Chapter Eighteen
Late that afternoon, a retinue of carriages made their way down the oak-lined drive to Tetherwood, the last burst of daylight falling in long amber strips between the trees.
They had scarcely drawn to a halt before a stream of footmen descended from the manor to hand the weary travellers down, while the servants and luggage were directed onward to the domestic entrance on the west side of the building.
It was the sight of the main entrance in the fading light that drew a low chuckle from Uncle Edward. Elizabeth turned to him. “What is it?”
“The hedgerows,” he said, nodding towards the freshly planted rows flanking the steps.
“I had not noticed.” She pressed her lips together. “Papa’s doing, do you think?”
“My sister’s, I would wager.” He smiled at her look of surprise. “You were too young to remember that your mother possessed a considerable sense of humour. It has been long buried beneath her anxieties — for herself, for you girls — but it is there. She is more like you than you know.”
“Like me!”
“Jane may have her features, but had you known your mother before her marriage, you might well have mistaken her for yourself.”
Elizabeth considered this. “And the hedgerows, she had them planted because she always fancied herself living among them?”
“Just so. And your father, I think, would have been delighted by it.”
Elizabeth laughed quietly to herself. Her mother, possessed of humour. What revelation was next? Mr. Collins acquiring sense? She dismissed the notion almost as soon as it formed. Some things were simply beyond imagining.
Her musings were halted by the front entrance door opening wide, and her parents emerging from the grand manor. Her mother bustled down the stairs, not waiting for her family to come to her, while their father waited patiently on the landing.
“You are here, at last!” Mamma exclaimed, kissing her brother on the cheek, and hugging Aunt Madeline.
She then turned her attention to her daughters and held her arms out wide, inviting them both to embrace her.
With no hesitation, she and Jane both obliged.
Only once their mother was satisfied that they were healthy and hale did she turn her attention to the tall, silent man, standing near the carriage.
“Jane, my dear, will you please introduce me to this handsome young man?”
Jane moved to Mr. Morgan and, taking his hand in hers, brought him forward.
“Mother, I present to you Mr. Joshua Morgan of London and Nottingham.” She gave him a happy smile. “Mr. Morgan, this is my mother Frances Bennet, Countess Rumley, and the gentleman who has not left his post by the front door is my father, Thomas Bennet, Earl Rumley.”
Papa had the sense to flush at the gentle chastisement of his eldest daughter, but he remained steadfast to his purpose, which apparently was to guard the manor against Nordic invaders.
“Mr. Bennet! Come down here and greet your daughters,” Mamma said, beckoning her husband with a wave of her arm.
“You can retire to your books and port after we have dined.” She cast an aggrieved look towards her brother.
“I swear, since we have arrived, he has not left the library. Soon, I shall have to order footmen to carry him out of the room to dine and sleep.”
Uncle Edward laughed, “I am not surprised Franny. We have always known Thomas’ first love is reading thick tomes of history and epic tales.” He laughed harder at his sister’s look of outrage. “Fear not, after a couple of years, he will have exhausted all the books and return to admiring his wife.”
“You are no help, Edward Gardiner, and I rue the day I invited you to visit.” Mamma sniffed and held her nose in the air, very much like Lydia. “Come inside, I have ordered a small tea to enjoy until we are called to dine.”
She swept up the stairs, passing her husband without giving him any notice. The five of them mounted the stairs, and Mr. Morgan paused in front of Papa.
“Lord Rumley, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and after we dine, may I request a moment of your time for a private audience?”
Papa’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he cast a glance in Jane’s direction.
“You may, although Jane is of age and does not require my consent for anything she has planned.”
“That is true, my lord, but she does wish for your blessing and I cannot deny her something that will make her happy.”
“First we eat, then we talk.” Papa moved from the door and entered the manor, greeting his brother and wife before walking up the stairs to the family parlour.
Dinner was a joyful affair. Mamma begged for detailed descriptions of what the ladies in town wore to all events. Nothing was spared, from lace to sleeve lengths, from tiaras to turbans, not a single article of attire was left uninspected, much to the dismay of Papa.
“Enough, Madam!” he finally declared when Mamma brought up shoe roses. “My ears are beginning to bleed out. Could this not have waited until the ladies withdrew to the drawing room?”
“Yes, it could have, but then I would not have had the pleasure to watch that little vein which tends to throb above your left eye when you are dissatisfied. It has been many months since it has made an appearance.”
Papa’s mouth dropped open.
“You have tortured me in order to witness my displeasure?”
Mamma turned ocean blue eyes to her husband, her expression one of complete innocence. “I most certainly did. It was only fair play since you waited until the day of Mr. Collins’ arrival last November to inform me that he would grace our presence for a full se’ennight.”
At that, the whole table began to chuckle, the loudest being their father. When the laughter had abated, and Papa had wiped the corner of his eyes with his still clean napkin, he spoke.
“My dear, I am pleased as punch that the young woman I married has safely arrived in Bedfordshire. I have missed her dearly.”
“As have I, husband. As have I.”
“I would be remiss if I did not inform you that the letters patent for this earldom have a special remainder clause, which allows the oldest grandson, in lieu of a direct heir, to inherit the title and lands. Until now, it has never been invoked as there has always been a legitimate male heir.” Bennet watched Morgan carefully.
Through his contacts, he was aware the gentleman was a viscount, even though he abjured the title and carried on in society as a mere mister, rather than Viscount Waring.
His future son-in-law remained almost preternaturally still, his attention seemingly fixed on the flames of the fireplace.
“I have never wanted a title.”
“That much I have learned, and your reasons as to why are yours alone. I myself did not use the title of Viscount Tuttreon when the earl’s son died. It makes no difference to me; I did not wish for you to be caught unaware.”
“Elizabeth and Darcy could have a son before Jane and me.”
“Elizabeth and Darcy?”
Morgan finally raised his gaze and had the decency to blush.
“I thought you knew.”
“No, not a word.”
“I suspect Darcy will grace us with his presence in less than a week. He is quite besotted and will not like being away from your daughter for any length of time.” Morgan gave him a lopsided grin. “I have enjoyed watching my taciturn friend fall in love.”
“I will believe it when I see it,” Bennet grumbled. “It is well known he did not find my daughter tolerable enough to dance with last autumn.”
“If it gives you any consolation, he finds her more than tolerable now.”
“Before or after learning of our new status?” Bennet asked, finding Darcy’s change of opinion highly suspect.
“Most definitely before. Jane has told me, in the greatest of confidence, that Darcy attempted to propose marriage still thinking your daughter was merely a gentleman’s daughter, only to have his proposal turned back on him when she demanded he give her reasons why.”
“My Lizzy,” Bennet said with a wide smile. “Fearless and forthright.”
“Perfect woman for a man like Darcy,” Morgan said. “He needs someone who will pull him off any pedestal he tends to brood upon. She will be the making of him.”
“In light of this information, I look forward to seeing Mr. Darcy again, although I will still have some sport with him. There are a few things I wish to discuss with regard to his past behaviour.”
“I would ask to witness this battle of wills, but I shall keep out of it and instead take my lovely betrothed for a walk in the garden when this momentous reunion takes place.”
Two days after arriving at Tetherwood, Elizabeth was settled enough to revisit the familiar walks around the manor. As she paused at the open front door, pulling on her soft leather gloves, the dowager countess drifted past, her silver hair coiled neatly at her nape.
“Do not forget your bonnet,” the dowager countess said, her voice gentle but firm. “Though the morning is cool, the sun will rise high by your return, and you will be thankful for its shade.”
“Thank you for your timely reminder, Lady Deborah,” Elizabeth replied, “I had ‘conveniently’ forgotten it on my bed upstairs.”
Elizabeth, mindful of the butler waiting by the front entrance, stepped closer to the dowager countess, and took the frail woman’s hand in hers. “How are you managing with all of us underfoot?” she asked quietly.
The dowager drew a soft breath, her pale blue eyes misting.
“I am deeply grateful you are here. This house has been unbearably silent since Arthur died.” She glanced towards the staircase just as Danvers descended, bearing Elizabeth’s straw bonnet, its wide brim edged with a blue ribbon.
“We shall speak further after your ramble. Do not forget to visit the rose garden. After your last stay, Arthur insisted that the head gardener plant a new bed of Damask roses. They promise a lovely show this year.”
“How wonderful,” Elizabeth said, accepting the bonnet from Danvers with a grateful nod. “I am honoured that Cousin Arthur chose my favourite blooms.”