~Eighteen~
Two weeks later....
The encounter, or so he liked to think of it, replayed over and over again as the days passed, and with them, four balls and seven dinner parties.
During which, he made a deliberate point to dance with Miss Bingley to quell the gossips, as well as several new young ladies.
The endless prattle went in one ear and out the other, but it seemed to appease the gossips and his name appeared no more.
Not that he much cared. His mind had become set on Moira Blackpool, but somehow, they rarely seemed to attend the same events.
And of those few, despite his regular requests to dance with her, he had been accepted only twice.
It was as if, she too, was going out of her way to avoid being the subject of gossip.
The first, but two days after the chance meeting at Kew, he had inquired as to her son, thinking the child a safe and neutral subject.
However, Moira Blackpool had been reluctant, almost reclusive, as if the time spent in the famous London garden had never occurred.
“Perhaps it is the crowds?” he reasoned aloud, also wishing to avoid a dozen strangers listening to their conversations. He wished to know her better; beyond the short history he had managed to obtain.
“Moira Blackpool, formerly Miss Burroughs of Ottawa, in Canada. Her family is originally from Oxfordshire...Husband Arthur, captain in the Ottawa militia, married at eighteen, widowed at two and twenty. Smallpox...one child, a boy, Francis Arthur Blackpool.”
It was precious little, he knew more about strangers, thanks to Elizabeth Darcy’s well documented pedigrees of eligible young ladies.
Sighing, he grew frustrated. Why could he simply not call upon the lady?
Could they not invite her to tea...or rather, have Mrs. Darcy issue an invitation?
What was he thinking? Was he becoming one of them?
Donning what was quickly becoming one of his favorite coats, the Earl of Matlock studied his reflection in the small shaving mirror.
He supposed he was passable, but far from fashionable with his close-cropped hair and clean-shaven face.
Trends in hair and beards were something that he would never understand, for what was wrong with simply being practical?
Deeming himself acceptable, he went below, pleased to find Elizabeth alone.
“Where has my favorite cousin gone off to?” he inquired casually. It was the first time since his arrival that Darcy had not offered to take him along.
“To see Charles Bingley, something about acquiring a parcel of land. We might all have gone, but Jane warned us away. Apparently, since you danced with her, Caroline has set her cap for you. Jane thought to spare you her machinations, but he should be home by dinner. Otherwise, we have no engagements, did you have something in mind?” she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
The gratitude he felt towards Jane Bingley was measurable, but so was his desire to see Moira Blackpool. However, now that the opportunity presented, he found himself a coward.
“I... I had rather thought to go out. I am unaccustomed to being in doors for so long, and....well...”
“You needn’t explain, I too cannot abide long hours in idleness. If you like, you are welcome to accompany me on a few social calls.”
“Social calls? Will there be complicated rules?”
“Heavens no, it is quite easy, we simply go from one residence to the next, remaining for an hour or so, then leaving, making the excuse of being required elsewhere should we dislike the company.”
“Dislike the company? But why call upon anyone you do not find agreeable? It makes no sense to me at all.”
“It is not supposed to make sense, but one must see people, and be seen in return. This is especially so if one is in the market for a wife.”
“So, you keep reminding me...”
“Then we agree, Lady Drummond’s residence shall be first.”
Initially, he was taken by surprise, but then laughed at himself, “Am I that obvious?”
“Not to anyone by myself and Darcy, but we know you best. Your eyes...they scan the ballrooms in search of her, registering delight or disappointment. And when you dance, it is as if there is no one else present. You are hopelessly smitten with Moria Blackpool...of that, I am certain, but does she reciprocate? That is the question.”
And indeed, it did. Matlock had revealed some of the details of his meeting with the lovely widow, for if he had been forced to keep it a secret, he thought he might burst. However, he had not made his feelings known, saying only that it had been a pleasant encounter and that he had found Mrs. Blackpool and her son, most agreeable.
Of her son, he had felt it entirely necessary to mention, lest either Darcy or Elizabeth believe that he was unaware.
If he eventually took the acquaintance further, it would be with the full knowledge that she would not come alone.
And now, the prospect of seeing her again, under the direct observation of her family, he was all the more anxious.
“Now remember, we are officially calling upon Lady Drummond and Miss Talmadge. As Mrs. Blackpool’s position is somewhat vague, it might not be appropriate to ask for her outright.
But...if she so happens to be present, there is no reason to not include her in conversation,” Elizabeth directed as the carriage bore them to their destination.
However, Lord Matlock was unable to take the sage advice as the very lady he hoped to see, not only was in residence, but answered the bell.
“Mrs. Darcy, Lord Matlock, how good of you to call. There is quite a crowd today, forcing her ladyship and Miss Talmage to use the main parlor this morning. Please...follow me.”
To this announcement, both Elizabeth and Matlock exchanged glances, she of delight, but he, of worry, causing him to pause outside the entrance.
“A crowd? So much so that you have now been reduced to the role of housemaid?” he inquired, his voice but a whisper should he be overheard.
This was not exactly how he imagined seeing her again, but to his embarrassment, Moira Blackpool merely laughed.
A trilling, honest laugh, not some contrived response to some dull attempt at amusement.
“As a poor relation, now chaperone, I have varied duties. Today, it is the door, but do not fret for me, for it allows an escape from the tedious nature of young men all vying hopelessly for the same hand.”
It was a lighthearted admission, and one that provided its own hope to Matlock and Elizabeth, for it meant the attentions of Miss Talmadge would not be consumed by the presence of an Earl.
And indeed, when they entered the parlor, it was to discover Ariana Talmadge surrounded by admirers whilst her grandmother looked on with obvious boredom from a short distance.
But as expected, although something to which he still disliked, all conversation ceased when Mrs. Blackpool announced the arrival of Mrs. Darcy and the Earl of Matlock.
Worse, was the quiet disappointment in the eyes of the other young men, realizing they could not compete with such a title.
“Do not stop on my account,” he insisted, bowing to the ladies as Miss Talmadge rose to greet him, a man whom all expected was yet another admirer.
“Lord Matlock, what a surprise!” the young lady declared sweetly, but Elizabeth noticed her eyes dart towards Moira Blackpool, who had resumed her place beside Lady Drummond.
“Mrs. Darcy had a desire to visit with your grandmother and insisted I accompany her, knowing what a pleasant time we shared at your ball.”
It was a falsehood of the highest order, but Ariana Talmadge took his proffered arm and escorted him about the room, making introductions that he promptly forgot.
To Elizabeth, it was rather like a parade of peacocks, each ready to fight to the death for one smile from the prized hen.
But of this, she could not take part and joined Lady Drummond in silent appraisal, wishing she could overhear the conversations.
However, Emma Drummond was a commanding hostess, and with one eye upon her charge, boldly began her inquiry of the newcomer.
“Mrs. Darcy! It is long overdue that we become better acquainted, is it not? I have heard much about you and Darcy; a love match they say, how interesting! Do tell me all about it whilst Lord Matlock tries his hand....”
~Nineteen~
Afterwards, and well beyond the planned duration, Elizabeth and Matlock departed, each heaving a sigh of relief as they relished the private confines of the enclosed carriage.
“How is it that we managed to remain for nearly two hours? I feel as if I have been through an interrogation!” Elizabeth declared, relaying some of the countless questions that had been launched against her.
Having always prided herself in the art of evasion when it came to private matters, she had to admit, Lady Drummond put her husband’s aunt into the pale when it came to making demands.
Mimicking the old woman’s voice, Elizabeth repeated the inquest, filled with thinly veiled insults masqued as compliments.
“I am well acquainted with your husband’s aunt Catherine de Bourgh, as well as the late Lord Matlock.
Of them, I cannot say much in the way of approval, especially Edward Fitzwilliam.
He was a rake of the worst kind. But... I have also heard, that the current Lord Matlock, like yourself, is a different sort.
Honorable...Moira tells me you recently bore your husband an heir, is that so? Mrs. Blackpool also has a son...”
She was sure to mention that, but only when you came within hearing,” Elizabeth added, returning to her normal voice, now tinged with disgust.
“I know, and it bothered me, but only because she wished to use the boy as some sort of deterrent. If anything, I find Lady Drummond to be the biggest deterrent to forming any connection to that family. One domineering auntie is quite enough. Can you imagine her and Aunt Catherine having to spend holidays together?”
“Spare us all the misery! But that aside, you did spend quite a bit of time with Ariana Talmadge, do say you did not give her any false impressions.”
“No, I did not, she never gave me the chance. For a girl of her age, she is rather astute. I tried the regular small talk, but she cut me off cold, saying she was aware that I only had eyes for her chaperone, and besides, she found me ‘too old’. Can you believe it! I am not yet five and thirty! Most people would find that age in a man, to be perfect for marriage.”
“Indeed, they would, but I can understand her position,” Elizabeth replied, then said no more.
It was easy to admit these things to Elizabeth, but there were other aspects of his conversation that he did not share.
Miss Talmadge, whilst not providing a name, had indicated that she too, had her heart set upon someone.
Someone, that did not necessarily meet with her grandmother’s approval.
Or, to be entirely correct, someone that did not measure up to an earl.
However, Miss Talmadge had also implied that the mutual knowledge could be beneficial to them both.
Even now, her suggestive voice rang in his ears.
“It seems, my lord, your thoughts are elsewhere, as are mine, but perhaps we may yet be of use to one another....”
It had made him uneasy, for to enter any sort of ruse with a girl that age, could end in unfortunate consequences.
Yet, without some manner of assistance from that quarter, how was he to arrange any further meetings with Moira Blackpool?
It was clear that Lady Drummond wanted him for her granddaughter, not some poor relation.
Or to be completely honest, the old woman wanted his title, the man hardly mattered.
But he had made no agreement of any kind, but merely nodded before handing Ariana Talmadge back to her bevy of much younger admirers, receiving one last whisper of encouragement.
“Go to her... and let my grandmother be damned.”
And he had, spending a bittersweet hour in Moira’s company, a company that was constantly interrupted by Lady Drummond’s demands.
All he could do was issue sympathetic glances and the occasional smile, until the subject of children was brought, piquing his anger at the suggestion that Francis Blackpool was a burden to his mother, or somehow made her less desirable.
The comment had left a sour taste in his mouth, one that kept him silent for the rest of the way home as he perused what Miss Talmadge could possibly arrange.
Lady Emma Drummond also reflected upon the morning’s contingent of callers, for her granddaughter had taken to her chamber once the last of them had departed.
“I do not wish to discuss any of them, it has given me a headache,” Ariana had insisted, and marched directly above, leaving her grandmother most displeased.
“Spoilt, but not for much longer,” the old woman spat, blaming everyone but herself for the girl’s stubbornness.
Richard Fitzwillliam was not who she would have ordinarily chosen, but a countess!
Well, that was something worth considering over those others, title aside.
At least she would not be able to walk all over him, and as for the man’s obvious interest in Moira, that was just laughable!
A mere flirtation that would soon end, when both realized the impossibility of anything coming of it.
No, it would be Ariana who would become the Countess of Matlock....