~Sixteen~
The following day, as others slept late, Elizabeth and Matlock sat sequestered in the mourning room, dining on what should have been breakfast, but as the hour was closer to tea, it comprised of cold meats and an array of leftovers.
“Do these events always end so late? Or shall I say early? The sun was coming up as we drove home. I do not believe I have ever kept such hours,” Richard Fitzwilliam declared with a yawn, foregoing tea for strong, black coffee.
“I am afraid so, one must get accustomed to it, something that I never have,” Elizabeth admitted, drinking her own tea and smiling wryly.
Contrary to having had but three hours of sleep, she felt refreshed, thinking to have the house to herself for a time.
But now, the company was exactly what was needed, for it allowed private instruction and candid discussion of the evening’s successes and failures.
The announcement of the Earl of Matlock’s presence had nearly upstaged that of Miss Talmadge’s debut, something that might have been disastrous.
It was indeed fortunate that Richard had not agreed to dance with the younger ladies, therefore drawing more attention than necessary.
Peering over her cup at him, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in question as she spoke.
“Well? You danced with over a dozen ladies, did any of them strike your fancy? I mean, any besides Mrs. Blackpool?”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Not unless they overheard Miss Talmadge’s arguing on the lady’s behalf. The poor thing must live in misery under the constant demands of Lady Drummond, and widowed so young. I should think the old lady would have tried to marry her off before now.”
“It seemed she much prefers to retain a servant.”
To this, Elizabeth did not reply, for it was oft the case when those of a certain class were left widowed and without fortune.
Lacking the skills one would need for self-support, they became dependent upon wealthy relations, who, with a desire to avoid embarrassment to the family, took them in.
However, they were no better than unpaid slaves, constantly reminded of their status.
It was something that she had feared before her marriage, for having four sisters and as women, unable to inherit their father’s estate, would have been left destitute.
Making a mental note to find out more about Moira Blackpool, Elizabeth moved on to the others.
“What of Miss Carraway? She seemed rather interested, and as the daughter of a general, she must have some common interests?”
Matlock rolled his eyes in exasperation.
He had lost track of the numerous faces and names, but Rose Carraway would be forever in his memory.
Or shall he say, the smell of her. Did the woman never bathe?
Having suffered close quarters on many a battlefield, he knew what a stink the human body could acquire after several weeks without the benefit of soap and water.
It was something that no amount of fine silk and lace could hide, but he tried to be polite for Elizabeth’s sake.
“I am afraid not. Miss Carraway is quite a far cry from being anything like a rose.”
“Hmmm...I have heard that about her, but rather hoped it had merely been gossip. What about Lady Hetty Templeton?”
“Which one was she? I am afraid last night is still a bit murky.”
“Auburn hair, tall..., wearing a turquoise gown.”
“Oh...now I remember...and no... she talked too much. I can understand someone wanting to make conversation, but all the dear girl spoke of was her cat.”
Moving on, Elizabeth held back her own amusement as he found one flaw after another, or worse, held no opinion at all, before reaching the end of her list. Last upon it was a bit of a surprise, for she never expected him to take Lady Gloriana Westlake as a partner.
In many ways, she was worse than Caroline Bingley.
Uttering the name as a question, she waited patiently as Matlock fought for the right words.
“Gloriana Westlake? Whyever did you dance with her?”
Suddenly, Matlock felt his flesh crawl, as if insects had set upon him.
A spider, that is what that woman reminded him of, and he was the fly.
If not careful, he would be caught in her web, waiting to slowly have the life sucked out of him.
During the sole dance they shared, each time his arm was grasped, fingernails, sharp as talons, dug into his flesh, despite the gloves she wore and the cloth of his coat.
Shaking his head, Elizabeth merely sighed, for having already met the lady, she was glad Matlock had taken no interest.
“Well, that leaves only Miss Talmadge, Miss Lucy Ayersby, Lady Matilda Albright, Miss Angelique Robinson, and the mysterious Mrs. Blackpool as potential candidates, but not to worry, there will be at least a dozen more balls, and an equal number of dinners. I have limited our engagements to but two a week, allowing for some respite and an opportunity to regroup, so to speak, if necessary. And that does not include teas, gallons of tea will be drunk during this process, but it is the only accepted way for a person to get to know relative strangers. Naturally, I will accompany you, for if you call upon anyone alone, it sends a clear message of serious intentions....”
Elizabeth Darcy continued on, reiterating the numerous rules that society demanded everyone follow, but she suspected that her pupil was only half listening. Having but little sleep, he nodded appropriately, but his attention wavered as his mind wandered, but eventually, in exhaustion he spoke.
“How is anyone to remember all of this? I know it is foolish to find someone so quickly, but I had never expected such...tedious misery!”
It was a harsh assessment, but one to which Mrs. Darcy laughed and tried to provide reassurance.
“One does not remember everything, but merely tries to avoid dangerous mistakes. Unfortunately, mistakes are most often made before the rules are learnt, resulting in hasty and regrettable unions. As the Earl of Matlock, it is expected that you marry, but no one can force you. Some may try, by trickery and deceit, of course, relying on your sense of honor to prevent scandal, but in the end, the decision is yours.”
Somewhat relieved, Matlock smiled, and rose.
“I believe I shall retire to my chamber for a bit; it seems that I am more tired than I thought.”
It was an excuse, but Elizabeth too, found herself suddenly fatigued.
Matchmaking was hard work, a realization that had come strangely, for with it, was a sympathy for her own mother.
She had but one to fret over, Mrs. Bennet had five, and no money on which to rely upon.
Richard Fitzwilliam was an earl, with an estate and sizeable fortune, but that seemed to only complicate matters.
However, today held no engagements, and they would spend the time at home, where peace and quiet reigned.