~Five~
Having held their mirth for so long, when Elizabeth and Darcy reached their chamber, both collapsed into a fit of laughter.
It should be the most solemn of occasions, after all, was the visit to Redbyrne not made to assist during a family tragedy?
Unfortunately, having not much regard for either of the dead, Darcy felt but the slightest twinge of guilt.
And Elizabeth, having never even been introduced, could make no claim to any feeling of sorrow.
No, it was only the distress inflicted upon Richard Fitzwilliam that had provided any sympathy, yet the man had held his own against Catherine de Bourgh, perhaps for the first time in his life.
“How ever did you manage to remain silent during the entire meal?” Darcy inquired of his wife, known for her forthright manner.
“I was much to occupied in watching the display, it was better than any London play, especially when you offered your congratulations on Anne’s marriage. I thought Lady Catherine would suffer and apoplexy.”
In truth, it had been a most unsettling dinner, setting a precedence for what lay ahead. Not for one minute did either believe that Lady Catherine had conceded to her nephew’s demands.
“I fear she will not take no for an answer, but merely see his refusal as a challenge. That, or as my aunt usually does, simply believe her way is best. No, I believe this will just spur her on all the faster.”
To this, Elizabeth nodded in agreement, but as she had yet to regain her composure, did not speak.
However, her mind was turning at what must be done on their part to ensure Fitzwilliam’s future happiness.
As she undressed for bed, Darcy watched her, half entranced by her dishabille as he was curious of her thoughts.
“I know that look, for I have seen it many a time. What exactly are you planning?” he demanded. But his tone was light, almost teasing.
“Nothing yet, I was just thinking about what Richard said in regards to not having an heir...”
In this, Darcy’s own mind sobered, but it was not the prospect of becoming the next Lord Matlock that had him so solemn.
No, he had not considered that he might someday inherit that title, nor, had he ever wanted it.
Elizabeth, however, had a much different perspective.
He recalled how her joy in giving birth to their son had also been filled with relief.
In one child, the line had been secured, however temporarily, her duty done.
But in it, Elizabeth had preserved her own future.
Pemberley, while not bound by any sort of entailment, would always be subject to the whims of inheritance law.
Males, forever favored, often sued for the ownership to properties left to women.
It was rare that any woman held complete control over her property, his Aunt Catherine being one of those rarities.
And having but one child, and that a female, had made her all the more protective.
Unfortunately, the means to protecting her property had resulted in the use of guilt and threats, with little result.
Darcy had refused to marry his cousin, leaving Anne prey to fortune hunters.
Fortunately, from what he had learnt of the Reverend Herbert Renbury, Anne’s new husband, was that he was a man of great integrity.
He would never deny Anne anything, nor take advantage of her inheritance.
Elizabeth had been on the opposite side of such situations.
Having only sisters, her father’s estate of Longbourn, upon his death, would go to a distant cousin.
Mr. Collins was at best, full of good intentions, but possessed a weakness of character that would never take him beyond the immediate.
Elizabeth could have married Collins to save her family home, but had not been able to bear the thought of a lifetime of misery.
Instead, her dearest childhood friend, also without fortune or prospects, had put aside personal happiness for security, but she too, was only as safe as her ability to provide an heir.
It was a tragic story, and one far too common.
But instead of dwelling on the past, Darcy grasped his wife’s hands in his own and dared a jest.
“Don’t tell me you had dreams of becoming Countess of Matlock?” he inquired, unable to hide the amusement upon his countenance. But Elizabeth found no humor and swatted his hands away.
“Not in the slightest! I could not imagine the demands of court life that such a title would require. London is all well and good for a short time, but I much prefer the country. Besides, I already have everything I could ever want. Why would I ever settle for being a countess when I am already a queen? Besides, Redbyrne is his home, Pemberley is ours and always will be. No, Richard is lonely, and has been for some time, far too long. I believe, had he the opportunity, he would have chosen to marry years ago. And now that it has become a necessity, it is all the more important that the right one is chosen.”
Here, Elizabeth paused, for there was much to say, but a soft knock upon the chamber door prevented any further discussion. Opening the portal, a maid curtseyed and handed Darcy a folded note.
“From His Grace, sir. He requires no immediate reply,” she said, and quickly departed, leaving the Darcys to wonder at the contents.
“What is it?” Elizabeth inquired, as her husband broke the seal and silently read the single sheet.
“Richard apologizes for his behavior, and desires to meet for an early breakfast, before our aunt comes down. Afterwards, we are to be given a tour of the estate, more for your benefit than mine, but I suspect he merely wants privacy to talk.”
“I cannot imagine why...” Elizabeth replied, her voice tinged with sarcasm, for it was untrue, there would be no privacy until Lady Catherine was gone.
*****
Alone in his own chamber, the Earl of Matlock found no rest, and paced the length with such repetition that not only was his old leg injury aggravated, but a pattern had begun to wear in the carpet, matching his equally sour mood.
This was supposed to be his home, a place where peace and comfort reigned.
At one time, perhaps in his early childhood, when his dear mother as yet lived, that had been accurate.
Unfortunately, it had been many years since Redbyrne had served as any sort of haven against the world.
Even in death, it seemed that his ever-disapproving father ruled, but this time, took the form of a woman.
“She may be my nearest relation, but at times, I truly hate her!” he swore, harboring no remorse for the way he had spoken earlier.
Despite being a man of one and thirty, as well as having earned the rank of colonel in His Majesty’s Army, he felt like a pawn in some game played by society.
Either way he moved, it resulted in potential misery.
But, if he were to be perfectly honest, happiness had been a thing long discarded as the fate of others.
Indeed, he now must marry, but to whom? And as for all of his aunt’s expectations, did he possess some of his own?
It seemed that finding a wife was much like the hiring of a housekeeper.
“Too bad Mrs. Henry is past fifty, or I might seriously consider her,” he mused aloud, thinking of the lady who had served as a substitute mother upon many an occasion.
But no, for she was long past the age to bear children, and the Earl of Matlock must have an heir.
Children! That was an entirely different matter altogether!
Yet somehow, people managed....and he must manage as well.
Sighing, Richard Fitzwilliam slipped under the bedcovers, hoping to forget his troubles in sleep.
But as one might well expect, his dreams were plagued by strange visions.
A lady, fashionably dressed, laughed at him, but as to her face... only swirling mist.