Fifteen #2
The Earl looked at him. Lady Matlock’s eyes were on Darcy as well, and in them he recognised the same cool, appraising intelligence that had seen through him at the tea table in March.
It was the awareness that the master of Pemberley could not take his eyes off his daughter’s governess, and that this was neither a passing fancy nor a problem to be solved, but a fact to be reckoned with.
Darcy did not answer. How could he? The words his uncle required—Yes, Uncle. You are right. I shall attend to it—were simple enough, but they would have been a lie or a confession, and he was not prepared to offer either.
He inclined his head. A nod was respectful, noncommittal, and diplomatic, indicating that he had heard the counsel and would consider it in his own time, on his own terms.
The Earl accepted this. Richard exhaled, long and slow, and the tension in his shoulders released for the first time since Darcy had entered the room.
“Well,” Richard muttered. “That went better than Badajoz.”
“Most things do,” the Earl replied, without raising his eyes from the page.
Darcy and his cousin left Matlock House just after noon. Richard walked beside him in silence for the first few streets, his hands clasped behind his back, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Well?” Darcy asked at last.
“Well,” Richard echoed, “that went exactly as I expected. I received cautious approval and a lecture on the dangers of marrying for lineage. My mother is a remarkable woman.”
“She is. And your father surprised me.”
Richard gave a low laugh. “You should not be surprised, Darcy. They have carried the failure of my brother’s marriage like a shared wound for years. I believe they are tired of carrying it.”
They turned into Grosvenor Street. The day had grown warmer, the May sun bright on the stone facades.
Darcy felt the weight of the morning’s conversation settle differently inside him now—not lighter, exactly, but more manageable.
The Matlocks had not forbidden anything.
They had, in their careful aristocratic way, opened a door.
Back at Darcy House they retreated to his study.
Richard dropped into his usual chair, stretched his legs, and accepted the glass of claret Darcy poured for him.
For a time, they spoke of ordinary things—the progress of Georgiana’s wedding preparations and Anne’s antics.
The conversation was easy, familiar, a deliberate return to solid ground after the emotional terrain of Matlock House.
Yet Darcy’s mind kept drifting.
He kept seeing Elizabeth’s face as she had looked at him across the dining table the last two weeks—composed, careful, but with something new and unsettled beneath the surface.
He kept remembering the way her fingers had tightened in his waistcoat, the soft sound she had made when his mouth found the curve of her breast. The memory was both torment and comfort.
At six, the dinner bell rang.
They made their way to the dining room. Georgiana was already there, radiant in pale green, and Elizabeth entered a moment later, quiet and composed in one of her new gowns. The cream silk suits her, Darcy thought, though he tried not to dwell on how well it suited her.
The Colonel greeted Elizabeth with his usual warmth. “Miss Bennet. I trust your morning with my niece was agreeable?”
“It was, Colonel. Thank you.”
Richard’s smile widened. “I am glad.”
They took their places. Darcy at the head, Georgiana to his right, Elizabeth to his left, Richard opposite. The first course was served—white soup, fragrant and steaming. For several minutes the conversation moved lightly, carried mostly by Georgiana and Elizabeth, discussing the weather.
Then Richard set down his spoon.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, his tone becoming more serious, though still warm, “I have a matter I wish to discuss with you. It concerns your sister, Miss Jane Bennet.”
Elizabeth’s hand paused on her spoon. She looked at him directly, her expression attentive but guarded. “Indeed?”
“I wish to court her.”
The words landed with gentle force. Georgiana’s eyes widened with immediate delight. She pressed her napkin to her lips, clearly fighting the urge to clap her hands together.
“Oh, Richard!” she exclaimed. “How wonderful! I am so pleased you finally decided on a lady!”
Elizabeth remained perfectly still for a moment, absorbing the statement. Then she inclined her head with quiet dignity.
“I am not under the impression that you are asking for my blessing, Colonel. But if you will permit me to offer one condition, I will give it willingly.”
Richard leaned forward slightly, his attention wholly on her. “Name it.”
“My sister has been hurt before. Deeply. What she needs now, more than anything, is steadiness. A man who will not waver, who will not offer half-measures or pretty words that dissolve under pressure. If you are serious—truly serious—then you have my blessing and my goodwill. If you are not, then I ask you, as a gentleman, to leave her in peace.”
The Colonel did not flinch. He met Elizabeth’s gaze, his usual easy humour replaced by something quieter and more resolute.
“I have never been more serious in my life, Miss Bennet. I have spent the week turning the matter over in my mind, weighing every objection, every practical difficulty. And still I find that my thoughts return to her—to her strength, to the kindness in her eyes, to her beauty. I want to offer her a life of security and affection. I want to be the steady presence she deserves.”
Elizabeth studied him for a long moment. Then she gave a small, decisive nod.
“Very well. Then perhaps it is time you informed the lady herself.”
Richard’s smile returned, warm and genuine. “I intend to do exactly that. With your permission, of course.”
“You have it.”
Georgiana could contain herself no longer. “This is the most wonderful news! You shall be kind to her, Richard. I know you shall.”
“I mean to be more than kind,” he replied. “I mean to be worthy.”
Darcy said little during the exchange. He listened, watching Elizabeth as she spoke.
Their eyes met once—not the awkward, charged glance of recent days, but something deeper.
There was understanding in it, a shared recognition of how fragile happiness could be, and how carefully it must be guarded.
For the first time in many days, the look they exchanged was not a battlefield. It was common ground.
The conversation moved on, lighter now, filled with Georgiana’s eager questions about how Richard meant to approach Jane, whether he would call at her home, whether he required any assistance in composing a suitable argument.
Richard answered with good humour, deflecting some questions and meeting others with surprising candour.
Elizabeth contributed where appropriate, her voice calm and measured, but Darcy noticed the faint colour that lingered in her cheeks and the way her fingers occasionally tightened around the stem of her glass.
When the second course was cleared and the dessert laid, Richard turned the conversation gently towards safer waters—the upcoming wedding, the state of the roads north of London, an amusing anecdote about a fellow officer and a runaway horse.
The banter flowed easily, Richard’s dry wit drawing smiles from Georgiana and even a quiet laugh from Elizabeth.
Darcy found himself watching her again, the hunger and longing gnawing at his soul.
He saw the way she listened, the way she offered small, thoughtful remarks that steered the conversation without dominating it.
He saw the subtle grace with which she managed her knife and fork, the way she inclined her head when Richard spoke to her.
He saw, beneath the careful composure, the woman who had risen onto her toes and kissed him back with such startling courage.
And somehow, the idea of a future in which she sat at his table not as governess but as his wife did not feel like a reckless dream. It felt possible.
When the meal ended and Elizabeth excused herself, Darcy rose with the others. Their eyes met again as she passed him on her way to the door. This time there was no evasion. Only a brief, shared acknowledgment—not yet resolution, but no longer pure torment.
Richard clapped him on the shoulder as they moved to the drawing room.
“You are quiet tonight, cousin.”
“I have much to think about.”
Richard’s smile was knowing and kind. “As do we all.”
Darcy said nothing more. But as he followed his sister and cousin from the room, the weight he had carried for weeks felt fractionally lighter.