Page 17 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 17

R eginald Fitzwilliam, ninth Earl of Matlock, barely resembled his younger brother. Slightly balding, several inches shorter, and with a far thicker girth, Elizabeth could have believed she was meeting Richard’s father instead of a brother who was only five years older. He bowed cordially—not nearly so stiffly as Mr Darcy once had, but then, neither did he possess about his bearing or expression the hint that his manner would alter significantly upon further acquaintance.

“Welcome to Matlock, Mrs Fitzwilliam,” he greeted her. “And Miss Bennet—a pleasure, indeed.”

“There,” the countess dismissed her husband with a flippant wave of her hand. “Now we have got the formalities out of the way. Come, warm up your toes! You must be chilled to the bone after that carriage ride.”

“Oh, not at all, Lady Matlock,” Elizabeth protested. “Mr Darcy had plenty of hot bricks in the coach.” The truth was that most of those had been claimed by Georgiana when they first set out, but Mr Darcy had made some odd remark about artificial dignity, and the bricks had been redistributed.

Elizabeth and Jane followed the countess in awe as she swept them into the bowels of the great house. For a fleeting instant, Elizabeth wondered why Billy had not been bouncing on the front steps to welcome them, but they soon found that this had been the countess’s design, for he was waiting for them in the drawing-room. Miss de Bourgh was there, too, seated on a gilded stool with a great ostrich fan in her hand and cocking a saucy eye at the new entrants to the room. Once Elizabeth had rounded the corner, she finally saw what the whole affair was about, for a photographer was just unpacking his equipment.

“A little surprise for you all,” the countess crowed in pleasure. “Darcy, I knew you would not have thought to have it done, and like as not would have found some excuse to avoid it all if I had warned you about it. However, you and Anne absolutely must take an engagement photograph before you sail for South Africa. I will expect a note of gratitude for seeing to the arrangements, of course.”

Elizabeth looked back at Mr Darcy, but no hint of surprise or humour—in fact, no expression of any kind flashed across his features. He merely nodded and adjusted his cufflinks. Georgiana left his side to seat herself in another corner, trying to vanish from the general assemblage.

“Lizzy! Jane!” Billy whispered loudly, waving them over to sit beside him on the sofa. “You will never guess—why, to be sure, I am all astonishment myself!”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Billy, have you developed an accent?”

His face clouded. “Accent? Of course not, how silly. I have always talked like this.”

“Jane is right,” Elizabeth agreed. “You sound different.”

Billy’s cheeks reddened, and he glanced around. “Don’t embarrass me, Lizzy,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to sound like a hayseed around…”

“Anne, my dear,” the countess was calling, “are you quite ready? Darcy, you must sit here, and look, here is a walking stick for you to hold and monocle to wear during the photograph.”

“I do not use a monocle,” Mr Darcy protested.

“What does that matter? It makes you look more sophisticated,” the countess decided. “Now, take Anne’s hand, and turn just… no, no, you may not simply hold the monocle, Darcy. You must place it on your eye!”

“I will do no such thing,” was his obstinate reply.

“How can you be so tiresome? Well, well, discard it if you must, but I insist on the walking stick.”

Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand and snickered; a little too loudly, for Mr Darcy himself looked up and caught her gaze. Feeling impish, she adopted a stuffy air and held her finger up under her nose, in reminiscence of that time she had mocked him for his moustache. He broke into a broad grin.

“Oh, no, Darcy,” the countess admonished. “Have you no decency? Come, now, you cannot smile for your engagement portrait! Anne, lend me some support here.”

“You may as well surrender, Darcy!” the earl laughed from the far side of the room. “My dear, you ought to have him stand behind her. That is the way all the family portraits are done.”

“Very well,” the lady conceded. “But you must place your hand on her shoulder, Darcy, and Anne—yes, you rest your hand upon his and look up…”

Elizabeth’s eyelid was twitching, and she could not decide why, but somewhere in the middle of watching Mr Darcy taking his place beside his betrothed, her own smile had grown cold. She dropped any attempt at a cheerful expression because Jane was already looking at her curiously, and she sensed her teeth baring in a grimace rather than congratulations.

She looked down at her lap and adjusted her skirts—it was easier than watching the way Anne de Bourgh was gazing up into Mr Darcy’s eyes, and he down into hers. Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on her hands until the explosion of the photographer’s flash declared it safe for her to do otherwise.

“Now it is our turn,” Billy said.

“Wait… what did you say?” Elizabeth’s head whirled about as her cousin bounced out of his seat and beckoned to her.

“That was the rest of the surprise,” Lady Matlock informed her. “The photographer was already coming, and I thought how delightful for your family to have your portrait. Do you not agree?”

“Oh…” Jane’s eyes filled, and she put her fingers to her lips. “I wish I had one of them! It is ever so kind of you, Lady Matlock.”

“I know it is, my dear,” the countess agreed warmly. “Come, you and Elizabeth must sit here, and we will have Mr Collins just behind you, where Darcy was. Collins, I know you will not object to the monocle.”

“If Your Ladyship recommends it,” he submitted, but Elizabeth saw a flush of pride staining his face. The photographer solemnly raised his flash lamp and commanded, “Hoooollld.”

A few moments later, dazed and blinded, she started to rise from the couch. Billy was profusely thanking the countess, the photographer, Miss de Bourgh, and likely would have thanked the maids and footmen if Mr Darcy had not stopped him.

“Have you another plate?” he asked of the photographer.

“Indeed, sir.”

“Very good. Mrs Fitzwilliam? Would you consent to one more photograph?”

Elizabeth tried frantically to blink the white light from her eyes. “Another?”

“Of course. I thought… perhaps Richard would like to have it. When we find him.”

The earl and countess praised this notion, and everyone else in the room seemed to approve as well, but Elizabeth’s dazzled eyes had dimmed enough for her to make out Mr Darcy’s expression. Something was missing from his face and his tone. Something wistful, something warm—something that had always been there before.

A fter the foolishness with the photographer—a kindness on the countess’s part, to be sure, but not one he took pleasure in—Darcy was careful to keep himself apart from the ladies as they toured the house. Collins seemed to have become something of an expert on the stately home, for with the countess’s permission and the earl’s assistance, it was he who showed his cousins about. Lady Matlock’s faith appeared to have been well placed, for he conducted himself precisely as a proper butler or housekeeper might have, relating all the pertinent facts and unique curiosities, and thoroughly delighting the sisters. Or one of them, at least.

After the portrait gallery, Lady Matlock, Anne, and Georgiana retired to the sitting room while Elizabeth and Jane continued their tour. They were all to take tea with the dowager countess in half an hour, and Darcy desired a word with the earl before that, but he was still watching Elizabeth.

No doubt, the countess had designed the amusement of a photographer and the recreation of a house tour to ease Elizabeth into this meeting with the dowager. However, Darcy could see that the delay was having rather the opposite effect upon her. She was speaking less, staring into space more, and seemed more disconnected in general from the others. Was it dread of meeting the formidable lady, her own mother-in-law, or was something else troubling her?

“Darcy,” Reginald interrupted his thoughts, “did you desire that drink in my study?”

He glanced at his cousin. “Indeed—a moment, if you please.” Elizabeth had looked his way at hearing him speak, so he took the opportunity to step close, as if telling her something important while the others were engaged in admiring the lavish chimneypiece. She inclined her ear.

“You are looking very well today, Elizabeth,” he murmured softly.

She straightened and regarded him strangely. After a slight hesitation, she whispered back, “Why are you saying this?”

“Because you look as though you do not believe it. I wished to make you more comfortable, help you understand that you belong.”

Her lashes lowered. “I doubt I shall ever ‘belong,’ but it was kind of you to try. I thank you for the thought, but you needn’t invent compliments merely to settle my nerves.”

“I invented nothing.”

She looked earnestly back up to him, her eyes full of longing and question.

He fought a smile—everyone would notice what he was about if he followed his inclinations and began to laugh or speak with a volume that matched the strength of his sincerity. Instead, he leaned fractionally closer. “I meant every word, and then some. You look beautiful today, Elizabeth, as you always do. Matlock will be a finer house with you as its guest.”

The look that came over her face was some combination of abashed pleasure and petrified amazement as she stared back at him. A few flutters of her lashes, an almost fearful smile were to be his only answer.

“Enjoy the rest of your tour,” he said in a more regular tone. “We will see you at tea. Reginald?”

They walked in silence to the earl’s study, where the earl himself closed the door and went to the sideboard. He passed Darcy a drink, then he held his own glass and waited with a strange expression.

Darcy had been about to imbibe but stopped himself upon seeing his cousin’s face. “Something amiss?”

“Amiss? No, I should say it is very much present.”

Darcy furrowed his brow and sipped the brandy. “I am not certain what you can mean.”

Reginald paced around to a chair and dropped into it, still studying his drink. “I mean that lovely bride of Richard’s. He has better taste than I expected.”

Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “I rather believed you would like her.”

“It looks as though I am not the only one,” Reginald mused.

“What do you mean by that?”

The earl snorted. “Oh, come, Darcy. If I were blind, I would have noticed it in the first ten minutes, but as I am not blind, thank heaven, it took less than one. You are smitten with the lady.”

“Smitten! I think not. I take care to appear more friendly than my usual manner because it seems to put her better at her ease. She was not brought up as we were and finds no comfort in formality. If you think my bearing more… casual, I suppose, it is only for that.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, indeed.” Darcy drank again, in more agitation this time. “You know I would never dishonour Richard.”

The earl pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. I suppose the thought occurred to me that if you had begun to give up hope of him, having his wife near was a little like keeping something of Richard.”

Darcy made a face. “Not as you suppose. Her character is nothing like his, but yes, I have been pleased to pay my respects to him in some small way by trying to keep her comfortable and happy. It is not an onerous chore, for the lady is pleasant and has a cheerful turn of mind. Even when she is sharp or melancholy, which is infrequent, there is something so utterly forthright about her that makes her quite refreshing company. She will be a great comfort to him when he returns.”

“Hmmm.”

“You disbelieve me still?”

Reginald swallowed the last of his drink. “I think you are using a great number of words to convince me of something you yourself have ceased to believe.”

“Spare me. When have I ever failed to act upon proper conviction? And do not toss Anne in my face, for you know as well as I that the reluctance has been hers as much as my own.”

The earl shrugged and fingered his glass. “I have seen men’s heads give way to their hearts before. Are you certain that is not the case with you?”

“Perfectly. You do the lady and even my own character an insult to suggest otherwise.”

“Very well, very well. I shall drop the matter, but with a caution. I am no fool, but others may be even more observant than I, and some with a greater thirst for intrigue. I think of the ladies, naturally. You would not wish for anything to be… misconstrued.”

Darcy’s fist knotted, and he consciously flexed his fingers. A display of temper would not do. “I shall give no one anything to reproach, and if I know Mrs Fitzwilliam, she will desire the same. She is perfectly innocent of any wrongdoing!”

Reginald lurched to his feet to refill his glass. “Then, I shall not speak of it again. What day do you sail?”

“Next Thursday. I depart for London in two days, and I intend to speak to someone at the War Office before I go.”

The earl nodded. “I heard the Transvaal had been taken and annexed. Might be just the break we needed. If Richard was held prisoner, he may already be rescued.”

Darcy fingered his glass. “I do not like that we have had no word, and I cannot help but wonder if we have waited too long to do something.”

“What, I ask, do you think you could have done sooner? It does not surprise me overmuch that we have not heard more than the Daily Mail has reported. You know, it must be a bit of madness and all that—pushing troops into recently occupied territory and still guarding the flank. And there is the trouble of the guerrillas cutting the telegraph wires whenever it suits them. I say it is perfect timing, for now you may get some real information and perhaps even…”

“Escort his body home?” Darcy drained his glass and looked away.

Reginald pressed his knuckles into his mouth until they were white, and he drew a slow sigh. “I meant to say bring him home, assuming… medical discharge, that sort of thing.”

“Yes. That sort of thing.”

“Darcy…” Reginald leaned forward, his voice tight. “We have not spoken of it—superstition, I suppose, not willing to confess the obvious—but have you prepared yourself to learn the worst?”

Darcy shook his head. “Have you?”

“No, but I must be practical about these things. All his affairs would be mine to oversee. Not that there would be much—that bit of money from Mother, presently in the four percents. His personal effects all go to me in his will—pistols, a few mementos. His most cherished possession, his horse, I think he left with you. But when he wrote that will, just before he left England, he did not have a wife to consider. What are we to do with her?”

“She inherits his accounts, and whatever pay might be leftover from the Army, and she starts a new life,” Darcy answered gruffly.

“So, you will send her back to America?”

Darcy shrugged. “If that is her wish. She misses her home, but some things she has said make me wonder if she will decide not to return. I say we do our part to act as family to her, as surely as if she had been his acknowledged wife before he left.”

“Do you?” Reginald stroked his lip in thought. “And what is her part in all this? Shall she be as family to us? ”

“I beg your pardon? If you still imply deceit—”

“No, but I wonder if our young American quite understands her position. It is not as if she married a tradesman.”

“She is no fool. I imagine she will rise to whatever occasion is needed.”

“Well,” Reginald said with a wry laugh, “we are about to find out. What do you think? How will this new sister of mine present to my mother?”

“Better than most, I imagine, though not so well as some. She knows nothing of refined culture but is not so ignorant that she will grasp my aunt’s hand and give it a good shake.”

“The countess did when they first met! But no, I speak of her spirits. My mother is… formidable.”

“I think you will discover that Elizabeth is a match for her ladyship.”

Reginald looked up with a raised brow. “Yes, I trust that Mrs Fitzwilliam will hold her own, if you say she will.”