Chapter 5 Aristocratic Reception #2
“I said all of that drivel, badly as it was delivered,” Lord Matlock continued in a firmer tone, “was an effort to convey that while I freely admit my choice for you would be a lady of elevated station, wealth, education, and so on, I do not discount the importance of affection. Love, that sentiment lacking in most marriages, is the best formula for success.”
Lifting his glass in a casual toast, which Darcy returned, the earl tossed back the last swallow. Looking at the glass and then the decanter, he hesitated. Then, mumbling “What the hell,” he poured a generous amount into the empty glass, topping off Darcy’s right after.
“For that reason, I never gave my full approval to Catherine concerning you and Anne. In fact, you may not know this, but I agreed with James when, long ago, she first brought up the idea of a union. God, I think you two were still in diapers!” He laughed wistfully.
“I remember James laughing, almost hysterically. Then he realized she was deadly serious, even wanting documents drawn up. I’d rarely seen James so angry.
Your poor mother was trying to play peacemaker between sister and husband, with no luck, so I stepped in.
Forcefully. It was months, maybe a year and a bit, since inheriting my title, so I didn’t carry much clout in her eyes.
She did let the matter drop though, for years.
” He shrugged, then his eyes widened. “Come to think of it, Sir Lewis was there! He always could handle Catherine in ways we never comprehended. Ha! Yes, that must have been it.”
“Thanks for whatever persuasion you, Sir Lewis, and my father managed at that time. Unfortunately, she did not let the topic drop forever.”
“Indeed. Which is why we are sitting here, isn’t it?
” Lord Matlock directed his authoritative gaze toward Darcy, once again all business.
When Darcy did not answer, the earl resumed.
“I am pleased you have found a woman who loves you, William. I do not have tremendous issue with her modest means, informal education, and whatever social skills and status she lacks. I trust you, and Richard as well. Additionally, I know very well what my sister is trying to do. The truth is, her verbiage in describing Miss Bennet was too outrageous. No one as awful as she depicted could have ensnared someone like you, not even with the aid of a gypsy or druid witch. Keep the lie simple is a principle Catherine never understood.”
Darcy smiled at his uncle’s dry humor, although his words were a reminder of the gossip disseminating around town, all thanks to his aunt.
Speaking from the heart, he said, “You will see the truth tonight, my lord, and readily give your blessing. Of that, I have no doubt whatsoever. My only serious concerns are the damage Lady Catherine has caused. As we sit here, these lies are bandied about, taking hold and enhanced as gossip inevitably is. Because of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my future wife, the woman who will soon be Mrs. Darcy, the Mistress of Pemberley, is having her name sullied. The darkening of the name Darcy is occurring in the process. But honestly of the deepest distress to me, is that Miss Bennet is right now in the shops of London where she could easily be subjected to ridicule or overhear these heinous whispers.”
Lord Matlock was frowning, his countenance troubled. “What are you talking about?”
Surprised, Darcy answered with a question of his own, “Did not Richard tell you of the gossip?”
“He made a vague reference or two, yes, mixed in with his usual jesting. I recall a mention of my sister. Perhaps I should have paid closer heed to my son’s news, but I admit to being focused on Catherine’s alarmist letters. Tell me what he failed to report.”
Darcy did as asked, leaving nothing out. The earl’s face grew grayer and angrier by the minute. “Richard probably figured you were upset enough without making matters worse,” Darcy placated. “Now, with all the facts laid bare, I hope you see where the real problem resides.”
“Indeed I do. This is grave. Very grave. Unfortunately, malicious talk once started is impossible to stop. Fortunately, I am no longer a fledgling nobleman attempting to govern a strong-willed older sibling. Rest easy, William. I will deal with Lady Catherine. I cannot promise my influence will bring total acceptance of your marriage on her part. What I can promise is she will cease any direct interference.”
Darcy remained dubious as to just how much control even the Earl of Matlock had over Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but he nodded.
All the drama and nastiness made him ill, and his longing increased to be married to Elizabeth and safely sequestered at Pemberley.
Suddenly desperate to end the discussion, he set his empty glass onto the tray, saying, “So! If we have finished, Uncle, I do have business elsewhere, and a special evening engagement to prepare for.”
To his dismay, he got no further than placing his hands onto the chair’s arms.
“There is the situation with George Wickham and one of Miss Bennet’s sisters,” Lord Matlock gently reminded. “What I have been told is unsettling, even if only half is factual. A scandal like that is not to be taken lightly, William. Is there any truth to it?”
Of course, Darcy had not forgotten that incident. Nor had he honestly believed Lord Matlock would not address it, so he had prepared for the probability.
“Yes, there is truth to the story. How much, I will not say, and you must trust me enough to leave it be. I request this not just for myself and the Bennets, but also for another whom we both love.”
Other than Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy had vowed to tell no one about Wickham’s planned seduction and elopement with Georgiana.
He wasn’t about to break that vow. Whether close friends and family suspected something had happened in Ramsgate, he did not want to know, especially now that it no longer mattered.
It was a dead topic best left in the past.
Lord Matlock’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Darcy held his gaze. “The only pertinent truth for the present is that Wickham and Lydia Bennet are legally married. Wickham is serving in His Majesty’s army, in Newcastle.
Whatever ‘scandal’ there may have been was minor to begin with, unproven, and now resolved.
In the past week, a dozen sensational scandals far more fascinating than this one have occurred within the highest members of the gentry and aristocracy.
No one in Society knows who George Wickham and Lydia Bennet are and no one cares.
A week after my marriage their names will be forgotten, if they haven’t been already. ”
For a good two minutes, the Earl of Matlock stared silently, his expression bland. Then, slowly, a smile curved his lips. “You practiced that whole speech, didn’t you?”
Darcy nodded once, determined not to return the smile yet.
“Well, it worked. Quite persuasive. I am greatly impressed. You know, William, I have friends in Parliament who could easily get you a seat in the Commons. Interested?”
* * *
Of the four carriages housed in the mews behind Darcy House, the double-bench coach chosen for this evening was the largest and grandest. It was not yet two years old and designed with luxury and comfort in mind.
Sturdily constructed, spacious, and outfitted as completely as a modern conveyance could be, Darcy reserved it for long-distance travel or special occasions.
In his estimation, this night was a significantly special occasion.
Even before his conversation with Lord Matlock, Darcy had chosen the new coach to transport his betrothed and future father-in-law from the Gardiner residence in Cheapside to the Matlock townhouse in Saint James’s Square.
Primarily this was due to the interior roominess and the smooth travel over rough patches on the streets.
Additionally, he wanted to show his respect for Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet by providing the best he had to offer.
After the chat with his uncle, the stately coach emblazoned with the ancestral Darcy crest would serve as a bold declaration regarding the occupants, which no one could ignore.
Prideful ostentation was not Darcy’s character generally, but this situation called for a grandiose spectacle and an undeniable message for curious onlookers who may have heeded nasty gossip.
What he had not anticipated was the reception upon seeing the coach parked majestically on the curb at Cheapside.
The Gardiner townhouse occupants, all of them, had stopped abruptly on the entryway steps, mouths falling open and eyes widening in stunned awe.
Slightly embarrassed at what outwardly appeared to be braggadocios flaunting of his wealth and station to the modest citizens of Cheapside, Darcy hastened to explain his reasoning, emphasizing the comfort aspect and leaving out the rest. Whether they bought his excuse or not, he was unsure.
It didn’t help matters when seemingly everyone on the street paused to stare with the same expressions worn by the others minutes ago.
It was a relief to reach Fleet Street and then the Strand where imposing carriages were common. By the time they traversed the twists and turns merging onto Pall Mall, the three were relaxed and engaged in casual conversation.
Mr. Bennet wore a new ensemble tailored to fit his physique and of a style closer to current fashion trends than his typical garments, which mostly dated to the past century.
How his daughters had talked him into it, Darcy was not about to ask.
Whether the fresh haircut and shave were his ideas or the result of badgering by Jane and Elizabeth would also be left unanswered.
In any case, Mr. Bennet was the model picture of a respectable country gentleman.