Page 17 of The Meddling Matlocks (Pride & Prejudice Variations)

Chapter Seventeen

The carriage jolted slightly as it came to a halt, and Darcy’s hand instinctively reached for the door handle before the footman could make his approach. The streets of London hummed with activity even at this hour, the lamps casting a golden glow on the polished cobblestones. From his vantage point, he could see the entrance to the Matlock townhouse ablaze with light, the soft strains of a string quartet drifting into the night air.

“A ball,” Darcy muttered under his breath as he adjusted the cuffs of his coat, ensuring they sat just so beneath the folds of his dark evening jacket. He stepped down from the carriage with his usual precision, his dancing shoes clicking sharply against the pavement. His features were composed, his expression inscrutable – though inwardly, he felt a pang of apprehension.

Balls were not his favourite pastime, but duty demanded his presence tonight. His aunt, after all, had made it abundantly clear that her efforts in preparing Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth for London society required nothing less than full familial support. After a full week of shopping for who knew what manner of feminine fripperies, she had decided to throw a ball, and Darcy suspected that if he had failed to attend, Lady Matlock would have sent servants to drag him there bodily.

“Darcy!” Lady Matlock’s voice carried over the chatter of arriving guests. She stood near the doorway, resplendent in a silver-grey gown adorned with crystal beads that caught the lamplight. “There you are! I was beginning to think you might have found an excuse to avoid us altogether.”

“Your faith in me is ever unwavering, Aunt,” Darcy replied dryly, offering her a slight bow.

“None of your sarcasm, nephew,” she retorted with a knowing smile. “You shall see tonight what my labours have achieved. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth look quite transformed – though, between you and me, their natural charms hardly required much assistance. Now, come along; let us locate them.”

“Transformed” was hardly the word Darcy would have chosen. It conjured images of some fairy-tale enchantment, and while he doubted even Lady Matlock’s expertise could work such magic, he offered his arm dutifully and allowed himself to be led through the opulent entrance hall.

Inside, the scene was a familiar one: gilded chandeliers suspended above a sea of elegantly dressed figures, the murmur of polite conversation mingling with the occasional trill of laughter. Darcy scanned the room with practised ease, noting the clusters of young ladies and gentlemen exchanging pleasantries, the older matrons seated strategically to observe the proceedings, and the footmen moving discreetly amongst them with trays of champagne. Everything was as it should be. And yet, there was a certain energy tonight that he could not ignore, a subtle anticipation that seemed to hum beneath the surface.

“Ah, there they are,” Lady Matlock said softly, squeezing his arm with uncharacteristic excitement. “Prepare yourself, Darcy.”

Before he could ask precisely what he was meant to prepare for, two figures emerged from the crowd, their presence drawing immediate attention. Jane Bennet, serene as a summer morning, glided across the floor in a pale blue silk gown that shimmered with every step. Beside her was Elizabeth, her dark curls pinned artfully yet allowing a few tendrils to frame her face, her emerald-green dress strikingly bold amidst the pastel hues favoured by most of the ladies present.

Darcy’s breath caught, though he managed to disguise it behind a carefully neutral facade. It was not the transformation Lady Matlock had spoken of that struck him – no, there was no need for transformation where Elizabeth Bennet was concerned. What unsettled him was the undeniable awareness that rippled through the room as others turned to look, their admiration unspoken but palpable.

“Well?” Lady Matlock prompted, her gaze fixed keenly on his face. “What do you think?”

“Your efforts have been… successful,” Darcy replied, his tone measured as always. But as Elizabeth’s eyes met his across the ballroom, sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something else he could not quite place, he felt a tug at the corner of his mouth – the faintest hint of a smile threatening to break free.

The ballroom buzzed with the hum of lively conversation and strings swelling in an elegant melody. Darcy stood at the edge of the dance floor, attempting to appear indifferent as he surveyed the crowd. His eyes, however, strayed repeatedly to one corner of the room where Mr Bingley basked in his newfound status as a man on the brink of matrimony.

“Isn’t she radiant?” Bingley proclaimed to anyone within earshot, gesturing rather enthusiastically toward Jane Bennet, who stood encircled by admirers. Her serene expression and unassuming grace only heightened her appeal, and even Darcy had to admit that his friend’s choice was impeccable.

“Indeed,” Darcy muttered under his breath, though no one heard him over Bingley’s effusions. He watched as another young gentleman approached Miss Bennet, bowing with too much flourish for Darcy’s liking. The lady inclined her head, polite and demure as always, while Bingley beamed like a proud host showing off a newly acquired treasure.

But it was not Jane Bennet’s admirers that truly unsettled him. No, his unease lay a few paces away, where Elizabeth Bennet stood. A cluster of gentlemen lingered near her, each vying for the privilege of her attention. One young lord—Darcy instantly disliked him for the excessive gloss of his hair—offered an overly enthusiastic compliment that made Elizabeth laugh, her eyes crinkling with mirth. Darcy scowled into his glass of claret.

“Well, cousin,” came a teasing voice at his side. James Fitzwilliam appeared, a smile on his face as he gave Darcy a look of gently mocking amusement. “You look as though someone has stepped on your tailcoat. What has put you in such a mood?”

“Nothing of note,” Darcy replied curtly, though his gaze betrayed him, darting once more to Elizabeth.

“Ah,” James murmured knowingly, following Darcy’s line of sight. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet appears to be enjoying herself. As she should, she and her sister are quite the toast of the evening.”

“She is… tolerable,” Darcy said stiffly, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

“Quite,” James said, clearly unconvinced. But before Darcy could retort, James excused himself with a quick bow. “If you’ll forgive me, I believe I see a charming partner awaiting me.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed as he followed James’s path across the ballroom. To his surprise, his cousin stopped before Charlotte Lucas, who had also shed her usual modest attire for a gown of soft lilac that brought a glow to her complexion. They exchanged pleasantries before stepping onto the dance floor, their movements easy and unselfconscious as they began a country set. Darcy’s frown deepened. When had James developed an interest in Miss Lucas? And why, inexplicably, did this rankle him?

“Mr Darcy,” a familiar voice interrupted his brooding.

He turned sharply to find Elizabeth Bennet standing before him, her expression somewhere between amusement and challenge. She held out her hand expectantly. “I believe you owe me a dance, sir.”

“Indeed,” he managed, taking her hand and leading her to the floor. If his touch lingered a moment longer than propriety allowed, neither of them acknowledged it.

The music struck up, and they began to move, their steps perfectly in time yet charged with something unsaid. Elizabeth’s sparking laughter earlier seemed to have carried over; her cheeks glowed, her eyes danced, and every word she spoke was tinged with humour.

“Do you often stand about looking so stern at balls, Mr Darcy?” she asked lightly. “Or is tonight a special occasion?”

“Perhaps I find the company overwhelming,” he replied, his tone drier than intended.

“Overwhelming indeed,” she teased, casting a fleeting glance toward the gentlemen who still watched her from the sides of the room. “It seems London society is rather… attentive this evening.”

“Attentive is one word for it,” Darcy said, his jaw tightening. He looked down at her, his dark eyes betraying his vexation despite his efforts to remain composed. “At this rate, all of London will be at your feet by the end of the season.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, her lips twitching in amusement. “And would that displease you, Mr Darcy?”

“Immensely.” The word slipped out before he could stop it. Her brows lifted in surprise, but before she could respond, he added hastily, “One cannot envy such relentless attention. It must be tiresome.”

“Not at all,” Elizabeth said, her tone deliberately breezy. “I find it rather diverting. Though I do wonder,” her eyes sparkled with mischief, “if you might offer me some advice on how best to endure it.”

“Endure it?” he echoed, his voice low and incredulous. For a moment, he forgot the crowded ballroom, the music, and every other soul in the room save the one before him. “Miss Bennet, I suspect you need no counsel from me. You seem more than capable of managing admirers on your own.”

“How kind of you to say,” she replied with mock gravity, though her smile softened the jest. Then, as the dance concluded and she curtsied gracefully, she added in a quieter tone, “Though I must confess, Mr Darcy, there are some partners I find less tiresome than others.”

Before he could unravel the meaning behind her words, she was gone, leaving him standing amidst the swirl of dancers with a peculiar mixture of frustration and elation stirring in his chest.

“You appear lost in some profound thought, Mr Darcy. May I hope it is not an unpleasant one?” He turned to see her standing before him again… how did she sneak up on him unawares like that, when he could barely tear his gaze from her? For the last hour he had watched her charm every gentleman who came into her orbit, even those he knew to be intolerable dullards, treating each boring anecdote as though it were the most fascinating tale she had heard all evening. Her generosity in such moments unnerved him almost as much as it charmed him.

“Not unpleasant, no,” he replied, his words cautious, though his heartbeat quickened. “Merely… reflective.”

“How intriguing,” she said with a teasing glimmer in her eye, folding her hands neatly before her. “I should have thought reflection more suited to solitude than a crowded ballroom. But no matter, I wondered if I might ask after your sister. Is Miss Darcy still in London? I do hope she is well.”

“She is indeed in town,” Darcy said, feeling the abrupt shift in his mood as if a cloud had passed, revealing sunlight. “Georgiana thrives, though she is little accustomed to the bustle of London society. I am certain she would be delighted to make your acquaintance. That is…” He hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “If you would permit me to bring her to Matlock House tomorrow for an introduction?”

“Permit you?” Elizabeth laughed lightly, the sound bright against the hum of conversation around them. “It would be my honour, Mr Darcy. Pray assure Miss Darcy that she is most welcome, and I shall endeavour to make her feel entirely at ease.”

“Thank you. She… she will appreciate that.” Darcy’s voice softened despite himself, and his gaze lingered on her earnest expression. How could anyone not feel at ease in her presence?

The moment stretched, but before he could think of another word to say—or, indeed, decide whether he dared prolong their exchange further—Elizabeth curtsied gracefully. “Until tomorrow, then,” she said, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles as she turned and rejoined Jane across the room.

The following afternoon, Darcy stepped from his carriage outside Matlock House, Georgiana trailing behind him. She clutched his arm tightly, her usual shyness heightened by the prospect of meeting new acquaintances.

“Georgiana,” he murmured as they ascended the steps, “you have nothing to fear. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are warm and kind. You will find their company agreeable, I am certain of it.”

“Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth!” Georgiana repeated with a small, nervous smile. “You speak of them often enough, Brother. I believe I already hold them in high regard, though we have yet to meet.”

“Do I speak of them often?” Darcy asked quickly, adjusting his cravat unnecessarily.

“Perhaps not in so many words,” she replied, her tone demure but her eyes twinkling. “But it is easy to discern whom you esteem, Fitzwilliam.”

Before he could respond, the door opened, and they were ushered inside. Jane and Elizabeth met them in the drawing-room, their expressions welcoming, their manners unmarred by any pretension. Mr Bingley and his cousin James were present too, Bingley as always gazing fatuously at Jane, James sitting close beside Charlotte Lucas. As introductions were made, Darcy observed Elizabeth closely, noting how effortlessly she drew Georgiana out of her shell with gentle questions and sincere compliments.

“Would you care to see the music room, Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth asked eventually, her enthusiasm tempered only slightly by decorum. “There is a pianoforte here at Matlock House that awaits more skilled hands than mine.”

“That sounds delightful,” Georgiana said softly, her cheeks colouring but her smile genuine. The two young women slipped out of the room, Elizabeth casting an arch glance in Darcy’s direction before closing the door behind her.

Time passed—how much, Darcy could scarcely say—before the faint strains of music reached his ears. It began hesitantly, like a bird testing its wings, but soon swelled into a lively duet, accompanied by peals of laughter. Unable to resist, Darcy followed the sound to the music room.

He paused at the doorway, leaning against the frame as he took in the scene. Georgiana sat at the pianoforte, her hands moving deftly over the keys, while Elizabeth stood beside her, turning the pages of sheet music and interjecting now and then with playful suggestions or exaggerated flourishes. Both women were laughing, their mirth blending harmoniously with the notes that filled the room.

For a moment, Darcy simply watched, his heart swelling with an emotion he dared not name. The sight was astonishing, in its way. Georgiana looked utterly at ease, her usual reserve forgotten, and Elizabeth—well, Elizabeth seemed to shine brighter than ever, as if her very presence animated the world around her.

“Brother!” Georgiana called suddenly, catching sight of him in the doorway. “Come, you must hear this properly. Miss Bennet has been encouraging me to improvise!”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth added, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Though I suspect Mr Darcy is more inclined to critique than to applaud.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, stepping into the room, “I find myself quite content to admire.”

The clink of crystal and the low hum of conversation filled the elegant dining room as Mr Bingley’s dinner party unfolded in high spirits. Darcy, however, was finding his own spirits decidedly less buoyant. From his seat at the far end of the table, he had endured an evening of tolerable, if uninspiring, conversation with Lady Fairchild, whose sole interest appeared to be in detailing her collection of porcelain dogs. Across the table, Elizabeth Bennet sat ensconced between two young gentlemen who seemed all too eager to monopolise her attention.

“Mr Darcy, are you quite well? You appear most out of sorts,” Lady Fairchild observed, squinting at him suspiciously.

“Thank you, madam, I am entirely well,” Darcy replied stiffly, though the slight tightening of his jaw might have betrayed otherwise. In truth, his patience was wearing thin. Caroline Bingley’s handiwork was evident; Elizabeth had been placed so far from him that even catching a glimpse of her required considerable craning of the neck, which he had resolved not to indulge in (more than once or twice).

He could not help but notice how animated Elizabeth appeared, her laughter ringing out over the murmur of voices. She leaned slightly towards one of her companions, a particularly vapid fellow whose wit, Darcy suspected, was no sharper than a butter knife, and offered some witticism that prompted a round of chuckles. Her curls bounced as she turned her head, eyes alight with mischief.

Darcy forced himself to look away, focusing instead on his untouched dessert plate. He was being ridiculous. Yes, utterly ridiculous. But he could not deny that the evening felt interminably long without even the prospect of a brief exchange with her.

When the ladies finally rose after dinner, leaving the gentlemen to their port, Darcy found himself brooding over the evening’s seating arrangement with more vexation than was strictly rational. It was only when the gentlemen rejoined the company in the parlour that he spotted Elizabeth slipping quietly out onto the terrace beyond the French doors. Glancing around to ensure no prying eyes followed, he took the opportunity to escape the crowded room and stepped outside after her.

“Miss Bennet,” he greeted, his voice low but steady, as the cool night air greeted them both. She turned, clearly unsurprised by his presence, her expression wreathed in a smile that sent an involuntary warmth through him.

“Mr Darcy,” she replied lightly, “have you come to admire the moonlight, or simply to escape Miss Bingley’s tireless observations on interior décor?”

“Perhaps both,” he admitted, allowing the faintest curve of a smile to touch his lips. “Though I confess I hoped for a moment of conversation with you.”

“Then we are equally fortunate,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “For I wished to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting your sister earlier today. Georgiana is an absolute delight.”

“She was most taken with you, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, his voice softening. “She spoke of little else this afternoon.” His eyes met hers, and something unspoken seemed to pass between them before he continued, “I hope you will permit me to convey her regards and extend an invitation to visit us at Darcy House whenever it suits you. I am certain Georgiana would be delighted to see you again.”

“How very kind,” Elizabeth replied, her smile widening. “I should be most happy to accept. Your sister is charming company, and I daresay I could learn much from her accomplished playing on the pianoforte.”

“Georgiana would be honoured by such praise,” Darcy said. “And I suspect she would insist the pleasure of your company far outweighs the value of any instruction she might offer.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him with a spark of amusement in her eyes. “You are determined to make me blush, sir,” she said with mock severity. “But I shall forgive you, if only because you speak so fondly of your sister.”

“Family is... important to me,” Darcy replied, his words measured but sincere. “As, I believe, it is to you.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, her gaze flickering downwards for the briefest moment. When she looked up again, her expression was softer, more thoughtful. “I shall look forward to calling upon Miss Darcy soon. Please assure her of my regard.”

“I shall,” Darcy said, bowing his head slightly, though his heart swelled with something dangerously close to elation. “And may I thank you, Miss Bennet, for bringing such joy to my sister today.”

“Joy is a gift best shared, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, her voice light yet carrying a depth that lingered in the space between them.

Before either could say more, the sound of footsteps approached from within. With a shared glance, they returned to the warmth of the parlour, though Darcy carried with him the memory of her words, and her smile, as a treasure to hold against the evening’s remaining tedium.

Darcy stood in the drawing-room of Darcy House, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, though his posture betrayed a certain tautness. He had been pacing moments earlier, a habit he derided in others but indulged in these private moments, until the sound of carriage wheels on the cobblestones below gave him reason to halt. His gaze shifted to the window, where he watched Miss Elizabeth Bennet alight with her usual grace, a gust of wind catching her bonnet ribbons and sending them fluttering in defiance of their purpose. Charlotte Lucas followed close behind, her steady presence a marked contrast to Elizabeth’s liveliness.

“She is nothing if not punctual,” Darcy muttered under his breath, though the faint tug at the corner of his lips belied any genuine disapproval.

“Sir?” his valet enquired from the doorway, startled by the uncharacteristic utterance.

“Nothing,” Darcy replied briskly, turning away from the scene outside as he adjusted the cuffs of his coat. It would not do to appear too eager. And yet, when the butler admitted Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Lucas moments later, Darcy found himself striding down the stairs to greet them with an alacrity that betrayed him entirely.

“Miss Bennet. Miss Lucas,” he greeted, bowing deeply, his voice steadier than he felt. “I trust you did not find the journey too disagreeable?”

“Not at all, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes alight with amusement. “Though I confess we feared for our hats at one point, when a particularly spirited breeze seemed intent on robbing us of our dignity.”

“Your dignity remains entirely intact, madam,” he said before he could stop himself, earning a knowing glance from her. He cleared his throat. “Georgiana is most anxious to see you again. She has scarcely spoken of anything else since yesterday.”

“Then we must not keep her waiting,” Elizabeth said with a teasing smile. “Lead on, sir.”

“Of course.” He stepped aside to allow the ladies passage, and as they moved through the house, Darcy found himself acutely aware of Elizabeth’s presence beside him; the faint rustle of her skirts, the soft cadence of her laughter as she exchanged pleasantries with Charlotte.

When they entered the music room, Georgiana rose from the pianoforte with a shy but radiant smile. “Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas, welcome,” she said, curtsying with a sweetness that melted some of Darcy’s habitual reserve.

“Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, extending her hands in greeting. “You are looking quite well this morning. I hope you have not tired yourself practicing on our account.”

“Not at all,” Georgiana assured her, her cheeks pinkening at the compliment. “But I have been practising a duet I hoped we might attempt together, Miss Bennet, if you are inclined.”

“Inclined? Why, I should be delighted!” Elizabeth declared, her enthusiasm proving contagious as Georgiana lit up further.

“Miss Lucas, would you care to join us?” Georgiana asked, glancing toward Charlotte with a polite invitation.

“Thank you, Miss Darcy,” Charlotte replied with a small smile. “But I fear my talents would not add much to your performance. I shall content myself with being an audience.”

“An excellent role, indeed,” came a deep voice from the doorway, and Darcy turned to see his cousin James Fitzwilliam entering with the easy composure that seemed to mark all his movements. “Forgive my intrusion, but I was assured I would find you here, Darcy.”

“James,” Darcy said, though his brow furrowed slightly. “I was not expecting you this morning.”

“Clearly,” James replied with a wry smile, inclining his head to the assembled company. “Ladies, good morning.” His gaze lingered briefly on Charlotte, who returned his nod with a composed curtsy, though Darcy thought he detected a flicker of something warmer in her expression.

“Lord Highton,” she said politely.

“Miss Lucas,” James replied, stepping further into the room. “It seems fortune favours me today.”

“Fortune, or perhaps Lady Matlock,” Darcy muttered under his breath, though not so softly that James failed to hear. His cousin shot him a look that was equal parts amused and challenging.

“Well, Darcy,” James began, clapping a hand on his shoulder with familial familiarity, “I will leave you to your duties as host. I believe Miss Lucas and I may find ourselves better entertained in conversation elsewhere.”

“Indeed?” Darcy remarked, his tone carefully neutral, though his mind whirred with questions. As James offered his arm to Charlotte, who accepted with a calm smile, Darcy’s eyes narrowed slightly.

The two retreated to a corner of the room, their voices low but animated, leaving Darcy to observe them with growing suspicion. Lady Matlock’s sudden interest in inviting Charlotte to London now struck him as less a whim and more a calculated manoeuvre. Was it possible his aunt had recognised some connection between the two long before he had? A connection which, judging by James’s unusually solicitous manner and Charlotte’s uncharacteristically softened demeanour, appeared far from imaginary?

“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth’s voice broke through his musings, drawing his attention back to her. She had taken her place beside Georgiana at the pianoforte, her fingers poised over the keys. “Are you so distracted by your cousin’s charm that you cannot lend us your ear?”

“Hardly,” he replied, forcing his features into a semblance of ease. “I am merely... considering how best to endure the unsolicited romance unfolding before me.”

“Unsolicited?” Elizabeth echoed, arching a brow. “Or simply unnoticed until now?”

“Touché, Miss Bennet,” he conceded, though inwardly he resolved to keep a closer eye on James, and Lady Matlock’s schemes, in the days to come. For now, however, he allowed himself the indulgence of watching Elizabeth and Georgiana begin their duet, the harmonious notes filling the room with a brightness that seemed to banish all other thoughts—or at least, most of them.