Page 24 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

IT IS SUCH A HAPPINESS WHEN GOOD PEOPLE GET TOGETHER

T he house on Curzon Street was everything Elizabeth had expected and more—elegant, tasteful…

expensive. Even the children, who had grown up in luxury despite their situation of the last several months, were hushed as they stared up at great beamed ceilings which had been formed into gilded oval frames bordering masterful paintings worthy of palatial placement.

At least, the twins were quiet until reunited with their beloved Tilson.

The older woman quickly had her overwhelmed charges restored to their usual high spirits; she and the housekeeper escorted them on an abbreviated tour of the parts of the home most important to them.

The housekeeper, Mrs Miles, was gracious and warm, and arranged to meet longer with Elizabeth the next day, once she was settled in.

The nursery, it appeared to Elizabeth, had been recently refurbished; not only were the toys they had sent ahead given pride of place, but there were new, brightly painted soldiers demanding Tommy’s instant attention, and an elaborate dollhouse which thrilled Cassandra to her core.

Tilson, however, announced that playtime must wait until after a brisk walk in the garden before darkness entirely fell, and took them with their new nurserymaid, Joan, to explore outside.

Elizabeth picked up one of the dollhouse furniture pieces, a miniature handmade wooden cabinet with drawers that opened. Inside were tiny balls of woollen yarns in different colours. “Oh…this is incredible,” she murmured.

“It belonged to my sister,” came a voice from behind her. Mr Darcy stood in the doorway, tall, imposing, and utterly belonging in the grandeur of this manor.

“It is a work of art. I am not sure whether Cassandra ought to play with it,” she replied, turning towards him.

“It was made to be enjoyed, not sit beneath sheets.” He approached, giving the dollhouse a long look. “Anything she breaks can be mended or replaced. It does not seem so very long ago that Georgiana used it. Before we know it, Cassandra will be asking for ball gowns, not dolls.”

Again came the wistful tone of a man whose ties to the past were strong ones.

“They grow up so quickly,” she agreed, stealing another look at him from beneath her lashes.

“Did Mrs Miles show you your rooms? Are they acceptable?”

This question made her smile. “More than acceptable. They are beautiful.”

“You may refurbish them however you choose. I expect it will be some weeks before we can truly trust the weather to cooperate for an easy trip to Pemberley, and I would rather wait until the roads are dry to attempt it.”

“Do you usually spend winter in town?”

“Once that was true. The last several years, however, I have spent most of my time at Pemberley. I have never attempted such a long journey with young children, however, and would prefer to ensure we do not spend long hours axle-deep in mud.”

She could smile at his observation; travelling with the children was not for the faint of heart.

It also was reassuring—whatever his past, he was not much of a ‘man about town’ any longer.

He had spoken of his preference for the country before, but it was good to know that he truly meant it.

“I am happy to hear it. I much prefer the country, although I am sure we will be happy in your lovely home for as long as we remain here.”

“Our lovely home,” he corrected, smilingly. “Mrs Miles has dinner ready and waiting, if you would care to join me downstairs.”

“Oh, you ought to have said first thing,” she said, slightly alarmed. “I would not have dawdled.”

Still smiling, he said, “Elizabeth, you are the mistress here. If you wish to eat an hour from now, it is the duty of our servants to see it done.”

How easily her name fell from his lips! She felt her cheeks pinken. “I have become too accustomed to appeasing Mrs Sergeant’s temper,” she explained. “She was very strict about mealtimes, and when she was available to serve them.”

He took her arm. “Let us hope her meals tasted better than her tea.”

“Oh, she did not cook as a general rule.”

“I was attempting a small joke,” he said, and she laughed at that, and he smiled again, and her heart lifted. Perhaps everything would be fine.

On the second day of her London residency, Mr Darcy brought her to meet his uncle, the Earl of Matlock.

His home was larger than the Darcy Mayfair mansion; the receiving parlour they were shown to was kept so dark that Elizabeth had to blink several times, trying to adjust to the interior gloom.

An ageing butler greeted them with marked enthusiasm. “Welcome to Matlock House, sir, welcome. And if I may be so bold, might I offer congratulations upon your nuptials?” His wrinkled face was wreathed in smiles as he glanced from one to another of them.

“You may. Hastings, this is Mrs Darcy. Mrs Darcy, Hastings has been with the family since well before I was admitted.”

She shook his proffered hand, again a little surprised by her husband’s informality.

“Is his lordship receiving today?” Mr Darcy asked.

Hastings’ smile dimmed. “He’s had one of his spells this morning, sir, or I know he would be glad of your visit. I will tell him you are here with your bride, and we shall see.”

Mr Darcy guided her to a settee nearest the fire. “It will likely be several minutes; the earl will want to change into something more presentable.”

“Perhaps we should have sent word ahead. I do not like to disturb him if he is not feeling well.”

“He has more bad days than good now. It is best he meet you sooner rather than later.”

The words emerged stoically, but Elizabeth thought she heard sorrow in them. She placed her hand upon his. “I am sorry to hear it,” she said softly.

He stared at her gloved hand until she felt embarrassed and tried to lift it. He quickly placed his other hand upon hers as if to halt its removal. “Thank you,” he said.

They sat there like that in silence, his hand a warm weight upon her own, until the butler returned long minutes later. “He will see you both now,” he announced.

They were led to an even gloomier library, where a gaunt man sat in the shadowed interior and rose—with the assistance of another man standing at attention behind him.

Mr Darcy did not hesitate, but brought her swiftly forwards. “My lord, please meet my wife, the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet, now Mrs Darcy.”

The earl gave her a level stare; he was not, perhaps, so elderly as he had first appeared, but ill health had taken the flush from his skin and left sallowness behind. Still, his gaze was direct, his eyes dark like her husband’s. One could sense the command he had once held over laws and men.

She curtseyed respectfully. “My lord,” she said.

“Hmph. Bennet. I never heard of any Bennets.”

“My father’s estate, Longbourn, is in Hertfordshire. He does not much care for town.”

“Not care for town? How did he expect you to ever make a decent match without bringing you to town? You do not appear a miss just out of the nursery. Have you siblings, married siblings? Who is your mother?”

Mr Darcy opened his mouth to protest, she was sure, but she put a hand upon his arm, forestalling him.

She was not ashamed of her family, and easily answered his questions, including those of her maternal line.

But when she spoke of her mother’s brother, whose home in Cheapside she had often visited, he suddenly groped for his man, waiting nearby.

“Need to sit,” he mumbled.

“We all could have been seated long ago, had you not chosen to interrogate my bride over a lineage which is perfectly respectable,” Mr Darcy said unsympathetically.

He waved this off. “Cheapside, Darcy? Cheapside?”

“My new relations are none of your concern,” Mr Darcy said with enough hint of warning in his voice that the earl yielded.

“Be seated then, and perhaps you will stay long enough to explain why I had to learn about this marriage in the papers.”

Mr Darcy did not appear to feel any guilt over this. “I brought her to you our first full day in town, and yet you find cause to complain.” But he drew two chairs closer to the earl and seated her in the one nearest him.

“’Tis about time you married and started filling your nursery. She has a stubborn chin, Darcy. I could have told you to avoid females with stubborn chins, but since when did you ever listen to me?”

Elizabeth could not prevent a smile at this, and unbidden, looked at her husband. His return look was warm, although his expression remained severe, and something within her eased.

“As I recollect, Lady Matlock was possessed of a chin which might have been called ‘determined’,” Mr Darcy said drily.

“I know it, God rest her soul,” the earl said firmly, but his lips tipped up in an almost-grin. “Young lady, you can be thankful her ladyship has gone to her heavenly reward. She would have polished the country right off of you, that she would have.”

“I will never be thankful for your loss,” Elizabeth replied evenly.

“I can tolerate a good deal of ‘polishing’, for I have always been taught that while society values perfection, the Lord values effort. Give me someone willing and teachable any day over one who arrogantly assumes they are already flawless.”

For a moment, he only stared at her. Then he burst out in hearty guffaws. “She would have had her hands full with you,” he quipped. “Stubborn chin, Darcy. Do not complain to me when you handily lose every argument.”

“Mr Darcy, being a sensible man, has no intention of arguing with me,” she explained, to her husband’s sober agreement.

They left not long after—it was obvious that the earl tired easily—but not before promising to return soon.

“You did not mention the children, I noticed,” she observed during the carriage ride home.

He gave a barely perceptible shrug.

“You think he will disapprove?”

Mr Darcy gave her a wry look. “As you were quick to point out your relations in Cheapside, I think we are past worrying about his disapproval.”

She hoped he was not angry with her disclosures, but she was willing to explain them. “I am certain you do not remember—there is no reason why you should—but perhaps you might recollect a time Jane was kept at Netherfield with a fever, and I stayed with her there for a few days.”

“I do remember.”

“The first night, I excused myself quickly after dinner as I was anxious about leaving her alone—but before I was halfway back to her room, I realised I had left my shawl in the dining room, and returned to fetch it. I was on the point of entering when I heard Mrs Hurst criticise our ‘low connexions’ and Miss Bingley laughing about my uncle in Cheapside. Mr Bingley interrupted them with a kind remark, to which you replied that the fact meant it must very materially lessen our chances of marrying men of any consideration in the world. I felt—and I still feel—regret that I turned away and fumed, rather than saying anything at the time. It is not that you were wrong—obviously, my chances of marrying were nearly non-existent. It was the spirit in which we were derided that I objected to—for instance, our births were much better than Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst’s.

I ought to have said something . I decided I would much rather hear your uncle’s true opinions face to face—have it out in the open, and defend myself if needed. ”

For some time, they sat in silence. They were nearly home before he spoke.

“I do not recall the remark to which you refer. If you say I said it, I am certain I did. But it has been many years now since I began thinking of you as the handsomest woman of my acquaintance, and certainly one of the cleverest. The man who said that is not the man who eventually found the good sense to ask you to become his wife. It is one of my deepest regrets that I did not ask you to marry me much sooner. But perhaps, since I was so inconsiderate in your hearing and more than once, you would not have agreed.”

Elizabeth was surprised by such an admission, and touched—if not fully believing his flattery, it was a fine thing to say. She decided to give him a truth.

“Defending myself to his lordship was thankfully unnecessary, as you would not allow the criticism. I do not expect you to rejoice in the connexion, however.”

She was giving him, she hoped, opportunity to make known his current opinions of her relations in Cheapside. Instead, he took her hand in his once again, and kept it there, saying nothing.

After several silent moments, relieved that he seemed to have nothing critical to add, she said, “Whatever my former sentiments might have been, I am not sorry I agreed to marry you now.” He only squeezed her hand in reply, and remembering his treatment of the belligerent man on the road to London, she felt she had reason to hope he had grown more democratic over the years.

A few days later, she was not so sure.