Page 60 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

ELIZABETH

T he next two days passed in relative calm.

Lady Matlock arrived the following morning as anticipated, bringing Anne with her.

Fortunately, several of my new gowns had been delivered earlier that day, and Lady Matlock lost no time in insisting I don one.

Possessing a discerning eye for presentation, she circled me in the sitting room with an appraising gaze before nodding in satisfaction.

She then directed Anne and Jane to fetch their bonnets and outdoor things for an excursion to Bond Street.

The two had been conversing softly, their replies somewhat hesitant, yet I hoped they would soon become good friends.

“Today, we will be noticed,” she declared with a smirk. “You will be seen by many, and I will introduce you to a few select individuals. I doubt anyone will be brazen enough to mention the gossip outright, but your presence in town with me will say much.”

Had Fitzwilliam not been engaged with his solicitor, she would undoubtedly have insisted he join us as well.

Still, she seemed quite pleased to have full command of our little party.

She was determined that my presence at her side—and with Anne on my other arm—would do much to soften the sting of the gossip still making its way through drawing rooms and tea tables .

Unlike the previous day, when we had passed largely unnoticed at the modiste, today Lady Matlock directed our outing with the precision of a military practitioner.

Our carriage stopped at several carefully selected shops along Bond Street, each known for their popularity amongst the fashionable elite.

Every time we entered a boutique, she greeted the proprietors like old friends, introduced me with practised ease, and made subtle yet clear references to Fitzwilliam’s devotion and our happy union.

“Her new husband is utterly besotted,” I heard her say more than once with an indulgent smile towards me.

“They met in the autumn and travelled directly to Pemberley after the wedding. You know how Fitzwilliam despises London; I practically had to force him to bring his wife to town since he would have preferred to keep her at his estate.”

She carefully avoided the truth of our Scottish ceremony and the surrounding drama with my family.

I had not expected her to mention it, but I admired how effortlessly she rewrote the narrative at the same time, reinforcing the illusion of a courtship that had been fully sanctioned by them from the beginning.

At one point, we encountered a tall, fashionably dressed woman outside a milliner’s, whose sharp grey eyes lit with curiosity the moment she spotted three unknown young ladies accompanying Lady Matlock.

“Lady Hollingsworth,” Lady Matlock said warmly, offering a gloved hand, “how lovely to see you. May I present my niece by marriage, Mrs. Darcy—Mr. Darcy’s new bride?”

The woman raised a brow in evident interest and offered me a graceful curtsy. “So this is the young lady who has finally brought Mr. Darcy to heel. I had begun to think no woman ever would—and that he would leave his estate to his sister’s child.”

“He was waiting for the right woman to come along,” Lady Matlock interjected with a smile. “Mrs. Darcy was just what he required. ”

I returned the curtsy with a composed smile, hoping the flush did not appear too overtly on my cheeks. “He is far less fearsome than many believe, I assure you—and perhaps a bit more romantic than he would care to admit.”

Lady Hollingsworth laughed, clearly amused. “Then I must hope you will share your secret with the rest of us. Lady Matlock, your niece is quite charming—nothing like the gossip would suggest.” She looked me up and down, obviously taking note of my trim figure.

Lady Matlock practically glowed. “She is. And clever, too—you will see much of her this Season. In fact, I am planning a small dinner party in the coming weeks to introduce her properly. I would host a ball, but you know how Mr. Darcy hates dancing.”

Lady Hollingsworth leant closer. “And will there be trips to the theatre? Will you secure vouchers to Almack’s for her?”

“Oh, certainly,” Lady Matlock said smoothly. “Her wardrobe is nearly complete, and she will be quite ready to receive visitors soon. We must do justice to such an excellent match.”

I said little more, but as we walked on, I could feel the weight of speculation begin to shift. Lady Matlock had wielded her influence like a sword—I would hate to be on the opposite end of her tongue.

On Sunday, we attended church at St. George’s in Hanover Square.

Fitzwilliam, who preferred to attend a quieter, less fashionable chapel, had agreed to join his aunt and uncle for the sake of appearances.

We sat in the Matlocks’ pew, with me between Fitzwilliam and Lady Matlock, and I felt the curious stares of half the congregation upon us.

They looked at me not rudely, but with a thinly veiled scrutiny that made it plain they were wondering about the lady who had captured Mr. Darcy’s elusive heart.

Not all the gossip had been lies. I was from a modest country estate, and my dowry was practically non-existent. My father’s standing in society was limited, and I was hardly what most mothers of the ton would deem an ideal match for one of its wealthiest gentlemen .

After the service, we lingered whilst Lord and Lady Matlock engaged several acquaintances in conversation. Each time they introduced me, they made sure to mention Fitzwilliam’s name and their pleasure in his finding a bride.

“She is exactly what he needed,” Lady Matlock said more than once, “and such spirit, too. You will see—they are wonderfully suited to each other.”

I could not help but wonder if these words, repeated often enough and delivered with enough confidence, would become the accepted truth, replacing the hateful gossip that had been spread before our arrival.

Fitzwilliam took my hand and pressed it gently, offering a quiet smile as we walked back to the carriage after this exhibition. “We will not have to endure this for too much longer. After a few weeks, the gossip will begin to fade, and we can do as we wish.”

“I feel a little like the lion in the Tower,” I jested, “being constantly watched and wondering when I will break my composure and roar, proving what an ill fit I am. But ‘there is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me ? * .’”

My husband laughed at this. Since we had reached the carriage, he took my hand in his, bringing it up to his lips for a quick kiss whilst I waited for the footman to assist Jane to climb into the carriage ahead of me.

“I shall not say that you are mistaken ,” he replied before handing me in.

“Regardless, you should not have to suffer because of that spiteful woman, and I will see to it that we do all we can to eradicate the untrue things that are circulating about you. In truth, you would have garnered attention no matter what; the gossip has only heightened it.”

“It shall be well, Fitzwilliam,” I said, reaching my hand out to cup his cheek as he took a seat beside me. “We shall face whatever it is together and deal with the lies perpetuated by ‘that spiteful woman’ as partners.”

The very next day, that spiteful woman, along with her mother, forced her way back into our notice.

Following Lady Matlock’s carefully laid plans, Fitzwilliam and I set out for Bond Street just after noon. We were to meet Lady Matlock, Anne, and Jane later at a tea shop, but for this particular outing, she had insisted that Fitzwilliam and I be seen together—just the two of us.

“It is important,” she had said Sunday afternoon when she outlined this plan with the precision of a military general, “that people see the two of you as a united couple. Yes, we want them to see that you have the backing of the Matlocks, but they must also see the two of you interacting.”

With that in mind, Fitzwilliam and I strolled arm in arm past the fashionable shops, nodding politely to those we encountered—or, more accurately, those he knew.

Although I had been introduced to a few people the previous two days, several of these were Fitzwilliam’s friends and acquaintances, people who I cared a great deal more about than the others thinking well of me.

We began our afternoon at Hatchards, where we spent a good deal of time selecting several books to enjoy together, along with a few for our sisters.

From there, we visited a milliner, a linen-draper, and even a jeweller’s shop, where I was forced to plead with Fitzwilliam not to purchase anything too extravagant.

He only laughed—and promptly ignored me, buying a beautiful brooch of diamonds and emeralds.

“I suppose,” I said with mock resignation, “I will have someplace to wear it soon enough—and likely several gowns perfectly suited to display it. ”

“You have yet to see the Darcy jewels, my love; and—like this piece—they will serve only to enhance your own loveliness,” he replied, with a gallantry that I could not but acknowledge.

Unfortunately, I could not respond to his words in the manner I would have liked—not in so public a setting. Still, I leant into him, letting my shoulder rest against his in silent appreciation.

We had only just entered the tea shop and taken our seats, awaiting Lady Matlock, Anne, and Jane. Once our order was placed, we poured ourselves each a cup and settled into light conversation, speaking companionably of our shopping excursion and amiably of several acquaintances we had encountered.

The afternoon had been proceeding just as Lady Matlock had planned until we looked up and found ourselves face-to-face with Caroline Bingley.

At her side stood her mother, silent and stiff, positioned like a sentry at attention next to her awful daughter.

Both were dressed fashionably, I suppose, but since money did not buy good taste, I could not say either of their dresses flattered them.

They had approached without our notice, and without so much as a greeting, Miss Bingley seated herself directly across from us, uninvited and entirely unwelcome.

“Well, Mr. Darcy,” she drawled, her voice pitched far too loudly for the genteel atmosphere of the tearoom, “I see some of your worst habits remain intact. Still associating with that dreadful Bennet family, are you?” Her lips curled into a smirk as she turned to her mother, as though sharing some private joke at our expense.

Heads turned at once. She had made no effort to lower her voice, and it carried effortlessly through the tearoom. The gentle hum of conversation faded as curious patrons leaned in, eager to catch every word.

“You do realise,” she continued with theatrical spite, “that Eliza was spirited away from Longbourn and spent months in Scotland? Everyone knows she bore a bastard there and had it quietly sent off— likely passed off as the child of some poor, respectable couple. Tell me, was it yours?”

Fitzwilliam, who had at first resolved to ignore her, sat straighter, his expression darkening as she spoke. Whatever restraint he had intended vanished in an instant.

“First of all, Miss Bingley,” he said coldly, each word precise and sharp as glass, “you will address my wife properly—as Mrs. Darcy.”

He leant forward slightly, his tone calm but edged with steel. “Secondly, you and your mother know very well that she was never with child—because the two of you concocted that vile rumour yourselves. You know the truth. My wife remained virtuous until our marriage.”

A flicker of something, perhaps fear, crossed the faces of both ladies, but Fitzwilliam pressed on.

“However,” he continued smoothly, “if we are discussing indiscretions and bastard children, perhaps we should revisit Miss Bingley’s own lengthy stay in Scotland some years ago.

You remember that, madam, since we discussed it the other day at Netherfield.

It is the one even your sister questioned, as you were gone nearly a year.

That is more than enough time to carry a child and arrange for it to be placed with another family.

My wife was gone barely two months, and it was publicly revealed in Meryton that you were the one behind her disappearance. ”

A collective gasp rippled through the tearoom. Miss Bingley’s face turned a furious shade of red, whilst her mother paled, but Fitzwilliam sat back in his chair, entirely unbothered by the display in front of him.

“As I told my former friend at Netherfield—and again when he dared to approach me at Darcy House—my connexion to you and your family is finished,” Fitzwilliam said coolly, his words prompting a fresh ripple of murmurs to spread through the surrounding crowd.

“You are finished,” came a new voice—firm, poised, and unmistakably aristocratic .

Lady Matlock had arrived.

She took in the frozen tableau with one sweeping glance, her eyes moving from the stunned faces to the palpable tension thickening the air.

Without hesitation, she crossed the room with the graceful authority of a woman long accustomed to command and came to stand beside us, making her allegiance unmistakably clear.

Her expression turned glacial when her eyes locked on Miss Bingley.

Mrs. Bingley received scarcely a flicker of acknowledgement—Lady Matlock clearly did not know her, and given her lack of standing in society, she saw no reason to.

“For years,” Lady Matlock began, her voice sharp as a blade, “you have sought to ingratiate yourself with my nephew, using his name to gain entry to events you had no right to attend. You are hardly the first woman to attempt to raise herself by latching on to her brother’s friend—nor the first to conceal a bastard child while pretending innocence.

But to accost my nephew and his wife in public—here, of all places—is not only disgraceful; it is astoundingly foolish. ”

Both women had opened their mouths as if to reply, but no words emerged. Half the tearoom watched them now, expressions ranging from polite curiosity to open disapproval.

Lady Matlock’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur.

“If you value the remnants of your reputation, you will leave London at once. And mark me well—should you ever speak of my niece again, I will see to it that no respectable household in England admits you. Your only hope will be to book passage to the Americas and make a life there—far from here and far from us.”

* ? Pride and Prejudice , Chapter 31