Chapter Ten
Elizabeth
Matlock House rose ahead, its grey stone catching afternoon light.
Windows multiplied beyond counting, wings extending in both directions from a central block that spoke of generations of wealth and consequence.
The approach drive had wound through parkland so artfully arranged it appeared natural, a deception requiring considerable expense and expertise to achieve.
Elizabeth pressed her palm flat against the carriage window, the glass cool beneath her fingers.
Beside her, Lydia bounced with excitement while Kitty leant forward for a better view.
Their mother had already begun cataloguing observations aloud, her voice carrying the particular quality it acquired when she wished the entire world to appreciate her good fortune.
“Such grandeur! And to think our Lizzy is now mistress of an even finer estate. Yet, I am certain Matlock is very impressive in its own right. The Earl must be immensely wealthy...”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, the house remained precisely as imposing.
The carriages drew to a halt in the circular drive. Footmen appeared, their movements precisely choreographed. There were faces she did not recognise, names that blurred together, curtseys and bows exchanged.
Fitzwilliam stood at the centre of it all, greeting his relations and managing introductions. He appeared perfectly at ease in this environment, his bearing suggesting comfort with grandeur that she could only approximate through determined effort.
This was his world. These were his people. And she was the interloper who had stumbled into their midst through circumstances that would seem fantastical if recounted as fiction.
“Uncle, Aunt, may I present my wife, Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy.” He gestured towards her. “Elizabeth, my uncle Lord Matlock and my aunt Lady Matlock.”
The Earl possessed the same height as his nephew, though age had added breadth and a certain gravitas to his bearing.
His wife, the countess, was beautiful in a way that time enhanced rather than diminished.
Her features were arranged in an expression that conveyed great welcome and a note of surprise.
“Mrs Darcy.” Lady Matlock greeted, her eyebrows raised in interest. “What a surprise. We received Darcy’s letter, naturally, but we assumed… That is to say, the circumstances described seemed rather extraordinary.”
“Indeed they were, ma’am,” Elizabeth responded, relieved that the older woman did not appear to radiate immediate disapproval.
“I am not given to jests, Aunt,” Fitzwilliam added dryly. “The letter I sent you stated facts precisely as they occurred.”
His aunt raised a hand in acceptance. “Of course, of course.”
Lord Matlock stepped forward, apparently deciding to override any awkwardness with determined geniality. “Welcome to Matlock, Mrs Darcy. And welcome to your family as well. Mr Bennet, Mrs Bennet and the young ladies, you are all most welcome.”
“You are most gracious, my lord,” Mr Bennet responded. “I understand you maintain an impressive library. I must admit I have looked forward to viewing it throughout our journey.”
“A man after my own heart!” The Earl’s face brightened.
“Indeed, the collection has been accumulating for generations. You must allow me to show it to you personally. We have several early manuscripts that might interest you, and a rather remarkable first folio that…but I am running ahead of myself. There will be ample time for such discussions.”
Two gentlemen materialised beside the Earl.
The elder bore such a resemblance to Lord Matlock that the relationship was undeniable.
He had the same strong features, even as his manner was more reserved than his father’s easy geniality.
He was introduced as Arthur Fitzwilliam, the Viscount of Doncaster and heir to the earldom.
He greeted them with impeccable courtesy, revealing nothing of his private thoughts.
The younger man, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, wore regimentals and possessed an easier manner than his brother, his countenance open and animated where the Viscount’s was more measured.
His features were softer, his colouring lighter, but his eyes held the same keen intelligence that marked them as relatives.
“Darcy!” Colonel Fitzwilliam clasped his cousin’s hand affectionately. “You dark horse. Married! I owe you five pounds, you realise. We had a standing wager on which of us would succumb first to matrimony.”
“I had not forgotten.” The corner of Fitzwilliam’s mouth lifted fractionally. “However, I dispute that ‘succumb’ is the appropriate term.”
“Certainly not,” the Viscount added, moving forward to offer his own congratulations. “Marriage suits you, Cousin. You appear remarkably well-settled.”
A young woman emerged from behind the gentlemen, her movements hesitant.
She had bright blonde hair and bore a striking facial resemblance to Fitzwilliam, but where his features conveyed authority, hers suggested uncertainty.
Yet her eyes held unmistakable intelligence and when she looked at her brother, her entire countenance softened with affection.
“Fitzwilliam.” She murmured, accusation lingering in her tone. “You married without telling me.”
“Georgiana.” He embraced her, his manner gentling in ways Elizabeth had not previously witnessed. “The circumstances were rather precipitous. There was no opportunity for proper notice. I apologise for that.”
Georgiana turned to Elizabeth, and her tentative smile transformed into delight. “You must be my new sister. How wonderful! I have always wished for a sister, and now I have one.”
The pleasure in her tone caught Elizabeth off guard. She had braced for some coolness and the subtle disdain new relations often deployed when marriages occurred without their blessing. Instead, Georgiana was addressing her so kindly.
“I do hope we shall be great friends,” the girl continued shyly. “I know we have only just met, but I feel certain we shall suit each other incredibly.”
“I am certain of it as well,” Elizabeth responded, returning the smile.
Lord Matlock had moved on to greeting her other relations, his courtesy extending to encompass even Lydia and Kitty’s enthusiastic responses. He had the gift of making people feel welcome without diminishing himself in the process.
“Miss Bennet.” He said to Jane. “Your beauty does you credit. I hope you will find Matlock comfortable during your stay.”
Jane blushed at the compliment. “You are most kind, my lord.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam proved more animated, engaging Kitty in conversation that drew ready laughter from both parties.
“You enjoy dancing, Miss Catherine?” the Colonel enquired, having apparently picked up on Kitty’s enthusiastic speculation about Derbyshire society.
“Oh yes! We call it country dancing at home. I have heard London balls are far grander.”
“They possess more gilt and fewer enjoyable moments.” The Colonel responded. “I infinitely prefer the simplicity of country assemblies. One may actually hear one’s partner speak without shouting.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam exaggerates,” Lady Matlock interjected with fond exasperation. “London balls can be quite pleasant when one is not determined to find fault with them.”
“I find fault with nothing that does not merit it, mother.” The Colonel’s grin suggested he enjoyed this familiar debate. “And I maintain that any entertainment requiring one to bellow across two feet of space has fundamentally misunderstood its purpose.”
Elizabeth was glad Colonel Fitzwilliam’s attention to Kitty seemed devoid of condescension, his manner suggesting interest rather than polite obligation. It appeared her husband’s relations were willing to look past provincial manners to the person beneath.
Mrs Bennet’s voice rose above the general conversation, cutting through the pleasant exchanges with the subtlety of a trumpet blast. “Such a magnificent house! I declare it quite rivals descriptions I have heard of the finest estates in England. Jane remains unmarried yet, but I am certain it is merely a matter of time before some worthy gentleman recognises her superior beauty and sweetness of temper...”
Elizabeth was certain her face had taken on the colour of a ripe apple but before she could take proper stock of the situation, Lord Matlock rallied admirably. His manner suggested this was merely one of many such moments he had weathered with grace during his years managing social situations.
“You must all be fatigued from your journey. Lady Matlock, perhaps you might show our guests to their apartments? They may wish to rest before dinner.”
“An excellent suggestion.” Lady Matlock moved forward smoothly, her manner designed to ease the awkwardness Mrs Bennet had created. “Do follow me. I shall ensure you are all comfortably settled.”
“And Lady Catherine?” Fitzwilliam asked. “I understand she is in residence?”
“Currently resting in her chambers,” the countess replied, “but she will join us for dinner. She has been most eager to meet your bride.”
The inflection on ‘eager’ suggested Lady Catherine’s feelings ran more towards volcanic than welcoming.
“Splendid.” Lord Matlock turned to Elizabeth. “Mrs Darcy, I hope you will not judge us all by Catherine’s particularity. She means well, even if her manner of expressing concern can be somewhat forceful.”
“I am certain Lady Catherine and I shall manage perfectly well, my lord,” she replied, her voice steady, though it cost her.
“That is certainly one approach to Catherine. There are also rare times when she respects forthrightness, even when it contradicts her own opinions.”
“Then I shall endeavour to be appropriately forthright. But I had hoped to delay displays of forthrightness until I had at least finished unpacking.”
This drew laughter from the Earl. “Oh, you shall do admirably, I suspect. Darcy, you have chosen well. Any woman capable of jesting about Catherine before even meeting her possesses precisely the sort of courage this family requires.”
They processed into the house, all marble and gilt. Portraits of ancestors glowered from walls and footmen stood at intervals like particularly well-dressed statuary. Elizabeth’s smaller trunk had already been carried upstairs, she noted. The efficiency was truly impressive.
Lady Matlock led them up a sweeping staircase to the family wing, opening doors and indicating which chambers had been prepared for which guests,
“Mr and Mrs Bennet, you will occupy this suite.” She gestured to an ornate door on the left. “I hope you will find it comfortable. The view overlooks the rose garden, which is particularly lovely in afternoon light.”
Mrs Bennet peered inside and emitted a squeal of delight that echoed down the corridor. “Oh, how elegant! Mr Bennet, do look at the draperies!”
Lady Matlock continued down the hallway. “Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, and Miss Lydia, we have prepared connecting chambers along this corridor. I hope the arrangements will suit.”
Jane thanked her with appropriate grace whilst Lydia and Kitty rushed forward to examine their temporary quarters. Mary followed more sedately behind them.
“And Mrs Darcy.” Lady Matlock paused before another ornate door. “You and Darcy will naturally share chambers during your stay. This is the Blue Room, traditionally assigned to married couples of the family. I trust you will find it comfortable.”
Share chambers.
Elizabeth had been so focused on the journey, on meeting Fitzwilliam’s family and navigating the social complexities, that the most basic reality of marriage had somehow failed to penetrate her consciousness.
They would share a room and share a bed. She and Fitzwilliam would begin to occupy the same intimate space starting tonight.
“Mrs Darcy?” The countess was watching her with concern. “Are you quite well? You have gone rather pale.”
She inhaled, unable to focus. “I am...I am merely tired from the journey.”
“Of course. Travel can be so exhausting. I shall leave you to rest. Dinner is at six. I trust you will find everything you require, but if not, ring and a maid will attend you.”
She departed after a gentle squeeze to Elizabeth’s arm. Her new sister by marriage lingered a moment longer, her eyes worried.
“Are you certain you are well?”
“Quite well. Thank you for your concern.”
Georgiana withdrew reluctantly, glancing back once before disappearing down the corridor. Elizabeth remained motionless in the hallway, staring at the closed door that concealed the room she would share with Fitzwilliam.
All of a sudden she felt very faint.