Chapter Matlock #2
The ladies laughed at the little witticism, not really brave enough to attempt more ambitious banter, but at least saw that Lady Matlock possessed a sense of humour.
The matrons organised the conversation much like a pair of generals organising a battle.
They both wanted a certain amount of discussion from each participant, and they simply divided the questions and answers automatically to keep everybody talking pleasantly.
Lady Matlock and Mrs Wythe took an immediate liking to each other.
The countess was not about to dismantle society like the French, but she would not avoid an acquaintance with an amiable group in her own home.
She had always believed the idea of someone being below her because they were in trade was preposterous, particularly since she knew Mr Wythe was partially responsible for her prosperity.
The countess believed Margaret Wythe a wonderful young girl, who would be a woman of true merit in three or four years.
She resolved to keep an eye out, because even with her connections to trade, she thought she could enter a society amenable to her prospects.
The lady was not a matchmaker per se, but she did like to give the occasional young woman a little push.
She enjoyed being of use, particularly since it occasionally had some small chance of success, unlike her efforts with her younger son and nephew, which seemed more akin to the labours of Sisyphus.
Elizabeth Bennet, on the other hand, already seemed a force to be reckoned with.
Shy and timid at first, she gradually forgot her surroundings and shed her reserve.
Their conversations had been at times pleasant, sometimes contentious, and at times somewhat raucous after her first shock in the gallery, but they were all honest—or so Lady Matlock believed.
When they discussed books, it seemed entirely possible Miss Bennet espoused views she did not hold, merely to prolong the discussion.
It was obvious the lady barely tapped her education and made no effort to conceal that she was educated much more like a man than a typical lady.
Having been called a bluestocking herself more than once, Lady Matlock liked Miss Bennet immensely.
The young lady never strayed an inch from polite discourse, but also never gave an inch that was not earned.
Lady Matlock, like any mother, wished her own son settled. He might have been a suitable candidate for this young lady; but considering the gasp of shock at the marble statue, followed by a refusal to look again, she suspected that was a lost cause.
That left Darcy, and frankly, he seemed a near perfect fit for young Miss Bennet.
The lady would need all the iron backbone she possessed to drag him into conversation, as he was not a man particularly amenable to the sport.
They would certainly, disagree from time to time, which was likely to at the very least explode, and possibly bring about the apocalypse.
They seemed a perfectly matched couple, and Darcy seemed more likely to seek a bride in a leper colony than in the ballrooms of London.
Perhaps a little encouragement and an introduction were in order.
Wanting a few moments of the young lady’s undivided attention, she seized the opportunity when Miss Wythe retired and her mother accompanied her.
The countess approached the matter obliquely.
Miss Bennet was certainly the liveliest, loveliest, and most agreeable conversationalist she had met in years, quite unlike the ladies of the first circle, so it was time to discover her connections.
“I noticed you had a peculiar reaction to the bust of my son, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Can you tell me what that muttonhead has done to offend you?”
The young lady's face fell precipitously. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her brow furrowed. She seemed to search for a polite reply, but failed.
Lady Matlock, feeling bold, asked, “Pardon me, but I am a mother of three sons. I know an offended woman when I see one. Do not fear retribution nor the necessity of an answer, but I would like to be of service.”
Elizabeth was torn between a desire to know the defects of the two gentlemen from Derbyshire and her desire to avoid offending Lady Matlock, the only person of the first circles she found worthy of respect.
She recalled her father speaking earnestly to her ten-year-old self while Charlotte Lucas sat a little distance away, weeping softly over some altercation.
Lizzy, your temper is your best and your worst feature. Sometimes it will be the thing that allows you to smite your enemies, and it will be of great use to you. Other times, it will only allow you to smite your friends, so it will embarrass you and damage your family.
Try to do more of the former and less of the latter, my girl.
The gentle rebuke proved far more effective than her mother’s worst tirade, so she instantly ran to Charlotte to make amends. Grovelling at her friend’s feet embarrassed the older girl more than anything else, but they reconciled and remained the best of friends.
She wondered how much to say, but given that she was a guest of important connections of the Wythes, she chose prudence, though she would be missing a golden opportunity to learn at least something of the gentleman from Derbyshire, however biased and probably favourable.
“I have no offence to report against your son or your nephew. Pray, be easy.”
Unwittingly, she betrayed more than intended, and now wished only for the return of Margaret and Mrs Wythe, that she might escape further embarrassment.
Lady Matlock, on the other hand, wished to adopt the girl right then and there, but could do nothing without understanding her situation.
Ignoring all propriety, she reached across the small table to take Miss Bennet’s hand.
The vivacious spitfire of ten minutes before was gone; she beheld only a distressed and nervous young lady.
Gently, she said, “So, Darcy as well? Or mostly Darcy?”
This seized the young lady's full attention; her eyes snapped up in consternation.
“I have no offences to report.”
“That is hardly the same as having no offences. I cannot demand your confidence, but I can offer my sympathy and advice for what it is worth.”
Elizabeth’s nod, followed by a shake of her head, served as confirmation. She had offences enough, but was sufficiently well-mannered that she would not air them with a stranger.
Lady Matlock sighed. “I imagine they have done something regrettable, but they are both good boys. Richard has been fighting nearly ten years, and while he is amiable and well-mannered, he is very direct and has lost whatever subtlety he once possessed.”
“Your son has done me no harm. In fact, he did me a great service, and his manners are all they ought to be.”
“And yet, it was painful; I surmise he let slip something regarding Darcy that distressed you.”
The young lady stared back without pretence to politeness, as if wondering how Lady Matlock had struck so close to the bone on so little evidence.
“Did you know Darcy lost both parents when he was your age, and had to assume the management of a great estate and the care of a sister more than a decade his junior? When other men were carousing, or on their grand tours, or learning from their fathers—or more importantly, learning to engage the fair sex—he was diligently ensuring the prosperity of the hundreds who depend on his estate. He has done as well as a young man ought, but he is very shy and reserved, and it has not always served him well. His parents taught him to be overly proud and somewhat arrogant, which also does him no service, but he is at heart an exceptionally good man. There is not a person who knows him well who will not give him a good character, but he does not shine in crowds.”
Lady Matlock wavered between relief and distress at the reappearance of the spitfire, when Miss Bennet apparently let her temper get the better of her, as she replied icily, “He is most assuredly not a man who knows how to treat a woman with respect and courtesy, my lady. Pray forgive me for taking so much of your time.”
Distressed by the encounter, the lady resolved to send an express to those two gentlemen within the hour. They had some explaining to do.