"Fitzwilliam," said he, "what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be offering for this girl?"
Lord Matlock had long recognised the similarity of temper and mind, as well as countenance, between his nephew and himself, more pronounced than with any of his own children. He had never been less than perfectly forthright and honest with him, and he had no intentions of starting now. It was inconceivable that Fitzwilliam, of all the children, should have entangled himself in this manner — and yet it had happened!
"No, I am not," Fitzwilliam replied, literal-minded as always. "I know what I am about, sir."
The earl pressed his fingertips against his forehead, feeling a headache brewing. "I am sure your Miss Bennet is everything amiable and lovely," he began, as tactfully as he could, "but that is not enough, Fitzwilliam."
"I am aware of that," Fitzwilliam said quietly; "but Miss Bennet is not — she is not what you think." With a faint smile, he added, "Your phrase would better suit her elder sister."
Lord Matlock raised his brows. "You are determined to have her, I suppose."
His nephew blinked. "Those are not quite the words I would choose," he said reluctantly, "but I am determined, yes. My dear uncle, surely you do not think I would be caught by a common fortune-hunter, however beautiful, now?"
"I do not know what to think, Fitzwilliam," Lord Matlock replied sternly. "You have been very peculiar, very unlike yourself, this entire year. Tell me about your Miss Bennet. Is she very beautiful?"
"I cannot say," Fitzwilliam said neutrally. "I do not believe anyone else would find her so. I did not, at first."
The earl sighed. "If she is neither stunningly beautiful nor charming, with no fortune, family, or connections, what qualities has she to recommend herself?"
"I have not the time to ennumerate them all," said Fitzwilliam, smiling.
"Just a few will suffice," the earl replied dryly.
"She is clever, friendly, witty, and she has — integrity. She loves her sister and she will be able to love mine." With a peculiar look, rather like that of a bewildered but contented child, he added quietly, "She loves me."
The outcome had been inevitable. Almost, it seemed a script that had been written before either walked into the study. Lord Matlock could not fight the feeling of having somehow experienced this all before, nor the dread overshadowing him as he looked at his nephew's face, the familiar features set in obstinate lines, the expression just this side of defiance. "Then she may deserve you," he said reluctantly, not quite convincing himself, let alone his sceptical nephew. "When they come to London, I hope you will introduce her to us."
"I shall. I hope you will give her the welcome my fiancée deserves." The warning was clear. He would tolerate no disrespect to the young lady. He had already thrown off Lady Catherine. Infatuated as he was, he might very well do the same to all but Richard, Henry, and Georgiana. Lord Matlock sighed once more.
"Of course," he said morosely. "Whatever I may think of Miss Bennet myself, I have no intention of encouraging talk outside the family regarding your choice."
He had never seen his nephew's eyes so cold, and wondered why.