Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“Idoubt she shall return the compliment and allow you to call her Elizabeth,” Darcy muttered. “What possessed you to point at her like that?”
Henry played the servant and held out Darcy’s hat. “Put it on, you chucklehead.”
Darcy grabbed the hat from his cousin’s hand and set it on his head as they stepped out of doors. The air was biting. “You call me a chucklehead when you are going on about duels in front of your mother and my betrothed?”
Henry grinned. “Do you believe I jest?” He held up three fingers. “And it was this week. But this week is also a part of the month, so I have not spoken false.”
They climbed into Henry’s carriage and Darcy settled against the squabs. “I do not believe you. I have seen you shoot. You would be in the ground by now.”
Henry laughed. “Most of the time they do not even show. Pity. I do like a good battle in the morning. It strengthens the blood.”
“Provided you do not lose too much of it.” Darcy retorted. The man refused to take anything seriously. It was provoking.
“You really are too somber, Darcy,” Henry replied, his spirits not at all dampened. He reached across the coach and flipped up the end of Darcy’s cravat. “Loosen up your small clothes, cousin. There is a point to all this, you know.”
“So you tell me,” Darcy replied sullenly, reaching up to repair the damage.
Henry shook his head, but his expression was warm. “You need to be seen going about your usual business. You and Richard were at Angelo’s a week ago, but you have not been in public since.”
“We were at the club on Monday,” Darcy argued.
“For how long? A quarter of an hour?” Henry scoffed. “Today we will let everyone know you have been busy arranging your wedding. And that your bride is a woman you met a few months ago on your sojourn to . . .” Henry paused. “Where was it again?”
Darcy rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Hertfordshire.”
“Yes. I had forgotten. Well, Bingley catapulted Miss Bingley at you . . .”
Darcy’s glare made Henry stop for a moment, but then he smiled wickedly and continued.
“Richard told me about that. What a pity I have no talent with a pencil or brush, but I shall cherish the image forever,” he tapped his temple with a finger, “in here.” He turned to observe the scene out his window before continuing.
“Have you sent word to Gunderson?” Darcy was silent, and Henry leaned forward.
“It would help our story a great deal if you acted as though you had. Shall we stop there first?”
“We may as well,” Darcy replied, trying to ignore the warmth flushing his cheeks. “He ought to have the papers drawn up by now. Some information is missing, of course.”
“What is this?” Henry inquired gaily. He always knew how to find the weaknesses in Darcy’s armor. “I thought you only made the offer yesterday?”
“I have wished to make Elizabeth an offer somewhat longer than that. It was a bit of . . .” Darcy rubbed his eyes with one hand.
The night Miss Bingley had paraded about the drawing room at Netherfield with Elizabeth, he had a very vivid dream.
In the morning, he had indulged himself by sending off a note to Gunderson to draw up a marriage contract, though he had not specified the woman nor her financial particulars.
He had felt incredibly foolish about it afterward and, though he had authorized payment for Gunderson’s work, had not corresponded with the man since.
Darcy wanted to leap from the carriage and walk to Gunderson’s office when he saw Henry’s brightened visage. It seemed impossible, but Henry was even more self-satisfied than when they had left Matlock House.
“Oh . . .” he drawled and arched one eyebrow.
“A tangible bit of fantasy? You?” Henry’s eyes narrowed as his lips curled upward.
“Envisioning the delectable Miss Bennet in less than gentlemanly ways and feeling rather guilty about it, eh? Must be noble even in your dreams? Excellent. The follies of men do so divert me.”
“Henry,” Darcy warned. “Cease your prattling. I am not above striking you for such an offense against Elizabeth, and I am not a boy of twelve any longer.”
Henry’s sharp eyes assessed Darcy, and at last, the viscount spoke sense. “I am not certain the offense was mine, but no, you are not a boy. In fact, my brother thinks you have brokered a match that will at last make a man out of you.”
An angry rebuttal was on Darcy’s tongue, but Henry held up his hands in a signal of surrender. “He did not use those words, and I mean that in the best sense, Darcy. You know I respect Richard’s opinion.”
“If you respect him so much, why do you insist on calling him Richard?” Darcy inquired, trying to regain his equanimity. “You know he hates it.”
“Only because it reminds him that he was once ‘Dickie.’ It makes him feel like a nine-year-old boy.” Henry shook his head. “Richard has hundreds of men following his every command. It is good for him not to have things all his own way. You know that as well as I.”
“I value his opinion,” Darcy objected, but relented. “Though I do not always agree.”
“I value his opinion as well,” Henry agreed. “Almost as much as I respect yours.”
The unexpected compliment flustered Darcy, and by the time he had recovered, Henry’s earnest expression had disappeared. Instead, he was hanging out of his window to give the driver their new direction.
After the men left for their club, Elizabeth listened to the countess explain her plans for the wedding feast. It would indeed be rather small by London standards, she supposed, but not much smaller than the one she would have had in Meryton.
When asked, she explained that as long as the Gardiners, Papa, and Jane were present, she would be satisfied.
The countess might invite whomever she chose to the meal, and Elizabeth would be pleased to accommodate her.
The countess had been everything welcoming.
While Elizabeth suspected that the earl had spoken of his disapprobation to Mr. Darcy once she had retired, the older man had been polite enough to her.
She was exceedingly grateful to all the Matlocks for their acceptance.
She knew it was evidence of their high regard for Mr. Darcy.
“Thursdays are my day at home,” the countess said, consulting a delicate gold watch with pearls circling the face. “I do expect a few ladies to make a visit. Will you sit with me?”
Elizabeth touched the splint on her arm. “I should . . .”
“Remove it.” The countess nodded. “Yes, if you can bear it, I believe that would be wise.”
“I shall return shortly, my lady,” Elizabeth replied, and rose to depart.
“Aunt Matlock will do,” the countess said.
Elizabeth waited for the countess to complete her sentence. “I beg your pardon, my lady,” she asked respectfully. “You will do what?”
The countess laughed, and Elizabeth covered her face with one hand. “Oh.” She peeked out at the countess between her fingers. “And of course, you may call me Elizabeth, if you wish.”
“Where is that vaunted wit of yours, my dear?” the countess asked, amused.
A strangled sort of chuckle escaped and Elizabeth was a little startled by the harshness of the sound.
“I do apologize. I flatter myself that I have courage to face most trials, my lady . . .” She paused and shook her head.
“Aunt Matlock. However, I have been sorely tested of late. Somehow, finding myself not only betrothed but that my intended is the nephew of an earl, then being invited to marry from the house of said earl . . . it is somewhat overwhelming, I must confess.”
“It may be an earl’s house, Elizabeth,” Aunt Matlock said, “but it is the countess who runs it. Remember that when William takes you to Pemberley.” She again looked at the time.
“You have a moment to collect yourself, but hurry back. I have written the ladies, and they are coming expressly to meet you.”
Elizabeth ignored her sudden anxiety and went up to her chamber.
She shook her head to think of what Mr. Darcy would say when he saw she had once again removed the splint, but even he would tread carefully around his aunt.
Truly, her arm was a good deal better. She did not believe the injury was as severe as it had first appeared.
She refreshed herself and asked the maid to do her hair in a slightly more complex style.
The dress she wore had long sleeves, so she did not change.
“Your timing is impeccable,” the countess said as Elizabeth reentered the drawing room. “Lady Montagu and Mrs. Egerton are certain to be announced any moment.”
“Is there anything I should know about them, Aunt Matlock?” Elizabeth inquired. If there was one thing she had learned at her mother’s knee, it was to know all she could about visitors before they arrived.
Aunt Matlock closed her fan and tapped her lip with it.
“Lady Montagu wears a great many feathers and will need to blow them from her face at least twice during the call. You must not let on that she has done any such thing. She will ask about Darcy. If you tell her you are humbled and flattered by his choice, she will think you sensible and leave you be. If not, she will ask pointed questions until you scream. Do try to refrain, dear.”
Elizabeth supposed she could display herself in such a way. She would tease Mr. Darcy about it later. That would make this a great deal more palatable.
“Mrs. Egerton,” Aunt Matlock continued, “will wish to know if you have been to Gunter’s. She will then quiz you about your favorite flavor of ice. If you tell her you prefer the parmesan, she will feel an instant kinship. If you choose lemon, she will consider you pedestrian.”
“I might be pedestrian,” Elizabeth replied, “but if we are hoping to glean information from her, I suppose I must defer to her tastes.”
“It might be for the best, my dear. But feel free to express yourself in your own witty manner.”