Chapter 5 Aristocratic Reception #4
Oh, how well my cousin knows me. Internally laughing at the ridiculous reaction, Darcy’s frown turned into a smile, and he shook his head. Elizabeth laughed at the exchange her sharp eyes had not missed.
Priscilla Fitzwilliam’s acknowledgment was almost identical to her husband’s.
Darcy had anticipated as much but was surprised when she did not assess Elizabeth’s garments with disdain.
Darcy thought his fiancée beautiful in any outfit, but he had seen enough wealthy ladies wearing the latest fashions to grudgingly admit Elizabeth’s modest finances and limited experience were not on par with high society.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s gown alone undoubtedly cost four times what Elizabeth probably had paid for her entire ensemble.
Furthermore, his cousin’s wife was an attractive woman with a slender figure perfectly proportioned to exhibit current designs, thus one of the leading mavens of the beau monde.
Not wrinkling her aristocratic nose, at the very least, sent a message to Darcy, although whether that message was utter disinterest or an effort to be kind, he had no clue.
Saving the best for last, Darcy turned to his aunt. “Miss Bennet, Mr. Bennet, allow me the honor of introducing her ladyship, the Countess of Matlock.”
Darcy had forever been in awe of his aunt.
She was, without question, one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on, age only increasing her resplendency.
As exquisite as her physical appearance was her poise.
Cultured and graceful as a ballet dancer, she also possessed a heart of pure gold.
A quick glance at Elizabeth and her father revealed the same awe he always experienced.
Then she spoke, her voice as remarkable as her presence.
“Welcome to our home. We are delighted to meet you both. This is a precious moment long desired.” She glanced at Darcy, smiled, then returned her gaze to Elizabeth. “Please, sit here by me, my dear.”
Lady Matlock patted the cushion, Elizabeth doing as asked automatically.
Her eyes widened at the gentle endearment, Darcy noted, and she trembled slightly.
Then his aunt clasped onto one of her hands, saying gaily, “Oh, we have so much to talk about! I have known Fitzwilliam since he was born, you know? Just imagine the stories I have accumulated.”
Richard burst out laughing. Darcy groaned and covered his face with his hand. Even Lord Matlock and Mr. Fitzwilliam snickered.
“It appears the questionnaire inside your reticule will be used after all, Lizzy.” Mr. Bennet grinned at Darcy, who decided it was time to change the subject.
“My lady, I understand Lord and Lady Montgomery are attending His Highness’s fete at the palace.”
“Indeed, they are,” Lady Matlock confirmed. Turning to Elizabeth, she continued, “It is requisite I extend the apologies of our daughter, Miss Bennet. She greatly desired to meet her cousin’s betrothed. Alas, a commitment to the prince regent must take precedence.”
Richard suppressed a cough at the “greatly desired” comment, Darcy nudging him with an elbow into the side. Luckily, no one seemed to notice, thanks to Mr. Bennet’s question.
“Pardon me, but is your daughter married to Viscount Montgomery?”
“Indeed, Mr. Bennet,” Lord Matlock confirmed.
“His speeches in Parliament are remarkably well penned and convincing. His recent arguments on the slave issue were excellently wrought. I daresay he rivaled the best by Wilberforce or Fox. I have often wondered if he speaks as eloquently when the setting demands extemporaneous commentary.”
Lord Matlock’s brows had arched in surprise and respect at Mr. Bennet’s words.
A short round of discussion on the slave trade and public speaking commenced, the two older gentlemen unconsciously strolling toward a portrait of the late prime minister William Pitt the Younger.
Essentially, this single remark on Darcy’s cousin-in-law’s speaking style had launched a conversation that roamed from politics to world events, to changes in the university educational system with contrasts between Oxford and Cambridge, literature favorites, and eventually estate management and country living.
As they walked to the dining room, and for portions of the dinner itself, Lord Matlock and Mr. Bennet were engaged in friendly discourse, often oblivious to the discussions or activity around them.
Frankly, Darcy was amazed. Familiar as he was with both men, he had trusted their inborn civility would override any clashes in their personalities.
Neither were the type to ignore honor and the importance of the occasion simply because they irritated the other.
Therefore, Darcy had not fretted over uncomfortable tension arising but had considered it probable that Mr. Bennet’s wry jocularity and rustic, occasionally blunt manner of talking would not blend with his uncle’s formal, devoid of humor, reserved style of speech.
Shockingly, to him and his family—based on the assorted raised brows and shared silent communications—they smoothly slipped into friendly accord as if fast friends for years.
Lady Matlock had reorganized the entire dining room, including selecting a table sized precisely for eight diners.
Elizabeth sat across the white-linen-draped, elaborately appointed surface from Darcy, both positioned on Lady Matlock’s end.
Mr. Bennet was wisely assigned to Lord Matlock’s left, with Jonathan Fitzwilliam across, on the earl’s right.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam sat beside Darcy, and the colonel was between Elizabeth and his brother.
The arrangement and table size allowed easy conversation from end to end. Intellectual discourse absorbed the two older gentlemen and Mr. Fitzwilliam, leaving the others largely on their own. Not that this was a problem in the least.
“How are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Bennet?”
“Tremendously so, my lady. We rarely come to Town, so this journey has been a wonderful treat, particularly due to the circumstances. My sister Jane and I are here, with our long-suffering father, expressly to purchase our wedding gowns and trousseau.”
“Your sister is to marry Mr. Charles Bingley, is that correct?”
“It is. Are you acquainted with Mr. Bingley, my lady?”
“Not as intimately as my nephew, but we have met a handful of times. We also dined with him and Miss Bingley once, at Darcy House. He is an agreeable young man. A great friend to Mr. Darcy for some years now, and in this world that is an accomplishment worthy of rejoicing. What a fortuitous turn of events that two such worthy gentlemen found brides of quality hiding in out-of-the-way Hertfordshire. A double wedding must be the highlight of the decade. You must tell of the plans, starting with the wedding gowns.”
“Females and weddings!” boomed Colonel Fitzwilliam. “A most riveting topic of conversation! Please, do tell us all about the wedding gown, Miss Bennet. I can’t fathom anything more fascinating. Can you, Darcy?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Have no fear, Colonel, or you either, Mr. Darcy. It is considered bad fortune for the groom to see the wedding dress before the ceremony. I am not sure whether describing the dress counts, but we shan’t tempt the whimsies of fate.
Thus, I shall save you from the agony. What I shall say is that we have reveled in the preparations.
However, we have discovered it to be an exhaustive process. ”
“Yet marvelous fun, to be sure. Even old married ladies such as myself remember the joy of preparing to be a bride.” Lady Matlock regarded her husband with fondness. “Of all the gowns one purchases in life, none are as special as the one worn when wed. Is that not so, Priscilla?”
“Absolutely! Mine was chiffon and silk, all in white, naturally, with lace imported from France. Pearl buttons on the cuffs, which were…”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s lengthy description of her gown continued to an equally detailed visual of her accessories.
Every last one! Her dreamy expression matched the worshipful tone, yet not once did she glance at her husband.
Apparently, Darcy thought, clothing incited her passions above what Jonathon could manage, not that this was a shocking revelation.
After a good fifteen minutes, Darcy felt his mind numbing, the only salvation being Richard’s covert eye rolls and the comically feigned fascination on Elizabeth’s face.
Then, just when he felt tingles of horror that Priscilla’s wedding undergarments were next up for illumination, Lady Matlock, bless her soul, took advantage of a minuscule pause to smoothly interrupt.
“Perfumes! That reminds me. Thank you for the timely remark, my dear daughter. Miss Bennet,” she hurried on before Mrs. Fitzwilliam finished her inhale, “I have discovered a new fragrance at the perfumery in Harding and Howell. It is divine! I like it so much I bought three bottles. I shall never use it all, so would be delighted to gift one of them to you, if the fragrance appeals.”
“Is it what you are wearing tonight, Lady Matlock?”
“That is correct, Darcy. I should have suspected you would take note. Not all men are as attentive to the ladies around them, a lesson I despair of teaching certain males present in this room.” She peered pointedly at her sons.
Jonathan had the good grace to blush, but Richard merely shrugged and swallowed his spoonful of soup.
Smiling, Darcy went on, “It is a pleasant fragrance, but am I correct in understanding that the chemicals comprising the perfume will react with some variance on each woman? Meaning this perfume may not smell as divine on Miss Bennet?”
“Now, this is a man who listens and learns. You see how exceedingly blessed you are, Miss Bennet?”