Page 12

AN IMPATIENT COURSE OF ACTION

T he flickering glare from the hundreds of blazing candles lining the mirrored corridors was almost blinding.

If she had not already toured Darcy House and Pemberley, Elizabeth Bennet might have felt overwhelmed.

As it was, she had seen and had admired both homes of which she would be mistress and thus the opulence of Matlock did not intimidate her.

Amuse her, yes. The estate was nothing to Rosings, of course, in its total capitulation to the French baroque, and where Rosings and its servants were faded and worn, Matlock gleamed and shone, and its servants moved with purpose and precision.

Thank goodness they did, and that they had been well-trained to unpack, dress and polish a poorly prepared late arrival.

Elizabeth had hardly seen the house, swept in as she was through the kitchens and up the back stairs, into a vast bedchamber outfitted in blue and cream.

She was gazing longingly at the large silk-covered bed when the door swung open and a tall young woman with tall hair swept in, followed by two maids and two bewigged footmen, each holding large pails of steaming water.

Elizabeth could feel poor Robbins quaking behind her.

The lady looked her up and down and announced what was already known—“Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You are quite late, and only my brother and I know of your attendance.”—before informing her that she was Lady Aurelia Ferb-Uxbridge, her hostess, and the one deserving credit for the machinations employed to hasten Elizabeth’s arrival at Matlock.

As Lord Saye’s was the sole signature appearing on the letters sent to Elizabeth and her mother, Lady Aurelia’s declaration merited some amused doubt.

But the lady was her hostess, and whatever role she had played to secure Elizabeth’s presence at Matlock meant little now; what mattered was that Elizabeth was here under the same roof as her beloved for the next two weeks.

“You have been all that is kind, Lady?—”

“Dinner begins in one hour. You will dine in the library. I shall not inform Darcy of your arrival.”

And with that, Lady Aurelia disappeared. Her retinue of servants dispersed and began pouring Elizabeth’s bath, unpacking her trunk, hanging her gowns, and undressing her. She had scarcely a moment to think, let alone sample from the tray of tea and cakes delivered to her rooms.

An hour later, her hair curled (if slightly damp from the steam of the tub) and dressed in her best gown—the ivory one with dark green and yellow trim around the bodice that Darcy had confided was his favourite—Elizabeth was led into Matlock’s library.

The room was lit by ornate candelabras, including one set on a small table laden with gold-trimmed plates and dishes.

The bookshelves held a collection less impressive than Pemberley’s, but what was there glittered with gold spines; squinting, she could see something like gargoyles, or perhaps cherubs, adorning the ceiling corners.

Amused, she wondered why it was the Fitzwilliams who venerated the French and the Darcys who championed their English blood.

A good question to pose when both Darcy and the colonel were in the room to debate it.

But not until days from now, after she and Darcy had spent many hours together.

Regardless of its overwrought art and artifice, the library would be his favourite room here; silently, she thanked Lady Aurelia for granting them this private sanctuary for their evening reunion.

Hearing footsteps in the corridor, Elizabeth moved quickly to her chair; Robbins found her own seat in the corner. She held her breath, waiting to see the dear face of her beloved; after nearly a month apart, she would see Darcy at any moment.

“Ah, you are that one.”

Or not .

A portly man, somewhat near in age to Mr Bennet, entered and introduced himself as Sir Phineas Ferb-Uxbridge.

A tureen of turtle soup was placed on the table between them; while the aroma of the thick broth piqued her interest, one taste of the overly salted dish found her reaching quickly for her wine goblet.

Sir Phineas paused at her pinched expression, raised an eyebrow, and once assured she was not in the early throes of a choking spell or the vapours, returned his attention to his bowl.

Hungry though she was, Elizabeth determined instead she would enjoy the next course, and smiled as her companion made clear his pleasure in every slurp. She commented on the weather and the roads, and posed questions on the history of the house; her companion responded with a nod or a grunt.

The first course mercifully came to an end. A bow, a curtsey, and the door closed. Elizabeth looked across the room at Robbins, who looked near to falling asleep.

“Ah...under cover of darkness, the vaunted Miss Elizabeth Bennet has arrived.”

She turned eagerly to see her second partner for the evening and swallowed a little sigh of disappointment that he was not Darcy.

However, she was in little doubt as to his identity; Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Aurelia shared the same proud brow and bright blue eyes, but this man, clearly their brother Lord Saye, wore his familial lineage far more handsomely.

Bless Darcy for the long conversations and letters in which he had shared his thoughts on various family members.

Eager to thank him for his efforts in squiring her to Matlock, she had looked forward to her first encounter with Lord Saye, and from the amused expression he wore as he poured her a glass of champagne, he likely assumed such anticipation and a few compliments.

“I am grateful for the opportunity to see my betrothed amongst family and friends, sir. Thank you for planning with my mother to achieve such an end. She was honoured to scheme with a viscount; you provided her the means to hold court with our neighbours for years to come.” Elizabeth’s arch smile became more earnest. “Pray, I hope your sister has taken no offence at my belated and stealthy foray into your party.”

Although she had made no attempt to play the coquette, her companion appeared charmed. Or at least more charmed than her previous dinner partner had been.

“An escape from the castle tower, more like it. Your father appears afflicted with a protective fever as regards you and my cousin.”

“I am hardly a Rapunzel, sir.” To some, such as Miss Bingley, I am hardly a beauty .

“Darcy would have no patience for a hirsute lady.” Saye stepped to the platter-laden table beside them and lifted the lid on the serving dish; he glanced sceptically at its contents. “The sauce is too heavy. You will not care for it.” He set a small bowl of almonds on the table and retook his seat.

“You are one of five sisters, and you, I have heard often and in great detail, are the wittiest and most handsome of the lot.” Her blush prompted more declarations.

“Darcy, who does not prevaricate and rarely boasts let alone speaks, is quite clear on this topic, as is my brother. If Darcy has found none among your sisters to rival you, then I fear, the crown is yours.”

Saye raised his glass to hers, his head cocked to one side, and examined her carefully. “Est-ce que ton père a été un voleur, Zabet? Parce qu’il a volé les étoiles du ciel pour les mettre dans tes yeux.”

Elizabeth, regretting her lack of diligence in studying her languages, thought for a moment. Is your father a thief? Because he stole the stars to put into your eyes?

“My father is an honest man, but I cannot speak to whether his admiration of Matlock’s library would lead him to borrow, and conveniently misplace, a few volumes.”

Elizabeth was uncertain what the man had meant about her eyes or what ‘Zabet’ could mean, but her reply had impressed him, at least if the mirth in his expression and his long, thoughtful drink of champagne meant anything.

It was too much to think about, especially when all she wished to think about was Darcy, somewhere in this massive house, dining with a different lady.

Soon , she thought, redirecting her attention to Lord Saye when he finally spoke.

“Oh my. You will be great company at parties full of people mistaken in their own self-regard.”

Darcy had told her that if a man such as Mr Collins never stopped speaking opinions no one cared to hear, Saye was a man who never stopped sharing thoughts and views in a provoking and amusing manner that made one sure to listen, even if only for self-preservation. Thus far, she rather liked him.

And then Saye demanded she tell him three things about herself that Darcy did not know. “First, of course, I shall reveal his secrets. Did you know he despises frogs? Even smothered in a lemon and butter sauce, he will not go near them.”

“Perhaps it is the Frenchness of the dish he despises? He dislikes toads as well, as would anyone after a trusted cousin filled his bath with the creatures.” She lifted her glass and presented him with a severe look.

“Ah, my stoic cousin has told you at least one embarrassing tale.” He peered at her with interest. “Here is another secret you may not yet know. He has a mole on his derriere.”

Champagne burned a path through Elizabeth’s nose and she reached blindly for her napkin.

“Oh, you naughty thing!” He laughed with wicked mirth and leant closer to encourage her confidence. “What do you think of it—is it a heart or a teapot? Fitzwilliam insists it is a one-eared rabbit, but no one ever said my brother has an eye for art.”

Elizabeth, finally able to breathe without coughing or crying, tried to settle her shock at Saye’s revelation. She could not ask how he knew—of course these cousins had played and swum as boys—but neither could she ask why he thought she knew! Did he think that she?—?

He was a sharper wit than Mr Bennet. It would be a challenge to keep up, let alone best him at his teasing. Before she could reply, Saye gave her some relief.