Chapter Ten The Honeymooners Return
The dining room at Matlock House had been designed to intimidate.
The long mahogany table, polished to a mirror sheen, reflected the flickering candlelight and the stern portraits of Fitzwilliam ancestors glaring down from the walls.
The Earl of Matlock, resplendent in a coat of forest green that clashed with his scowl, presided at the head of the table.
His wife, the Countess, sat at the opposite end and sipped her wine, her eyes betraying that she had already won a battle no one else knew was being fought.
Darcy and Elizabeth arrived fashionably late, though Darcy would have preferred not to arrive at all.
He had spent the better part of their journey from Pemberley enumerating the reasons London was inferior to Derbyshire, chief among them being the necessity of dining with his uncle.
Elizabeth, however, had merely laughed and adjusted the sapphire comb in her hair, declaring that she would not miss the opportunity to witness Richard's inevitable humiliation.
"You are enjoying this," Darcy muttered as they were announced.
"Immensely," Elizabeth agreed, her eyes alight with mischief. "I do so love a family dinner. It is like watching a play where everyone has forgotten their lines but the audience."
Robert and Jane, newly returned from his estate in Cornwall themselves, were already seated.
The Viscount was lounging in his chair as though it were a throne, Jane serene and lovely in a gown of pale blue that made her look like a watercolour come to life.
Georgiana, tucked beside Jane, twisted her napkin into a knot, her usual composure frayed at the edges.
The Earl did not bother with pleasantries. "About time you graced us with your presence, Darcy. I was beginning to think you had escaped to the Continent."
Elizabeth, ever the diplomat, smiled sweetly. "We considered it, my Lord, but Darcy insisted we could not abandon you to Richard's antics."
Darcy shot her a look. "Elizabeth."
She patted his arm. "Do not fret, my dear. I shall behave. Mostly."
Robert, who had been regaling Georgiana with an exaggerated account of their journey, perked up at the mention of Richard. "Speaking of our wayward Colonel, where is he? I wager he is hiding in the library with a bottle of brandy."
"He is not hiding," the Countess said, her voice smooth as silk. "He is merely fashionably late."
Darcy took his seat beside Elizabeth, who immediately leaned in to whisper, "Your uncle grunts more than usual. Was Richard particularly egregious?"
"Not a clue," Darcy replied, just as the doors opened and Richard strode in, his dress uniform immaculate, his expression one of a man marching to his execution.
"Ah"" Robert grinned. "The prodigal son returns. Richard, you look as though you've been dragged through a hedge backward. What have you been up to?"
Richard ignored him, bowing stiffly to his parents before taking his place beside Georgiana. "Nothing that concerns you, Robert."
"On the contrary." The Earl's voice cut through the chatter. "It concerns us a great deal. Sit down, Richard. We have matters to discuss."
Richard sat. The footmen began serving the soup.
Georgiana, who had been silent thus far, shot Elizabeth a pleading look. Elizabeth, understanding instantly, gave her a subtle nod. Later, her expression promised.
The Earl wasted no time. "Richard. Report."
Richard's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "On what, sir?"
"Your progress in procuring a dowry. And the wife that comes along, of course."
"Henry!" Lady Matlock's eyes were wide and disapproving. "That was vulgar."
"I beg your pardon, my dear. But we are well past civilities right now." He turned to Richard. "Tick-tock," he mouthed.
A beat of silence. Robert's grin widened. Darcy's eyebrows rose. Jane's hands stilled in her lap.
Richard set down his spoon slowly. "I have nothing to report on that front, Father."
"Then why are you roaming the parlours with that Bingley chit three times a week? You were supposed to court her dowry." The Earl looked genuinely confused.
Richard cleared his throat. Then coughed. Thrice.
Robert leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with predatory interest. "Oh, this is marvellous. Richard, are you actually courting Miss Bingley? I thought you declared you would rather eat a live frog."
"I am not courting her," Richard managed, reaching for his wine glass. "I am assisting her."
"Assisting her in what, precisely?" the Countess asked, her tone deceptively mild. "Finding a husband? Or avoiding one?"
Richard drained half his wine in one swallow. "Both. Neither. It is complicated."
"Complicated," Darcy repeated, his voice dry as dust. "Since when do you involve yourself in matchmaking, Richard? You once told me the entire enterprise was a waste of resources."
"It became necessary."
Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with barely suppressed laughter. "Necessary for whom, Colonel?"
"For Society," Richard said through gritted teeth. "Miss Bingley is a menace. Someone had to contain her before she caused mass casualties at Almack's."
"A menace," Jane said softly, and every head turned towards her. The Viscountess rarely interrupted, and when she did, people listened. "Miss Bingley is not a menace. She is lonely."
Silence fell over the table like snow.
Richard stared at his soup.
Robert leaned to his wife, his voice a stage whisper that carried beautifully. "Did you hear that? Jane just defended Caroline Bingley. And Richard looks as though he has discovered his horse can talk."
"Robert," Jane chided gently, though her eyes were kind. "Miss Bingley has not been kind to me, I know that. But she is sharper than most give her credit for, and she has been treated poorly by Society. I think Richard sees that."
"I see nothing," Richard muttered into his wine.
"Liar," Robert said cheerfully. "You see everything. You are trained to observe enemy positions. The question is, do you consider Miss Bingley the enemy, or the objective?"
"I refuse to answer on the grounds that this entire conversation is absurd."
The Earl banged his fist on the table, rattling the silverware. "Stop dithering, boy. Are you courting the girl or not?"
"No!"
"Then what in blazes are you doing with her?"
Richard opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No sound emerged.
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Darling, your cousin appears to have broken. Should we send for smelling salts?"
"He is not broken," Darcy observed. "He is cornered."
"Cornered by what?" the Earl demanded.
"By the truth, I suspect." Elizabeth's smile widened. "But do go on, Richard. We are all fascinated by your charitable work with Miss Bingley."
"It is not charity—"
"Then what is it?" the Countess asked, her voice slicing through his protest like a scalpel. "You attend balls you despise. You dance with a woman you claim to find intolerable. You refuse to introduce her to eligible men, Robert told me about Lord Fawlton, by the way. Very protective of you."
"Fawlton is a disaster!"
"So you have said. Repeatedly." She sipped her wine. "One might almost think you did not want Miss Bingley to marry anyone at all."
Richard's knuckles went white around his spoon.
Georgiana, who had been silent through the entire exchange, cleared her throat. Every eye turned to her. She flushed pink but lifted her chin with the determination of a Darcy facing down opposition.
"Richard saved Miss Bingley at the opera," she said quietly.
The table erupted.
"What?" Darcy straightened.
"The opera?" Elizabeth's eyes went wide.
"When was this?" Robert demanded.
"What happened?" Jane's hand flew to her throat.
The Earl's bushy eyebrows rose. "Explain. Now."
Georgiana twisted her napkin. "It was the night of La Clemenza di Tito. We were in Robert's box. Miss Bingley was in the pit with her sister and Mr Hurst." She paused, gathering courage. "Mr Hurst was drunk. Very drunk. He became violent. He grabbed Miss Bingley's wrist."
Jane gasped. Elizabeth's face darkened. Darcy's gaze went cold.
"Richard saw it happen," Georgiana continued. "He did not hesitate. He went down to the pit, removed Mr Hurst from the theatre, and ensured she was safe." She looked at her cousin, her eyes bright with admiration. "He was so brave. He did not make a scene. He simply... handled it. Like a soldier."
The Earl grunted. "Good. You did the right thing, son."
"Mr Hurst is vile." Jane's voice trembled with uncharacteristic fury. "Poor Miss Bingley. She must have been terrified."
"She was." Richard turned to Jane. "But she stood her ground. She did not flinch. She did not weep. She thanked me afterward and returned to her seat as though nothing had happened."
"That," Darcy looked at his cousin, "is... unexpected."
Elizabeth turned to him, raising her brow in question. "You are surprised? After years of her glaring at you with enough force to melt steel?"
"I am surprised she did not glare Hurst into submission herself."
"She did not need to," Richard said, sharper than intended. "I handled it."
Robert leaned back in his chair, grinning like a cat that had cornered a stupid mouse. "Oh, so you were the hero. How very noble, Richard. Swooping in to rescue the damsel in distress."
"She was not in distress. She was managing."
"But you helped anyway."
"It was the decent thing to do."
"The decent thing," Elizabeth echoed, her eyes dancing. "Tell me, Cousin, do you perform decent things for every lady at the opera? Or only the ones you claim to find intolerable?"
Richard's jaw clenched. "This is absurd."
"Is it?" Elizabeth leaned forward, radiating innocent curiosity that fooled absolutely no one. "Richard. Be honest with us. Are you helping Miss Bingley find a husband... or are you making certain no one else gets her?"
"Yes, Richard, tell us. Your mother and I asked you to court her. Marry her and get her money. What the bloody hell are you doing?" the Earl boomed.
Dead silence.