Chapter 4
The journey to London proceeded without interruption.
Elizabeth slept through the changing of the horses, her exhaustion complete.
Once they were back on the road, she woke periodically, disoriented by the rocking of the carriage and the unfamiliar sensation of being held against Mr. Darcy’s side.
Each time, she would start, remembering where she was and what she had done, he murmured reassurances before she drifted off again.
When she at last woke fully, the sun was high overhead.
Remembering herself, she straightened quickly, a flush rising to cover her face.
He handed her a flask of water. She drank deeply before returning it to him.
“I apologize,” she said, smoothing her skirts. “I did not mean to—that is, I should not have—”
“You needed rest,” Mr. Darcy said. “Never apologize for being in my arms, Elizabeth.”
Her name on his lips should have felt presumptuous to her—they had known each other mere weeks, and yet here she was, fleeing to London to marry him.
But instead of presumption, she heard only gentleness.
The same kindness he had shown in the library when he apologized without excuse.
The same steadiness he had shown when he offered her a choice instead of seeing her forced into marriage with Mr. Collins.
She had thought him proud and unsympathetic. She had been profoundly wrong.
Out the window, buildings appeared with increasing frequency, until they were close together. The traffic on the road had increased as well—carriages and carts and riders on horseback, all moving with the purposeful bustle of a great city.
“We are nearly there,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered with sudden nerves. “What did you tell them? In your express, I mean.”
“The facts. That you were being forced into an unwanted marriage, that I offered you an alternative, and that I required their assistance in sheltering you until you reach your majority. I may have omitted certain details about the…circumstances of our agreement.”
“And that we barely know each other and have agreed to marry out of necessity?” Elizabeth said with a wry smile, though her hands tightened in her lap.
She was about to meet his family—people of rank and consequence who would judge whether she was worthy of the Darcy name.
People who had every reason to find her wanting.
“I prefer to think of it as a marriage of mutual benefit and growing regard.”
The tension in her eased. “As do I,” she said, and found she meant it. He believed there was more between them. And if he believed it, perhaps she could, too.
The carriage turned onto a wide, elegant square lined with imposing townhouses. Even to Elizabeth’s inexperienced eye, it was clear this was one of the most fashionable addresses in London. The houses were stately, with pristine white facades and iron railings that gleamed in the afternoon sun.
They pulled to a stop before one such house, and Elizabeth felt her breath catch. Was this to be her refuge? This palace?
“Welcome to Matlock House.” Then, Mr. Darcy gestured across the square to a similarly sized domicile. “And that is Darcy House.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth understood he was a wealthy man, but this threatened to overwhelm her.
He stepped out first and turned to hand her down. Elizabeth took his offered hand, grateful for its equanimity as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. She had not realized how anxious she was.
The front door opened before they reached it, and a butler appeared—dignified and utterly impassive.
“Mr. Darcy, welcome. Lord and Lady Matlock are awaiting you in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Henderson.” Mr. Darcy kept his hand at Elizabeth’s elbow, guiding her through an entrance hall that seemed to stretch upward forever, past gleaming marble floors and walls hung with portraits of stern-faced ancestors.
Elizabeth had no time to take it all in before they were ushered into a large, beautifully appointed drawing room. Two people rose as they entered—a distinguished gentleman with silver hair and keen eyes, and a woman whose regal bearing made Elizabeth want to curtsy on instinct.
“Darcy,” the woman said, approaching them. “We received your express early this morning.”
“Aunt Helen, Uncle Malcolm, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn?” Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, my aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Matlock.”
Elizabeth executed her best curtsy, acutely aware of her travel-rumpled dress. “My lord, my lady. I am deeply grateful for your hospitality. I know this must seem most irregular—”
“Indeed,” Lord Matlock said, his tone not unkind but decidedly reserved. “Most irregular. Please, sit down, Miss Bennet. I believe we have much to discuss.”
Lady Matlock gestured to a chair—not the sofa where she herself sat, Elizabeth noted, but a separate chair that maintained a certain distance. “You must be fatigued from your journey. Henderson, bring tea.”
Elizabeth sat, folding her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. The warmth she had hoped for was notably absent. Instead, she felt very much like a curiosity being examined, weighed, and measured.
“Our nephew’s express was somewhat…thin on details,” Lord Matlock said, settling into his own chair with the air of a judge preparing to hear a case. “Darcy, perhaps you might explain how you came to be in this situation?”
Mr. Darcy remained standing, his posture formal but his voice steady.
“Mr. Bennet determined that Miss Elizabeth would marry his cousin, Mr. Collins—a clergyman of limited sense and even more limited appeal. Miss Elizabeth refused. Her father informed her that her refusal would not be permitted. She was to accept Mr. Collins’s proposal this morning, regardless of her own wishes. ”
Lord Matlock’s expression darkened. “Did he have the right to force the match?”
“He did,” Mr. Darcy confirmed. “However, Miss Bennet’s sister Mary has formed an attachment to Mr. Collins and would be far better suited to him in temperament and interests. But Mr. Bennet was resolute. Miss Elizabeth would marry Mr. Collins, or she would face consequences she could not bear.”
“You offered an alternative,” Lady Matlock said.
“I did.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was firm. “I proposed marriage and offered Miss Elizabeth sanctuary here until she reaches her majority in three weeks. At that point, no one—including her father—can compel her to do anything against her will.”
“A rather dramatic solution,” Lord Matlock said.
“The situation was dramatic, Uncle. I saw no other way to prevent an injustice.”
“I know it must seem impulsive and foolish,” Elizabeth interjected. “But I could not—I would not—marry a man with whom my next younger sister was in love. Mr. Darcy was kind enough to offer me a choice.”
“Kind indeed,” Lord Matlock said flatly. “My nephew, one of the wealthiest men in England, has proposed marriage to a young woman of no fortune and connections that are, forgive me for speaking plainly, decidedly inferior to his own.”
The words stung, though Elizabeth had expected them. “That is correct, my lord.”
“And you accepted this proposal despite having known my nephew for...?”
“Four weeks, my lord. We became acquainted when my sister fell ill and was forced to remain at Netherfield Park.”
Lord Matlock turned to his nephew. “Darcy, I must ask you directly. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Uncle—”
Lord Matlock raised a hand. “Your father entrusted me to guide you in matters such as these. You are proposing to marry a woman with—forgive me, Miss Bennet—a family situation that borders on scandalous. What possible justification can you offer for such a match?”
Elizabeth burned with humiliation. The express Mr. Darcy sent must have been thorough indeed. Everything Lord Matlock said was true, after all, but she raised her chin with all the dignity she could muster.
Mr. Darcy’s face was thunderous. “The justification, Uncle, is that she may not yet be in love with me, but I am deeply in love with her.”
Elizabeth’s breath faltered. He had told her that he admired her, that he cared for her, but love? He loved her?
Lady Matlock leant toward him, her eyes astute and assessing as they fixed on her nephew. “You are certain of this, Fitzwilliam? This is not merely infatuation or a misguided attempt at chivalry?”
“I am certain.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was firm, brooking no argument.
“I have been fighting my feelings for weeks, telling myself all the reasons why I should not act upon them. Miss Bennet’s connections, her lack of fortune, the unsuitability of the match—I am well aware of all these objections.
But when faced with the prospect of her being forced into a marriage to someone so absolutely unworthy of her…
” He shook his head and let his regard rest on her.
“Nay, someone other than myself, I could not stand aside and do nothing.”
The intensity in his words and expression made her pulse race.
“Miss Bennet is intelligent, principled, witty, and kind. She is the only woman I have ever met who challenges me, who makes me want to be better than I am. She will be an exemplary mistress of Pemberley and a wonderful influence on Georgiana. More than that, she is the only woman I could ever imagine spending my life with.”
Elizabeth felt something shift inside her. He did not merely defend his choice to his family—he declared it. Claiming her without reservation, before the people whose opinion mattered most to him. He had named exactly what he valued in her, and he had done it without flinching.
She had asked him to risk everything for her. He did. Right now. In this room.
Elizabeth stood and moved to his side, placing her hand on his arm. A united front. When he covered her hand with his own, she felt the warmth of it permeate her bones.
Whatever doubts she had carried into this room, they no longer mattered. He had stood for her. Thus, she would stand with him.