CHAPTER SEVEN
The Matlocks Descend
The Earl and Countess of Matlock arrived at Longbourn in a travelling carriage large enough to cause comment from one end of Meryton to the other.
They brought Dr. Morrison’s assistant, two footmen, a maid, a trunk of linen, another trunk containing items no one seemed to have requested, and enough authority to make even Mrs. Bennet temporarily speechless.
Temporarily.
“My lord! My lady! Oh, what a terrible circumstance in which to meet you, though naturally we are honoured, but I would rather Mr. Darcy had come to us for dinner than by farm wagon—”
The Earl of Matlock, a broad-shouldered man with iron-grey hair and Richard’s amused eyes, bowed over Mrs. Bennet’s hand. “Madam, my family is deeply in your debt.”
Mrs. Bennet stopped.
Her expression softened. “He was hurt. What else could we do?”
The countess looked toward the stairs. “Where is my nephew?”
“Sleeping, my lady,” Elizabeth said. “Dr. Morrison believes the fever has not worsened since morning.”
The Countess of Matlock turned toward her.
Elizabeth had expected grandeur and received warmth.
Lady Matlock was handsome rather than beautiful, elegantly dressed in dark blue travelling wool, with lines about her eyes that suggested she laughed more often than Lady Catherine de Bourgh would have approved. “You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Yes, my lady.”
The countess crossed the room and embraced her.
Elizabeth went rigid.
“My dear girl,” Lady Matlock said into her hair, “thank you for finding him.”
Elizabeth’s hands hovered helplessly before settling against the countess’s shoulders. “You are welcome,” she managed.
Lady Matlock drew back and took both her hands. “And welcome to the family.”
The room became silent.
Elizabeth stared. Behind Lady Matlock, Richard suddenly became absorbed in examining a painting of a bowl of pears.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes narrowed.
Mrs. Bennet made a sound like air leaving a bellows.
Jane turned pink.
Lydia whispered, “La!”
Elizabeth recovered first. “My lady, I think there has been a misunderstanding.”
Lady Matlock smiled. “Has there? Richard’s letter was quite explicit.”
“Richard’s letter was written while Mr. Darcy was delirious,” Elizabeth said.
The Earl looked at his son. “Richard.”
Richard spread his hands. “He announced the engagement six times, Father. At one point he attempted to order me to London for a ring.”
The countess’s smile deepened.
Elizabeth wished herself in Scotland.
Mr. Bennet stood. “Lizzy. My study.”
Mrs. Bennet cried, “Mr. Bennet, surely—”
“My study.”
Elizabeth followed him.
The door closed. Mr. Bennet went behind his desk but did not sit. “Did Mr. Darcy ask you to marry him?”
“Yes.”
He blinked.
Elizabeth hastened on. “But Papa, he had been thrown from his horse. He was bleeding and confused. He kept trying to sit up every time I would not answer, and I was terrified he would injure himself further. So I said yes to make him lie still.”
Mr. Bennet stared at her. “You accepted a marriage proposal as medical treatment.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds foolish.”
“I am struggling to find a way in which it does not.”
She folded her arms. “Would you rather I had let him move until the bone came through again?”
“No.”
“Then there you are.”
“There I am.”
His gaze sharpened. Elizabeth knew that look. Her father had noticed something.
“What?”
“You are blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are. There is more.”
“No.”
“Lizzy.”
She looked away.
Mr. Bennet’s humour vanished. “What did he do?”
“He kissed me.”
Silence. “He did what?”
“He was delirious.”
“That condition is becoming very convenient for Mr. Darcy.”
“He had just proposed. I had just agreed. He believed me his intended.”
Mr. Bennet paced once to the window and back. “Did he force you?”
“No.” Elizabeth answered at once. “No, Papa. He caught me by surprise, but it was only a kiss. Then he lost consciousness.”
Her father’s mouth thinned. “He should not have done it.”
“No.”
“Yet a dazed man, believing his proposal accepted…”
“Yes.”
Mr. Bennet rubbed his forehead. “This is precisely why I prefer books. They rarely propose marriage after falling from horses.”
Elizabeth laughed despite herself. He looked at her for a long time. “Do you want to marry him?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly, perhaps.
Mr. Bennet noticed that too. “Do you dislike him?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Mostly.”
“Ah.”
“Do not ‘ah’ at me.”
“I said nothing.”
“You said a great deal.”
He came around the desk and kissed her forehead. “You will not be forced, Lizzy. Not by gossip, not by a countess, not by ten thousand pounds, and certainly not by a gentleman who cannot remember proposing.”
“Thank you.”
“Though if you refuse him, I advise waiting until he can stand without assistance. It seems only sporting.”
She swatted his arm.
In the drawing room, meanwhile, Lady Matlock had discovered Mrs. Bennet. This was not difficult. Mrs. Bennet was impossible to overlook once recovered from shock.
“Ten thousand a year,” she whispered to the countess, with the reverence of one discussing a cathedral. “Not that money signifies when a gentleman is ill, of course. I would have given him my best sheets if he had only ten pounds. But ten thousand!”
Lady Matlock’s mouth twitched. “My nephew is fortunate in his income.”
“And his looks,” Mrs. Bennet said candidly. “When he is not feverish. Though I used to think him very proud. He hardly danced at the assembly.”
“Fanny,” Mr. Bennet said from the doorway. “What? Lady Matlock must know her own nephew is proud.”
The Earl laughed aloud.
Lady Matlock turned to her husband. “I like her.”
Mrs. Bennet looked delighted.
Richard muttered, “God help us.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
What Darcy Remembered
Darcy woke on the sixth morning after his accident to the sound of two men arguing quietly about whether he was awake.
“He moved,” Richard said.
“People move in sleep,” Dr. Morrison replied.
“I know that.”
“Your medical education continues to astound.”
Darcy opened his eyes.
Richard leaned over him. “There. You see?”
Dr. Morrison put two fingers to Darcy’s wrist. “Mr. Darcy, do you know where you are?”
Darcy looked at the ceiling.
Not Darcy House.
Not Netherfield.
A memory came: mud, branches, pain. “Longbourn.”
Richard’s expression changed with relief. “Good. Do you know who I am?”
“Unfortunately.”
Richard grinned.
Dr. Morrison nodded. “What happened?”
“My horse was frightened by a fox. I fell.”
“And after?”
Darcy closed his eyes.
Fragments.
Cold ground.
Elizabeth’s face above him.
Her hands.
Her mouth.
He opened his eyes quickly. “Miss Elizabeth found me.”
“Yes.”
“Did I…”
Richard sat back in his chair.
Darcy looked at him. His cousin looked altogether too entertained.
“What?” Darcy demanded.
“Nothing.”
“Richard.”
“You have been ill.”
“I am aware.”
“Fever can produce strange recollections.”
Darcy’s stomach tightened. “I kissed her.”
Richard’s eyebrows rose. “Ah. You remember that.”
Darcy stared at him. “Did I?”
“Apparently.”
Darcy covered his face with one hand. The movement tugged at bruised ribs and he hissed.
“Careful,” Dr. Morrison said.
Darcy lowered his hand. “What else?”
Richard was silent. That silence was worse than laughter.
“What else?”
Richard folded his arms. “Congratulations.”
Darcy frowned.
“On your engagement.”
The room seemed to tilt despite Darcy lying flat. “My what?”
“You are engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I am not.”
“You have told half of Hertfordshire otherwise.”
Darcy stared at him.
Richard’s amusement faded. “You truly do not remember?”
“No.”
Dr. Morrison intervened. “Do not press him. Memory often returns in pieces.”
Darcy ignored him. “Where did you hear this?”
“From you. Repeatedly. From Mr. Barnes, who helped move you. From two labourers. From every person in Meryton by now. Also from my mother, who has welcomed Miss Elizabeth to the family with considerable enthusiasm.”
Darcy closed his eyes again. “Mother is here?”
“My mother.”
“That is what I meant.”
“And Father.”
Darcy swore.
“Exactly my response.”
The door opened.
Mr. Bennet entered. He looked from Darcy to Richard. “Am I interrupting a family celebration?”
Darcy wished the mattress would swallow him.
Mr. Bennet came to the bedside. “Mr. Darcy, I am told your mind is sufficiently restored to distinguish reality from fever.”
“I believe so, sir.”
“Excellent. Then perhaps you and I should speak alone.”
Richard stood at once. Dr. Morrison hesitated, then followed after one warning glance toward Darcy.
The door closed. Mr. Bennet pulled a chair nearer. “My daughter has told me what occurred in the lane.” Darcy’s hands tightened beneath the counterpane. “She says you asked her to marry you.”
Something broke open in his memory.
Elizabeth kneeling over him.
I love you.
Marry me.
You are delirious.
Answer.
Yes.
The memory of her lips beneath his returned with such force that Darcy stopped breathing.
Mr. Bennet watched his face. “You remember.”
“Yes.”
“And the kiss?”
Darcy’s voice was low. “Yes.”
Mr. Bennet leaned back. “I should like to be angry.”
Darcy looked at him. “You have every right.”
“Do I? My daughter tells me you were half senseless, in severe pain, and believed yourself an accepted suitor. She tells me you did not force her. She also tells me she accepted only to prevent you attempting to stand.”
Darcy’s humiliation became nearly physical. “I see.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He swallowed. “I must apologize to her.”
“You must.”
Darcy looked toward the window.
“And afterward?” Mr. Bennet asked.
Darcy’s gaze returned. “Afterward?”
“Do you consider yourself engaged?”
Darcy answered without hesitation. “I consider myself bound by my proposal.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Darcy was silent.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes were sharp. “At present, sir, everyone seems very interested in your honour. I am interested in my daughter’s happiness. Do you wish to marry her when you are not feverish?”
Darcy felt something settle inside him. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He had not expected the question. “Because I love her.”
“That is generally considered useful.”
Darcy almost smiled.
Mr. Bennet did not. “My daughter does not love you.”
The words landed harder than they should have. Darcy knew it. He had known it before the fall. Elizabeth teased him, challenged him, sometimes smiled at him. None of that was love.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Darcy forced himself to meet his eyes.
“Then I will not hold her to an answer she gave under such circumstances.”
Mr. Bennet studied him. “Good.”
Darcy’s chest tightened. Then Mr. Bennet said, “Unfortunately, London seems determined to hold her to it for you.”
Darcy frowned.
“The engagement is known.”
“How widely?”
“Lady Matlock informs me three duchesses, two countesses, and one particularly malicious viscountess have already sent inquiries.”
Darcy shut his eyes. “I see.”
“My daughter proposes a compromise.”
Darcy opened them. “She will allow the engagement to stand publicly for the present.”
Hope rose before he could stop it.
“Privately,” Mr. Bennet continued, “you are to consider it a courtship. A long one. You are to get to know one another properly. If, when you can walk again, she wishes to end it, you will release her without complaint and take responsibility for the announcement.”
Darcy did not need to think. “I agree.”
“Do not answer too quickly.”
“I have already made one disastrous proposal while concussed. I assure you, sir, this answer is considered.”
Mr. Bennet’s mouth twitched.
Darcy added, “And if she chooses to end it, I will protect her reputation as far as I am able.”
“Good.”
A pause. Then Mr. Bennet said, “You may find courtship at Longbourn unlike anything your education has prepared you for.”
From the corridor came Lydia’s voice: “La, Kitty, give it back! It is my ribbon!”
A crash followed. Mrs. Bennet cried, “Girls!”
Darcy looked at the ceiling.
Mr. Bennet smiled. “I see you understand already.”