Chapter Twenty-Five
Matlock House
The Countess of Matlock was entertaining very elegant visitors in her very elegant drawing room.
The visitors were, in fact, the epitome of high society, the arbiters of all that was good and right in the world; in short, the most important patronesses of Almack’s: Countess de Lieven, Countess Cowper, Viscountess Castlereagh, and Countess Esterházy.
There was only one reason for this show of force in the Matlock drawing room, and Ellen Fitzwilliam knew exactly what it was.
She waited patiently through enquiries as to health, family members, opinions on the latest antics of the Prince Regent, and so on, knowing that they would come to the point sooner or later.
Until that moment, the conversation required little of her attention, so her mind wandered to the letter she had received from Catherine about, of all things, the supposed betrothal between Darcy and Anne de Bourgh.
If there was one good thing to come out of this, it would be that Darcy would finally be free of Lady Catherine’s delusion.
Doubtless it was foolish to expect much in the way of silver linings in this whole affair, but this was certainly one.
Her attention snapped back to the room when Lady Emily, the Countess Cowper, began the real conversation, the true reason these ladies had come to call today. “Tell me, Ellen, how are things in your family.”
“Oh, quite well,” Lady Ellen, the Countess of Matlock, said brightly.
“But the recent gossip…?” the Countess Cowper asked, delicately.
“Gossip? Oh, you mean that bit in the paper? Nonsense, of course, as any discerning person would know.” Lady Ellen did her best to pull off an air of nonchalance.
“But it seems odd that such a thing would be published,” Amelia Stewart, the Viscountess Castlereagh added, putting her teacup down on the table and leaning forward.
“Does it?” Lady Ellen asked, managing to sound amazed at such a question. “She is not known in Society yet, being just fifteen, and so she is an easy target. We know who planted the article, of course.”
“Do you?” Countess Esterházy asked.
“Certainly; there is a man named George Wickham, who was the son of the late Mr. Darcy’s steward.
He formed an attachment to Georgiana Darcy when they were children and actually came to Pemberley to try to see her.
Mr. Darcy would not allow him near her, of course, and he came to London to spread this vicious tale as revenge.
” It was near enough to the truth that it was easily said, with appropriate outrage on the Countess’ part.
The ladies exchanged glances.
Lady Ellen followed it up with, “Anyone who knows Fitzwilliam Darcy knows that he is a most attentive brother and would never let any harm come to her. That is why he refused to let this George Wickham anywhere near her.”
“Perhaps,” the Countess de Lieven said, setting her cup down carefully. “Perhaps that is the case. But were she to come to Town just now, we would not be able to give her a voucher, you know.”
“I would consider that a grave insult to my family, Dorothea,” Lady Ellen said, staring directly at the Countess de Lieven.
The Countess de Lieven could not meet Lady Ellen’s hard stare, so she looked at Amelia Steward, Viscountess Castlereagh, for support.
“We would reconsider if more evidence was brought to light,” Viscountess Castlereagh said. “Ellen, we would not wish to hurt your family for all the world, but the reputation of Almack’s must be our first priority. You must understand that.”
“I understand your position, of course,” Lady Ellen replied. “But I insist that you be willing to reconsider when the time comes.”
***
“Has Richard come home yet?” the Earl demanded of his wife.
“If I am not mistaken, he is coming in just now,” the Countess replied.
Indeed, the clumping of boots could not be mistaken, and a dirty, weary Richard Fitzwilliam, dressed in workman’s clothes strode into the drawing room. Seeing his parents, he began to sit, but his mother stopped him at once.
“Do not even consider sitting on that Sheraton chair,” she ordered him. “Not until you have bathed and changed into clean clothing.”
Richard grunted, but could hardly argue the point. The chair in question was upholstered in cream with gold embroidery, and it would hardly have survived the assault of his garments. He turned to go upstairs, but was halted in his tracks by his father’s voice.
“Richard, this has to stop.”
His son turned to him. “I cannot stop, not until I have found that bast – excuse me, Mother – that man.”
“What if you never find him?” the Earl parried. “Will you resign your commission and spend the rest of your life hunting him?”
“I do not think that will be necessary; we are certain to turn over enough rocks to find the vermin lurking beneath,” Richard said.
“Have you considered that Georgiana might be better served just now by seeing you, and receiving reassurances as to your continued affection?” the Countess demanded.
This gave the Colonel pause. “I had not, no,” he admitted.
“Go wash, and we will discuss it,” she ordered.
***
An hour later, a much refreshed Colonel Fitzwilliam joined his parents in the drawing room.
“Have you considered my words?” the Countess asked, handing her son a cup of tea.
“I have, yes; you are right, I should visit Georgiana. That will give me the added benefit of being able to deal with Darcy. I think you said that they are not at Pemberley?”
“They are visiting Mr. Bingley and his sisters in Hertfordshire, near a town called Meryton.”
“Is Georgiana well?” the Colonel asked.
“As it happens, I received a letter from Darcy just yesterday. Wait just a moment.” The Countess went to the writing desk in the corner of the room, rifled through some papers, and returned holding a letter. “Listen.”
Dear Aunt,
Georgiana and I are quite well, perhaps better than expected.
Bingley’s nearest neighbours have five daughters, one of whom is Georgiana’s age, and they seem to have all but adopted Georgiana.
The mother is a kindly soul, and treats Georgiana as one of her own daughters.
As a result, my sister has finally left off weeping.
Though she spends a good deal of time in her room when here at Netherfield, doubtless to avoid Miss Bingley, she smiles and even laughs when she visits her new friends.
I could not ask for a better situation for us just now.
As for my particular concern, which I mentioned to you at Pemberley, I have seen nothing to either confirm or allay my fears. I wish I knew how to ask her, but I do not. I must, as you suggested, wait and see.
I must ask, is there any sign that society has moved on from that article? Or are all the Darcys still persona non grata? My uncle said that he would recover from the gossip, as his position was strong; may I hope that this is the case?
Your affectionate nephew,
Darcy
“Particular concern?” Richard asked, brow furrowed.
The Countess looked away; it was left to the Earl to explain. “Whether or not Georgiana is with child.”
“WHAT?” Richard dropped his teacup on the floor; the delicate china shattered.
“Did you not consider that?” the Earl asked.
“I did not think it had – did not realise – what exactly happened between Georgiana and Wickham?” the Colonel sputtered.
“Did he actually – “ A maid came in to sweep up the remnants of his cup, so he stopped speaking until she had left.
Even then, he found himself unable to continue; he stared at his mother, the question in his eyes.
“That is the problem,” his mother said, tiredly. “We are not quite certain. From Darcy’s description, they were in quite an intimate position when he discovered them.”
“How intimate?” the Colonel growled. “Never mind, I shall learn it all from Darcy himself.”
“But not from Georgiana,” the Countess told him, severely. “Despite Darcy’s words, I do not doubt that she is still suffering from the event.”
“I will protect her feelings, Mother,” the Colonel said. “But I will not protect Darcy’s. I will leave at first light. Will you write down for me the name of Bingley’s property and the town? I never heard of it and doubt I shall recall it in the morning.”
“I shall go upstairs and write it down for you,” his mother said.
The Countess left the room and made her way upstairs. She wrote “Netherfield Park, Meryton, Hertfordshire.”
Then she took a larger piece of paper, and wrote another message. She hoped this message, sent by a fast rider, would arrive at Netherfield before Richard did.
Darcy,
I have neglected to tell you that I wrote to Richard about what befell Georgiana at Ramsgate.
He immediately left his regiment and has been with us here at Matlock for the past fortnight.
I need not tell you how furious he is. He has vowed to kill George Wickham, and has set a good many men to the task of finding the villain, but with no success.
Upon being reminded of his duty to assure Georgiana of his continued affection, Richard is on his way to you even now. Be prepared, for he is not happy with you. He says he will at least give you the chance to explain yourself before taking his vengeance upon your person.
I have never seen him like this, Darcy. He is in a rage, but it is a cold, icy rage. I am almost afraid of him myself.
As for your question regarding Society, I have had the patronesses of Almack’s here today to enquire – every so delicately – as to the truth of the article. It is still talked of, I am afraid to say, and generally believed. This is far from over.
Your loving and rather fearful aunt,
Ellen