Chapter Twenty-One #2
The room embodied elegant restraint, decorated in shades of cream and gold. His aunt sat near the fire with her embroidery, while his uncle occupied his favourite chair with a book and a glass of port. They both looked up as Darcy entered, their expressions shifting from mild surprise to welcome.
“Darcy,” Lord Matlock said, setting aside his book and rising. He was a man in his late fifties, his hair more grey than dark now. “This is unexpected. We thought you still in Kent.”
“I returned to London this evening,” Darcy replied, accepting his uncle’s handshake. He moved to kiss his aunt’s cheek, noting the way her sharp eyes studied his face with concern.
“Sit,” Lady Matlock said, gesturing to a nearby chair. “You look tired, dear boy. Shall I ring for refreshment?”
“Thank you, no. I have just come from my own house.” Darcy settled into the offered chair. There was no point in delaying. “I have come to share some news. I have become engaged to be married.”
The silence that followed lasted perhaps three seconds but felt considerably longer. Lord Matlock’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline, while Lady Matlock’s embroidery slipped from her fingers. They stared at him with identical expressions of shock.
“Engaged,” Lord Matlock repeated. “To whom?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire,” Darcy said, keeping his voice level. “She is the second daughter of Mr. Bennet, a gentleman with a small estate. I met her last autumn at Netherfield, and again more recently in Kent.”
Lady Matlock recovered first, her surprise giving way to cautious pleasure. “The young lady you mentioned to us at Christmas? The one you described with such particular attention?”
“Yes,” Darcy admitted with a wince. He and Georgiana had spent Christmas Day with the Matlocks, and Darcy had imbibed perhaps a little more than he should of his uncle’s excellent port.
He did not recall everything about the conversation, but clearly he had let slip more than he would have wished to about Elizabeth Bennet and the way she had captured his interest.
“Well,” Lady Matlock said, and a smile began to form. “This is wonderful news, Darcy. Quite unexpected, but wonderful nonetheless. When did this occur?”
“I proposed two days ago in Kent, and she accepted. Today, I called on her father to request his permission, which he granted.”
Lord Matlock had been watching with an expression that suggested he was fitting pieces together. “This is rather sudden, is it not? You made no mention of an attachment when we last spoke.”
“My feelings changed,” Darcy said, aware of how inadequate the explanation sounded. “I came to admire Miss Elizabeth’s character and intelligence.”
“I am certain she must be remarkable to have captured your attention,” Lady Matlock said warmly. “But your uncle raises a fair point, dear. This does seem rather precipitate. You have known the young lady for what, six months? And much of that time apart.”
“I know her well enough to be certain of my choice,” Darcy insisted, though even as he spoke, doubt whispered in the back of his mind.
Lord Matlock exchanged a glance with his wife, some wordless communication passing between them.
When he turned back to Darcy, his expression had softened.
“We do not question your judgement, nephew. You are a sensible man, not given to rash decisions. But you must understand our surprise. And our concern for your happiness.”
“I appreciate that concern,” Darcy said. “But I assure you, I have given this matter considerable thought. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is the woman I wish to marry, and I would be grateful for your support in arranging the necessary details.”
Lady Matlock leaned forward, her embroidery forgotten.
“Of course we will support you. All I want is your happiness. If Miss Elizabeth makes you happy, then we welcome her to our family with open arms.” She paused, then added with gentle concern, “Though I confess I am curious about the circumstances. How did she come to accept you so quickly? At Christmas, you seemed to think she had no particularly high opinion of you.”
The question struck closer to Darcy’s own doubts than he cared to admit. He forced his expression to remain neutral. “I believe she came to see qualities in me that she had not initially recognised. Our acquaintance deepened during her time in Kent.”
“I see,” Lady Matlock said, though her tone suggested she saw more than Darcy had intended. “And when is the wedding to take place?”
“Actually, we plan to marry by special licence,” Darcy said. “As soon as arrangements can be made. A week, perhaps two at most.”
This announcement produced another moment of stunned silence. Lord Matlock’s fingers tightened on his port glass, while Lady Matlock’s expression cycled through surprise, concern, and something that might have been alarm.
“A special licence,” Lord Matlock said slowly. “That is quite irregular, Darcy. Why such haste? Surely having the banns called would be more appropriate.”
“That is not what Elizabeth wants,” Darcy said, hearing the defensive note in his voice.
“She expressed a strong preference for a private ceremony in London by special licence. I see no reason to delay. I would appreciate your assistance in obtaining the licence, Uncle, as I know it requires influence.”
Lord Matlock studied his nephew’s face for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and nodded. “Very well. If this is truly what you want, I will arrange it. The Archbishop owes me several favours, and I can have the licence secured within a few days.”
Relief flooded through Darcy. “Thank you, uncle. I am grateful.”
“Come,” Lord Matlock said, rising with decisive movement. “Let us go to my library and discuss the practical details. There are settlements to arrange, announcements to be written.”
Darcy followed his uncle from the drawing room. They moved down a corridor hung with family portraits. The library occupied the back corner of the first floor, a masculine retreat of dark wood and leather furnishings.
The room stretched perhaps thirty feet in length, its walls lined floor to ceiling with shelves. Heavy velvet curtains on the windows blocked any view of the street beyond. Lord Matlock’s desk dominated one end of the space.
But it was the glass-fronted cabinet between two windows that caught Darcy’s idle attention as his uncle moved to light additional candles.
The cabinet contained an eclectic collection of curiosities.
A narwhal tusk hung along the back wall.
Below it rested shells of remarkable size.
Minerals glittered on the lower shelves, and what appeared to be a preserved exotic bird occupied pride of place.
“My cabinet of curiosities,” Lord Matlock said, noticing Darcy’s gaze.
“Most of it collected by my father during his time in the diplomatic service. That narwhal tusk alone cost him a small fortune.” He moved closer to the cabinet, gesturing toward the lower shelf.
“That dark stone there is a bezoar from the East. Supposedly found in the stomach of a Persian goat. Cost nearly as much as the tusk. It is claimed to have significant medicinal properties.”
Darcy glanced at the object his uncle indicated, a dark brownish stone about the size of a large walnut with a slightly iridescent sheen. He made some appropriate noise of interest, but his attention was already drifting back to his impending marriage.
Lord Matlock moved to his desk and withdrew a sheet of paper, dipping his pen in ink. “Now then. Let us discuss the settlements. What have you determined to settle on Miss Elizabeth? And what is her own fortune?”
“She has no fortune to speak of,” Darcy admitted. “A thousand pounds as her portion from her mother’s settlement, on her mother’s passing. Her father’s estate is entailed away.”
His uncle’s pen stilled above the page. “I see. That is rather modest. But if you are certain of your choice, then the financial considerations are secondary to your happiness.”
They spent the next hour discussing settlements and jointures, the practical matters of marriage that turned romance into legal agreement.
Lord Matlock suggested figures and Darcy agreed to them, numbers that would secure Elizabeth’s future.
His uncle also offered the use of Matlock House for the wedding breakfast, suggesting that Darcy’s own townhouse might be too small.
“Though if you insist on this hasty ceremony, the guest list will necessarily be limited, family for the most part,” Lord Matlock observed, his tone making clear he was still not entirely approving.
“You will want to inform your aunt Catherine, I suppose, though I imagine she will not take the news well.”
“She already knows,” Darcy said grimly. “I informed her yesterday morning in Kent. Her reaction was precisely what you might expect.”
Lord Matlock’s expression suggested he could well imagine. “Then you had best prepare yourself for continued displeasure from that quarter.”
Finally, with all the practical arrangements discussed, Darcy rose to take his leave. His uncle walked him to the door, his hand resting briefly on Darcy’s shoulder.
“I hope you know what you are doing, nephew,” Lord Matlock said quietly. “Marriage is not something to be entered into lightly or in haste. But you are a sensible man, and I trust your judgement even when I do not understand your reasoning.”
“Thank you, uncle,” Darcy replied, though the words felt hollow. Did he know what he was doing?
He descended the stairs and stepped out into the cool night air.
As the vehicle rolled away from Matlock House, Darcy found himself more uncertain than he had been before the visit.
He had secured the practical assistance he needed, had set in motion the machinery that would make Elizabeth his wife.
But the Matlocks’ concerns echoed his own too closely for comfort.
He was committed now, he thought as he watched the streets roll by. He could not possibly back out, even if he wanted to. His honour would not allow it.
Elizabeth Bennet would become Mrs. Darcy.
Within a matter of days.