Page 25

THE HONEYED FOG

“ A nd Lady Matlock appeared stricken, hearing of the troubles Lady Catherine suffered at school. Their lives have been very different. Lady Matlock wed your uncle when she was eighteen, and they were off to begin their lives and family. Your mother wed your father only a year or two later…”

Although Darcy had enquired about Elizabeth’s call to Gracechurch Street and what she and his aunt, sister, and cousin had learnt there, he could scarcely feign interest. His bride of two weeks, six days, and some ten or twelve hours was far too alluring, seated as she was in a padded chair by the fire in Darcy House’s small red saloon.

He sighed, feeling as impatient as any new husband might for conversation that did not touch on elderly relations and their affairs of the heart. “Oh yes?”

“At school, she had trouble catching the tone of conversation, which proved difficult in forming friendships.”

His attention piqued by her words, Darcy felt his colour rise. “One must practise, and in the case of my aunt, exhibit patience and listen before speaking.”

Elizabeth, with her soft heart, clearly recognised she had wounded him. “As you have, my love. Conversing amiably with strangers is not easy for one who is reserved, as you are, or in the case of your aunt, determined to prove herself superior to strangers and acquaintances alike.”

Her tender smile soothed him, and he wondered whether it was now time to retire. Before he could speak, however, Elizabeth continued.

“Mrs Parker’s description of a young Lady Catherine gave me thoughts of my sister Mary.

Like your aunt, Mary can be officious and pedantic and has struggled in forming friendships with other girls.

However, Mary has been fortunate to enjoy the company of four sisters, so although she may have been lonely in her singular interests, she was never truly alone. ”

Darcy nodded. He had grown to like Mary, as well as Kitty, and anticipated their future months as the only Bennet sisters at Longbourn would serve them both well.

His brow furrowed as a memory arose. “I find it difficult to imagine Lady Catherine as a child. At Matlock, there is a portrait of her with my mother and uncle. My mother was eight or nine when it was painted. I recall her telling me of the many sittings they endured for it. My uncle was entering his awkward years, growing quickly and unable to remain standing in one place for long, and my mother had been charged with keeping her young sister still on her lap.”

“Oh my.”

Turning to look at Elizabeth, he explained, “My aunt was barely three years of age and prone to tantrums, and only the nurse or my mother could soothe her.”

Whatever Elizabeth may have thought of his grandmother Fitzwilliam—a stern, unsmiling lady, as he recalled—she offered only praise. “It speaks well of your mother that she commanded such obedience from a young sister, and that your grandparents gave her charge of her.”

“I believe that even then, my grandparents and other family members found her exasperating,” he assured her. “Much as you and Lady Matlock have come to view my aunt with sympathy, her company has never been easy to endure.”

Elizabeth’s nose crinkled. “I suppose we all should feel fortunate that Lord Cadbury finds pleasure in it.”

“Yes, being deaf and half blind has proved a great asset in their mutual happiness. ”

Darcy’s quip earned him an arch look. “It is the truth, my dear,” he countered.

“Much as it pains me to bear witness to it, I am relieved for myself—for us—that she has found some joy. Sir Lewis did not love her, nor she him. Theirs was an unhappy union, and I suspect she envied those of my parents and my aunt and uncle Matlock.”

“I believe Lord Cadbury is her first love,” said Elizabeth. “In that, she is like most girls who harbour a youthful, unspoken infatuation with a boy or young man.”

Darcy sat up straighter. “ Most girls ? You speak of your sisters and of Georgiana, not of yourself.”

“Oh, I did not mean to refer to Georgiana, not at all. But my sisters, yes. There was a bad poet who flattered Jane with his words?—”

“And you?” Darcy hoped she heard more humour than jealousy in his voice.

“Oh yes. Robert Goulding. He was tall and mighty, and unlike the other boys, he would not throw rocks at birds or stray cats.”

“And?”

“And when he lost his milk teeth, he gave me one for safekeeping. For a girl of six, it was true love.”

Chuckling, he stood and came to her chair, reaching for her hand and pulling her to stand with him. “Had I but known this easy route to your heart, I should have followed it at Netherfield. For what is a tooth to the love of a good woman?”

Elizabeth laid her hands on his chest. “In spite of its ruts and bumps, I prefer the route we took. Mostly.” She kissed his cheek. “Are you ready to retire, Mr Darcy? It is not yet half past eight. I begin to suspect you wish to hide me away.”

“I do.” He smiled. “You have married a curmudgeon, who wishes to keep you close. Here”—he kissed her softly—“there”—he lifted his eyes upwards to indicate their chambers—“and everywhere.”

“You will have me alone on our journey to Pemberley.”

“As if a four-day ride with my sister and a houseful of servants allows us privacy,” he grumbled.

Elizabeth murmured her reply after another tender kiss. “After the dinner, where you must promise to compliment Lady Catherine on her looks, we are free.”

“Free to talk about anything besides my family.”

She shrieked with laughter as Darcy scooped her into his arms and began walking towards the stairs. “Now, where were we, Mrs Darcy? Hiding you away?”

The following morning at the barely decent hour of eleven o’clock, a note was delivered to Lady Catherine.

A few days earlier, she might have commented on the slight smudge on the silver salver or the fishy smell of the footman’s breath.

But not today. Not when her eyes quickly discerned the distinctive loop of Lord Cadbury’s hand.

She tore the seal and greedily read his words.

My dear Catherine,

I wish to make a formal call upon you today.

Our meeting yesterday warmed my heart and heated my blood.

Your beauty outshone that of girls making their come-outs.

I shall be blunt, dear lass, for my hopes must be stated.

Your affection for me seems clear, and I wish to assure you of mine.

May I visit you before any other gentlemen callers arrive to woo you away?

Cad

Two hours later, there was a robust knock on the front door, then Cad’s firm, assured voice could be heard in the corridor leading to the small yellow parlour at Himdale House.

Lady Catherine, wearing her newly refitted maroon velvet, fluttered to meet him.

He was dressed for a formal call, fitted out in a swooningly handsome powdered perruque and carrying a single red rose, which she blushed to accept from his hand after he had kissed her ungloved fingers.

She bit her lip and stifled a lovesick sigh.

Sometime later, when both occupants of the settee were most agreeably engaged, there came another knock on the door, which quickly turned into a light, frantic pounding. Anne burst into the parlour and stood, gasping for breath from the exertion.

“Mother!” she wheezed. “What is this I hear about…?”

Startled, Lady Catherine looked up at her daughter, pale, red-eyed, and distraught in her costly yet unflattering gown.

Anne was sorely in need of advice from Mrs Darcy, she acknowledged to herself.

She glanced at her beloved Cad, vaguely noticing that his wig was askew and that the powder on his cheeks was streaked and blotted with rouge from her lips.

His dear, dear eyes gazed at her ruefully, like a schoolboy whose nanny had caught him stealing a biscuit.

“Mother! Mind the servants! They are notorious gossips!” Anne squeaked.

“Hang the servants.” Lady Catherine beamed. “We are in love.”