Chapter 5
Asoft knock at the door announced Mr. Darcy, now changed into evening clothes.
Elizabeth gasped. She had seen him in formal attire at the Netherfield ball, but her view of him was different now—the severe black coat fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders, his cravat, an immaculate fall of white linen at his throat, his dark hair brushed back from his face.
He appeared every inch the gentleman of consequence that he was.
And she, in her simple cream muslin with its modest embroidery, felt suddenly, acutely plain.
But then his eyes found hers, and his expression warmed at once. “Elizabeth,” he said, his voice holding a note of wonder. “You are lovely.”
The sincerity in his tone lent her strength.
“Thank you,” she managed. “You are very kind.”
“I am truthful,” he corrected gently, offering his arm. “Shall we?”
Elizabeth took his arm, though her hand trembled against his sleeve. She felt the disparity between them keenly now—his wealth and consequence, her country simplicity.
They had taken only a few steps down the corridor when Mr. Darcy paused and studied her face. Without a word, he guided her into a small alcove.
“You are apprehensive,” he whispered. “Do you need reassurance?”
Elizabeth met his eyes and saw genuine concern there. She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Darcy cradled her face in his hands, just as he had in the library at Netherfield, and lowered his head to press a brief, tender kiss to her lips. It was over in a trice.
When he pulled back, she smiled. “I shall have to remember your cure for nerves for future occasions.”
He grinned. “I am at your service, whenever you require it.”
They continued down the stairs, both clearly pleased with each other in a way that made Elizabeth feel less like a stranger in a foreign land and more like a woman embarking on an adventure with a willing partner.
They reached the drawing room to find Lord and Lady Matlock already present. With them stood a solidly built man in his late twenties with an effortless smile and a young woman with dark hair and Mr. Darcy’s fine features.
“Ah, there you are,” Lord Matlock said, his eyebrows rising. “You both seem in good spirits.”
Elizabeth could not keep from blushing. If only they knew about their nephew’s cure for anxiety.
“Miss Bennet, may I present my youngest son, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and my niece, Miss Georgiana Darcy?”
“Miss Bennet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said in a friendly manner. “What a pleasure. I confess, I could not wait to meet the woman who has finally captured my cousin’s heart.”
“Richard,” Mr. Darcy said, but there was no real heat in it.
Miss Darcy’s approach was graceful but hesitant. “Miss Bennet, I am very pleased to meet you. William has written to me about you.”
“Has he?” Elizabeth said, surprised. She grinned at Mr. Darcy, who looked faintly embarrassed.
“Oh yes. He said you were clever and kind, and that you played the pianoforte very well.” Miss Darcy blushed. “I hope we might become friends.”
The sincerity in the girl’s voice touched Elizabeth deeply. “I would like that very much, Miss Darcy.”
Henderson announced dinner, and they proceeded to the dining room. Colonel Fitzwilliam entertained them with stories from his regiment, while Miss Darcy asked Elizabeth about her family and life in Hertfordshire.
Lady Matlock finally broached the subject they had all been avoiding. “Miss Bennet, I understand your birthday is on the seventeenth of December. That gives us less than three weeks to prepare for a wedding.”
“Yes, your Ladyship.”
“You will need a trousseau. We must arrange for the license. The ceremony itself should be small and private—just family.” Lady Matlock’s tone was businesslike. “We cannot risk word spreading before you reach your majority.”
Elizabeth listened to them discuss her wedding and felt panic rise in her chest. Everything was moving so quickly.
And her family would not be there.
She and Jane had promised each other, years ago, that they would stand up together at their weddings.
And Mary would not see her sister become Mrs. Darcy, would not know her sacrifice had led to something good.
Even her mother, silly as she was, loved weddings—all weddings—and would have wept with joy.
And her father… She had always imagined he would give his blessing, would make some dry remark that made her laugh through her tears, would be proud of her.
Instead, she would marry surrounded by strangers who thought her unworthy.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened.
As if sensing her distress, Mr. Darcy’s hand found hers beneath the table, squeezing gently.
Elizabeth tilted her head toward his. “I may be in need of more reassurance, sir.”
He regarded her with an intensity that made her suddenly aware—most inconveniently—of how very handsome he was. “As you wish.”
When dinner concluded, Lady Matlock rose. “Miss Bennet and I have matters to discuss. Georgiana, you may join us.”
In a smaller sitting room, Lady Matlock came directly to the point. “What have you been taught?”
Elizabeth listed her accomplishments. “A little French, passable piano, singing, sketching, and household management at Longbourn, your Ladyship.”
Lady Matlock studied her. “What do you think, Georgiana? Will Miss Bennet suit your brother?”
“William loves her,” Georgiana answered without hesitation. “And I think she will make him happy. Is that not what matters most?”
To Elizabeth, Lady Matlock said, “Very well. I will help you prepare. You will learn household management on a much grander scale, proper forms of address, the art of entertaining. Georgiana will help with your music and French. We will visit my dressmaker for your wardrobe. It will be rigorous, Miss Bennet. I am not an easy taskmaster.”
“You will have my best effort,” Elizabeth promised.
“Good.” Lady Matlock rose. “Tomorrow morning, we begin.” The countess hesitated briefly. “Miss Bennet, my nephew is a good man. He does not express his feelings easily, and he has been hurt before. But he has chosen you. I hope you will prove worthy of that trust.”
“Lady Matlock, your nephew is not just a good man. He is the best of men. He deserves nothing less than my best.”
Later, when the men entered the drawing room, Mr. Darcy came to her side. “Are you well?”
“I am.”
They moved to the windows overlooking the square. Across the way, Darcy House blazed with light.
“That will be your home soon,” Mr. Darcy said. “Our home. I hope you will be happy there.”
“I am not made for sadness, Mr. Darcy. And we are both intelligent enough to understand that the more effort we put into our marriage, the more we each benefit from it. I am hopeful.” She turned to face him fully.
“I will do all I can to gain Lady Matlock’s approval.
But even more, I will endeavor to earn your esteem, so that you never have cause to regret offering me this chance. ”
In full view of the others across the room, Darcy caressed her cheek. Elizabeth leant into his touch.
“For now, I will promise that I will love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she said. “Soon, I hope, it will change to “I do love you.”
His eyes darkened with emotion. “I already love you, Elizabeth Bennet, soon-to-be Elizabeth Darcy.”
“I cannot be falling behind you, sir. I am determined to catch up,” she teased.
He gently tugged on one of her curls. “When we are alone, or with family, you may call me Fitzwilliam, or William if you prefer, as my sister does.”
“William,” she whispered, as though testing the intimacy of it.
He kissed her hand and said, “Come, Elizabeth. We should join the others.”
The evening passed pleasantly. Colonel Fitzwilliam drew her out with skillful questions, Miss Darcy paid her rapt attention, and even Lord Matlock seemed to thaw as he saw the easy rapport between his nephew and Miss Bennet.
When the clock struck ten, Lady Matlock announced it was time to retire. Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the foot of the stairs.
“Thank you,” he said. “For being patient with my family. And for your promise.”
“They care about you. I cannot fault them for that. And my promise is freely given.”
He raised her hand to his lips. The tenderness of the gesture, the warmth of his breath against her skin, undid her in a way she had not anticipated—as though a wall of worry began to crumble.
She had made her choice. And she would ensure that both she and Darcy benefited from it in every possible way.
“Goodnight, Elizabeth.”
“Goodnight, William.”
As she lay in bed, Elizabeth no longer tried to imagine herself as Mrs. Darcy. Instead, she accepted it as her inevitable future—one she would work toward with all her determination.
The following morning, Lady Matlock wasted no time on pleasantries, leading Elizabeth directly to a well-appointed study where leather-bound ledgers lined the shelves.
“These are the account books for Matlock House,” Lady Matlock said, opening the most recent volume. “A household of this size requires meticulous record-keeping. Every expenditure must be noted, every servant’s wage accounted for, every delivery verified against the bills.”
Elizabeth contemplated the neat columns of figures. The sums were staggering.
“The housekeeper will bring you the weekly accounts,” Lady Matlock continued. “You must review them carefully, question any irregularities, and maintain a firm but fair hand.”
For two hours, Lady Matlock led her through the intricacies of the coordination of servants, the planning of meals for both family dinners and grand entertainments, and the proper ordering of a great house.
Elizabeth’s head spun with information, but she made note of everything, determined to prove herself capable.
“That is enough for this morning,” Lady Matlock said finally. “This afternoon, we visit my dressmaker.”
Madame Dupree greeted Lady Matlock with obvious deference. “Your Ladyship, what a pleasure! And who is this young lady?”