Chapter 9 Noble Relations
Elizabeth’s vastly improved relationship with Mr Jennings notwithstanding, she still found it unnerving when he came into a room unexpectedly.
The gravity the butler carried about his person always made her feel as if he represented impending doom, even though most of the time, it simply meant she had received some of her infrequent post, or there was something happening about the estate that he thought she should be aware of.
Her husband’s requirement that she pay her own post had made her extremely careful about who she corresponded with.
She wrote to the postmaster in Meryton on New Year’s Day, when Mr Bates’ concoction had left her feeling half-human, but still blisteringly angry.
She told him, in no uncertain terms, that Pemberley would not pay the postage on any letters that arrived from Hertfordshire, and suggested he tell Mrs Bennet and Mrs Lucas about the prohibition.
She assumed it would all be blamed on her husband, but she really did not care and would have done the same even if she did not have to pay for it.
She gave the same instructions to the postmaster in Lambton, so she had not received a single letter from her family but had no idea if they had tried or not.
Her guess was that her father was done with her, but her mother would make every effort to trade on the Darcy name to throw the rest of her daughters in the paths of other rich men.
She was not inclined to help the effort in the slightest—or at least, not before her husband returned.
She was under no illusions about whether or not her mother would invade her house in town if she ever went there, but considered herself safe enough in Derbyshire.
She had carefully written to her aunt in Cheapside.
Elizabeth was not especially close to Madeline Gardiner, but her aunt was from Lambton, and she still had a few connexions, including Mr Bartlet.
Elizabeth had a strong suspicion that Mr Darcy would look down on her corresponding with an uncle who was actively in trade, and she did not want to cause either her aunt or herself any trouble.
Mr Gardiner was a successful tradesman, far more successful in life than Mr Bennet, but he sold luxury goods, so his trade depended on the whims of the upper gentry.
Elizabeth was afraid of disrupting that with any rumours started about her, or any tarnishing of the Darcy reputation, so she only wrote occasionally, routed the letters through Mr Bartlet, and was very careful about what she said.
She loved her aunt and uncle, but not enough to allow her new connexions to do them potential harm.
She certainly did not tell them a single thing about her relationship with her husband.
She suspected they would work it out, but it was best not to be explicit; and being explicit in writing would border on the suicidal.
The mistress did get some correspondence from neighbouring estates, but she replied with polite nothings, saying she was in mourning and would thus not be taking or receiving calls just yet.
That stopped most, though she suspected the excuse would only work until her six months of false heavy mourning were over, at which point all bets were off.
Jennings said, “Lord Matlock is here, Mrs Darcy. He is your uncle.”
Elizabeth stopped just short of snorting.
“He is my husband’s uncle. That is a vastly different thing,” she added, mostly because she wanted to see if she could get a reaction out of the man. She could not.
“Whatever his relationship, he is in the Yellow Parlour.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said, muttering under her breath that bad things usually happened in that room.
Jennings escorted her to the parlour himself and announced her with all the pomp that he might have employed if she were a legitimate mistress.
“The Earl and Countess of Matlock, madam.”
Elizabeth curtseyed and wondered if Lord Matlock would recognise her from the park.
By sheer coincidence, she was wearing the exact same dress from that long-ago walk in the park, but since it was dyed black, she was not wearing a man’s overcoat, and she was not being dragged back into the bushes by Mr Baker, it seemed unlikely.
She completed the outfit with her mobcap, so she would not be entirely surprised if her own mother failed to recognise her.
She wondered if she should try to make the couple feel welcome, but since Lady Matlock reminded her strongly of the superior sisters, wearing a frown of disdain and derision that Elizabeth could practically smell, she thought to just do the minimum.
“My lord, my lady, welcome to Pemberley. Would you care to sit?”
The words sounded officious to her ears. While she was the mistress of the estate, she did not particularly feel right welcoming someone who had no doubt visited dozens or hundreds of times across multiple generations.
“Mrs Darcy,” Matlock said, without making any move towards the seating area.
Wondering if that was to be the end of it, Elizabeth said, “I fear my husband is not home at present. How may I help you?”
It was not the most welcoming speech she had ever given, but between what could best be described as a sneer with a scrunched nose, as if she smelled something rotten, from Lady Matlock; coupled with a disgruntled but slightly more decorous look from the Earl, she was not exactly feeling welcoming.
“Hardly surprising,” Lady Matlock grumbled under her breath, though perfectly audibly.
Elizabeth assumed it must have been some time since the lady had been young or dealt with someone with normal hearing. She looked as if she did not particularly care if she were heard, but it had been mumbled low enough to deny it if challenged.
Elizabeth let it pass and simply waited for His Lordship, or His Mightiness, or whatever he thought of himself, to deign to speak.
Matlock said, “Darcy is away on important family business.”
Not much liking the tone of the start of the conversation, Elizabeth still thought to try to make as good an impression as she could.
She might win her noble relations over with her charm.
It also seemed like a chance to learn something, so she tried her best to ignore the couple and concentrate on being pleasant.
“Yes, he told me that, but nothing more. Might you enlighten me about where he is, what he is doing, and when he will return? I will settle for any or all of the three.”
Matlock frowned, apparently finding simple questions impertinent. “If your husband wanted you to know, he would have informed you himself. You should not be digging around in things that are none of your affair.”
For a conversation that had been going on less than five minutes, Elizabeth was not very satisfied, nor very optimistic it would improve, but she had to try.
“He was in a hurry at the time, sir. What harm could there be in giving me some idea of when he plans to return?”
Matlock stared at her. “It is not your place to question your husband. He will go where he wills and return when he wishes. You have what you wanted, so do not complain.”
Feeling put out already, Elizabeth felt she had to start standing her ground right then, or the family would run roughshod over her for the rest of her life.
“On that score, you are sadly misinformed, my lord. While it is true, as you no doubt know, that I was not Mr Darcy’s first choice, I can assure you that I had nothing to do with the predicament we find ourselves in.”
Lady Matlock harrumphed loudly, as if Elizabeth had just spoken the most utter nonsense, but did not add anything.
Matlock said, “That is not how Darcy described it. His memory is excellent, and he remembers things very differently.”
“Perhaps that is true ordinarily, but at the time he was sadly misinformed, and compounded it with bad assumptions. I tried to correct him before he left, but I do not know if he has come to understand what I said.”
Matlock appeared affronted that she would dare question the word of her husband or his own second-hand opinions, and otherwise just discounted her words. “Do you deny that your mother made up the incident out of whole cloth?”
Not really noticing her temper rising and her fists clenching, Elizabeth said, “No, my lord, I do not. She is more in my brown books than anyone else I know, and I have not spoken a single word, nor written a single line to her since. I most vigorously did not aspire to this match, did everything within my power to avoid it, and would be much happier had it never occurred.”
She briefly thought about telling him about her attempt to speak to him back in London, but thought that would as likely end in disaster as anything, considering how that encounter ended, and she did not have time to add anything anyway.
Lady Matlock frowned ferociously, then stared at Elizabeth as if she were a particularly unattractive exhibit at the menagerie. It was clear she thought only a madwoman would disdain being mistress of Pemberley.
Matlock scoffed openly. “I for one do not believe it, Mrs Darcy. Nobody would pass on the chance to become a Darcy—it is inconceivable. You gained everything, while Darcy gained nothing, and in fact, lost greatly.”
She still attempted to keep her temper under control.
“Perhaps that word does not mean quite what you think it does, my lord. Whatever you may think, I am innocent in this matter, and I had no desire to join this family. Now that I am here, I will not disgrace it, but I would rather have joined another.”
Lady Matlock sneered in disdain, but held her tongue, while her husband, with the same sort of sneer, said, “I see. So, were you tied up, beaten, and dragged to the altar? Is that your claim?”
Elizabeth tried her best to calm her temper, but having her honour and honesty questioned a half-dozen times in five minutes was really getting on her nerves. She wondered if this was how the rest of her miserable life was to begin, and if Mrs Reynolds had some salts.