Page 25

CHAPTER 25

A Tentative Understanding

U pon Darcy and Elizabeth’s re-entering the study, Bennet ceased his conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam and turned towards his daughter with an affected sigh.

“Well, Lizzy,” he said, “if you are quite finished shouting at everyone, perhaps now you will sit and speak to us like a rational creature.”

Resisting the childish urge to stick out her tongue at him—for both the remark and the concealment of the contract—Elizabeth took her customary seat with as much dignity as she could muster.

Darcy claimed the nearest chair, drawing it slightly closer so he could meet her eyes as he spoke.

“Your father informed me,” he began carefully, “that one of the original purposes of the contract was to shield me from the ambitions of my uncle—my mother’s brother—who, as you know, is a peer.”

Elizabeth’s expression shifted from wary to curious.

Darcy went on, describing his increasingly strained relationship with Lord Matlock, his recent confrontation with the earl, and at last, Georgiana’s near-elopement in Ramsgate the previous summer.

He spoke plainly, though not without evident discomfort, and when he had finished, a silence lingered for a moment before Elizabeth broke it.

“Do you believe your uncle was involved in Mr. Wickham’s attempt to elope with Georgiana?” she asked.

The three gentlemen exchanged a brief glance as though the thought had crossed their minds more than once.

Bennet and the colonel looked faintly surprised by her swift deduction, but Darcy merely smiled—his expression touched with admiration for her perspicacity.

“Why do you ask?” Colonel Fitzwilliam said after a moment.

Elizabeth leant forward slightly, her tone calm but incisive.

“Because a scheme like that would have been conducted with the utmost secrecy. If the truth did not come from a servant—which, as you have said, seems unlikely—then someone must have known in advance. It is hardly plausible that Mr. Wickham would approach Lord Matlock directly. Far more likely, the earl knew of the attempt beforehand—perhaps even arranged it himself—as leverage to force you into compliance, Mr. Darcy.”

She paused, then added quietly, “Such silence suggests foreknowledge. It is possible he intended it all along—as leverage to force you into compliance, Mr. Darcy.”

All three men stared at her.

Darcy was the first to recover.

“That is precisely what we suspect,” he said, a note of admiration in his voice, “although none of us put it quite so succinctly.”

“She does have a habit of being uncomfortably perceptive,” Bennet said, with a sideways glance at his daughter.

“It is a trait she inherited from her mother, I believe—though heaven help me, Lizzy possesses far better timing and a sharper wit, particularly in matters unrelated to securing husbands. ”

Elizabeth gave him a look, but her expression softened as she turned back to Darcy.

“What do you mean to do about it?”

Darcy met her gaze.

“That,” he said quietly, “is what I was hoping to decide—with you.”

“What does Lady Matlock know of her husband’s attempt to blackmail you?” Elizabeth asked.

“I spoke with her yesterday, and I believe Richard spoke to her this morning,” Darcy replied, glancing at his cousin for confirmation.

At Fitzwilliam’s nod, he continued, “She mentioned that her father’s money was keeping the Matlock estate afloat. At the time, I thought little of it—but now, I believe we must better understand what she meant.”

Elizabeth glanced towards the door.

“She’s in the drawing room. Why not ask her now?”

Fitzwilliam grimaced.

“To do so openly might raise suspicion. Thus far, we have kept the earl’s threats from Georgiana, and I fear how she might react if it comes out abruptly.”

Elizabeth arched her brow.

“Tell me, Colonel—how well has shielding Miss Darcy from adversity served your family so far? I met her only today, and yet I would wager she is far stronger than any of you give her credit for.”

Darcy opened his mouth to respond, but no words came.

He simply stared at her, as though seeing something in her that left him momentarily undone.

Colonel Fitzwilliam let out a slow breath, then inclined his head.

“You are not wrong, Miss Elizabeth. We have protected Georgiana out of love, but perhaps also out of fear—fear that she might break under pressure. You see strength where we see fragility.”

“Because you look at her and remember the child she was,” Elizabeth said gently.

“I look at her and see a young woman who will rise to the occasion, if only someone would give her the opportunity.”

Darcy finally spoke, his voice low.

“You understand her already.”

Elizabeth met his gaze.

“I understand what it is to be underestimated due to my sex.”

There was a beat of silence.

Bennet cleared his throat.

“Well then, since Lizzy has neatly put us all in our place, shall we determine what is to be done?”

Darcy straightened slightly.

“We need to speak to Lady Matlock—to find out what she knows or may suspect. She is not happy with her husband, and the two rarely reside under the same roof anymore. Perhaps for a few weeks during the Season they are forced to do so, but even then, they often avoid each other as much as they are able.”

“When we return, we should suggest a walk,” Elizabeth offered.

“The suggestion of a quiet stroll in the garden would draw no attention. She has already indicated she wishes to speak further with me, and it is a pleasant day for conversation. It would not seem odd for her to join us, would it?”

“The countess is fond of the outdoors,” Fitzwilliam replied, chuckling slightly.

“She would likely be the first to accept the invitation.”

“Then once we are outside, I will ask her to speak privately, and we can wander towards the small wilderness to the west of the house. Colonel, can you keep the others occupied and away from our conversation?” Elizabeth asked.

Fitzwilliam nodded and stood, but before anyone could depart, Darcy said, “And what should I do?”

“You should join us, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said with a pert smile as she also rose to her feet.

“After all, I see little point in pretending that this is anything other than what it is. While I know enough, I doubt that the short version you have told me is the whole of your relationship with the earl. There is much that I cannot know, and it is best you are there to ask any additional questions about what the countess reveals.”

Darcy stared at her for a moment.

“That is very wise of you, Miss Elizabeth.”

“I have my moments,” she shot over her shoulder, teasing him with a glimpse of her smile.

Slowly rising to his feet, Darcy continued to stare after the woman who had so thoroughly captured his attention—and was swiftly stealing his heart.

Bennet chuckled at the stunned expression on his young friend’s face.

“In the span of a few minutes, you have learnt two valuable lessons about my second daughter, Darcy,” he said, joining him as they moved towards the door.

“First, she has a quick temper when she feels underestimated—or when she believes something important is being kept from her. It flares fast and hot, but she will usually listen once she has had a moment to cool.”

Darcy gave a quiet laugh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I believe you are right, sir. I muddled both my explanation of the contract and any attempt I might have made at a proper proposal. She has not answered the question regarding her interest in me—though, in fairness, I am not entirely certain I ever asked,” he added with a wry shake of his head.

Bennet’s smile widened.

“That is the second lesson, son. She is intelligent—sometimes disarmingly so. Whether it is from her experience helping with the estate, her natural wit, or something less easily named, she often sees matters from an angle I would never consider. She is not always right—but when she is wrong, she will admit it…eventually.”

He paused, then added with quiet fondness, “She is young, but in many ways, I have long thought her older than her years. When you marry—since I have no doubt you will get around to asking the all-important question—you would do well to listen to her.”

Darcy turned to him, both humbled and heartened.

“Thank you,” he said simply before both men joined the rest of the company in the drawing room.

Darcy promptly introduced Bennet to his sister and his aunt, and a few minutes later, Elizabeth suggested a walk in the garden to extend the visit.

When Mrs. Bennet attempted to dismiss the younger party—leaving the matrons and Miss Horatia Bingley to converse indoors—Bennet intervened, insisting that everyone, himself included, ought to enjoy the fine afternoon.

Within moments, they had all donned their outerwear and were prepared to make their way outside.

The company quickly separated into smaller groups.

Bennet chose to follow behind Jane and Mr. Bingley, having resolved to keep a closer watch on this particular daughter and her suitor.

Although Bingley seemed to have matured somewhat during his time in the country, Bennet remained uncertain whether the young man’s attentions would endure, especially given his sister’s evident disdain for all things connected to Longbourn.

As in the drawing room, the younger girls stayed together, carefully shepherded by their companions.

When Mrs. Bennet would have lingered with the countess, both Horatia Bingley and Mrs. Hurst appeared to sense a shift in the atmosphere and, with mutual understanding, began to ask her questions about the gardens.

As the gardens were among Mrs. Bennet’s few undisputed triumphs, she was delighted to oblige.

If any of them found Colonel Fitzwilliam’s decision to accompany them curious, no one remarked upon it .

This arrangement left the countess, Elizabeth, and Darcy.

Seizing the opportunity, Darcy promptly offered his arm to both ladies.

With Elizabeth’s direction, he led them towards the small wilderness at the edge of the grounds—the very path she had suggested earlier, in the study.

“Why do I think this whole matter has been carefully arranged?” the countess asked after a few moments of silence.

“Aunt, yesterday we spoke about the earl’s threats, and you mentioned that he relied on money from your father to fund his home, at least in London. Can you tell me more about that?” Darcy asked.

“Why?” she replied, narrowing her eyes.

“And why is Miss Elizabeth privy to a conversation which concerns family? You have not made her an offer, have you?”

“Would it trouble you if he had?” Elizabeth retorted.

“We have known each other for several weeks now, and our families have been known to each other longer than that. If my father and his approve of the match, why would you not?”

Darcy gently released his aunt’s arm and brought his free hand to rest lightly over Elizabeth’s where it still lay upon his other elbow.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured.

Just as swiftly as her anger had flared, it faded at his calm touch.

“No, Aunt,” he said, turning to Lady Matlock, “I have not yet made an offer. But I did speak with Elizabeth this morning to inform her of the contract. We discussed how best to deal with my uncle—particularly in light of the fact that I, at least, know who I wish to marry, and it is most certainly not the viscount’s daughter.”

Lady Matlock’s brows drew together.

“The two of you are engaged?” she asked, clearly displeased at this news, particularly in light of her conversation with her nephew the day before .

“We are not,” Darcy replied smoothly, “although the contract signed by our fathers still exists. Were it only up to me, I would have little hesitation in announcing the engagement. But I will not do so until Elizabeth is ready and until I can be certain that no scandal or threats will endanger my sister, Elizabeth, or Elizabeth's family.”

“Then you would do well to avoid referring to her by her Christian name in company,” the countess said with a huff. “Very well. I see your mind is made up, and I know too well that arguing with a Darcy man rarely yields results.”

“What was it you wished to know about your uncle?”

Darcy’s tone sobered. “We are trying to understand why the earl might resort to blackmail—and why he or the viscount would need access to my funds. When you mentioned yesterday that your father was regularly sending money to support Matlock, it raised questions. The estate should be profitable enough on its own. So why would your husband require an outside contribution of capital?”

Lady Matlock’s expression tightened at this question, her lips pressing into a thin line in her displeasure. For a moment, she said nothing, and then she exhaled slowly, deliberately releasing her tension.

“You are correct to question it,” she said at last. “Matlock should be profitable. For many years it was. But my husband has made several poor investments of late. He would rather bleed us dry than admit to mismanaging the estate. There is something else that is draining its funds, but I am less certain what that may be. As you know, we rarely speak, and he would never dream of confiding in me.”

Her tone was clipped, each word carefully measured as she went on.

“My father offered assistance when things first began going poorly several years ago,” she continued. “Like myself, he believed it a temporary matter—an unfortunate stretch of misfortune that would soon correct itself. But it did not. The funds he gave were never repaid, and he has continued to send money regularly. I cannot say why he has not simply stopped the payments, but as far as I know, he continues giving money to my husband quarterly.”

Darcy’s jaw clenched. “Does the viscount know of this?”

She hesitated. “I cannot say for certain. As I told you yesterday, I was unaware the two were even on friendly terms. Of course, they know each other since they both serve in the House of Lords, but we have never socialised with them or attended events with them. The viscountess died several years ago, and the daughter was sent to school not long after. As I understand it, she is quite a wilful girl. I suppose she must be Georgiana’s age.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Elizabeth, still holding Darcy’s arm, spoke gently. “I thought you said she was still a child, only twelve or thirteen?” she asked Darcy.

“That is what I thought as well,” he replied. “Little is known of her since the viscount has kept her hidden from society.”

The countess pursed her lips. “I recall the announcement of her birth taking place a little before Georgiana’s. We were in town then, as was your family, Darcy, since Lady Anne had been weakened by her pregnancy, and George wanted his wife in London where medical care could be more easily obtained. I remember seeing the viscountess a time or two out and about, which was, of course, quite scandalous, given her condition and the proximity to her giving birth.”

“Does the earl know her age?” Elizabeth asked.

“He ought to,” the countess sniffed. “I remember much being said when the viscountess gave birth to a daughter, rather than to a son. A nephew or a cousin or something is next in line. The viscount is quite old, and his wife was much younger than he. When she died a few years later, many speculated the babe must have died in childbirth, but that was never confirmed.”

“What will happen when Mr. Darcy informs the earl that he will not give in to the blackmail and refuses to marry the viscount’s daughter?” Elizabeth asked.

Lady Matlock’s eyes met hers—sharp, intelligent, and slightly weary.

“I am afraid he will do whatever he feels he must, regardless of if that endangers the family’s reputation,” she said flatly. “He is a proud man and not easily thwarted. When he finally comes to the realisation that Darcy will not give into his plans, he will take steps to cause problems.”

“I am not afraid of him,” Darcy said.

“No,” she agreed. “But perhaps you should be cautious all the same. My husband will not be so easily rebuffed, and you are not the only one who might be in danger. You already suspect that he was behind George Wickham’s attempt to elope with Georgiana, and do you doubt that he would not attempt to cause harm to the lady who has ruined all his plans for you, Darcy?

She looked away briefly, then added, her voice low and bitter, “Miss Elizabeth, if your connection to my nephew becomes widely known, you will need to be far more cautious. I fear that if my husband is willing to endanger Georgiana’s reputation, he would think little of ruining yours—and perhaps even placing you in actual danger. If he cannot get to you, he might attempt to do something to another member of your family.”

Elizabeth met the countess’s gaze directly. “I cannot think that anyone in our local society would consider harming me, but we have an entire regiment of militia soldiers presently staying in Meryton. It was my understanding that your son will be working with the militia colonel during his time here, so perhaps he can help keep an eye on these newcomers. My father insists that a footman or groom join me each time I leave the house, but it is possible we can find a second man to join me. ”

“I can certainly spare one or two footmen for your use,” Darcy interjected. “Many of mine are retired soldiers—men Richard recommended—and they train regularly. In fact, I shall send to London for several more, as I suspect Georgiana may require protection as well.”

He paused, then added with a glance towards Elizabeth, “While I would prefer to ask that you not leave Longbourn unaccompanied by your father or by me, I suspect that, despite the brevity of our acquaintance, such a request would not be well received.”

Elizabeth struggled to contain an unladylike snort. “Five years ago, I would have fought with you over the suggestion that I needed anyone to accompany me on my walks about the estate and beyond. However, I have learnt better, and if you tell me you are serious about the potential threat to me, I will agree to be accompanied by two footmen on all my rambles. If you wish to join me as I visit our tenants, you are welcome to do so.”

Darcy smiled at her easy acquiescence. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” he murmured, his voice so low that Lady Matlock could not catch the words.

Her smile was answer enough.