I suspect, for her health declined only after her unhappy alliance.”
Such a speech was difficult to bear, if for no other reason than this supposedly unhappy marriage had produced the person Elizabeth loved best in the world. Beyond that, she could not help but see the hypocrisy of Lord Matlock’s words, for he who claimed to be better suited to matchmaking had overseen the marriage of his own children, neither of whom appeared particularly happy. Oh, Lady Sheffield giggled and prattled on about dresses, but she seemed restless and nervous, her hands and eyes always moving. And Grantley had made nothing but snide comments to his wife, not to mention the rest of the party. Was this the kind of happiness Lord Matlock sought for Georgiana?
This Disconcerting Happiness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 34
