Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It was several days later before Elizabeth and William found an opportunity to speak with his cousin in relative privacy.
After exchanging a glance with her soon-to-be husband—and receiving the smallest, steadying nod in return—Elizabeth felt his quiet confidence beside her before she turned to the colonel.
“William and I have discussed the matter in great detail, and we have decided that, as a sort of wedding gift to ourselves, we intend to place the management of Netherfield into other hands. Between Granfield Park, Pemberley, and William’s other holdings, adding Netherfield to his responsibilities would be far too much.
I do not wish merely to offer it for sale and hope that some unknown purchaser will care for it properly. ”
William stepped forward then, his expression composed but resolute. “We have considered the matter carefully,” he said, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. “It is our wish that Netherfield remain in hands we trust.”
Before Fitzwilliam could protest, Elizabeth raised her hand.
“We would not be giving it to you,” she continued gently.
“I understand that you will have some income from the sale of your commission, along with whatever savings you have accumulated over the past decade of service. We would agree to sell the estate to you at a fixed and reasonable price, to be paid over a term of years. You might apply a portion of your savings as an initial payment, and thereafter remit a settled sum each year—drawn from the profits of the estate itself—until the purchase is complete.”
William inclined his head. “You would answer to no one but yourself. It would be entirely your own.”
Fitzwilliam stared at his cousin and the lady who was soon to be his wife, astonishment giving way to something quieter—and, to Elizabeth’s relief, not at all resentful.
“You would truly do this for me,” he said at last, a trace of rueful humour in his tone, “particularly after the expectations your grandfather once encouraged me to form? I know that I assumed far too much when I arrived here.”
William met his cousin’s gaze evenly. “Any expectations that were encouraged were not mine,” he said quietly. “They shall not govern our future.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “I understand that my grandfather gave you reason to believe that little would be required of you—that he hoped his influence might incline me towards you and that my acceptance was nearly assured when you arrived at Millwood Cottage. My grandfather and I corresponded, but we had not been in one another’s company for several years, and he could not have foreseen that his words would have had quite the opposite effect from what he intended.
In truth, it would not have mattered what he said.
Even had you come to me exactly as you were then—as I have come to know you now—I should not have chosen you in the end. ”
She paused, softening her tone.
“By the time my grandfather arrived at Netherfield, your cousin had already intrigued me greatly and was well on his way to winning my heart, even before I fully understood what I felt. I do believe that love is, in part, a choice—but something about William drew me to him long before I recognised it for what it was.”
The colonel exhaled, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Then I believe we are equally fortunate,” he said lightly. “For I should have hated to be the cause of awkwardness between you—and I confess my own inclinations have settled elsewhere.”
Elizabeth returned his smile, and when she glanced at William, she found him watching his cousin with quiet approval.
Whatever awkwardness might once have threatened their friendship by her grandfather’s attempts to match the two had been dispelled.
She felt a quiet relief settle within her; she had feared he might be offended by their offer, and she was grateful to see that he was not.
“I am pleased to know that we may all move forward without the least discomfort,” Elizabeth finished. “We shall be cousins, after all, once William and I are wed. I should be sorry indeed if any lingering awkwardness were to remain between us. But even so…”
She allowed the word to linger, her expression composed.
Fitzwilliam regarded her for a moment, then gave a soft huff of amusement.
“You are determined that I should declare myself to your cousin, are you not? I am not blind—I know very well that you and Darcy have observed how often I find myself in Miss Bennet’s company.
But I have not yet resolved my own mind.
After you are wed, I shall have leisure enough to consider matters more carefully. ”
“I have not pressed you, have I?” Elizabeth replied with innocent composure. “I would never compel a gentleman to speak before he is prepared.”
“No,” William murmured, and Elizabeth saw the rueful shake of his head, “you merely render silence untenable.”
The colonel laughed softly, the fondness in his expression betraying him.
“Very well. Since you are so happily settled, you would see the rest of us disposed of with equal efficiency.” His tone sobered slightly.
“I admire Miss Bennet greatly, but I am not ready to make declarations. I believe I must first know her better—and,” he drew in a measured breath, “she must have time to know me.”
His gaze shifted briefly, and Elizabeth sensed a thoughtfulness beneath his earlier levity.
“Mr Bingley’s departure wounded her more deeply than she would ever confess. A gentleman who would seek her regard must proceed with care. I would not add to what she has already endured.”
Elizabeth remembered too well her cousin’s brave composure in the weeks following Mr Bingley’s departure—the brightness that never quite reached her eyes.
If Fitzwilliam perceived even a fraction of what Jane concealed, then he understood her far better than most. That understanding inclined Elizabeth towards him more favourably than any declaration could have done.
Her teasing expression softened at once. “She deserves nothing less than a man who would place her happiness above his own impatience to have matters quickly settled without taking the time to determine what they each desire.”
“Indeed she does,” William said quietly.
Fitzwilliam met his cousin’s eyes, his expression steady and unguarded, and Elizabeth felt the assurance in it more strongly than any formal declaration could have conveyed.
William stepped forward and clasped his cousin’s hand—not in mere civility, but with the firm warmth of long-standing affection. Fitzwilliam returned the pressure without hesitation.
“You need not fear on that account. If I am so fortunate as to secure her affection, it shall be with constancy—and with the fullest respect for her family.”
Elizabeth smiled then, openly pleased. “I believe you will find her family most inclined to approve, provided you continue in that spirit.”
“Then I shall endeavour to do so,” he replied, the lightness returning to his voice. “But I cannot answer for the steadiness of my composure when she smiles at me.”
Glancing once more at William, she found in his answering look all the affection and quiet understanding that had steadied her from the first. Whatever brief tension had once hovered between the cousins had dissolved entirely; no rivalry remained nor any lingering resentment.
Her grandfather’s most unsuitable arrangements had come to nothing, while in their place each had been left free to choose what best accorded with his own heart.
She hoped that her cousin—and the gentleman who might soon claim that title—would find contentment, whether with one another or with another suited more perfectly to their temperaments.
For herself, she required no clearer proof than the warmth in William’s gaze that love, when freely given and freely received, wanted no contrivance.
That, she thought, was enough.
With that understanding regarding Netherfield firmly settled between them, Elizabeth felt a freedom she had not known since her grandfather first arrived back in Hertfordshire. It was in this spirit of renewed ease that they prepared to receive Lord and Lady Matlock.
The Matlocks arrived at Millwood Cottage only a few days later.
Elizabeth had been delighted to meet them.
Having heard such varied accounts from her grandfather, her intended, and the colonel, she had been uncertain what to expect from their coming.
In the end, they proved different from any anticipation she had formed.
Lady Matlock was warm and engaging in a manner almost maternal. For a young woman who had lost her mother in early childhood and had never truly known that sort of intimacy, the experience was unexpectedly affecting.
Her Aunt Bennet had tried in her own way, yet she had never been inclined towards overt displays of tenderness for the orphaned niece placed in her care, and in later years had almost seemed to resent her presence—particularly as Elizabeth grew older and the advantages provided by her grandfather became increasingly evident.
Elizabeth had always delighted in the visits of the Gardiners at Longbourn, for she valued her aunt’s warmth and easy affection; but Aunt Rosalind, although possessed of a gentler disposition, lived too far away for that daily familiarity from which true attachment is formed.
“My dear,” Lady Matlock had said, taking Elizabeth’s arm with affectionate familiarity soon after the introductions had been completed, “I know we have been obliged to make do with the dressmaker in Meryton for the present, but I cannot wait to introduce you to my modiste in London. I have never yet had the pleasure of taking a daughter to be properly dressed for her first Season, nor of introducing her to all the delights of ordering new gowns. I am very much looking forward to assisting you in that particular.”
Elizabeth had looked at her in some surprise.
“I have no daughters, dear Elizabeth,” Lady Matlock continued with a fond smile.
“I cannot quite claim Georgiana as my own, and in any case she is not yet out. Of course, I have advised her where I could, but ordering gowns for a young girl is not the same as preparing a young lady to enter society. Granted, you will be presented as Mrs Darcy rather than Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but the pleasure will be no less delightful.”
Lord Matlock reminded Elizabeth, in some respects, of her grandfather, and in others of the colonel.
More measured in manner and far less rough in expression than his son, he nevertheless gave the impression of a man accustomed to having his own way.
There was, moreover, in his steady gaze something observant and composed, as if he saw more than he chose to reveal.
With Lady Matlock’s assistance, the wedding plans were settled quickly and with little difficulty.
Elizabeth was certain her wedding would be precisely what she had always wished: a ceremony defined by its meaning, rather than its splendour.
She pictured the small parish church in winter light, frost silvering the hedgerows beyond the churchyard, and William’s hand steady in hers as they stood together before the altar.
Of greatest importance, however, was the groom—the man she had chosen of her own accord.
She loved him dearly, but she respected him as well, and it was evident that he respected her in return.
That he had listened to her wishes regarding the disposition of Netherfield, along with so many other matters they had discussed during their acquaintance, filled her with a quiet and eager anticipation for the day to arrive.
In the weeks following the arrival of Lord and Lady Matlock, the parties from Netherfield and Millwood Cottage spent only a small portion of their time amongst the inhabitants of Meryton.
On one such afternoon in the days between Christmas and the New Year, at the mutual suggestion of both Matlock and Granfield, they paid a visit to Longbourn.
Lady Matlock and Mrs James were soon engaged with Mrs Bennet, whose satisfaction in receiving a countess beneath her roof could scarcely be concealed.
Mary and Georgiana withdrew to the music room, where they played in turn and conversed quietly of music between the pieces.
In one corner of the drawing room, Kitty and Lydia bent over a bonnet in need of alteration, whispering to one another as they worked.
The presence of rank had subdued them more effectively than any reprimand might have done; they were quieter than usual and did not laugh so freely.
Thus remained the two couples—one engaged, the other advancing with increasing seriousness—to occupy the centre of the room. They conversed together for a time, yet each pair found opportunity for a few private words as well.
Darcy had been surprised when, after only the briefest civilities with Mrs Bennet and her daughters, the two earls requested to be shown in to Mr Bennet. The gentlemen withdrew to his study and did not return until the carriage was announced and the party prepared to depart.
More than once during their absence, Darcy exchanged a look with Elizabeth. Neither chose to speculate aloud, yet both were aware of the unusual length of the interview. A few quiet observations passed between them, but their curiosity remained unsatisfied.
Whatever had transpired within the study remained between the gentlemen concerned. No explanation was offered, and none was sought.