~Ten~
Elizabeth, surprised by the show of eagerness, shook her head and laughed, for it was all too obvious that Richard Fitzwilliam had been long from society.
While the London season was indeed the time for swift engagements, it was not without its problems. For one, there would be hundreds of young ladies on display, making it very difficult to sort through those whose sole purpose of marriage was to gain money, those who were desperately trying to hide some sort of scandal, and those who would simply promise a lifetime of misery.
No, it was a precarious process, and one that must be taken slowly.
“I see you have chosen not to wear your regimentals, and nor are you attired in mourning,” she finally replied, glancing down at her own ebony silk gown.
It was one thing to disregard protocols in the country, where gossip did not always reach, but quite another in town.
Here, she and Darcy would comply, and so must Lord Matlock.
“Er, no... As expected, I must resign my commission. General Higgenthorpe considers it a conflict of interests, and after much consideration, I have to agree. However, it will not take effect until a suitable replacement is found,” he explained, omitting the six months’ time allotted should that not come to pass.
He did not want anyone to feel pressured by time, resulting in hasty decisions.
Or, so he told himself repeatedly. Marriage was for life.
“Ah...well...I suppose it had to be,” Darcy ventured, and seeing the discomfort the subject caused, quickly altered it to one that was perhaps, even more unpleasant.
“Elizabeth and I have been discussing your predicament, and after seeing your attire, she is correct in her assessment. We must find you some new clothes, ones befitting your station.”
“I rather thought this coat was the height of fashion. Is it not?”
“Perhaps several years ago,” Elizabeth critiqued gently, for he was not alone in having no cares for material things, but the lack of it would be noticed, and therefore, cause for comment.
Staring down at his cuffs and hem, it was the first time he noticed the dullness of the velvet and loose threads dangling from a button.
He never would have allowed his uniform to be in such a state, much less consider wearing it in public.
Sighing, he shrugged, “I am but an ignorant fool in these matters, and must defer to your superior judgement,” he admitted, knowing that whatever the Darcys had in store for him was far better than anything his aunt would dictate.
Without a doubt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh would have him trussed up like a dandy, something he could never tolerate.
“I feel as though we shall come across as tyrants,” Elizabeth replied, for she had felt the same when Darcy had first brought her to London after their marriage.
He had spent great sums of money in the creation of her trousseau, but it had been done out of love, and a desire to not have her feel embarrassment or be the subject of derision.
Society was cruel in its judgements, and once judgement was passed, it was nearly impossible to be redeemed.
The new Lord Matlock must make an impression, one that bespoke dignity and respectability, a reputation that had been tarnished by his brother’s excesses.
But to her worries, Richard Fitzwilliam merely bowed, “I am yours to command, milady,” he promised knowing she had only the best of intentions, but Elizabeth Darcy laughed a gain and gestured to her husband.
“Actually, you will be mine, or shall I say properly, my tailor’s. I have already taken the liberty of securing Mr. Hilton’s services once you actually arrived, but until your wardrobe can be sorted, a few of my things will do.”
“Oh dear! Is it as bad as that? I’m afraid, this is all I have besides my uniform.”
To this, Darcy held his tongue, but his countenance said volumes as he pursed his lips into a grimace of distaste.
Never in the years of the cousin’s friendship, had pretense or polite lies been told.
When Darcy had foolishly insulted Elizabeth with a botched proposal, Fitzwilliam had been the first to call him out.
Now, it was his opportunity to return the favor, and within the hour, a footman returned, with the tailor and several assistants trailing in his wake.
Each, carrying selections of fabric and other implements, were soon ensconced inside a spare bedchamber where the real work was to begin.
The honor of dressing the new Lord Matlock was not lost upon the tailor, nor was the assurance of a considerable fee and boost to the man’s reputation as one of London’s finest clothiers.
Of this, Elizabeth smiled in amusement, imagining her husband’s cousin standing for hours upon a footstool as he was measured and fitted.
It was a necessary misery she had endured numerous times, but as it was for gentlemen only, she was left to her own devices.
And in those, there was much work to be done.
First, she too made use of a messenger, sending an acceptance to Jane, and a request to add an additional, but unnamed guest to their dinner.
The omittance was deliberate, but Jane Bingley was an astute lady, and would surmise the identity of the gentleman.
However, as Elizabeth knew that Jane’s correspondence was often read by the intrusive Caroline, it would raise questions easily avoided by denial.
She did not want poor Richard to be set upon so quickly, especially by one so predatory as Miss Bingley.
Sorting through the rest of the invitations, she selected no more than two events per week, leaving plenty of time for calls and such meetings as Darcy would choose.
For despite directly requesting her assistance in finding a bride, this was the first introduction that the Earl of Matlock would have to London society, and very much a man’s world.
That, and there were the additional duties required by the new peer.
An appearance at court, as well as Parliament.
So often, those whose seats in government were brought on by inheritance, were left absent beyond the minimum requirements.
Of this, Elizabeth knew precious little, nor did she desire to learn, but merely allocated time and flexibility.
It was the first real public appearance that had her worried.
She had chosen a ball, held by Lady Emma Drummond, in honor of her granddaughter’s debut.
Of Miss Lorna Talmadge, Elizabeth could hardly complain.
A beautiful girl, just seventeen, and in possession of all the silly skills of deportment that deemed one ‘accomplished’.
It had been a deliberate choice, for the Earl of Matlock would have no interest in someone that young, yet the appearance of an unmarried man of title would speak well for her.
Only her brief acquaintance with Lady Emma gave her pause.
If there ever had been a twin in spirit of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, it was Emma Drummond.
Opinionated and prone to bullying, it was no small wonder that the two women were known to dislike one another, for how could one chamber ever be large enough to hold both?
Smiling in amusement, Elizabeth penned her acceptance, neatly filling in the space for total guests with the number four, although no one would question the addition of another, should Jane and Bingley wish to accompany.
Having far more limited connections, the Bingleys, while hardly idle, did not often receive invitations to events where titles were commonplace.
No, theirs was the realm of comfortable wealth, but too recently removed from the occupational source which supported the elevation.
It was a circumstance that rankled Miss Caroline Bingley to no end, for since the marriage of Darcy and Elizabeth, there was far less contact between the families.
Only when in London, could Jane and Charles Bingley make use of the connection, once distant, to the Earl of Matlock.
It would be an amusing thing to observe, and one greatly enjoyed by Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, had she decided to come.
But having herself recently wed, the former Miss Darcy was on an extended wedding holiday to the Americas and would not learn of the old Earl’s passing until her return.
Darcy had considered writing, but had not wished to dampen his sister’s happiness.
Georgiana, contrary to the rest of her relations, had held a fondness for George Fitzwilliam and would be upset by the news.
Putting the unpleasantness aside, Elizabeth finished her correspondence, satisfied with the number and variety of engagements, and went to spend several hours with her son before taking her own rest. Since the boy’s birth, the once luxury of a short nap had become a necessity, often stretching longer if undisturbed.
So, it was no surprise when her maid touched her shoulder, that Elizabeth found she had slept through luncheon entirely and it was now time for tea.
“The Master said you were not to be disturbed,” the servant insisted, before helping her mistress into a fresh gown and tidying the coiffure that had become mussed. “
“There we are, fresh as a daisy, as my Mama would say!” the girl declared, and with Elizabeth expressing her satisfaction, disappeared.
“A daisy that has not been watered recently,” Elizabeth added afterwards.
Peering into the mirror over her dressing table, she pinched some color into her cheeks.
While pale, she did feel refreshed, and went below to join her husband.
However, the gentlemen were nowhere to be seen.
Tea and sandwiches, enough for one, lay ready in the small parlor they favored when not entertaining, leaving the sole attending footman to offer an explanation.
“Mr. Darcy and Lord Matlock were called away, but promise to return by dinner,” he declared, but could offer no reason as to why, only that a messenger had come shortly after the tailor had finished and that it had been from Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an admission that made him wince.
Raising an eyebrow at the involuntary response, Elizabeth thanked the young man and took her meal in silence, enjoying a peace and quiet that she suspected would be very short-lived....