Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
MONDAY, 20 APRIL 1812
C olonel Fitzwilliam departed Rosings after only a few days in residence, his duties calling him back to London. There, he was to meet with Matlock’s solicitors to finalise the legal transfer of control over the estate and arrange for his own solicitors to take over his business. Upon his arrival, a letter from his mother awaited him, confirming the doctor’s grim diagnosis: Lord Matlock still lived, but his condition was dire. His entire right side remained paralysed, leaving him bedridden. When he tried to speak, his words were mostly unintelligible. The once formidable earl was now a shadow of his former self, and Fitzwilliam was left grappling with difficult decisions regarding his father’s care—especially given the revelations they had recently uncovered.
The letter also raised another pressing issue of what to do with Lord Matlock. His condition, unlikely to improve, meant Fitzwilliam would have to arrange for permanent care, adding yet another burden to the already heavy load of responsibilities now resting on his shoulders.
During the months that followed, Fitzwilliam focused on learning how to manage the estate with the steady support of his mother and grandfather. Both remained at Matlock for much of that time, offering invaluable assistance. Lady Julia, though officially residing in the dower house, did not isolate herself. Instead, she threw herself into restoring the grandeur of Matlock House, determined to ensure it would be a welcoming and charming place for the woman her son might one day bring home as his wife.
“Do you think your future wife shall like it?” Lady Julia asked one evening, standing with her son in the drawing room she had just redecorated. The soft hues of the walls, the tasteful furnishings, and the delicate drapery spoke of elegance and comfort.
Fitzwilliam, surveying the room with a critical eye, managed a faint smile as he imagined the woman he hoped would one day become his. “I am certain she will, Mother. If she does not, it will be her loss, not yours. Perhaps her hatred of your work will be the defining factor that tells me not to offer for her.”
Lady Julia patted his arm gently. “She will love it, my dear. But the important question is—will you?”
“I am unconcerned with drawing rooms,” he replied, though there was warmth in his voice. “I am more focused on ensuring that the roof does not leak and that the tenants have what they need.”
“You have grown,” she said softly, a trace of pride in her voice.
He had indeed. From dawn until late in the evening, he worked alongside the stewards of both estates, learning the intricacies of the land, its tenants, and its finances. His grandfather was an invaluable resource, offering wisdom tempered by years of experience.
“Do not rush it,” the old man advised one morning, looking out over the fields. “It is not a battle to be won in a single day. Stewardship is about balance—keeping the land, the tenants, and your own life in harmony.”
Fitzwilliam had also turned to his cousin Darcy, whose steady hand at Pemberley served as a model. Darcy visited Matlock as often he could during those months, unwilling to leave his wife for long, offering guidance on maintaining the delicate relationships that bound an estate together.
“You have more leadership experience than most landowners, Richard,” Darcy reminded him over dinner one evening. “The skills you honed in the army are not so different from those required here—strategy, decisiveness, and care for the people under your charge.”
The task, though immense, proved less daunting than Fitzwilliam had initially feared. Matlock and Ashburn had suffered from neglect under the previous earl, but the stewards had done their best to maintain order. Tenants, though strained, were not rebellious, and the land itself still had much to offer.
“Your father was many things,” his grandfather remarked one afternoon, “but he at least had the sense to hire competent men to do what he would not. That is a blessing you should not overlook.”
Fortunately, the estates were well on their way to recovery. Repairs had been made, relationships with tenants had been strengthened, and the income streams were stabilising. For the first time since inheriting the title, Fitzwilliam felt a sense of hope.
On the day his mourning period officially ended, Fitzwilliam donned his finest coat and rode to Pemberley. His purpose was clear: to speak with Jane Bennet. His heart had long been settled on her, but he had waited, knowing that the time had not been right before. They had not even been able to court, not then. At first, he had been merely a soldier, unable to marry, but with his sudden ascension into the peerage, he had faced so many difficulties, and of course, the mourning itself prevented him from speaking to the lady.
However, with his responsibilities more manageable and his future less uncertain, he was ready to pay his court.
When he arrived, Jane greeted him warmly but with a trace of hesitation in her eyes. They sat in one of Pemberley’s sunlit parlours, and Fitzwilliam wasted no time in explaining his intentions.
“Miss Bennet,” he began, his voice steady but earnest, “I have thought of you often over these past months, cherishing the few opportunities I had to speak with you during my brief visits to Pemberley. When I first met you, I was captivated not only by your beauty but by the quiet strength you so often displayed. I admired you deeply, yet I knew I could not offer you a future, for I had little to offer beyond a life spent in the military. All of that changed a few months ago, as you well know.”
He hesitated briefly, his gaze never leaving hers. “For a time, I was certain that I would still not be able to marry as I wished. I had no desire to marry a woman for her wealth, but I believed it would be years before Matlock could be fully restored. Then, the generous gift from my cousin gave me the means I needed. While Matlock might not yet be all it could be, I am no longer burdened by financial worries. Now, I can follow my heart and marry the woman I have long desired.”
For long moments, he held her gaze, his expression sincere. “I know the life I can offer may not be the one you had envisioned, and I would not blame you for hesitating. But I believe we could find great happiness together, and I would count myself the luckiest of men if you would consent to be my wife.”
Jane looked down, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. “I—I am not certain I am suited to such a role,” she admitted softly. “I was not raised to be… a countess. It is a world I do not understand. Surely there is another better suited to be your wife?”
Fitzwilliam leant forward, his tone gentle but firm. “Nor was I raised to inherit Matlock, Jane. Yet here I am, learning day by day what it means to be a steward of something greater than myself. I do not expect you to know everything, nor do I require perfection. What I need is a partner, someone with your kindness, wisdom, and grace. Together, we can face whatever challenges come our way.”
Her blue eyes, warring between uncertainty and curiosity, met his. “You truly believe I could manage such a life?”
“I do,” he said without hesitation. “More than that, I believe you would thrive.”
The room fell into silence, broken only by the soft rustling of the breeze through the open windows. At length, Jane nodded, a tentative but growing smile on her lips. “Then… I suppose I must trust your judgement, Colonel—I mean, Viscount Ashburn.”
“Richard,” he corrected, his own smile spreading. “Call me Richard.”
Ever since Jane had become engaged to a viscount, Mrs. Bennet had crowed incessantly about the match. Since she had made few friends nearby, she had spoken of it mainly to her two daughters who lived with her in the dower house, though she wrote frequently to her sisters and youngest daughters and to all her friends in Meryton. She had even written the news to her husband, even though neither she nor her daughter bothered to ask for his permission or blessing.
Instead, Fitzwilliam had asked his cousin for permission, and it was Darcy who signed the settlements on his sister’s behalf. Darcy would have provided his sister with a dowry as well, but Lady Julia had barged into Darcy’s study to make her own offer.
“My dowry is still intact,” she declared. “I had intended to give it to Richard for Matlock. However, since Anne has secured the funds from her mother, mine are no longer necessary. Therefore, I will have my son settle that money on his new wife. I will keep a portion for my own use, but I shall settle half—twenty thousand pounds—on my new daughter.”
Darcy, though initially taken aback by his aunt’s abrupt entry, could not help but admire her approach. It was clear that Lady Julia’s intentions were grounded in both affection and a desire to ensure her son and his new wife would be well-supported. “Very well, Aunt,” Darcy said, after a moment’s pause, then made the necessary adjustments to the draft of the document.
Lady Julia nodded, pleased with her nephew’s agreement. “Of course, but in the meantime, I will begin to make arrangements.” She turned to look at her son, who was still staring at her in surprise. “Do not object, Richard. My dowry is mine to do with as I please. Father has added to my funds over the years, and what I will keep is more than enough for me. You will not allow me to starve,” she said, attempting to interject a little levity into the conversation.
Fitzwilliam stammered out his thanks after several moments and assured his mother that he and his new wife would, indeed, not allow her to starve.
She left just as abruptly as she had entered, leaving both men desiring a drink.
While Mrs. Bennet would have preferred that Jane go to London both for the wedding and trousseau, she had been persuaded otherwise. Lord Matlock’s illness was cited as the reason, but in truth, neither the Darcy nor Fitzwilliam families were eager to make the journey after all that had transpired in the past few months.
The decision to remain at Pemberley seemed a wise one. Matlock was still in the midst of some upheaval, and both families were still recovering from the turmoil surrounding Lord Matlock’s health and the fallout from his schemes.
For Elizabeth, the time spent at Pemberley was a welcome break from the whirlwind of recent events and the travel they had required. Additionally, the constant visits by her mother, with her well-meaning but often intrusive comments, could at times be difficult to tolerate. When Mrs. Bennet had insisted helping with planning the wedding, Elizabeth had reluctantly agreed—on the condition that if her mother displayed any hysterics, swooned, or caused undue distress, she would be promptly exiled to the dower house until after the wedding.
“I do hope, Lizzy, that you will allow me to help with the wedding preparations,” Mrs. Bennet said not long after Fitzwilliam proposed to Jane. “I simply cannot imagine how you will manage without my advice!”
Elizabeth had exchanged a glance with Jane, then smiled tightly. “Of course, Mama. Your expertise is invaluable.”
Despite the occasional tension, Elizabeth was grateful for the company. She, Jane, and Mary spent much of their time together, and though Mrs. Bennet’s ramblings could be trying, the bond they shared as sisters grew stronger. Even Mary joined in more often, her confidence growing in this new environment.
Surprisingly, after spending some time with Mrs. Annesley and Lady Julia Matlock, Mrs. Bennet seemed somewhat subdued. The company of the calmer, more composed women appeared to have a stabilising effect on her. She was no longer creating unnecessary drama at every turn. Instead of adding to the chaos, she offered more support to her daughters as they planned the wedding. She even had helpful recommendations for Elizabeth in dealing with her pregnancy—though not all of them were well-received.
“I think you must absolutely stay in bed more, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet had declared one morning, as Elizabeth tried to stand to fetch a book. “You will be far better off, I assure you.”
Elizabeth smiled, placing a hand on her stomach. “I am sure it will be fine, Mama. I need to keep moving, or I will go mad with rest. You know I was never one for sitting still for long; I know when I need to stop.”
“Rest, dear, rest! It is the best thing for you and the child.”
Elizabeth’s resolve wavered slightly, but she politely declined any further suggestions, aware that they were born from genuine concern, if a little misguided. To her surprise, Mrs. Bennet began to recognise when she was becoming overwrought and would retreat from the room, leaving the others to continue in peace.
On one such afternoon, Mrs. Bennet had excused herself with an abrupt, “I shall go lie down for a moment,” and slipped from the sitting room without further drama. Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane.
“Well, that was remarkably calm,” Jane remarked, a smile tugging at her lips.
Elizabeth chuckled. “I think spending time with Lady Julia and Mrs. Annesley has done wonders for Mama. It seems she’s finally realised when to step back.”
“And when to step in,” Jane added, her tone teasing.
Elizabeth laughed again, grateful for the calm that seemed to be settling over their household—at least, as much calm could be had while preparing for a wedding.