~Four~
Several hours later, after Elizabeth took time to rest and tend to her child, Darcy joined the new Lord Matlock in his first meeting with the estate steward.
Mr. Harry Jeffers, a man of middle years, whose slim build and dark hair belied his age, had served Redbyrne for nearly two decades, recalling the times when Richard Fitzwilliam was just a boy.
“Terrible thing, death is, but we must persevere,” the steward said in way of condolences.
But, if truth were told, Mr. Jeffers had held no affection for his former employer, and little respect.
However, his salary had been excellent, and provided the estate remained profitable, there had been no arguments.
Producing the ledgers for the new heir’s review, Jeffers sighed sadly.
“As you can see, my Lord, all is in order. Redbyrne has done well in the wool industry, but there are several repairs and improvements that would increase that considerably. Your late father was hesitant.... that is, he had other priorities.”
“You mean he was miserly, unless spending upon himself or my brother’s debts, and please, none of this ‘My Lord’ business, I cannot bear it. I have always been Richard to you, sir, and prefer it to remain so.”
To this, the older man smiled, and relief was visible upon his countenance, for during any transference of power, changes were bound to happen.
Had it been Edward Fitzwilliam taking the reins, the steward feared complete ruin within five years.
But now, hope was renewed, and after an hour’s time, all was settled, much to each man’s delight.
Taking up the books, the steward departed, eager to set the plans in motion, leaving the two men alone.
“Thank you, Darcy. I should not have known a sheep from a cow, much less the rest.”
“Jeffers is a good man, and you can rest easy in his management. It may be that he is the reason you have anything at all to inherit. Those receipts for spirits and other sundries were quite exorbitant. One would think they were hosting balls every month.”
“If only that were the case, but there will be changes, including some much-deserved increases in salary. I noticed that not one servant has had so much as a farthing more in years. It is a wonder that any of them have stayed very long.”
“Well, that is one way to earn loyalty,” Darcy replied, but was cut short from any further opinion by a loud commotion in the hall.
Of it, several voices were heard, all female, including that of his own wife and Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Wincing, he drained the rest of his glass of port as Richard Fitzwilliam looked at the mantle clock.
“Is it nearly dinner already? I rather hoped we had more time before she returned.”
“Afraid not...”
By now, the noise had ceased, and the gentlemen entered the hall to witness what could only be deemed a stand-off.
Elizabeth Darcy, wearing a bemused smile, had her hands clasped behind her back like a child awaiting some long-anticipated treat.
But of Catherine de Bourgh, the surprise presence of the person she still held responsible for every misery to befall her in recent times, the only word to appropriately define her countenance was one of tightly held rage.
“Fitzwilliam! I thought we agreed!” she snapped, dropping all the former polite pretense allocated to her nephew in regard to his sudden elevation.
“Agreed upon what, exactly, Aunt?” Lord Matlock replied, torn between his own amusement and irritation that anyone could hold a grudge for so long.
“There were to be NO CHANGES!”
“And what has been changed? Oh dear, Elizabeth, did you change your gown?”
At this, Elizabeth Darcy lost her composure completely and allowed the pent-up laughter to erupt, further enraging her nemesis.
“My apologies, but the baby was rather messy in taking his dinner.”
“Oh, I see, well then. There you have it Aunt, a change was necessary. By the bye, it is rather late, will you also be wishing to change before dinner, or shall I tell Mrs. Henry to send up a tray?”
The lightness of his tone belied the challenge in his eyes, something that Elizabeth was all too glad to observe.
In the years that she had known Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam; he had been an exemplary gentleman.
Unfortunately, that often resulted in conceding to the whims and demands of others, especially women.
But now, she saw another side, one that would brook no argument.
Was this the sort of ordered diplomacy he utilized with the militia?
Perhaps not, for she imagined the necessity of greater fortitude in the face of peril, or at least, recalcitrant junior soldiers.
But all the same, it was as refreshing as it was unusual, rendering Lady Catherine momentarily silent.
However, as expected, she soon recovered, and turned up her nose as if Elizabeth was nothing but an inconvenience.
“I am not an invalid, and shall take my meals in the dining room, as always. And unless you have decided to also change the hour in which dinner has always been served at Redbyrne, I have plenty of time to be properly attired!”
And with a parting glare of superiority, Lady Catherine swept past Elizabeth, deliberately stepping on the hem of the younger woman’s gown, leaving a dusty print.
Of this, Mrs. Darcy made no comment, for in this instance, silence was the greater weapon over engagement.
And by the time the bell announced dinner, Lady Catherine had indeed changed her gown, as well as regained her composure.
However, it was not to last, for in her absence, despite its brevity, much had transpired.
That, and now she had not one, but three forces to manage.
With the death of her elder brother, she had suddenly become the sole remaining survivor of her generation, the matriarch of the Matlock dynasty.
It was her duty to ensure that the lineage not only continued, but remained untainted by those unworthy to bear the name.
Taking her place at the foot of the table, so she might directly observe any exchange, Lady Catherine sat down heavily and smiled at Darcy and Elizabeth, but her eyes shot daggers of disapproval.
In return, both Elizabeth and Darcy offered greetings, far more sincere, but equally wary as an awkward silence fell, making the subtle noises associated with eating, echo.
Eventually, as was his obligation, Richard Fitzwilliam broke the conversation with what he hoped were innocuous queries.
“How was your journey to town, Aunt? Did you find success in your ventures?”
Truthfully, no one cared about an old woman’s shopping, for even in the finest establishments of London, did Lady Catherine de Bourgh find fault.
But nor, could anyone, including the lady herself, endure much more silence.
Sighing, she placed her fork down, as it was halfway poised with a bite of succulent beef.
“If you must know, I have sent letters of inquiry to all of my London acquaintances, requesting a list of eligible young ladies from which to select the next Countess of Matlock. Of course, I thought only of you in this regard and insisted that each candidate supply a list of accomplishments in addition to the specifics of her fortune.”
Sputtering his wine, Richard Fitzwilliam nearly required a pounding upon his back, but waved away the footman offering assistance, receiving only a compassionate expression before the servant returned to his post.
“So soon? Aunt, I have no intention of entertaining any such prospects...at least not at present. I believe I made my wishes clear,” he finally managed looking first to Darcy, then to Elizabeth for assistance that did not come.
Lady Catherine behaved as if it were but two at the table, ignoring the Darcys completely.
“Nonsense, we have not the time to waste, but I suppose no ceremony can take place until you resign your commission. Do they still require the permission of a superior officer to marry? Not that it matters, for an Earl need not worry about such unless you insist upon wearing that silly uniform.”
Deeply insulted, not only for himself but for the entire militia, he cleared his throat loudly, allowing a moment to calm the swiftly rising irritation.
“You held no objection to my unform before now...” he began, but was dismissed with a wave of her hand.
“That was before. A second son can only hope to be what you have already accomplished. A colonel’s rank was acceptable, but no longer, and the sooner the commission is discharged, the better.
Perhaps I shall write to General Higgenthorpe as well.
A word on your behalf, explaining the situation, might speed things along. ”
Now seething, and unable to contain his discontent, Richard allowed a rare display of anger. Slamming a fist down upon the table with such a force as to rattle the silver, he then rose from his chair.
“You, Madam, may be my closest relation, but you have overstepped. I am the Earl of Matlock and I shall decide what is the best course of action for my future, not you. Is that understood?” he replied, his voice soft, yet terrifying in its intensity.
Never before had Elizabeth witnessed such a show of controlled rage, and for a moment, she feared it.
However, Lady Catherine did not have the perspicacity to realize when she was in the wrong and merely shrugged before continuing the purpose of her actions.
“Oh, I hear you perfectly, but you, dear boy, are the one who does not understand. Your uncle, my brother, is dead, as is his eldest son and without issue. Death comes all to easily and should something happen to you before a legitimate heir is provided, all will be lost. Generations of Matlocks and Fitzwilliams will simply end! This cannot come to pass!”
This time, it was Lady Catherine’s turn to allow emotion to color her words, but it was too little, and far too late, for the new Earl of Matlock was prepared.
“Nothing is lost. If I so happen to die, then the title and all that accompanies it, will pass on to the next male heir. Darcy and Elizabeth would make a fine Earl and Countess of Matlock, and it just so happens, they already have a son. Is that not wonderful?”
Having no doubt considered this possibility long ago, Lady Catherine de Bourgh was speechless.
Her mouth dropped, exposing yellowed and decaying teeth for longer than anyone cared to witness, but no words came.
Not that it mattered, for Richard Fitzwilliam, having had the last say, departed the chamber, leaving the next in line to pick up the pieces.
And having no desire to continue present conversation, Darcy raised his glass of wine in a mock toast as he winked at Elizabeth.
“By the by, Aunt, I must offer my congratulations. We just heard of Anne’s marriage. A clergyman, you must be pleased...”