~Twelve~
Darcy and Fitzwilliam made the return journey in silence, for neither wished to discuss what had transpired.
Yet, by some wizardry that would be well rewarded, a full complement of new clothes had arrived in their absence, with a note promising more, at more modest intervals, during the following week.
“That man is a wonder! He left but hours ago!” Darcy’s cousin declared, fingering the textured summer weight linen of the coat and vest. In addition to the main pieces, several fine shirts and an assortment of accessories had been included, right down to the small clothes.
“Marcus Hilton knows his trade, and I suspect he keeps several items ready for just such occasions,” Darcy replied, secretly promising to pay the man handsomely beyond his usual fee.
Now, he could go about in company of a man who not only was the Earl of Matlock, but dressed the part.
Although a bit of him would miss the threadbare coat, for it spoke of a man not concerned with trivial matters.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said of society, and this was fit for a king.
“Whatever he does, I am grateful, even though it may bankrupt me.”
“Nonsense, but I must say, you do look smashing.”
Of this compliment, Richard Fitzwilliam took with a measure of embarrassment, for his cousin never lied, or exaggerated.
But, would the ladies think the same? For this, he would have to wait until the following evening, where upon joining the party for dinner at Harrison’s and establishment known as well for its delectable meals as it was for its exclusivity.
Sighing, he wasted no time in changing his attire, but it still felt strange, as if a door to the past was closing, unable to ever be opened again.
But by the time they departed the following evening, Lord Matlock had begun to grow accustomed to the feel of his new clothing, if not the appearance.
In passing a mirror in the hall, he paused, nearly not recognizing the man that reflected.
Having only ever indulged in a small hand mirror for shaving when in the field and a barber was unavailable, it was startling to see one’s entire form.
But more unsettling was the approving look of Elizabeth Darcy.
Oh! Why could she have not had a twin sister?
A double in grace and charm as well as the more physical attributes?
Then his quest would have been blissfully short, for his efforts would have been applied solely to winning her hand and heart.
But alas, there was but one, and she was taken!
Must he suffer to find a substitute? Even in the mere thinking of such, he knew it was wrong.
A cruelty, to measure another against one that could not be had.
Nor, was it right to covet his cousin’s bride, a lady, that had she known of his adoration, would be mortified, forever changing the friendship that had been developed.
No, he must seek his future bride with an open mind, and he would, but only if she possessed good common sense and not an empty head filled with frivolity.
After all, he had Redbyrne to consider. Whomever he married would be mistress there, an undertaking of serious proportions.
In these thoughts he must have dawdled, causing comment for the reason.
“Ha’penny for your thoughts?” Elizabeth inquired, donning her bonnet carefully to not disturb her maid’s efforts.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I suppose I am just so accustomed to seeing the uniform that it all seems a bit strange.”
“Indeed, you have been through quite a lot already and I fear, there is more to come,” she replied gently, laying a hand of comfort upon his arm.
She knew all too well what it had been like to be on display, waiting for the censure of strangers.
But she had survived, and so would he. By now, Darcy had joined them, his eyes questioning.
“Why so glum? Are we not to join friends and dear relations for what promises to be an excellent dinner?” he inquired, not truly expecting an answer as he herded them out the door.
Harrison’s was just the place for Lord Matlock to quietly step into society.
There, he would be seen, but have no requirement of greeting anyone.
Earlier, it had been agreed that everyone must try to utilize the new title, in lieu of the comfortable ‘Colonel Fitzwilliam’, for that man was soon to disappear forever.
*****
At that same moment, Jane and Charles Bingley were also preparing to depart.
Settled in a lovely townhome less than a mile away, it was still a fashionable part of London, albeit somewhat less in terms of expense.
It was a life that suited them both, despite Bingley’s additional desire to purchase an estate, something that Jane also relished, but for the simple reason that it would make the presence of Bingley’s unmarried sister less frequent.
Caroline Bingley, having declined to accompany them to dinner, had expressed her disdain openly.
“I am not about to be the ‘extra’ simply to make numbers even,” she declared with a snort of derision when informed that Darcy’s equally unmarried cousin would be in attendance.
Miss Bingley’s acquaintance with the man she only knew as Colonel Fitzwilliam, was limited to the knowledge that he was but a younger son, and with no fortune to speak of.
Therefore, it made him insignificant in her mind.
Instead, she would dine in the company of several old friends, all unmarried women, where gossip would rule the evening alongside copious amounts of wine.
“Suit yourself,” her brother had replied, but was unable to hide his smile of satisfaction.
By some miracle, the knowledge that it was this same cousin, now the Earl of Matlock, had escaped her notice.
Nor, did either Jane or Bingley intend to rectify that deficit, preferring to witness the shock when discovered, as well as the wrath for having withheld the information.
How quickly would Miss Bingley’s opinion change when the unwanted bachelor was now the most eligible man in London?
Of late, his sister had paid more attention to gentlemen that formerly, had not met her exacting standards.
Standards, that with each passing year, slipped even further, but never to anyone in uniform or without fortune.
Stifling his amusement, Bingley merely wished his sister a pleasant evening, saying no more.
Indeed, it would be a most entertaining surprise.