Page 52 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

“Hold on there!” Richard, red-faced, his hand extended and finger pointing at Darcy, sprang from his chair. “You hurl accusations and slander at me? Me? What manner of effrontery is this? Of whom am I accused of currying favour with? Your Elizabeth?”

Such an outrageous supposition gave Darcy only momentary pause before he replied, still in full fury.

“It was but days ago I told you, in full confidence, the truth of my marriage to Anne! Of her suffering! Two hours ago, my sister returned from Matlock House to inform me she heard your stepmother speak of it to Cecilia!”

Darcy’s fist landed hard on his chair. “I should throttle you but first you will explain your faithlessness, both to me and to Anne.”

Richard, his brow furrowed, shook his head once before meeting Darcy’s gaze. “I have said nothing to Lady Matlock. I swore I would not, and have not. I would not ruin Anne’s name, not to her nor to my father. I swear on my honour, Darcy, I have said not a word to anyone, and I never will.”

The vehemence in his cousin’s voice led to a brief silence, but Darcy soon pressed on. “How then? How would Lady Matlock know a secret I have told none but you and Elizabeth?”

If Richard was surprised to learn he was second in such a confidence to a woman Darcy had known for two months, he did not express it.

Scowling, he returned to his seat. “I always supposed she had a spy at Rosings. When Father asked me news from my visits there, Lady Matlock seemed to anticipate my words and could even add to the tales. I knew Lady Catherine was not one to write to my stepmother, but there was a housemaid in Kent—a pretty girl from Maidstone,” he said grimly, “where the Harding estate was established.”

“Damnation.”

Darcy stepped from behind his chair and paced across the room.

While always polite to his uncle’s second wife, he had never shed his suspicions over her objectives in so quickly capturing the attentions of the grieving earl; he was in rare, if unspoken, agreement with Lady Catherine on the subject.

Susan Harding was a widow in need of financial support, and in securing Lord Matlock, she gained riches, a title, and exemplary connexions for her daughter.

What were her motivations in spying on Rosings, and why had she said nothing over these past years if she knew the truth about Anne and his marriage to her?

She must realise how it could harm the family name, and her own daughter’s prospects.

“Did you speak to her of the gold, or is there another spy to blame?”

Richard grimaced. “Only my father. I apologise for speaking to him of it.”

Darcy rubbed his chin. “I impugned your character.”

Richard waved a dismissive hand. “You had every right to your outrage, and I am an easy target for it. Be aware, however, that it is my turn to impugn yours the next time.”

With the easing of tensions, Darcy turned the conversation to the most pressing matter: his marriage.

“It will be no surprise to you that Lady Matlock disapproves of my plans to marry Elizabeth and to take Georgiana with us to Pemberley.”

Richard whistled. “A double blow, indeed.”

“My aunt’s time would be better employed within her own house. My own is under my control and all is well.”

“Is it? Well, bully for you. Georgiana needs a sister with a kind heart and you could use some liveliness. Miss Bennet appears to have both, in excess.”

Darcy’s slight nod prompted Richard to continue. “I look forward to knowing her better, and discovering what has led you each to choose the other for wedded bliss. You are not a man who overflows with words, but you have said nothing of love.”

“And I shall say nothing of it to you before I have said it to Elizabeth.” Darcy, immediately regretting his outburst, turned away from his cousin’s surprised expression and moved to the sideboard.

“Elizabeth and her sister shall arrive shortly to tour the house. Her aunt and uncle will come to dinner. You are welcome to join us.”

He handed Richard a glass of brandy. “Of course,” he replied, taking a sip. “And what of the lovely blonde sister?”

“A younger brunette. Miss Catherine Bennet is around Georgiana’s age. The ‘lovely blonde’, Miss Jane Bennet, is at home. I would expect her to marry Bingley next year, once he endures another five or so months of mourning.”

“So Bingley has captured his angel, or is it vice versa?” Richard chuckled, halting when he saw the pile of cards on Darcy’s desk. “Is this the usual number of callers when you return to town? And all are refused?”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “Word has got out that I am home and looking to be married. Lady Matlock may disapprove of Elizabeth, and wonder whether I am a danger to any bride, but she sees the advantage both in announcing my marriage, and in portraying it as a shameful entrapment because I do not prefer her daughter. She is?—”

“Playing every card? Is there an ace hidden in her reticule?”

Darcy remained silent, mulling over his answer.

“I believe she wishes to expose Elizabeth,” he said slowly, “to paint her as a poor country girl in mourning who used her wiles to bewitch and entangle Lord Matlock’s unwitting nephew, until he is brought to his senses and marries his young cousin Cecilia instead. ”

“That is quite an elaborate fairy tale, especially as told by one whose second marriage is its own kind of storybook.” Richard swallowed the last of his brandy and thought for a moment.

“I should tell you that I suspect Cecilia might cast her mother as the wicked witch. I hear at Brooks’s that she has at least two admirers, and one of them would not be refused by her or by Lord Matlock. ”

“Truly?” Darcy allowed himself a small, relieved smile. “That is a much better prospect for a happily ever after.”

If Kitty was overawed by the entryway at Darcy House, Elizabeth could at least credit her sister for restraining an actual gasp.

The exterior was as impressive as Elizabeth had imagined—not that she wished anyone to know she had lain in bed trying to envision the house on Brook Street where she would soon make her home.

If a house’s interior could be said to reflect its owner, then Darcy House promised to be as elegant and sedate as Matlock House was gaudy and over appointed.

Darcy and Georgiana welcomed them inside and—after refreshments and, to Elizabeth’s mind, a graceful introduction between younger sisters of like age but dissimilar temperament—the tour began.

Elizabeth had never felt Longbourn wanting; it was one of the largest and finest homes in Meryton.

But everything in Darcy House—its great size, richly appointed rooms, and ever-present servants—served as a reminder of the distance she would travel from her childhood home to her new life.

Elizabeth wondered whether Darcy had heard the news from Hertfordshire, but remembered that Mr Bingley was a less faithful—and less legible—correspondent than Jane, or many others of her acquaintance.

As that gentleman’s intentions seemed a confidence between sisters, she said nothing of her sister’s happy news; but she had written of other events which Elizabeth found of pressing interest as well.

Elizabeth resolved to ask Darcy about the men who were seen at Copperdale.

“...as at Pemberley, it is the work of many generations.”

She stepped into the library and the gasp Kitty had repressed earlier escaped from Elizabeth’s lips. She felt rather than saw Darcy’s prideful smile as she gazed at the bookcases lining the walls.

“Oh, Papa would have loved this room,” Kitty whispered.

Elizabeth reached for her sister’s hand and leaned her head against hers. “Yes, once arrived, he would not have wished to leave ‘the glories of these splendid shelves’.”

Kitty laughed quietly. “No, he would not ever go home again.” She sighed as the import of her words sank in.

“He would laugh at the irony and wish us to laugh as well. ”

Behind her, Darcy cleared his throat. “It is my favourite room. Georgiana has another she prefers.”

His sister stirred to life. “Miss Catherine, um, would you care to see the music room?”

As the two girls disappeared into the corridor, Elizabeth threw Darcy a grateful look. He took her hands and kissed them. “It has been but a few weeks, and all of you have faced great change. It shall become easier to speak of him.”

“Kitty said what I thought as well.”

His eyes softened even more. “The library at Pemberley is far, far greater. I do not wish you to feel hesitant to enter for fear of painful thoughts of what will never be.”

“I shall think on the past only as it brings me pleasure, and on the future, only as it brings me joy.” Elizabeth took a deep breath and leaned her head against his chest.

“Ah, in addition to your other gifts, you are a philosopher.” Darcy let go her hands and wrapped his arms around her.

Her arms followed suit, and as he pulled her closer, she tightened her hold.

She could feel the tension within him, and the rapid beat of his heart in her ear, so close to her now.

She heard him take a breath and whisper her name, pulling himself away just enough to lean down and kiss her.

Suddenly, as if recalling himself—and the sisters in a room just down the corridor—he took a step back.

“I have wished to do that since the moment you arrived,” he said softly.

Flustered, Elizabeth looked around the room, seeking to distract herself from the heated feelings between them. The library shelves held every colour of binding, thick and thin. How would one begin to read them all?

Her gaze fell on a table with a few thick history books stacked on it. She stepped away from Darcy and glanced at the titles; one was on the Roman emperor Hadrian. Another, a geological overview of Hertfordshire, lay atop several maps. Surprised, she turned and asked Darcy about the books .

“You are researching the soil and rocks of Hertfordshire?”

“I have been advising Bingley on the area, and wished to learn more about the land on his behalf, and for that of Longbourn,” he replied after a pause. He picked up a third book. “This I must return to Netherfield’s shelves.”

Elizabeth read the title: General View of the Agriculture of the County of Hertford, with Observations on the Means of Its Improvement . “May I borrow it before you do?”

“Of course. It is more interesting reading than the title suggests.”

Each seemed to recognise that they had been alone together for some minutes, and he gestured for her to leave the library ahead of him. The sounds of a lively melody on the pianoforte could be heard faintly.

“Let us join our sisters, but before we do, I should like to show you my other favourite room.”

“You are a man who dislikes sitting for the sake of sitting, so I would guess it is not a sitting room,” she said, her wry tone provoking him to chuckle. “Do you have a room dedicated to chess or a second library just for your Shakespeare and poetry?”

“Ah, I believe I should like to convert a few of Pemberley’s sitting rooms to just such a purpose. Might I set you to that task for me?” He gave her a warm smile as he led her to a door. “It will not surprise you that my study is where I spend much of my time.”

She returned his smile. “Much of your time, or most?”

They entered a room nearly three times the size of her father’s book room, yet in some ways just as cosy. A large desk stood near the room’s two tall windows; across from it was a large painting, which instantly caught her eye.

“Is this?—?”

“’Tis Pemberley, rendered accurately and true.”

She could hear the pride in his voice, and felt it fully earned.

The house was a large handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into something greater, but without any artificial appearance.

Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned.

Elizabeth was delighted and said so. Smiling, Darcy said that although the painting was a faithful reproduction, until she was there in person, the true beauty of Pemberley could not truly be seen.

“I look forward to it, then. The painter has done it justice,” she replied. She had never seen a place where nature had done more or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. “It is wonderful to have such a painting. You are able to see the country when in London.”

“Aye, Pemberley is my favourite place, and I like to look on it as I work here,” Darcy said, sweeping his hand towards the desk. A small stack of letters sat on one end, two piles of books at the other; the centre was less orderly, with a sheaf of papers scattered across its surface.

Elizabeth’s eye was caught by a small round object near the lamp.

Struck by its familiarity, she reached for the metal disc and recognised it immediately.

“Is this—? Why do you have this?” She looked up, incredulous, and found Darcy staring at her intently.

“Matthew Wadham gave this to me when I was a child. I have not seen it in years.”

“Since your sister nearly swallowed it, and your father removed it from your possession.”

She looked at him in amazement. “Yes, to keep it from Lydia. My father told you the story?” At his nod, her confusion began to be overtaken by an odd fear. “How did it come to be here, with you?”

He shrugged. “It was in your father’s book room. I found it there and borrowed it to make enquiries.”

She found this most curious and pressed on. “Enquiries? Into a metal token hammered by a boy who died some ten years past?”

Darcy shook his head. “Matthew Wadham did not make this, Elizabeth. Look closely,” he urged her, his hand rising and falling near hers.

She peered closely at the disc, tracing its indistinct indentations. “I do not recognise anything. This lettering was nonsense, made for a child. Matthew was not an artist. This bear is?—”

“That is not a bear, it is likely a Caesar. The writing is Latin. It is a Roman coin.”

“Roman?” Elizabeth turned it over, incredulous. “Ancient Rome? No, this cannot be the same coin.”

Darcy’s hand gripped hers gently. “It is the same coin. Do you recall how it came into Matthew’s possession? Did he find it on the property?”

She recalled how the older boy had presented it to her as a reward after she climbed to the top of Longbourn’s tallest apple tree. He was dead two days later after falling from the roof of Copperdale’s barn.

Copperdale. Men with shovels.

“I am not certain. He carried it with him to Longbourn.”

“Darcy!” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice boomed in the corridor just before he entered the study.

“Miss Bennet, I am here to rescue you from Darcy’s endless prattling about books and take you to your delightful sister.

” He winked at Darcy. “She and Georgiana have discovered a shared affinity for kittens.”