Page 35 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)
Chapter 35
Matlock January 1901
E lizabeth’s fingers were cold, even inside her gloves, but it felt good to drink in the fresh air. For two weeks, she had scarcely stirred outside, preferring instead to remain close to her sister and the family that had adopted her as their own. Her heart still stung, and not an hour passed that some surge of rage or despondency did not threaten to cripple her afresh. But, over the past days, she had begun to find her feet—and with them, a renewal of her resolve.
And so, when the earl once more mentioned the cottage he had offered, she leapt at the chance of a tour. She stopped Sage, as she had re-christened Mr Darcy’s former polo horse, and surveyed the little town before her. The road crawled up through a snow-covered valley that must have been lush in warmer months, with low, gentle hills rolling down from either side. Quaint stone buildings, some new and some ancient, dotted the way.
“Darley Dale,” Matlock said from atop his Thoroughbred beside her. “And just there is the Whitworth Institute. Care for billiards, Elizabeth?” he asked with a laugh. “Community rooms, a library and a hotel, that sort of thing. They even have an indoor swimming pool.”
She admired the building from a distance. “So much! But how?”
“Oh, the Whitworths from Stancliffe built it and donated it to the community. Remarkable story, but let us not chat about it in the cold. Are you warm enough?”
“I have been much colder than this, and for much longer,” she replied. “This is less than three miles, but I used to ride ten regularly, rain or shine.”
The earl looked over at her. “Even so, I think you may be the only lady I know who preferred a ride on horseback to a warm carriage in January. Even Georgiana did not venture out with us.”
“It is a clear day, and I have been too much indoors of late.”
He nodded. “Restless—yes, I understand. Richard was much that way when he was cooped up. Darcy is worse! Myself, I can be quite content roasting my hide by a fire on a day such as this. We will explore Darley another time, and I will even introduce you around the village. Come, let us look over the cottage and turn back before I become an icicle.”
She followed the earl at a trot, back the way they had come. After a few moments, he turned them up a narrow lane, then over a short slope. A quarter-mile to the southeast of the village, they stopped at a modest little dwelling. It still bore an old-fashioned thatched roof, with what appeared to be a place for a vegetable garden on the southern side.
“Within walking distance of the village,” the earl said. “Especially for an adventurous sort like yourself.”
She was taking in each tuck and corner of the cottage, admiring the charming imperfections and contrivances that marked it as a real home. “No stable,” she mused, though too late she realised she had spoken aloud.
“No,” the earl conceded. “Nor place for a groom or the like. I am afraid the mare will have to remain at Matlock, or perhaps you could send her back to Pemberley.”
She nearly laughed at the irony—it had never occurred to her that if she kept a horse, she would require a groom. The notion was a foolish one anyway, because what business did she have taking on such an expenditure? It was not like she would require a horse to get to the market. Not like home…
They walked about the house and yard for a few minutes. Two rooms upstairs, and a fair sitting room below. It smelled musty and stale, but already her mind was at work. With clean linens, a warm fire and a hot meal on the stove, the cottage would be perfectly inviting.
“You will need to hire a man of all work for chopping wood or the like, and perhaps a girl to help out. There are a few good families in the area I will speak with when the time comes. Elizabeth, are you sure of this? There is no hurry for you to remove from Matlock, particularly as you are in mourning all over again. Do you not wish to wait?”
She cast an eye around the cottage again. “No. I do not wish to wait. You have been very welcoming, my lord—far more so than I could ever have wished—but I feel less of an imposition this way. Jane and I will be very comfortable here.”
Matlock held her horse, then mounted his own, and they turned back to the lane. “Will your sister be joining you? I had the impression she might be moving elsewhere.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat and adjusted her reins. “Nothing is decided yet.”
“Oh, did you not know? I had a letter from Bingley yesterday. He said he is coming from London and desired to have a word with me when he arrives. I assumed you would already know the cause for that.”
“He did?” A shiver—perhaps it was the cold—suddenly stole her breath.
“I told him he would do better to speak with you, or perhaps Darcy, because I hardly feel I am Miss Bennet’s protector. I know no harm of Bingley, but perhaps you could tell me if I ought to have any reservations regarding his suit. As far as I know, it is desirable to all parties, is that correct?”
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
“All the same, I must think of some way to give him a bit of trouble. It is tradition, of course! A man ought to have to fight for his lady, at least a little. Perhaps Darcy can tell me how best to terrorise his friend—all in good fun, of course. I shall have to draw him aside for a private word before Bingley catches me.”
Elizabeth looked up in confusion. “Pull Mr Darcy aside? In London?”
“No, he is travelling with Bingley. Bingley said Darcy had reasons of his own to come back north. I assume he is eager to see Anne again.”
Elizabeth shivered again. “My lord, would you object to hurrying back? I think the cold has caught up with me, after all.”
“J ane?” Elizabeth put her head into their sitting room, after changing into a clean dress and restyling her hair. Finding the sitting room empty, she passed through and knocked on Jane’s bedroom. “Jane?”
There was no answer, so she went back downstairs. Jane was not in the habit of loitering in the music room or the library, but she was fond of the sunny morning room. One by one, each room Elizabeth passed was empty. “Mildred?” she asked of one of the maids, “have you seen my sister?”
“No, ma’am, but she may be in the nursery. The young miss had requested Miss Bennet’s company on her afternoon airing. I believe the child went up for her tea a few moments ago.”
“Ah, yes. Jane does enjoy the children. Thank you, Mildred.”
Elizabeth went back up the stairs, taking the flight to the eastern wing, where the family had their rooms. She was not so familiar with this part of the house, though Billy claimed to know it intimately. The children’s rooms were all farther down, on the left side of the hall, but if she went too far, she risked accidentally knocking on the countess’s private sewing room.
She rapped cautiously at the first room to appear promising, but nothing came of it. The following door accidentally swung open to reveal an empty bedroom. It must be the next, she decided. Or perhaps the schoolroom came before the nursery—she could never remember. She came to it and knocked gently.
This time, she did hear an answer, but not a proper one. A muffled sort of noise, a gasp, and a stifled cry—perhaps the child was in the very act of sipping her tea and tried to blurt out a response. Perfect. A child’s merriment would be just the thing for Jane now. Elizabeth pushed the door open, fully expecting to find Jane seated opposite a four-year-old girl, each lifting a dainty cup.
What she found was something… else.
Elizabeth jerked backward, yanking the door closed behind herself and putting a hand to her mouth. It was all she could do not to shriek in amazement and alarm—to sob or, more scandalously, to laugh uproariously. Her next impulse was to storm the room again, to yank the mischief-maker out into the hall by a collar or a sleeve… but which of the two persons in the room was that?
Seeing no other option, she backed slowly away, spreading her hands out and tiptoeing down the hall whence she came.
“Elizabeth!” The door banged open again, and Billy’s voice panted behind her. “Lizzy!”
He raced in front of her to block her way, his body quivering and his face smeared with red. His tie was entirely undone, and the top four buttons of his shirt were loosed. Elizabeth covered her eyes before she took in the rest of his dishevelment.
“Lizzy, please! I didn’t mean anything by it, I just… but then when she—”
“Mr Collins?”
Elizabeth froze, then cringed before she turned round to the woman behind her.
Anne de Bourgh—her hair ruffled, the neckline of her dress rakishly askew and her cosmetics a hopeless loss—poised herself in the hall as if she were a regent addressing a subject. It was a role Billy apparently coveted, for he nearly fell at the woman’s feet, his hands clasped in supplication and his voice reverent.
“Yes, my goddess?”
Anne spared Elizabeth a glance, then a flicker of humour touched her lips. “It seems you have compromised my reputation. Will you do me the honour of requesting my hand in marriage?”
Billy’s gulp was audible and clear, but less comprehensible was his stuttered response. Seconds later, the discourse had taken on an entirely different fashion… a nonverbal one.
Elizabeth ran, and spoke to not a soul until dinner.
O n the following day, several persons were waiting for Darcy and Bingley when the carriage pulled up at Matlock, though only Reginald showed himself. Darcy glanced up the hall as they walked into the house, sensing, or perhaps only imagining, the weight of bated breath and anxious attendance of others upon his head.
Bingley was as good as a gangling adolescent. Since their train had departed London that morning, Darcy had lost count of the times he had answered his friend’s unease or given reassurance for his doubts. Had Bingley’s anxieties centred upon the constancy of his love or the woman whose hand he meant to beg, Darcy would have cautioned him. Bingley’s nerves, however, were more prosaic in nature—hopeful elation for the future combined with the last gasps of a bachelor’s independence.
“Do you really think it is not too soon?” Bingley asked once more. “She just had the word of her father a little more than two weeks ago. How can she be in a mind for thinking of marriage?”
“I expect she is in a perfect mind for thinking of the future,” Darcy replied. “I do not think the lady rash or impetuous regarding her feelings, or I would advise you differently. I believe she will welcome your timing.”
Bingley straightened his jacket just before stepping out of the carriage. “I hope so.”
Darcy had expected that once Reginald greeted Bingley and the latter declared his intentions openly, his own purpose would be complete, but it seemed his friend was not yet ready to part with him. And so, with one regretful glance down the hall, Darcy resigned himself to an undetermined delay before undertaking certain… other conversations.
Reginald invited them both to his study, and the “negotiations” commenced. Half an hour later, and after much ribbing and good-natured abuse, Charles Bingley walked out of the room with a smile as bright as the sun, nearly sprinting for the sitting room where his fair damsel awaited.
“You were too easy on him,” Darcy said.
“Only because Miss Bennet is not my daughter. I could think of nothing worse to do to him.”
“Fortunately for you, you have perhaps fourteen more years to come up with better means of handling your own daughter’s suitors.”
Reginald laughed. “Oh, speaking of suitors and the like, Anne asked me to tell you she wished to speak with you as soon as we finished here.”
Darcy pressed his mouth closed and merely nodded. He had things to say to her as well, and some of them might be unpleasant. Though every sinew and limb cried out to ask after Elizabeth and confirm with his own eyes that she was well, this one duty must come first. He had not spoken or written to Anne since that aborted attempt at dinner before Christmas—a thing no one could fail to notice, particularly considering his frequent letters of comfort to Elizabeth. He and Anne had much to discuss; much which must be upended, thrown over, and released if there was to be a way forward.
He found Anne in the drawing-room, seated with the countess as they took tea. Anne rose gravely when she saw him and beckoned him to follow her to the library. Apparently, she had taken to heart his request for more serious conversation, and he felt an ominous stirring from the pit of his stomach.
“Darcy, there is something I must tell you.”
“If you please,” he interrupted her, “I ought to go first. Perhaps what you have to say will be less stinging after I have done.”
She held her breath, then inclined her head.
He began to pace a circle about her, uncertain what to do with his hands or his eyes, but only knowing he did not wish to look at her face as he spoke. “I know I have been a disappointment. I have been unguarded, imprudent, and even wicked in my dealings with you.”
A fine line appeared between her eyebrows. “Wicked?”
“It comes to this. I will honour my promise. I will take my feelings in hand, seek to make you happy, and I will never betray you, but there is something I must confess.”
“I am going to marry Collins,” she blurted.
Darcy stopped mid-breath, his mouth still open and prepared to divulge…
“ What did you say?” He shook his head, even rubbed his ear.
“You heard me. I have proposed to William Collins, and we are happily agreed.”
He tried to blink the sunburst of bewilderment from his eyes, and his head was spinning wildly. He could only manage a strangled “ How? ”
“Had you a bit of imagination, you could discover that easily enough on your own. ‘How’ matters not. I was quite annoyed with you when I returned to Matlock, Darcy. I will own it. I always liked you, thought we would do well together, but you were not at all what I had contrived you to be in my mind.”
“If I have disappointed you—”
“Hold there, I am not finished. One day it occurred to me; the only person in all my acquaintance who dotes on my every word, and who addresses my passions with an excitement to equal mine, is Collins.”
“But… But he is younger than you!”
Anne tilted her chin and looked up to the ceiling in thought. “Only by four years. What does that matter?”
Darcy put a hand to his forehead. “I can think of any number of objections. You hardly know him, for a start.”
“Untrue, for I have spoken with him nearly every day since he first came to Matlock. I should not be surprised if I heard more words from him in six months than I have from you in twenty-eight years.”
“The words of a sycophant. Come, now, Anne, the man hardly inspires respect.”
Anne laid one forearm over the other. “We have very different definitions of the word.”
“But you are one of the wealthiest women in the country! You need not settle for the first man to kiss your feet. Surely!”
“Do you know why I thought I might settle on you, Darcy? Because of all the men who paid me court, you were the only one who did not do so for my fortune—but in your case, it was because you did not need it. Collins adores my personality, and I daresay he is the first ever to do so.”
“That is not true,” Darcy protested. “Have we not been friends almost since we were in our cradles? I understand you are angry with me—”
“No, Darcy, I am not angry. The scales have fallen from my eyes, that is all. You are as good a man as ever I knew, and you have been a good friend, but if I tried to make more of you, I would despise you. I believe you would think even less of me.”
“I would not,” he argued, but his voice was uneven.
“We are not well-matched, Darcy. We have always known that, but do you know what is worse? We never fought about it.”
“I thought a lack of strife was to be commended.”
“A couple who argues at least has some shared turf to dispute. We did not even have that.”
He answered this with silence and lowered eyes.
“There, I have the right of it. I am very happy, and I hope you will be happy for me.” She extended both her hands, palms down, and allowed them to linger for half a moment, with only the faintest tremble in her fingers.
Darcy took both hands and lightly kissed her knuckles. “If you are certain of this, then I am delighted for you.”
“We are agreed. I release you from your promise, Darcy.”
He chuckled. “I thought I was supposed to be releasing you from yours, since it is you who—”
A golden brow pushed upwards, and the edge of her mouth followed on that side. “What I mean, Darcy, is if you have anything, or anyone… other … I absolve you of any guilt you might feel, by taking it upon myself. I daresay I shan’t lose a night’s sleep over it, but if our places were reversed, you would make yourself positively ill.”
His eyes narrowed, and he watched her expression change from curious to savvy. “Does anyone else know of this?”
Her mouth puckered, and her eyes danced. “One other person… just one, so far.”