Chapter 7 To be Run over Roughshod
“But—where is your bedchamber?”
They had just arrived at Darcy House after their bridal trip. Darcy escorted Elizabeth to her suite of rooms himself. She walked through the connecting door from her bedchamber to the adjacent sitting room, but there were no other doors than the one leading into the passage.
“It is at the opposite end of the house. The tradition of having the master’s and mistress’s chambers as far apart as possible began with royalty and has become all the rage amongst the upper classes.
Allow me to show you,” Darcy offered and escorted her out of the room.
“Georgiana’s quarters are next to yours,” he said, pointing at the following door.
“The next one was mine until my father died and I moved into the master’s chamber.
The middle room is a guest room. This one is reserved for closest family—Colonel Fitzwilliam stays in this room when he spends the night.
And this is mine.” Darcy pointed at the last door in the passage.
Elizabeth entered, curious about her husband’s taste. The room was dark but comfortable, painted in a dark green colour with walnut furnishings. It was neither ostentatious nor plain.
“My parents share one room,” she mused, uneasy with this turn of events. “You are situated so far away from me.”
Darcy enveloped her in his strong masculine arms and chuckled into her hair. “Do not despair, my love. I do not intend to use this for any purpose other than changing my attire, unless you kick me out of yours.”
Elizabeth sighed in relief and allowed herself to be seduced.
#
“When is Mary to join us?”
Seeing Darcy furrow his brows, she wondered whether he had forgotten his promise to her sister.
“I had intended for both our sisters to join us as soon as may be, but on second thoughts, I suggest we wait a fortnight before entertaining even our closest family. You have yet to familiarise yourself with the house and the servants.”
Darcy did not need to convince Elizabeth that solitude was a most delightful prospect.
“Your consideration is much appreciated,” Elizabeth agreed, fighting a smirk. “I shall write to Mary and excuse the delay. Will you notify your sister or shall I?”
“No,” Darcy replied bluntly. “I shall send her a note.”
“Excellent.”
Breakfast was almost finished when Mr Gilbert, the butler, delivered Elizabeth a missive on a silver salver.
“Oh! It is from the Countess of Matlock,” she informed her husband.
Darcy’s wide eyes bespoke that the news had startled him.
Was he as opposed as she to the notion of everyday life intruding upon their happiness?
“She has invited me to join her at an appointment with a fashionable seamstress on the morrow. May I accept?”
Darcy raised his brows and smiled. “Certainly, you must accept. I am surprised yet pleased that Lady Matlock is paying you such a great compliment as to offer you assistance. Not to mention access to her sought-after dressmaker. To decline would be most uncivil.”
“Thank you!” Elizabeth rose and rounded the table to kiss her husband’s cheek.
She wound her arms about his neck and could not help but allow her hands to slide down his chest only to discover that his heart was racing.
“Whilst I am not relishing the thought of spending an entire day without your delectable company, I am relieved to have garnered support from the countess. With such an illustrious voucher, the seamstress will not dare to cheat me.”
“Of course not!” Darcy cried aghast.
#
The next day, the countess was announced at the appointed hour.
“Her ladyship’s carriage is here,” the housekeeper announced as the clock struck ten chimes.
“Thank you.”
Lady Matlock was punctual. Elizabeth was ready and waiting to greet Darcy’s illustrious aunt in the entrance hall with her husband. The door opened to a mature woman who must have been a great beauty in her youth. She was accompanied by a young woman, who hid behind the formidable lady.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy! Can you explain why I had to read about your marriage in the ghastly newspapers?”
What could her ladyship mean by that? Elizabeth turned to study her husband and his increasingly crimson ears.
“I am seriously displeased, and your sister is quite distraught, but it is nothing to Lord Matlock’s wrath.”
It was difficult to believe with Darcy’s many journeys to London and Matlock during their courtship that he had not had the opportunity to inform his family about their impending nuptials, though his replies to her queries had been vague.
Darcy shifted his stance as if his coat were made of burrs.
She would address the problem at the first opportunity for a private conversation.
“It was a simple oversight.”
Lady Matlock knitted her brows and stepped closer to Darcy. Then she changed her mind and turned to Elizabeth.
“Introduce your wife.”
Darcy complied, and she was scrutinised by the countess.
“She is a pretty little thing, but in dire need of raiment befitting her new station. It is fortuitous that I was able to secure an appointment with Mrs Bean. Who is her father?”
“I am the daughter of Mr Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth replied, keeping the trembling out of her voice.
“That much I deduced from the notice in the paper. Is Longbourn a prosperous property?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied as Darcy simultaneously contradicted her with a measured, “No.”
“The estate provides amply for my family,” Elizabeth defended her childhood home.
“Longbourn village is of a decent size and would have greater fiscal potential if it were better managed,” Darcy informed his aunt without feeling.
Elizabeth was about to defend her father and his steward but managed not to draw the necessary breath before Lady Matlock spoke.
“Good, so not entirely destitute, then. Very well, I shall aid Mrs Darcy for the sake of Georgiana. She deserves every opportunity to make a good match, and that depends entirely upon Mrs Darcy’s acceptance in society.
Whether I succeed in persuading the earl that such endeavours are worth the effort remains to be seen. ”
Elizabeth then understood that Lady Matlock was not offering her services for her sake but in an effort to preserve their reputation.
“Certainly, and my vivacious wife will add much-needed liveliness to Georgiana’s life.”
Lady Matlock crinkled her nose as though liveliness was a particularly distasteful trait before introducing Miss Georgiana Darcy.
Miss Bingley had often lauded the young lady, which in turn had made Elizabeth apprehensive about being introduced to this paragon of virtue.
“Georgiana!” Darcy exclaimed with a merry cadence in his voice. “How good of you to come. Do you intend to stay or are you accompanying the ladies to the dressmaker?”
“Oh no, I have come to keep you company, Brother. I would just be in the way at the shops.”
Miss Darcy’s unassuming and gentle manners were endearing, and Elizabeth quashed a sigh of relief. It was a comfort to like those with whom one was to share a house.
“You would be most welcome to join us,” Elizabeth said.
“You could purchase something for yourself,” Darcy suggested to his sister.
“I have no need at present,” Miss Darcy demurred. “Besides, I have something for you.” She retrieved a card that looked like an invitation from her reticule and handed it to Darcy.
“Then I am most obliged you are condescending to entertain your brother.”
Darcy tucked the invitation into his coat pocket without looking at it.
“It is good of you to keep Mr Darcy company whilst Lady Matlock and I are occupied plundering London’s shops,” Elizabeth remarked, fighting a twitch at the corners of her mouth.
The brother and sister had not seen each other for over a month and must have much to relate. Elizabeth left the house with Lady Matlock, assured that her husband would not lack entertainment whilst she was away.
They arrived at Mrs Bean’s Magazin des Modes on 32 Albemarle Street[1] shortly thereafter. Elizabeth had read about the woman, two years prior, when her apprentice’s unfortunate demise after a bout of measles had concluded in a group of resurrection men being apprehended.
Stepping out of the carriage, she narrowly escaped colliding with an older gentleman whose reddish eyes must have been more or less blind to have missed noticing her.
He stared at her for an uncomfortable moment without as much as a pardon me before tipping his hat at Lady Matlock, revealing a bald head.
“Mrs Darcy, I presume?”
Elizabeth was uncertain as to whether she should acknowledge the fact to a random man she had not met before, but as her ladyship seemed to know him, she overlooked the impropriety.
“Yes, I am she.”
The gentleman nodded and continued down the street. Lady Matlock pretended she had not witnessed the mishap or the greeting and made no remark upon either.
The shop was impressive in size, and the spectacular selection of fabrics, which even included luxurious illicit French lace, made it difficult to choose.
Agreeing upon styles and fabrics for the various occasions spurred debate.
Elizabeth was not accustomed to ordering so many dresses at once and certainly not choosing the most expensive silks and muslins.
A short dispute arose over a particular costly Dhaka muslin.
The lightweight and transparent fabric was woven in Bengal from the fine Phuti karpas cotton, and cost twenty-six times more than silk.
“I could not possibly saddle Mr Darcy with such an expense,” she protested in a tone that brooked no opposition.
“It is a gift from Lord Matlock and me,” the countess argued.
“I cannot possibly accept!”