Chapter Sixteen

Elizabeth cautiously opened the flat, square box. It was covered in black velvet on the inside and out. Inside was a perfectly beautiful pearl necklace. She sighed. "It is beautiful." Her eyes met his. "Thank you, Cousin." She shut the box and put it in her reticule.

The expression in her eyes stunned him. It was almost accusing, he thought. "A p-pleasure," he stammered.

Try as he might, Darcy could not decipher what on earth he had done, no matter how hard he thought for the rest of the day – and the night. Her behaviour towards him had been so cold, so quelling… He could not pretend to understand it. He tortured himself with the image of her eyes regarding him that way; it couldn't help but bring back the images he had fought so hard to dispel of Elizabeth at Hunsford, telling him how and why she hated him. He had made himself forget those; he had, quite sensibly, told himself that she had misunderstood him, and she was obviously beginning to feel positively towards him now, at the very least. But the events of that day merely had the effect of driving him back to his old insecurities and he did not know what to do or say.

Elizabeth, however, was beginning to realise how very hard it would be to be impervious to Mr Darcy. She was exhausted before noon from the effort of keeping her emotions in check, from trying to present a content front to her family, and from trying to stop herself from giving her cousin any encouragement whatsoever. At one moment, namely, when he had given her that beautiful necklace, she had almost burst into tears, and had looked at him more coldly than she had meant to. At another she had almost unburdened herself on Jane, but had stopped herself immediately. Jane was the last person she wanted to talk to about this; why had Jane had to go and get engaged at this time of all times? She doubted whether Jane would have heard her, in any case. Her sister was in a world of her own and Mr Bingley's. Elizabeth tried to be happy for her, but while all her own hopes were quenched in such a depressing manner she found it impossible. She knew that when the wedding came, she would probably have to be bridesmaid and Mr Darcy best man, and how would she bear that? The one thing that gave her any pleasure was the family's imminent removal to their country seat. Yes, it was in Derbyshire, unfortunately, and they were sure to be seeing a lot of her cousin, but she was sure it would comfort her to be in the country again. Besides, there were so many more ways to avoid people in the country.

Elizabeth did not realise that most of the people in the house noticed her air of melancholy. As it was so unlike Elizabeth to be at all moody, even with their limited knowledge of her, her parents were beginning to feel very anxious. Georgiana could hardly draw her cousin into conversation, and Rosalind, on returning to the house, wondered what on earth had caused Elizabeth to change so in the three or four nights she had been gone. Richard could not help but notice that she was not properly laughing at his jokes. Darcy's mind, obviously, was wholly absorbed with the change in his cousin. It was only Jane, Bingley and Thomas, engrossed in their own affairs, that did not notice anything wrong with Elizabeth.

Lady Matlock wondered aloud as she knit, to the earl, in the evening, "My dear, I sense that there is something that is upsetting Elizabeth."

"Yes, I feel the same way, Cecilia," replied her husband, putting down the book he had been trying to occupy himself with. "You do not have any idea as to what it is?"

"No," she said slowly. "I cannot think what it could possibly be. I would almost say, if I didn't know better, that she and William have quarrelled. But I don't see how they can have done so. And William seems as confused as we are."

"Mmm…" he agreed. "You know, my dear, I wonder if she was upset by that disgusting gossip column from last week?"

Lady Matlock looked at him. "You know, John, you may have hit the nail on the head there. But do you really think she would believe such horrible things about William?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't expect her to think like that." He thought. "I wonder if she does not like William the way we had thought her to? She may have realised, through that column, that people think she likes him, and she may not have meant to give that impression at all."

"It's possible," said Lady Matlock thoughtfully. "Why does she seem so unhappy then? Poor girl, I do not feel as if I can directly ask her about it. We are not so close as that yet. However, maybe I should try, if she is as miserable as she seems."

"I think perhaps you should leave her be for now, Cecilia," said her husband. "It may simply be that she is having a bad day, and still feeling slightly unwell. You yourself said we do not know her well enough yet. Jane does not seem to be worried."

Lady Matlock laughed. "O, Jane! She would not be worried about anything that was not directly told her while she is in this state! I am so happy for her, John."

"And I," he said with a fond smile. "I do not wish to lose her so soon, but I could not wish her to be less happy than she is now."

"I do not think we will lose her," said her mother affectionately. "She is such a good girl. I think we should invite Bingley to Matlock with us, John, if he does not go to Pemberley with Darcy and Georgiana."

"Oh yes, of course – I am sorry I forgot to tell you, my love, but I invited him this morning. And Darcy and Georgiana are to stay with us for several weeks before they go north to Pemberley."

"Good," she said. "Will Bingley come?"

And so it was that Elizabeth was not forgotten, but was unspoken of by her parents for the remainder of the evening.

The Fitzwilliams set off for Matlock on what promised to be a glorious day; the ladies in the carriages, and the five gentlemen riding behind. They were to stop one night at an inn on the way. Jane was in great spirits. She was terribly excited about seeing her home for the first time, although it was not to be her home for much longer, and as we have already ascertained, not much could keep her from being happy so soon after the commencement of her engagement.

The family who had already seen the place were, of course, eager to be in the country again, for there were not many places more happily situated than Matlock, although the Countess laughed that Pemberley was probably one of them. Matlock was no dingy, cold country house with drab grounds and smoking fireplaces. It was very large, in the best possible way, with comfortable and elegant rooms and all the first recommendations of fashion. The grounds were extensive, and included anything anyone could possibly wish for – forest, hills, a river, a lake, vast farmland, and all those necessities like a herb garden, greenhouse or shrubbery which really make a house modern. In fact, as Lord Matlock said with a twinkle in his eye, when he was feeling very bold he might almost think that his grounds rivalled Pemberley's. The Fitzwilliams also kept a good stable and kennels.

Elizabeth, as you may imagine, was too unhappy to be greatly excited by the imminent prospect of seeing her real home, but it was hardly possible that she did not cherish some anticipation at the thought of seeing Matlock. It seemed too strange that she should be going to live in one of the great houses that she had always seen as the type one applied to view, if one was lucky, while travelling. The elegant townhouse, of course, had slightly toned down this feeling, but still, to her, country houses were supposed to be about the size of Longbourn, and anything larger seemed almost indecent. She was very much looking forward to viewing the library there, which her father told her was held to be very large, and by no means lacking in popular fiction as well as the more improving kinds of books. And she longed to be on the back of a horse again; any of which were at Matlock, she had no doubt, would be a much better ride than the Nellies of her past, who were the type of horses that were termed 'safe rides'. In fact, she found her spirits almost lifting as her mother pointed out various landmarks that showed how close they were coming to home – how delicious it was to say that word! – and she forgot, for a time, her sorrows.

On arrival, Jane and Elizabeth squeezed hands as they regarded Matlock, beaming. It was truly one of the most beautiful houses they had seen in their lives, and to them it seemed almost a palace. It was going to be very hard, they could tell at once, to come round to the idea that they were actually living there.

"Do you like it, girls?" asked their father with a proud smile.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" breathed Jane.

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes warm. "I almost cannot believe it is not a mirage!"

The family laughed. "Please, take the liberty of touching it, Lizzyviv," said her mother. "You will find it is quite concrete."

"Thank you," said Elizabeth with a smile, walking to the wall. "I shall." She did. "I am quite satisfied – it is real."

"I must say I felt quite as you did when I first came here, Elizabeth," said Lord Matlock. "Your mother actually asked George whether he had made a mistake."

"George?" asked Elizabeth curiously.

"George Darcy," he said. "Our William's father."

"Oh," she whispered, consciousness returning. She strove to disguise her feelings, however, as Darcy came up to her cautiously smiling, and took her arm. She had settled it that she must not be rude. There was no question now of her ever allowing herself to encourage his attentions, but as he was quite entitled to do whatever he wanted without reference to her, she knew she must try to bear his presence. So she forced a smile back and allowed her to take his arm, even if she was very quiet for the next half hour or so.

Before anything else, Jane and Elizabeth met the old retainers of the house. There was Patton, the rather austere-looking butler who had served the Fitzwilliam family for centuries, and who bestowed a very gracious greeting on the two new family members, which served to put them quite at ease. Mrs Cliffe was the housekeeper, and had also been there since before the current earl's time. She was obviously very responsible and busy, yet had a remarkably kind smile and told them she should have recognised them as Fitzwilliams at any time. Nurse, or Miss Stockwell, was the other pillar of the household that had to be introduced; it was obvious she had taken a firm hand in rearing all the family for she called the heir of the house Master Tom still, while her former charges still called her Stocky, a name which she pretended to hate but was secretly pleased by. It was Nurse who first perceived the fatigue in Elizabeth's eyes and manhandled her 'new charge' upstairs to show her to her bedchamber for some refreshment. Elizabeth could not feel otherwise than agreeably disposed towards the lady who treated her so forcefully yet obviously had the highest degree of goodwill and kindness towards her. "Now, you sit down there, Miss Vivian" (as she insisted on calling Elizabeth) "and take off your pelisse, and drink this tea, and you will soon feel much better."

"I assure you, Miss Stockwell, I am quite recovered!" laughed Elizabeth.

"You'd best call me Nurse, or Stocky, if you must, dear," said Nurse, ignoring Elizabeth's plea. "I find I am not at all used to being called Miss Stockwell anymore, unhappily. I find I do not answer questions to it anymore. Now drink up!"

Elizabeth found she could not refuse.