Chapter Twelve
Lord Matlock sat grey faced and frowning in the pale wintry light that filtered through the windows of Darcy’s town-house.
His uncle said nothing for half a minute, while Darcy’s cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam paced and hemmed, unwilling to be imprisoned in a chair.
It had been Darcy’s good fortune to find both his uncle and his cousin in town on business when he arrived to have the marriage settlement written. He was pleased to be able to make the announcement in person.
Darcy expected opposition and argument from his uncle.
He looked forward to answering their objections.
Lord Matlock had always spoken to Darcy about the importance of marrying well, and shortly after Mary had died, he had mentioned that in the case of an entailed estate and no male heir, he was as eligible as he had been before his first marriage.
Thus, when Darcy announced his planned union, he dwelt at some length on all the features of Elizabeth that his relations would find unpleasant: one uncle in trade, the other a country attorney; the absence of any dowry; and the large dependent family who might soon be fully in his charge—a little wildness in the younger children, a mother who was vulgar and talked too openly about her hopes for good marriages, and finally an exceedingly dull cousin who was Lady Catherine’s parson.
That drew a grimace from Colonel Fitzwilliam but no change in Lord Matlock’s stiff countenance.
After all deficiencies of the match that Darcy could think of had been stated, he leaned back in his heavy oaken armchair, crossed his legs, and waited.
And waited.
“Sir,” Darcy said at last, as the silence lengthened, “you hoped that I would marry high a second time, but there are advantages to Miss Elizabeth’s situation in life.
She will never have the same cause to repine that Mary found in my taciturn nature, as I have informed her about my ill traits, and she will be suitably grateful that I have raised her up.
She also does not have the notions of many of the ton that it is unfashionable to pay regular attention to children, and—”
“Enough. By George, enough!” Lord Matlock slammed his palm against the lion-headed arm of his chair.
“I should have known. I feel quite the neglectful relation. Despite the fact you presented a calm appearance and spoke in an unaffected manner, I should have known that you were not well after Mary died. You still are not. By George, how could you be?”
“I am perfectly well.”
“You have taken leave of your senses, and—”
“I assure you, I have given great thought to the matter, and while I do not wish to deny the importance of wealth and connections in choosing a bride, there is no necessity in my situation—”
“No. Not that.” Lord Matlock groaned. “We should have stayed with you—I should have put aside my other business. The whole was a terrible shock. You never thought that she would do something like that to you.”
Darcy’s lips pressed together grimly.
His uncle’s words made him remember that terrible discovery, the shock that had gone through him. Even though he had thought he no longer loved Mary, to know that she had betrayed him in such a way. And with Wickham!
And then…
Startled face, lost grip, body falling.
Crack of head hitting marble.
Colonel Fitzwilliam poured a glass of port from the sideboard and pushed it into Darcy’s hand. “Drink it all, Coz. Terrible memory. I know what it is like.”
Darcy automatically swallowed back the whole. His hand shook.
He put the fine crystal glass down onto a small table and wiped his lips with a handkerchief.
“It is my business to manage myself,” he finally said.
“And mine as your uncle to support you. I should have taken better care of you. I promised my sister as she died that I would do my best for you, and I have not attended properly to that duty.”
“I am perfectly well,” Darcy repeated, a little touched even though the notion that he needed any care was incorrect. “And my decision to marry Elizabeth comes from sober and cold calculation, not inflamed passion or some sort of…insanity caused by seeing Mary die.”
Matlock stood and pressed a hand on Darcy’s arm. “You wish to avoid anything like that happening again.”
“Should I not? I learned much.”
“You should—you have no distance from the matter. You should have waited at least twelve months before entering another marriage.”
“Emily needs a mother. I am no mother. I am not suited to raising a child.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam loudly cleared his throat. “I have watched you with the girl. You are more diligent with her than most mothers.”
“You have succeeded in insulting those women but failed to praise me.”
“Lord, this is why I never mean to marry for affection,” his cousin replied. “It has done more damage to your good sense than a cannonball to the chest.”
“Darcy takes others more seriously than he ought,” Lord Matlock said. “Tell me about this Elizabeth. What is she like? I am hardly inclined to think well of a woman who would use her wiles to entrap a man in your present state, but your honour is engaged, and there is nothing to be done.”
“Miss Elizabeth has always acted in the most proper and ladylike manner, and I will hear nothing said that questions her honour or virtue,” Darcy replied.
His uncle stared at him.
Then he nodded with an air of satisfaction.
“Good. You have a little feeling towards her. I almost hope that she cares nothing for you and that she is the coldest scheming fortune hunter. It would be painful for a tender-hearted girl to marry a man whom she liked, who in turn had married her because he thought she would be easier to mistreat than a rich girl.”
“What? No—” Darcy frowned. “I certainly do not…I do not wish to mistreat her. I do not. I know that…I have warned her of my cold nature, of my inability to become soft in the way that women like. I have tried to warn her. To make her understand what Mary saw. And…but, I am not…”
Was he marrying Elizabeth because she would be ‘easier to mistreat’?
He liked her. Therefore, she deserved better than him. But she also deserved better than Collins.
Was he worse than Collins?
Would Mary have thought that he was worse than Collins?
Stop being ridiculous. You have done Elizabeth a great kindness.
His uncle pulled at his side whiskers.
Colonel Fitzwilliam pushed a glass of port into his father’s hands, and the older man sipped it.
“I struck closer to the mark than I expected. But as I said before, your honour is engaged. Do not believe everything Mary said to you. She was an adulterer. She was…not much like you. You have everything required in you to make a reasonable woman happy—but that is no longer the question. The question is whether you can make this Elizabeth happy—oh damn, by George, I wish I had spent more time with you after Mary died.”
“You spent two weeks at Pemberley. You remained for the whole duration of the inquest—what more could you have done?”
“A great deal.” Matlock pulled again at his whiskers. “A great deal more. I see now. That is life. You always realise that you have failed in some essential matter when it is too late. You have also learned that lesson.”
Darcy poured a glass of port for himself.
He had indeed.
“So,” Lord Matlock asked, “what do you hope from me? Shall I disappoint you greatly if I do not rant about the importance of marrying well? I know that you want a chance to use all those arguments that you have rehearsed in your mind about why you are acting reasonably by marrying, with very little delay, a woman whose station in life is decidedly beneath your own.”
“She—” Darcy could not speak. The simple fact was that too much of what he could say along those lines came down to ‘she will be easier to mistreat’ and ‘she will have no right to complain when I mistreat her’.
Good God.
He liked Elizabeth. That was why he had wanted to marry a plain girl. If he had married someone whom he did not like, maybe he would not feel so much guilt when he failed, again, to be a good husband.
He then would not be so scared that she would find another man whom she liked more than him.
Not worse than Collins. You are not worse than Mr. Collins.
“I imagine,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, at last sitting down in a chair and stretching out in a relaxed manner that made it seem as though he owned the whole room, “that our dear Darcy wishes us to be friendly to the girl. Show the support of the earldom for her in society, cut those who cut her, be polite and quite nice about the fortune hunter in our midst at Christmas. All such nonsense. Quite right, Darcy?”
“She is not a fortune hunter.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam waved his hands dismissively.
“Her nature is not—you wholly misunderstand her,” Darcy said.
“Do I? I shall defer to your superior knowledge of women,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied in a sardonic tone. “How did it come about that you are to marry this woman?”
“Her father had an attack of apoplexy, and he may still die from it, so she was obliged to marry immediately for the well-being of her family.”
“In other words, a fortune hunter.”
“Elizabeth has a blind sister,” Darcy replied. “Surely you can see the importance of maintaining that sister in comfort.”
“And she hunted down a fortune to do so.” Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned at Darcy sunnily. “But I do not say that she is a fortune hunter, merely that my mother, my brother, and my sisters will think and say amongst themselves that she is.”
“I shall manage them,” Lord Matlock said grimly.
“I shall make it clear that nothing unkind is to be said to your new Mrs. Darcy. I owe you that and more. But I want to know this woman better before I decide what I shall think of her myself. I certainly shall not promise to use what influence I have to get her invited about in town until I know whether I like her. But you like her. That is something.”
“I thought you did not care for matters of affection in marriage.”
“Not care for—” Lord Matlock sighed. “I think we have not been clear enough about such things. My view is simple. It is not difficult to fall in love with a woman. What matters to feeling and joy in the married state is years of connection growing, and a similar understanding of your own duties and their duties. Given that falling in love is no difficulty, a man ought to choose a suitable woman before deciding to fall in love with her.”
Darcy’s uncle frowned and slumped into his chair.
“One with a good character. Mary had fortune, station, beauty, all of it, but no character. But even that would not have been so bad if you had understood how to manage her. Jove, I dare say the advice I have given you has not been to your benefit, however much it would have been to my own. I suppose that is the nature of giving advice. It is never useful.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam grunted and laughed a little at his father’s words.
“I know.” Matlock looked sideways at his second son. “I have freely given you advice, young fellow, and you have even turned some of it to profit.”
“And disregarded some of it profitably and overlooked twice as much unprofitably. But do not fret—Darcy does not follow anyone’s counsel but his own.”
Darcy smiled thinly at his cousin’s statement.
He was unsettled by the whole conversation. He would have preferred it if his uncle had in fact argued fiercely instead.
“Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam then said, “my father has to be on the road back to Matlock tomorrow, but I shall happily attend your wedding. I want to meet the girl, and I shall not be in Derbyshire for Christmas.”