Page 4 of The Meddling Matlocks (Pride & Prejudice Variations)

Chapter Four

The morning sun spilled golden light through the mullioned windows of Netherfield’s drawing-room, though Mr Darcy scarcely noticed it. Seated stiffly in a high-backed chair, he gazed unseeingly at the chessboard before him. The Earl of Matlock sat opposite, fingers steepled in thought over a particularly vexing move. Darcy, however, found his thoughts elsewhere, or rather, with someone else.

Elizabeth Bennet. Her name had been as persistent in his mind as the ticking of the mantel clock since their last encounter. There was something maddening about her, that combination of sharp wit and a disarming smile. He frowned slightly. It unsettled him how easily she could pierce through his carefully-constructed composure.

“Darcy,” his uncle’s voice broke through his reverie, “it is your move.”

“Ah,” Darcy straightened, reaching for a knight without looking entirely at the board. Before he could place it, the sound of voices floated through the hall – a lively mixture of feminine tones, underscored by one distinctly shrill and unmistakable.

“Mrs Bennet,” Darcy said under his breath, as though naming a spectre. The lady had arrived a half-hour previously and hurried directly upstairs to check on Jane; now clearly she was come down to speak to Bingley.

“Ah,” his uncle said with a faint chuckle. “I believe we are about to be inundated.”

Darcy rose as the door opened, revealing Mrs Bennet herself. She bustled into the room, her bonnet festooned with ribbons that fluttered like flags in a strong wind. Behind her trailed four daughters in varying degrees of enthusiasm: Mary, solemn as ever; Kitty, half-hidden behind Lydia, who surveyed the room with the air of a general inspecting her troops. Elizabeth came at the back, looking as though she would rather be anywhere else, but was determined to brave whatever chaos her mother might induce in the proceedings.

“Mrs Bennet,” Mr Bingley jumped up from his seat and bowed slightly. “Miss Bennet is, I trust, recovering well?” His expression was anxious.

“Recovering, yes, but not yet fully recovered,” Mrs Bennet countered, her ribbons quivering. “Oh, I could hardly sleep for worry! My nerves…”

“How kind of you to bring your daughters to see their sister,” Darcy interjected smoothly, hoping to divert the conversation, though he doubted he would succeed. His gaze flicked to Elizabeth’s younger siblings. Kitty managed an uncertain curtsey, while Lydia offered a quick bob before addressing Bingley directly.

“Is there a ballroom here?” Lydia inquired. “Shall you give a ball, Mr Bingley, oh do say you will! I long for a ball!”

Bingley looked a little startled, and said something silly about how it would be delightful to give a ball once Miss Bennet was recovered, no doubt thinking longingly of dancing every dance with the lady in question.

What followed next was something Darcy could not have predicted if he had tried, and he prided himself on being prepared for nearly every eventuality.

“Fanny?” Lord Matlock’s voice boomed across the room. “Good heavens, it is you!“ he declared, striding forward with all the eagerness of a man who had just unearthed a long-lost treasure. “I wondered when I heard the name Bennet, but could not quite recall where Thomas’ estate might be located.”

Mrs Bennet, who had been mid-sentence in a rather effusive description of Jane’s normally-robust constitution, froze entirely. Her mouth remained open, though no sound escaped it, which Darcy privately thought might be a first.

“Henry Fitzwilliam,” she stammered after a beat.

“Fanny Bennet!” the Earl exclaimed again as he stopped before her, his eyes alight with unmistakable recognition. He extended both hands towards her, a jovial laugh escaping him. “Gracious me, how many years has it been? Twenty? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-four, I think,” came Mrs Bennet’s faint reply, though she still seemed unable to decide whether to curtsy or collapse outright. She hesitated only a moment longer before placing her gloved hands into his, her expression a peculiar mix of shock and bewilderment. “You cannot mean to say you remember me, my lord?”

“Remember you?” Lord Matlock chuckled heartily. “How could I forget? Thomas Bennet and I were as thick as thieves at Cambridge! He was one of the few fellows who didn’t find my youthful marriage wholly ridiculous.” He winked at her conspiratorially. “And, my dear, I would recognise you anywhere. You are still as lovely as ever.”

Mrs Bennet blushed.

“You knew my father?” Elizabeth’s voice was soft, but Darcy caught the flicker of curiosity in her dark eyes as she glanced sharply at her mother.

“Indeed, yes,” the Earl continued, releasing Mrs Bennet’s hands only to gesture expansively. “Your father was a fine friend in those days. Even attended Margaret’s and my wedding, when I was a mere lad of eighteen. And Maggie and I came to his and Fanny’s, of course, though that was some years later. Ah, what a merry affair that was! Maggie spoke of it for weeks after.”

“Did she?” Mrs Bennet blinked rapidly, as though the memory had been plucked from a dusty corner of her mind.

“She did indeed,” came a melodic voice as the countess joined them, her smile warm and inviting. “Though I confess it has been an age since we’ve spoken of it. How delightful to find ourselves acquainted once more, Fanny!”

“Delightful,” echoed Mrs Bennet weakly, though the edges of her lips began to twitch upward as if uncertain whether to embrace this unexpected turn of events or flee from it altogether.

“Thomas and I lost touch not long after Margaret and I inherited,” Lord Matlock explained, his tone tinged with fond nostalgia. “Such is often the way of things, I’m afraid. Estates to manage, families to raise, and so forth. But tell me, Fanny,” he leaned slightly closer, his grey-blue eyes twinkling mischievously, “how is that devilish husband of yours? Still as quick-witted as ever, I hope?”

“Mr Bennet is...” Mrs Bennet faltered, her gaze flitting nervously between the Earl and her daughters. “He is quite well, my lord. Quite well indeed. Though I fear he spends far too much time among his books these days.”

“Ah, some things never change,” Lord Matlock said with a booming laugh, clapping his hands together. “The man always did have his nose buried in one volume or another. I suppose that’s why we got along so famously!”

“Yes,” Mrs Bennet replied faintly.

Darcy, meanwhile, stood rooted to the spot, feeling as though a rug had been pulled out from under him. His uncle – his ever-dignified, ever-composed uncle – exchanging reminiscences with Mrs Bennet, of all people? It was unfathomable. Had someone told him this morning that such a scene would unfold before him, he might have laughed outright. Now, however, he could only watch in mute astonishment as the impossible played out before his very eyes.

“Fanny,” Lady Matlock said warmly, taking Mrs Bennet’s hand in both of her own. “What a pleasure it is to see you again after all these years. You have not changed a whit.”

“Your ladyship is far too kind,” Mrs Bennet managed at last, dipping into a hurried curtsey. Her voice trembled just enough to betray her nerves, but there was a dignity in her tone that rarely made itself known. “I—I hardly know what to say. It has been so long, my lady.”

“Too long,” agreed the countess, her blue eyes crinkling with genuine affection. “But I am delighted to make your acquaintance once more. And these must be your younger daughters! I have already met Jane and Elizabeth of course, such delightful girls.” She turned her gaze towards the younger Bennet sisters, who had clustered together like deer uncertain whether to flee.

“Y-yes,” Mrs Bennet stammered, recovering some of her usual animation despite herself. She gestured hastily towards the girls. “This is Mary, my middle girl, and Kitty, and Lydia, my youngest.”

Mary looked as though she might faint as she made a very low curtsy. Kitty and Lydia, for their part, dropped into subdued curtsies with wide, round eyes. Even Lydia, usually possessed of infinite energy and a penchant for inappropriate giggles, remained uncharacteristically silent. Kitty looked as though she might never speak again.

“Such a lovely family,” remarked the countess, her expression warm. “You must be very proud of them, Fanny.”

“Indeed, I am, my lady,” Mrs Bennet replied, her cheeks pink with a mixture of pride and the sheer improbability of hearing such words from a countess. “They are all such dear, good girls.”

Darcy, standing somewhat apart from the scene, felt his astonishment deepen with every passing moment. He had known his aunt to be gracious, but to see her extend such warmth to Mrs Bennet, a woman he had hitherto regarded as the height of absurdity, was almost beyond comprehension. Yet here they were, exchanging pleasantries as though they were old acquaintances reunited after decades apart. Which, he reminded himself with no small disbelief, they apparently were.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly, stepping closer to her side. “Did you know of this connection between your parents and my uncle and aunt?”

Elizabeth turned to him, her brows lifting in surprise. “No,” she admitted, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “I had not the slightest notion of it. It is a most unexpected connection.”

“Indeed,” Darcy murmured, his gaze following Elizabeth’s back to the countess and Mrs Bennet. For a moment, he forgot himself entirely, his thoughts consumed by the enigma of the Bennet family and the unexpected ties that bound them to his own. But then Elizabeth turned back to him, her dark eyes alight with curiosity, and he remembered, with startling clarity, exactly why her family mattered to him so much at all.

The Bennet ladies had scarcely made their departure from Netherfield when Margaret Fitzwilliam found herself unable to resist the pull of curiosity. Perched gracefully upon a delicately embroidered settee in the drawing room, she turned to her husband with a gleam in her piercing blue eyes that Henry recognised all too well.

“Henry,” she began, her tone carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of determination, “I find myself quite taken with the notion of renewing our acquaintance with the Bennets.”

The Earl of Matlock, who had been inspecting a rather garish vase on the mantelpiece with evident disdain, arched a brow and allowed himself a small, knowing smile. “Ah, Maggie,” he drawled, setting the offending piece back in its place, “you are not content merely to reunite long-lost friends in theory; you must see it done in practice. Heavens forbid you should let a single thread of connection go unstitched.”

“Precisely,” Margaret replied, unperturbed by his teasing. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, a picture of elegant resolve. “It would be most remiss of us not to pay a visit to Longbourn. After all, it has been decades since we last saw Mr Bennet, and I am quite certain he will be pleased to see us again.”

“Decades,” Henry mused, stroking his neatly trimmed beard. “Cambridge days—a lifetime ago. Yet I remember him well. A sharp mind, quick wit, and entirely too fond of quoting obscure poets at ungodly hours.”

“An indulgence you shared, if I recall correctly,” Margaret countered with a hint of playfulness. “And let us not forget that you conspired together to smuggle a goat into your tutor’s chambers. You have been sharing that anecdote at dinner ever since!”

“Ah, yes,” Henry said, his laugh rich and unrepentant. “Thomas Bennet was a good friend. Very well, my dear, let us descend upon Longbourn and test the limits of his hospitality.”

Margaret inclined her head, satisfied that her husband had come around to her way of thinking, as he so often did, though she took care never to gloat. “Excellent. We shall leave shortly after luncheon. It would not do to arrive unannounced without proper sustenance first.”

When they arrived at Longbourn later that day, the Bennet household was thrown into a flurry of activity. Servants scurried about like startled pheasants, and Mrs Bennet’s voice, though less shrill than usual, could be heard issuing orders with an air of breathless importance.

“Do sit down, please, Lady Matlock, my lord,” Mrs Bennet insisted, gesturing towards the drawing room with a fluttering hand. She appeared torn between curtsying and wringing her hands, ultimately settling for something awkwardly resembling both. “I shall fetch Mr Bennet directly. Oh, what a surprise this is! To think, such distinguished company under our humble roof!”

“Pray, do not trouble yourself on our account,” Margaret said kindly. “We are here only to renew an old friendship, not to cause a stir.”

“Though I daresay causing a stir is unavoidable,” Henry murmured under his breath, earning a reproving glance from his wife. Fanny Bennet had never been the cleverest or steadiest of women, and the years had not improved her in the slightest, something that was obvious to them both.

Moments later, Mr Bennet entered the room, his expression one of mild curiosity tempered by habitual detachment. But the instant his gaze landed on Henry, the mask of indifference fell away.

“Henry Fitzwilliam!” he exclaimed, striding forward with a vigour that belied his years. “By Jove, it is you, you old devil!”

“Indeed, it is,” Henry replied, rising to clasp his friend’s hand with hearty warmth. “And I see time has not dulled your tongue, Thomas. Nor, I suspect, your propensity for mischief.”

“Nor yours,” Mr Bennet retorted with a broad grin. “Come, we must catch up properly. The library awaits, and I have acquired some volumes since we last met that I am certain will impress even your lofty standards.”

“Books, you say?” Henry said eagerly. “Very well, lead the way. Margaret, my dear, I trust you will forgive me for abandoning you to the tender mercies of Mrs Bennet?”

“Go on, both of you,” Margaret said with a wave of her hand, her smile indulgent. “I shall manage quite well, I assure you.” And as the two men disappeared down the hall, their voices already rising in laughter and animated discourse, Margaret settled into her seat, prepared to navigate whatever the afternoon—and Mrs Bennet—might bring. Glancing around her, she thought that the sitting room at Longbourn was cosy, to be sure, but it lacked the grandeur to which she was accustomed. The wallpaper, though doubtless once fashionable, bore the telltale signs of age, its floral pattern faded in patches where the sunlight had been most merciless.

“Do take another biscuit, Lady Matlock,” Mrs Bennet urged, her voice shrill with nervous energy. “They are my special recipe, well, not mine precisely, but our cook’s, who is ever so clever with such things.”

“How kind of you, Mrs Bennet.” Lady Matlock took one dainty bite and smiled politely, though the biscuit crumbled rather too dryly for her liking. Her attention drifted instead to the younger Bennet girls seated near the window, their postures unusually stiff as they fidgeted under her gaze.

Kitty was attempting, with limited success, to embroider a handkerchief, while Lydia remained idle, chattering in a distracting manner unbecoming of any young lady. Their dresses, though cut in the latest styles, revealed themselves upon closer inspection to be fashioned from modest fabrics, the stitching perhaps a touch uneven. It was clear these garments were the product of diligent home sewing rather than the work of a skilled modiste. If Lady Matlock admired anything, however, it was resourcefulness, and she found herself softening toward the girls despite their evident lack of polish.

“Your daughters have such youthful charm,” she ventured with a gracious smile, though her eyes lingered on the too-vivid ribbons adorning Lydia’s bonnet. “A lively household indeed.”

“Yes, lively,” Mrs Bennet echoed, though her voice wavered faintly, and for a fleeting moment, her perpetual cheer cracked like thin ice over a pond. She glanced towards the Earl’s wife, her expression suddenly more subdued. “It is not always easy, I must confess, having five daughters and no son.”

“Ah,” said Lady Matlock gently, sensing the shift in tone. She placed her teacup upon its saucer with deliberate care, giving Mrs Bennet her full attention. “Though Henry and I were blessed with two sons, I can well imagine how challenging that must be.”

Mrs Bennet heaved a sigh that seemed to come from some deep, hidden place within her. “Oh, Lady Matlock, it is more than challenging. It is an endless worry! Mr Bennet’s estate is entailed away, you see, to a distant cousin, and when I think of what will become of us if…” She trailed off, pressing a hand to her chest as though the very thought might overcome her.

“How difficult this must be for you,” Lady Matlock offered, her voice soft with empathy. Silly or not, there was something profoundly human in Fanny Bennet’s distress, the rawness of it cutting through her usual theatrics.

“Indeed!” cried Mrs Bennet, emboldened by the countess’s understanding. “It is why I am so determined to see my girls married and well-settled. Oh, but you cannot know the strain of it, my lady! To have five daughters, all needing husbands, and none of them with a fortune worth speaking of…”

“Come now,” Lady Matlock replied with a reassuring smile. “You underestimate your daughters’ charms, Mrs Bennet. Beauty and wit will often achieve what gold cannot.”

“Do you truly think so?” Mrs Bennet asked, her eyes widening with hope, though her grip on her teacup remained precariously tight. “Jane is a dear girl, so beautiful and gentle, and Lizzy…” Here she faltered, her brow creasing. “Well, Lizzy is determined to marry only for love, which is all very romantic but hardly practical. And then there is Mary, so studious, and Kitty and Lydia… Oh, they are still so young, but they are quite spirited!”

“Such spirits may serve them well,” Lady Matlock said diplomatically, though privately she reserved her own conclusions on the matter. Lydia’s current occupation of giggling into her sister’s ear did not bode well for her prospects.

“A son would have secured us all, you see, and spared me this constant anxiety. But alas, it was not to be.” Fanny dabbed at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief.

“Life seldom grants us all we desire,” Lady Matlock mused aloud. “But it often provides opportunities where least expected. Perhaps you shall find that to be true as well, Mrs Bennet.”

“Opportunities?” Mrs Bennet repeated, her curiosity piqued even as she blinked back her tears. “What sort of opportunities, my lady?”

“Why, the sort that arise when one keeps an open mind,” Lady Matlock replied enigmatically. A faint smile played upon her lips, though her piercing blue eyes were fixed not on Mrs Bennet but on the two youngest daughters, who had taken it upon themselves to conduct an impromptu pantomime of some sort in the corner.

Kitty appeared to be mimicking a swoon, though unconvincingly, while Lydia, clearly the more theatrical of the pair, clutched at an imaginary beau and declared herself “the belle of all Hertfordshire!” in tones that could scarcely be called subtle.

“Such lively girls,” Lady Matlock remarked, her words laced with a gentleness that masked her growing determination. She turned to Mrs Bennet, whose cheeks flushed faintly as she followed the countess’s gaze towards her younger progeny. “I do wonder, however, if such exuberance might not benefit from a little... refinement?”

“Refinement?” Mrs Bennet echoed, her brow furrowing slightly, though there was no mistaking the slight defensiveness in her tone. “Why, they are but young, my lady. Full of energy and high spirits! Such things are only natural for their age.”

“Indeed, and most charming at times,” Lady Matlock agreed smoothly, tilting her head as though considering her next words with great care. “Yet I cannot help but think…” Here, she paused, her voice softening to something almost motherly. “Having all five daughters out in society at once must be a tremendous undertaking. It is a rare blessing, no doubt, but perhaps not without its challenges?”

“Challenges?” Mrs Bennet repeated, her expression caught somewhere between curiosity and apprehension. “Whatever do you mean, Lady Matlock?”

“Simply this,” Lady Matlock said, leaning forward ever so slightly, her hands resting lightly atop one another. “The world can be... unforgiving when it comes to first impressions. And while your eldest daughters have much to recommend them, it occurs to me that Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia, delightful as they are, may yet benefit from a touch more seasoning before being fully immersed in the rigours of society.”

“Seasoning?” Mrs Bennet’s voice rose half an octave, and she blinked rapidly as though uncertain whether to take offence. “Oh, my lady, I daresay you are very kind to say so, but what is to be done? They are already out, and…”

She made a vague gesture with her hand, as though to suggest the matter was entirely outside her control. “It may be a little late now.”

“Late?” Lady Matlock laughed softly. “Nonsense, my dear Mrs Bennet. It is never too late to invest in one’s children. Why, I can think of any number of young ladies who have benefitted greatly from a short period of study and discipline away from home. There is a most respectable school not far at all from here, in Oxford. Several of my acquaintances have sent their daughters there with excellent results.”

“School?” Mrs Bennet stared at Lady Matlock as though she had just suggested sending Kitty and Lydia to the colonies. “Do you truly think…” She stopped herself mid-sentence, her expression shifting from incredulity to something more thoughtful. “Well, I suppose Kitty might... But Lydia!” Her voice dropped to a whisper, though the subject of her concern remained conspicuously audible as she continued her dramatic performance in the corner. “I fear she would find such a place dreadfully dull.”

“Perhaps at first,” Lady Matlock conceded, her smile gaining a hint of steel beneath its warmth. “But I have found that young women of strong character,” her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Lydia, “are precisely those who thrive when given proper guidance. Confidence, after all, is best tempered by good sense and accomplishment.”

“Good sense and accomplishment,” Mrs Bennet murmured, as though tasting the unfamiliar phrase. “It does sound rather... advantageous.”

“Precisely,” Lady Matlock replied. “And should you wish it, Mrs Bennet, I would be more than happy to make the necessary introductions. A word from me to the headmistress would ensure the smoothest of arrangements.”

For a moment, Mrs Bennet said nothing, her lips pursed in contemplation. Then, with a sigh that seemed to release years of pent-up worry, she nodded. “Well, perhaps school is worth considering. For Kitty, at least. As for Lydia...”

“School?” Lydia exclaimed, her tone so incredulous that it bordered on theatrical. Her ringlets bounced as she whipped her head toward her mother, then to Lady Matlock, her youthful face aglow with disbelief. “You cannot be serious!”

“Perfectly so,” Lady Matlock replied, her serene poise unruffled by Lydia’s outburst. “School can do wonders for young ladies in need of refinement.”

“Refinement!” Lydia echoed, her voice rising dangerously enough to make Kitty cringe beside her. “I’ll have you know, I am perfectly refined! Why, only last week Lieutenant Denny said I danced better than any other girl in Meryton!”

“I have no doubt that Mr Denny, whoever he may be,” Lady Matlock said coolly, arching one elegantly shaped brow, “is hardly the arbiter of decorum or accomplishment. A soldier’s opinion, while flattering, must not be mistaken for society’s appraisal.”

The faint blush creeping up Lydia’s cheeks could as easily have been from indignation as from embarrassment. She opened her mouth, no doubt to mount a fiery defence, but what came instead was a strangled squeak as Lady Matlock levelled her with a single, quelling look—a look so calm, so commanding in its quiet authority, that even Mrs Bennet seemed momentarily struck dumb.

“Miss Lydia,” Lady Matlock began, her voice honeyed steel, “it would do you well to remember that youth does not grant immunity from the requirements of propriety. And furthermore,” here, her tone sharpened enough to slice through the air, “no young lady under eighteen years of age shall attend any ball held at Netherfield. That much, I assure you, is non-negotiable.”

“Not… attend,” Lydia choked out, as though the very concept were an affront to nature itself. Her eyes widened as though Lady Matlock had suggested exiling her to some forsaken wasteland. “But—but everyone will be there!”

“Only those of appropriate age and bearing,” Lady Matlock countered smoothly. “The distinction, my dear, is as much for your benefit as it is for theirs. It is far better to make one’s entrance into society when one is truly prepared to dazzle, rather than risk being remembered for… less favourable reasons.”

A sharp intake of breath from Lydia signalled the impending storm, but before she could unleash whatever fiery retort she was concocting, Lady Matlock rose gracefully from her seat. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window caught the delicate silver streaks in her hair, lending her an almost regal aura. With a small, composed smile, she added, “And while I commend your enthusiasm, Miss Lydia, I believe it is time we channel it into worthier pursuits. School, I think, will offer just such an opportunity.”

“School!” Lydia sputtered once more, her voice cracking with despair as she turned desperately to her mother. “Mama, you cannot allow this!”

“Now, now, child,” Mrs Bennet stammered, fanning herself nervously as she glanced between her youngest daughter and Lady Matlock. “Perhaps Lady Matlock has a point. A little polish may…”

“ Polish ?“ If Lydia had been outraged before, she was positively volcanic now. “I do not need polishing, Mama! I am not some dull piece of furniture!”

“Precisely why proper schooling will serve you well,” Lady Matlock interjected smoothly, as though Lydia’s protestations were no more than the distant squawking of overzealous geese. Then, with a slight inclination of her head toward Mrs Bennet, she added, “Do consider it, madam. After all, even the finest diamonds require refining before they can shine.”

Lydia sank back onto the chaise-longue in a dramatic heap. “Utterly barbaric,” Lydia hissed under her breath, though not so quietly that Lady Matlock couldn’t hear. The countess merely sipped her tea, utterly unperturbed, and allowed the room to settle into a strained, awkward silence.

For a brief moment, Kitty attempted to catch Lydia’s eye, as if to convey some silent solidarity, but at the sight of her sister’s thunderous expression, she wisely thought better of it. Instead, she busied herself with her sewing, avoiding the weight of Lady Matlock’s watchful gaze.

“Barbaric or not,” Lady Matlock murmured at last, setting down her teacup with a soft clink, “you will find, Miss Lydia, that good sense and accomplishment are never out of fashion.” With that, she smiled—a smile that promised her words were not mere suggestion, but law—and returned her attention to Mrs Bennet, who fidgeted nervously with her handkerchief.

Lydia glowered, folding her arms across her chest in a gesture of defiance. But despite her bravado, there was no mistaking the flicker of uncertainty behind her petulant pout. It seemed, for once, that her usual tactics of girlish charm and tantrums had failed to achieve her goals, and that in the polished, clever Lady Matlock, she was quite outmatched.