Page 16 of The Meddling Matlocks (Pride & Prejudice Variations)

Chapter Sixteen

Longbourn was in an uproar, and Elizabeth, though not usually one to shrink from a whirlwind, found herself momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer volume of her family’s delight. Mrs Bennet, flushed with triumph, darted about the drawing-room like a magpie that had discovered an entire cache of glittering treasures, her voice rising above the clatter of teacups and exclamations of joy.

“Married! Our dear Jane is to be married! To Mr Bingley, no less!” she cried, clasping her hands together as if in prayer to the benevolent gods of matrimony. “Oh, what a fine thing it is! Such a handsome young man, and so agreeable!”

“Indeed, Mama,” Elizabeth murmured, her lips twitching into a smile as she watched Jane, serene as ever, endure their mother’s effusive praise with quiet grace. Jane sat beside Charles Bingley on the settee, her cheeks a delicate shade of pink that rivalled the roses embroidered on the cushions. Mr Bingley, for his part, looked positively besotted, his gaze fixed on Jane as though the rest of the room, and indeed the entire world, had ceased to exist.

“Well,” Lady Matlock declared, taking Jane’s hands in hers and pressing them warmly, “I must say, my dear, that your good fortune is matched only by Mr Bingley’s excellent taste. You will make a most delightful couple.”

“Thank you, Lady Matlock,” Jane said softly, her voice tinged with shy gratitude. “You are too kind.”

“Not at all,” the countess replied briskly. “Henry,” she glanced at her husband. “I trust you agree?”

“Wholeheartedly,” Lord Matlock said with a chuckle, offering his hand to Mr Bingley. “My boy, allow me to offer you my congratulations. Though I suspect you need no assurances of your own good fortune, let me say that you have chosen wisely indeed.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Bingley replied, his words accompanied by a grin so wide it seemed almost too large for his face. “I count myself the happiest man alive, though I believe I must defer to Miss Bennet’s magnanimity in accepting me.”

“An admirable sentiment,” Darcy interjected. His voice was measured but warm, and Elizabeth noted with some surprise that his usually grave countenance bore an unmistakable smile. “Miss Bennet, may I also offer you my congratulations? Bingley is a fortunate man indeed, and I have no doubt that your union will bring great happiness to both your families.”

“Thank you, Mr Darcy,” Jane said, her blush deepening but her tone unfailingly gracious. “Your kind words mean a great deal to me.”

“To us both,” Bingley added earnestly, clapping his friend on the shoulder. Darcy’s smile widened ever so slightly, and Elizabeth found herself watching him with an unexpected sense of curiosity. There was a gentleness in his manner that she had not previously observed; a warmth that seemed entirely at odds with her earlier impressions of him.

“Well,” Lord Matlock declared, breaking the momentary silence with a clap of his hands. “This calls for a toast—or rather, several! Mrs Bennet, where is the wine? Surely an occasion of such magnitude demands proper libations!”

“Of course, of course!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, bustling towards the sideboard with renewed energy. “Lizzy, fetch the glasses, would you? And Mary! Kitty! Do sit up straight; this is no time for slouching!”

As the room descended once more into cheerful chaos, Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye and shared a private smile with her sister. In the midst of the clamour, it was a small but reassuring reminder of the bond that held them together, a bond that no amount of matrimonial upheaval could sever.

Elizabeth stood by the window, the lace curtain brushing against her fingers as she drew it aside to let in the soft afternoon light. She watched as Jane and Bingley strolled arm in arm along the path, stealing a moment of quiet respite from the chaos their betrothal had wrought within Longbourn. The sight brought an unbidden smile to Elizabeth’s lips.

Her gaze shifted, almost absently, to the corner of the room where Mr Darcy stood in solemn conversation with Lord Matlock. His posture was, as always, impeccable, with broad shoulders squared, and head held high, but there was something different about him today. There had been no trace of aloofness in his manner when he had offered his heartfelt congratulations to Jane; instead, there had been warmth, sincerity, and even, dare she think, a touch of fondness.

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth murmured to herself, “I have misjudged him.”

It was a startling thought, one she turned over in her mind like a coin discovered at the bottom of a drawer. If Mr Darcy could be so kind, so generous, to those he cared for, then perhaps he was not the cold, prideful man she had taken him for. And what was more surprising, what set her heart fluttering in a most inconvenient way, was the growing suspicion that her family, chaotic as they were, might now count among those he cared for.

“Good heavens, Lizzy,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “You are being fanciful.”

Yet even as she tried to dismiss the thought, a small, ridiculous kernel of warmth lodged itself in her chest. It seemed entirely absurd to think that Mr Darcy, a man who had once dismissed her as merely “tolerable”, might now view the Bennets with anything other than exasperation. But then again, today had proven to be full of surprises.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of movement behind her. Turning, she saw Mary sitting alone on the edge of the settee, her hands folded tightly in her lap and her eyes fixed on some indeterminate point on the carpet. In the lively bustle of the parlour, no one paid any attention to Mary, not even Mrs Bennet, who was flitting about like a moth drawn to the light of impending nuptials.

Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before crossing the room. She lowered herself onto the settee beside her sister, the cushions sighing softly beneath her weight. Without speaking, she reached out and looped an arm around Mary’s stiff shoulders.

“Are you quite well, Mary?” she asked gently.

Mary flinched at the contact, her back going as rigid as the spine of one of her books of sermons. “I am perfectly well, thank you,” she said, her tone clipped and her gaze resolutely averted.

“Perfectly well” was, of course, the universal language of someone who was anything but. Elizabeth tilted her head, studying her sister’s profile. There was a tightness to Mary’s mouth, a faint redness around her eyes that suggested recent tears.

“Mary,” Elizabeth began softly, “if there is something troubling you…”

“Why should I be troubled?” Mary interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut through Elizabeth’s sentence like a blade. “Everything is precisely as it ought to be. Jane is engaged to Mr Bingley, which pleases Mama endlessly. You have escaped Mr Collins’s attentions, which I daresay pleases you just as much. And Papa has his library to retreat to, which pleases him above all else. No, I cannot think of a single thing amiss.”

Elizabeth blinked at the sudden torrent of words, unsure whether to laugh or apologise. “Well,” she said after a pause, “that is a great deal of pleasing all at once.”

“Indeed,” Mary replied, though the word landed on the air like a stone dropped in a still pond. She clasped her hands together tightly, her knuckles whitening under the strain.

And then it struck Elizabeth. The reason for Mary’s discontent, the source of that simmering resentment that had been so carefully veiled until now. Of course. How had she not seen it sooner?

“Mary,” Elizabeth said quietly, “are you… are you disappointed that Mr Collins did not propose to you?”

Mary’s head whipped around, her eyes wide with indignation and perhaps a little embarrassment. “Disappointed?” she echoed, her voice rising half an octave. “Certainly not! Why should I attach myself to such a man simply because he happens to be our cousin and the heir to Longbourn? Such mercenary thoughts are unbecoming, Lizzy, and I should hope you know me better than that.”

“Of course I do,” Elizabeth said quickly, though inwardly she marvelled at how closely Mary’s reply mirrored the very arguments she herself had made not so long ago. “But I also know that you value duty and propriety, and that Mr Collins…” She paused, searching for a charitable phrase. “Mr Collins does have a certain… respectability to recommend him.”

“Respectability!” Mary repeated with a bitter laugh. “Yes, he is respectable enough to propose to you, even though I…” She stopped abruptly, her face flushing pink. “It does not signify,” she finished lamely, turning away once more.

Elizabeth’s heart ached for her sister, whose quiet nature often left her overlooked in the whirlwind of their household. She tightened her arm around Mary’s shoulders, even as she struggled to find the right words to offer comfort.

“Mary,” she said at last, “you deserve far better than Mr Collins. Truly, you do. And while I cannot claim to know what the future holds, I am convinced that happiness will find you in its own time, and on your own terms.”

Mary said nothing, but the stiffness in her shoulders softened ever so slightly. They sat together in silence for several moments, the noise of the rest of the house fading into the background. Elizabeth hoped, fervently, that her words would eventually take root in Mary’s heart, even if they did not seem to do so now.

The parlour was in a state of chaos, the likes of which even Longbourn had rarely seen. Mrs Bennet flitted about like a butterfly trapped indoors, her hands full of fabric swatches and ribbons that she periodically tossed onto chairs or thrust into unsuspecting hands.

“Muslin or silk? Silk is finer, of course, but muslin has such a charming simplicity, do you not think so, Jane?” she trilled, barely pausing for breath as she held up a scrap of ivory muslin against her eldest daughter’s serene face. “And lace! We must have lace! “

Elizabeth, seated by the window with an embroidery hoop in her lap—a task she had abandoned entirely in favour of observing the spectacle—could not suppress a grin. The room was already strewn with more lace, muslin, and satin than could clothe all five Bennet sisters twice over, yet Mrs Bennet showed no signs of ceasing her campaign. At this rate, Jane’s wedding apparel risked rivalling a coronation ensemble.

“Fanny, my dear, do sit down before you exhaust yourself,” came Mr Bennet’s dry drawl from behind his book. He sat in the corner, ostensibly absorbed in some ancient tome, though Elizabeth had caught him peeking over the pages with an expression of mingled amusement and resignation.

“Exhaust myself!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, whirling around to face her husband with a look of wounded indignation. “Do you suppose one can prepare for a wedding—such a match as this, no less—without exertion? Why, it is only the most important moment of a girl’s life! And to think, Jane marrying Mr Bingley! Such a good man, so rich, so handsome! How could I possibly rest at a time like this?”

“Indeed, how could anyone?” Elizabeth murmured under her breath, earning a smothered laugh from Jane.

“Ah, but perhaps there is a remedy for your plight, Mrs Bennet,” came a new voice, smooth and elegant, from the doorway. Lady Matlock entered the room with her usual air of composed authority. Lord Matlock followed close behind, his keen eyes twinkling with what Elizabeth suspected was suppressed mirth.

“Lady Matlock! Lord Matlock!” Mrs Bennet cried, nearly dropping the bolt of silk she had just seized. “How very kind of you to join us again today! Pray, forgive the disarray; we have been quite overwhelmed with preparations.”

“Think nothing of it,” Lady Matlock assured her with a gracious smile. “It is always a pleasure to witness the joys of family celebration.”

“Though I confess, I fear we may be adding to your burdens rather than alleviating them,” Lord Matlock interjected, his tone light and teasing. “My wife has concocted a scheme of her own, and I am powerless to stop her.”

“Henry, do not tease,” Lady Matlock chided him fondly before turning back to Mrs Bennet. “Fanny, dear, Henry and I were just discussing our plans to return to London in a few days’ time. Our journey was interrupted by the delightful discovery of finding our old friends here, but unfortunately business calls and we must resume our travels. However,” here she paused, her blue eyes sweeping the room and settling warmly on Jane and Elizabeth, “we would be most honoured if Jane and Elizabeth might accompany us. It would be a privilege to show them the finest shops in London and ensure that Jane’s wedding clothes are nothing short of perfection.”

“London!” Mrs Bennet repeated, her voice rising to a pitch that made Elizabeth wince. “To shop in London for Jane’s trousseau! Oh, how splendid! How magnificent! But surely... Surely it would be too much trouble for you, Lady Matlock, to take on such a responsibility?”

“None whatsoever,” Lady Matlock said firmly, her smile unwavering. “I should enjoy it immensely. And you may rest assured, everything will be done to the highest standard.”

Elizabeth watched her mother’s hands flutter first to her ribbons, then to smooth an imaginary crease in her gown, before finally clasping them together in a gesture of hesitance. Poor Mrs Bennet appeared caught between the ecstasy of such noble attentions and the despair of being left behind with three unmarried daughters still underfoot.

“Well, it is, of course, exceedingly generous, Lady Matlock,” Mrs Bennet stammered, her gaze flitting anxiously between her noble guest and her own reflection in the windowpane. “But what with Kitty, Lydia, and Mary still at home, and so many arrangements yet to be made…” She broke off, wringing her hands in a manner that suggested she was contemplating whether her maternal duties outweighed the allure of London finery, or perhaps whether it would be unseemly to swoon outright from gratitude.

“Fanny,” Mr Bennet interjected from his armchair. He barely looked up from his book as he spoke, but there was a distinct twinkle in his eye that Elizabeth recognised all too well. “You are dithering.”

“Mr Bennet!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, affronted. “I am doing no such thing!”

“Indeed, you are,” he countered mildly, turning a page with infuriating nonchalance. “And while I must applaud your talent for it, I cannot allow you to deprive our daughters of such a rare opportunity. Lady Matlock, you have my full blessing to carry off Jane and Lizzy to London. I can think of no one more qualified to guide them through this labyrinth of lace and satin.”

“Papa!” Elizabeth cried, though her scolding tone was undermined by the laugh that escaped her. “You make it sound as if we are to embark on some perilous expedition!”

“Is it not?” Mr Bennet replied, finally deigning to glance up from his book. His brows rose in mock alarm. “Two young ladies from Meryton let loose in the wilds of Bond Street? Heaven preserve us! Lady Matlock, I trust you will bring them back to us in one piece.”

“Good heavens, Mr Bennet,” Lady Matlock said, laughing softly. “If I had known you harboured such concerns, I might have reconsidered my offer. But I assure you, sir, I am well practised in the art of chaperonage.”

“That settles it, then,” Mr Bennet said decisively, closing his book with a thump and leaning forward in his chair. “Off you go, girls. Your mother and I shall endure the deprivation of your company as best we can.”

“Endure it?” Mrs Bennet echoed, torn between reproach and bewilderment. “Mr Bennet, I hardly think…”

“Precisely, my dear,” he interrupted, rising to his feet and bowing first to Lady Matlock, then to Lord Matlock, who watched the exchange with amused indulgence. “I rarely do. And yet, on this occasion, I find myself remarkably confident in my judgment. Lady Matlock, I leave my daughters in your capable hands.”

“Thank you, Mr Bennet,” Lady Matlock said warmly, her eyes sparkling with approval. “I shall take great care of them, I promise you that.”

“Then it is settled,” Elizabeth said, rising from her seat and catching Jane’s eye with a look of mingled delight and trepidation. “It seems we are bound for London after all.”

“London!” Mrs Bennet repeated faintly, sinking into her chair as if the very word had drained her strength. “Oh, Jane, Elizabeth, what fortune! But do mind your manners, dears, and remember that you represent the family. And Jane, my love, do try not to outshine the rest of us entirely when you are dressed in all that finery.”

“Yes, Mama,” Jane murmured dutifully, though her soft smile betrayed her amusement.

“Come now, Fanny,” Lord Matlock said, his deep voice rumbling with good humour. “If Jane does outshine the rest of you, I daresay it will only be proper. What is a bride, after all, if not the star of her own wedding?”

“Indeed,” Mrs Bennet agreed, her earlier objections seemingly forgotten as she launched into speculation about gowns and gloves and whether ostrich feathers were still fashionable in London. Elizabeth exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Jane, and for a moment, the chaos of Longbourn seemed a world away.

“Ah,” came a voice from the doorway, jarring enough to silence even Mrs Bennet mid-gush. “I see the household has been much occupied in my absence.”

Mr Collins. His self-important tone carried through the room like the toll of an unwelcome bell. Elizabeth turned, somewhat reluctantly, to behold their cousin standing there, his face bearing an expression of forced solemnity, his hands clasped as though he were delivering a sermon. The effect might have been more impressive if his boots hadn’t been caked in mud.

“Mr Collins,” Mrs Bennet began, rising to greet him with a flutter of her handkerchief, but he cut her off with a grandiose wave of his own.

“Mrs Bennet, I must inform you all that I shall take my leave on the morrow,” he declared, puffing out his chest as though this announcement were of profound consequence. “It is clear that my presence here is no longer required, as the duties I had hoped to fulfil,” here, his eyes darted briefly, sulkily, to Elizabeth, who resisted the urge to roll her own, “have been rendered unnecessary.”

“How very tragic,” muttered Mr Bennet dryly, not bothering to look up from his book.

“Indeed, sir, indeed.” Mr Collins failed entirely to perceive the sarcasm, instead bowing deeply in Mr Bennet’s direction. “However, I shall bear no ill will. My heart remains ever devoted to the well-being of your family, as I am sure my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would wish it.”

“How thoughtful,” Elizabeth murmured under her breath, earning a quick grin from Kitty, who was now far more interested in adjusting her bonnet ribbon than in Mr Collins’ theatrics.

“Yes, yes, thank you, Mr Collins,” Mrs Bennet said hastily, waving him off as though he were an errant fly. “Do feel free to rest yourself this evening. You must be quite fatigued.”

“Fatigued? No, no, Mrs Bennet, I assure you…” But before he could launch into one of his interminable monologues, Lydia burst into peals of laughter over something Kitty had whispered. Whatever remained of Mr Collins’ dignity seemed to crumple under the weight of being so thoroughly ignored, and with a muttered excuse about retiring early, he shuffled from the room.

“Well,” Elizabeth said lightly once the door had shut behind him, “that was remarkably unremarkable.”

“Not at all,” quipped Mary, who had been silent until now. “I found it entirely in keeping with his character.”

Two days later, Netherfield was aglow with candlelight and warmth, the smaller dinner party a far cry from the dazzling ball of a few days past. The Bennets arrived together, Elizabeth taking care to stay close to Jane as they were ushered into the drawing-room to find the Netherfield party already gathered with the other guests for the evening, Sir William Lucas and his family. Jane looked radiant in soft blue muslin, the colour enhancing her natural loveliness; Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for her sister.

“Miss Bennet,” Bingley greeted Jane the moment they entered, his smile wide and genuine. He took her hand with the kind of reverence that made Elizabeth’s chest tighten. It was not jealousy—it never could be—but rather a wistful pang she could not name.

Until I have her goodness, I shall never have her happiness , Elizabeth mused.

“How delightful to see you again,” Caroline Bingley purred, sweeping forward in a gown that sparkled a touch too brightly for such an intimate gathering. Her smile was directed at Jane, but it held all the warmth of a January frost. “And Miss Eliza,” she added, turning to Elizabeth with an edge of condescension. “I trust the excitement of recent days has not proved too taxing for you?”

“Not at all,” Elizabeth returned smoothly, her own smile sweetened with just enough sharpness to match Caroline’s. “In fact, I find myself quite invigorated by the happy occasion.”

“How charming,” Caroline said tightly, before retreating to Darcy’s side with a swish of skirts.

“She does not seem invigorated,” Elizabeth whispered to Charlotte Lucas, who stifled a laugh behind her hand.

“Miss Bennet,” Darcy’s deep voice interrupted, and Elizabeth glanced up to find him addressing Jane directly. “Allow me to offer my congratulations once again. Mr Bingley is fortunate indeed.”

“Thank you, Mr Darcy,” Jane replied softly, her blush deepening. “I am fortunate as well.”

“Indeed,” Darcy said, something almost tender flickering across his usually inscrutable face. For a moment, Elizabeth forgot herself, caught again by the curious sensation that perhaps, just perhaps, she had misjudged him.

“Shall we move to the dining room?” Bingley suggested cheerfully, breaking the moment as he offered Jane his arm.

“Yes, let us,” Lord Matlock boomed, clapping Darcy on the back as the party began to make their way to dinner. Elizabeth followed, noting with some amusement how Caroline’s attempts to engage Darcy in conversation were met with monosyllabic replies. For all his faults, she thought wryly, he did have a talent for evading Miss Bingley’s advances.

The clink of glasses and low hum of conversation filled the dining room, the candlelight casting a warm glow upon the assembled party. Elizabeth settled into her seat, her gaze wandering idly over the table as the first course was served. Mr Bingley, all smiles and cheer, was leaning towards Jane with an expression of unabashed adoration that made Elizabeth’s lips twitch in amusement. Darcy, seated opposite, looked on with a faint smile of approval, though his eyes flickered briefly to meet hers before returning to his plate.

It was then that Elizabeth’s attention was drawn to the far end of the table, where Viscount Highton had angled himself towards Charlotte Lucas. He spoke in low, measured tones, his deep brown eyes fixed intently upon her friend. Charlotte, for her part, listened with a composed expression, though there was a glimmer of something—amusement, perhaps?—in her eyes.

“Well,” Elizabeth murmured under her breath, leaning slightly towards Jane. “It seems Mr Bingley is not the only gentleman inclined to lavish attention this evening.”

Jane followed her sister’s gaze and smiled softly. “Charlotte does appear to have captured the Viscount’s interest.”

“Captured, indeed,” Elizabeth replied with a wry twist of her lips. “Though I daresay she might regard it more as a fleeting detour than a conquest.”

“Elizabeth!” Jane chided gently, though her own smile betrayed her amusement.

“Only observe them,” Elizabeth whispered, unable to resist. “He leans forward as though hanging on her every word, and yet Charlotte sits back with all the poise of a chess player plotting her next move. I should not be surprised if she has already foreseen how this conversation will end.”

“Perhaps she enjoys his company,” Jane suggested, ever the optimist.

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth allowed, though her curiosity was thoroughly piqued. Charlotte did not often attract such marked attention, and certainly not from a man of Viscount Highton’s stature.

Her musings were interrupted by a sharp, theatrical sigh from across the table. Caroline Bingley, resplendent in a gown of pale orange silk, sat with her chin propped delicately upon one hand, her expression one of studied disinterest. She cast a sidelong glance at the Viscount and Charlotte, her lips pursed tightly enough to blanch the colour from them.

“Do you suppose Miss Lucas is attempting to secure herself a title?” Caroline remarked, her voice cutting through the general murmur like the snap of a fan. Though her words were addressed to no one in particular, her pointed look at Elizabeth left little doubt as to her intended audience.

“Miss Lucas has always been a woman of great sense,” Elizabeth replied lightly, taking a sip of wine. “I am certain she would never pursue anything so frivolous as a title.” She paused just long enough to let the implication settle. “She would much prefer good company and mutual respect, qualities that, I am sure, the Viscount possesses in abundance.”

Caroline’s nostrils flared ever so slightly, but she said nothing further, choosing instead to stab at her roasted pheasant with undue vigour.

“Poor Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth murmured to herself as she turned her attention back to Charlotte and the Viscount. The latter had just said something that caused Charlotte to laugh, a soft, genuine sound that momentarily transformed her otherwise plain features. It was a rare sight, and one that made Elizabeth smile despite herself.

Later, as the guests lingered in the drawing room, Elizabeth found herself cornered by none other than Charlotte, who approached with a briskness that suggested she had news to share.

“Elizabeth,” Charlotte began, her eyes alight with an energy that was decidedly uncharacteristic. “You will never guess what Lady Matlock has proposed!”

“Pray, do not keep me in suspense,” Elizabeth replied, setting aside her tea.

“She has invited me to accompany her to London!”

“To London?” Elizabeth repeated, her brows lifting in surprise.

“Yes, indeed! It seems her current companion, Mrs Whiting, is soon to retire to live with her sister, and Lady Matlock is in need of assistance while she searches for a replacement. She has most generously offered to pay me a wage for my time there. Imagine, Lizzy, me, a paid companion in London! I can scarcely believe it.”

“Nor can I,” Elizabeth admitted, though her surprise quickly gave way to delight. “But how wonderful, Charlotte! You must accept, of course. Such an opportunity is not to be missed.”

“Lady Matlock has given me until the morrow to decide,” Charlotte said, though the gleam in her eye suggested her mind was already made up. “But I confess, I am rather tempted.”

“Tempted? My dear Charlotte, you are practically glowing with anticipation,” Elizabeth teased. “I suspect the Viscount’s attentions have already convinced you.”

“Do not be absurd,” Charlotte replied, though the faintest hint of colour rose to her cheeks. “His lordship is merely… amiable company.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth said with a knowing smile. “And I am certain London shall provide even more amiable company. I shall be delighted to have you there with us.”

The Matlock carriage creaked slightly as it rolled forward, its polished wood gleaming in the pale morning sunlight. Inside, Elizabeth sat opposite Lady Matlock, her hands folded neatly in her lap, though her fingers tugged unconsciously at a loose thread on her glove. Jane was beside her, serene as ever, gazing out of the window at the disappearing fields of Hertfordshire. Charlotte perched next to Lady Matlock, her bonnet tilted just so, giving her an air of quiet confidence that Elizabeth could not help but admire.

“Ah, London!” Lady Matlock said with a wistful smile, pulling a fur-lined shawl tighter around her shoulders. “There is nothing quite like it. The bustle, the fashion, the society… it invigorates one, does it not?”

“Indeed, my lady,” Charlotte replied, her tone polite, though Elizabeth caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in her friend’s eyes. “I imagine it must be quite… stimulating.”

“Stimulating, yes. Overwhelming, occasionally,” Lady Matlock continued, with the air of someone bestowing wisdom upon untried novices. “But you young ladies are made of sterner stuff, I am sure. And with myself as your guide, there is no doubt you shall thrive.”

As the carriage rattled on towards London, Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile. Whatever lay ahead, it promised to be an adventure, and she had always been rather fond of those.

Elizabeth descended from the carriage with as much poise as she could muster, though her knees wobbled slightly beneath her. As her boots touched the cobblestones of Russell Square, she tilted her head back to take in the towering grandeur of the Matlock townhouse. It loomed above them, its pristine white facade interrupted only by rows of gleaming windows and ornate wrought-iron balconies. The arched doorway stood like a portal to another world, framed by imposing columns and crowned with an elaborate stained-glass fanlight.

“Good heavens,” Charlotte murmured beside her, clutching her reticule with both hands. “It might be barely five and twenty miles, but this feels a very long way from Hertfordshire.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth breathed, her fingers tightening instinctively around Jane’s arm. She glanced at her sister, whose serene expression betrayed little of the awe Elizabeth herself felt. Jane, as ever, was the picture of composure, though Elizabeth suspected her heart must be fluttering as wildly as her own.

“Come along, my dears!” Lady Matlock’s voice rang out, brisk yet cheerful, as she alighted from the carriage with the grace of a woman entirely accustomed to such surroundings and marched off up the steps. “You look as though you’re about to face the guillotine rather than afternoon tea!”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, earning a faint smile from Charlotte. Together, the three young women followed their hostess up the wide stone steps, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished surface. Elizabeth tightened her grip on Jane and Charlotte’s hands, as if anchoring herself against the impending tide of opulence.

The grand double doors swung open before they had even reached the top step, revealing a butler who bowed deeply as Lady Matlock swept past him. “Welcome home, my lady,” he intoned in a voice so polished it could have been used to buff the silver.

“Thank you, Higgins,” Lady Matlock replied with a benevolent nod. Turning back to her guests, she added with a sly smile, “Do try not to gape too much, my dears, it is most unbecoming.”

“Too late,” Elizabeth whispered to Charlotte, who stifled a laugh behind her gloved hand.

As they crossed the threshold, Elizabeth’s senses were immediately assaulted by the sheer magnificence of the entrance hall. A chandelier of dazzling crystal droplets hung suspended from the high ceiling, casting rainbow prisms across the marble floor. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries and gilt-framed portraits of solemn-faced ancestors, whose gazes seemed to appraise the newcomers with silent judgement.

“Gracious,” Charlotte said in a low voice, her eyes darting towards one particularly stern-looking gentleman whose powdered wig appeared large enough to house a family of sparrows.

Jane, meanwhile, offered a polite smile to the footman who stepped forward to relieve them of their bonnets and gloves. She appeared unruffled, though Elizabeth noticed her gloved fingers trembling ever so slightly as she untied the ribbons of her hat.

“Well, here we are,” Lady Matlock declared, spreading her arms wide as if presenting a treasure trove. “Russell Square may not quite rival Pemberley,” her lips twitched knowingly, “but I daresay it has charms of its own.”

“Charms” was putting it mildly, Elizabeth thought, her gaze lingering on a sweeping staircase with intricately carved bannisters that spiralled upwards into what seemed like infinity. She could scarcely imagine navigating such a thing without tripping over her skirts or tumbling headlong into disgrace.

“Do close your mouth, Miss Elizabeth,” Lady Matlock teased gently, tapping Elizabeth lightly on the chin. “You’ll catch flies.”

“Forgive me, Lady Matlock,” Elizabeth replied, recovering her composure with an effort. “But I fear I am unused to such splendour in my daily life.”

“Then let us ensure you are thoroughly spoiled during your stay,” Lady Matlock said with a warm smile. “Now, come, I shall have Mrs Burnley show you to your chambers. You must wish to refresh yourselves after the journey.”

“Shall we?” Jane prompted softly, slipping her arm through Elizabeth’s once more. Her calm presence was a balm to Elizabeth’s frazzled nerves, and she nodded gratefully as they followed the housekeeper towards the staircase.

“Remember,” Charlotte whispered conspiratorially as they ascended, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “We are no longer in Hertfordshire. If we must make fools of ourselves, let us do so with style.”

“Agreed,” Elizabeth replied, her lips curving into a grin despite herself. Whatever challenges lay ahead, at least she was not facing them alone.