~Two~
Redbyrne Estate, Derbyshire...
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, or shall we properly say, the thirteenth Earl of Matlock, locked himself inside the one chamber that his overbearing aunt would not dare enter.
No, it was not the male domain of the library, nor even the master’s chamber.
Of those, he had yet to venture, although eventually, there would be papers to sort and personal effects to remove, for the longer one allowed that sort of thing to go undone, the harder they became.
Besides, Redbyrne had been his childhood home, and the family seat of the Matlock Earls since the first title was awarded.
It would feel quite strange to suddenly move into his father’s chamber, where since the death of his mother, many years now past, numerous mistresses had been paraded.
No, the very idea turned his insides, making his current haven all the more appropriate.
“Hiding in the necessary, like a child,” he muttered, yet perched fully clothed upon the commode as if it were the finest chair.
Hadn’t a number of kings died in that very chamber?
Perhaps the weight of rule had become an obstruction that could no longer be bourne?
He had been Earl of Matlock less than a month, a mere week if one counted only the days since his notification, and each time a servant addressed him as ‘your Grace’ he flinched, expecting to see the stern countenance of his father waiting to correct the error.
But hiding he was, for a man in his situation needed time to think, time alone, as what limited privacy he possessed grew ever smaller.
“She’s right,” he admitted to the empty chamber, still possessing a lingering residue of whomever had last visited.
The statement was made with a measure of despair, for when a grown man was forced to admit that his overbearing widowed aunt was correct, it came with a measure of fear.
Marriage as a concept seemed like some sort of fairy tale, where the handsome prince swept the beautiful princess away.
But he was not handsome. Hell, he was not even passable when compared to the fashionable gentlemen that filled the drawing rooms of London clubs.
It had been the crimson coat and gold epaulets of his rank that made any woman give him a second glance.
And then, the looks had been fleeting, for a younger son was not much of a catch even if his connections were great.
Besides, he had never wished to be caught, especially by some spoilt simpering twit who once the vows were exchanged, turned into a harping shrew, or worse, someone who was indifferent.
Far too often, marriages were made between relative strangers and remained so, he wanted a friend as well as a wife.
Was that too much to ask? Was it impossible?
Yesterday, he had sent off a letter, inviting his closest cousin to come to his aid.
If Darcy could not assist with this quest, or to be brutally honest, if Elizabeth Darcy could not, then he was doomed to accept whomever his Aunt Catherine wished, and that would end in misery.
It would be the first time that Darcy and Elizabeth were received at Redbyrne, breaking his father’s vow to never admit the nephew who had, in his eyes, married poorly.
What would Elizabeth think of this cold pile of rocks?
Imagining for a moment, that the former Miss Bennet was now mistress, if only to provide her opinions, he sighed again.
It was a foolish notion, and one he had never truly entertained.
Indeed, at one time, he had believed himself half in love with Elizabeth Bennnet, but that was before he saw how his cousin looked at her.
Darcy had been completely besotted, losing all reason, as well as the often-stuffy demeanor for which the Master of Pemberley was well known.
Could the right lady change one so drastically?
How did love...real love, even feel? Exiting the private chamber, Richard realized that he had not remained hidden quite long enough, for less than a moment later, he heard the call of his aunt, sending a feeling of despair coursing through his veins.
“Fitzwilliam! Your Grace! Where are you? We have much to discuss!” Lady Catherine’s voice shouted in a most un-ladylike manner.
The new Earl of Matlock would much rather face Napoleon upon the battlefield, but nor would he continue to hide like a coward.
Squaring his shoulders, he fixed a pleasant countenance and went to join his aunt.
As yet, he had not informed her of the invitation issued to the Darcys.
No, that would come as a surprise, but at least then, he would have allies on his side.