Chapter Thirty
M r. Darcy rather regretted Evans’ absence as he made himself ready for dinner at Matlock House. Thompson tried to satisfy his master’s desire for perfection, but they both knew that Evans could have tied a far better cravat, Thompson’s fingers being rather too thick to manage the intricate knot required. After several attempts, Mr. Darcy and Thompson agreed that they had done their best.
He was announced, and bowed to his aunt and uncle in the drawing room. “Come in, Darcy!” His uncle’s voice boomed. “Your aunt here has been teasing me with snippets of your news, and I have been awaiting the full story impatiently!”
“I will be happy to repeat the tale, though I fear my aunt will grow bored with the retelling,” Mr. Darcy returned.
“Not at all,” his aunt replied, promptly. “The mere thought of Catherine’s face when she hears that you are to be married to a young lady you met while visiting Rosings keeps me well entertained.”
“My sisters will both be livid,” the Earl sighed.
“They will indeed, and that is perhaps the best part of the whole event,” his wife said.
“It does not speak well of you, Eleanor, that the thought of my sisters’ ire brings you such joy.”
“It does not speak well of either of your sisters that they sought to force Darcy to marry Anne de Bourgh. As if Anne could ever be the mistress of Pemberley!” Lady Eleanor shook her head in disgust.
“Shall I just let you two continue to amuse yourselves?” Mr. Darcy enquired, eyes twinkling. He was glad he had come; feeling that he had the support of these two relatives was worth any amount of time spent in re-tying his cravat.
At that moment, dinner was announced. “Let us not speak of this over dinner,” Aunt Eleanor suggested. “We will resume the discussion afterwards.”
***
After a long meal, during which time the Earl held forth on matters political, the three retired again to the drawing room, where Mr. Darcy again told the tale of his visit to Meryton. His relatives did not speak again until he concluded by saying, “We are to be married on the twenty-fifth of May in the Meryton chapel.”
“And we will attend,” Lady Eleanor said, firmly.
“My sisters…” the Earl began.
“Are entirely in the wrong, and you well know it, Henry.”
“They had best not be told of the matter until it is over,” the Earl advised him.
“Have you a ring for your Miss Bennet?” Lady Eleanor asked.
“I am bringing her a selection of Darcy jewels from which to choose,” Mr. Darcy assured her.
“From your description of her character, she may like something simpler,” the Countess observed. “Henry, do you not still have your mother’s ring?”
“I do; wait while I retrieve it from the safe.”
As they waited, Mr. Darcy told his aunt something of the neighbourhood of Meryton and its environs, and most particularly of the Bingleys, who would serve as the Matlocks’ host and hostess for the event.
“I am not so high in the instep that I cannot behave myself at a country wedding,” his aunt assured him.
The Earl soon reappeared with a small black box, which he gave to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy opened it and found a simple, old-fashioned ring set with a small garnet.
“This was my mother’s wedding ring,” the Earl explained. “It was not fancy enough for my older son’s bride, and I may well be in the ground by the time Richard takes a wife. If your Miss Bennet likes it, she may have it with my blessing.”
Mr. Darcy thanked his uncle most sincerely. It was a mark of high favour indeed, for the Earl to offer his prospective niece a ring belonging to the late Countess.
“Let me give you the direction to Netherfield Park,” he said. “Perhaps you might consider coming on the twenty-fourth, so that you might meet my Elizabeth before the wedding?”
“We will,” his aunt promised. “Have you considered where you will take her for her wedding trip?”
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I have been gone from Pemberley too long already; we will go home. We can take a trip once I have satisfied myself that all is well on the estate. She would like to see Bath; perhaps we will go there.”
“You will throw this poor girl to the wolves before she has had an opportunity to become a wife? This is not sound, Darcy,” his aunt scolded him.
“The wolves? I hardly think Pemberley and its inhabitants qualify as such!” Mr. Darcy was indignant.
“Do you not, knowing your mother’s disapproval of the union? This is a mistake,” she insisted.
The argument continued until it was time for Mr. Darcy to return to his home.