Chapter 36
Lord Matlock's Study
Matlock House
Lord Matlock's steps echoed across the polished wooden floor of his office. A large fire leapt and crackled in the fireplace, and Richard leaned toward it gratefully as he was a trifle chilled. His eyes drifted toward the oak desk across the room, which was covered with neat stacks of correspondence, candles, a pen box, all organized across its highly polished surface, to the window, whose dark blue velvet curtains were drawn back to show the small rose garden directly outside.
Since the earl still did not seem inclined to speak, Richard sat back, took a sip of excellent brandy, set his cut crystal glass on the oaken side table, and waited patiently.
The master of the house was currently pacing up and down, his face twisted into a ferocious frown, his Adam's apple bobbing in frustration. Richard waited patiently, without speaking, until his father finally halted in place, spun around, and pointed toward him accusingly. "You have gone entirely mad, it seems!"
Richard reminded himself that he had faced French cannon fire without undue panic, and he answered with his voice calm. "On the contrary, Father, I am entirely sane. Jane Bennet is lovely, charming, refined, and intelligent. She is the perfect woman for me."
"She is not!" the earl snapped, waving his finger again. "Your mother mentioned Miss Bennet some days ago, and while I understand she is an exquisite beauty, she has close ties to trade, and she is not even an heiress! If you had chosen her sister, the one with seventy thousand pounds, that would be at least reasonable. I am not entirely pleased that you would choose a woman from a lower sphere of society, but her fortune would be most advantageous for the family coffers. But to marry a woman who has nothing to recommend her except her lovely face? It is insupportable."
"Miss Elizabeth is a charming lady," Richard agreed, rising and wandering over to refill his glass, "but I could not offer for her, of course, with Darcy already entirely enamored."
Matlock froze at these insouciant words, and after a moment to recover, demanded, "Darcy is in love with the heiress?"
"In love and engaged," Richard said cheerfully. "Elizabeth accepted Darcy's offer about one minute before Jane accepted mine."
The earl's throat worked convulsively, and he whispered, "Darcy is engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"
"Quite."
Again, the earl gulped, and he said softly, "What of … what of Darcy's engagement to Anne de Bourgh?"
"Oh, come now, Father," Richard remarked, drifting over to look out the window which faced the small, well-kept flower garden behind Matlock House. "You know that proposed engagement was Lady Catherine's passion, not Anne's or Darcy's."
Matlock seemed to shrink in on himself a little. "My sister is going to be furious when she hears."
"I do not care," Richard said bluntly, "and neither does Darcy, I assure you. We are both grown men, Father, and will marry whom we choose to marry. There is no point in suggesting that we should bend to the fantasies of others."
Matlock straightened himself in an attempt to make himself look a little taller – a rather feeble attempt, as Richard was at least three inches taller than his sire.
"Do your mother and I have no input at all in your choice of wife, Son?"
"No, you do not, sir, especially now, when I am already committed to my beloved Jane. Sir, with all due respect, I suggest that you come to terms, and quickly, with my choice of wife, and Darcy's as well. Neither of us wish for a breach in the family, but we are entirely, completely, devoted to our fiancées, and we will defend them against all comers, family or not!"
Not for the first time, Lord Matlock wished that Richard had inherited a little of his tact, his subtlety, his sense of place in the world. The earl and his lady, both highly born, both proud of their position in the highest ranks of society, had done their best to inculcate such beliefs in their offspring. They had succeeded with their son and heir, Viscount Waverly, and their eldest daughter, Rebekah, but Richard and Rachel had always had an odd skip to their gallop, so to speak.
Looking up into his son's grim, determined face, he decided there was no point in arguing any further. Perhaps his wife would have more luck.
"I understand that you are committed," he said heavily, though inwardly he was quietly confident he could buy the girl off, if necessary. "Now, your mother should have come downstairs, and Rachel as well. Will you not share your wonderful news with them?"
Richard's eyes glinted in a rather unnerving way, but he merely bowed and said, "Of course, sir."
/
Darcy's Carriage
On the Way to Half Moon Street
A Few Hours Later
"So what did my aunt think of your engagement?" Darcy asked.
Richard sighed and said, "Let us begin with the good news. Rachel was absolutely delighted. She is very fond of Jane already and looks forward to becoming a sister."
"But the countess…"
"Is rather displeased and my father is unremittingly negative. I know my mother would have been happy if I were engaged to Elizabeth because of the money, which is annoying but not surprising. Not too long ago, I intended to marry for fortune. But meeting Jane has changed my views. I love her, and I know she loves me, and we will be happy together."
These words, said with such simplicity, warmed Darcy's heart. Even six months ago, he too had been fool enough to think that wealth and rank and connections and position were more important than respect, love, and compatibility. Now he knew better, but it was encouraging to hear the same from Richard, a man he deeply respected.
"I look forward very much to the day when we are not just cousins, but brothers by marriage," he said enthusiastically and turned his attention on the other occupant in the vehicle, who had thus far been silent.
Captain Russell was a sturdy, handsome man, with a square jaw and a stern nose and kind brown eyes beneath militarily neat hair. His red military coat showed off both his figure – nothing out of the ordinary, but not displeasing either – and his darker coloring to advantage. His right hand rested lightly on one knee, his left arm straight at his side. It was a natural enough position, not showing the partial paralysis that plagued the captain's left arm, courtesy of a French bullet some time back.
"Captain Russell," Darcy began, "while I hope that you are willing to marry Miss Lydia, who will soon be my sister by marriage, I hope you also do not feel unduly pressured. It must be obvious that her behavior has not been the best, and if you feel you must withdraw, I know that Richard and I will understand."
"Of course," Richard agreed, though his expression was untroubled.
"I will marry her if she will have me," Russell replied. "You know my situation, Mr. Darcy. I am lingering on half pay in rather seedy lodgings in Cheapside. I will gladly marry a gentleman's daughter in exchange for seven thousand pounds, and I will be acquiring you both as brothers by marriage in doing so. I can hardly refuse."
"At least two thousand pounds will be tied up in a settlement for your wife," Darcy warned.
Josiah smiled and said, "That is entirely acceptable; indeed, I would insist on it if you did not. But I will not force her into marriage. I do not wish for an unwilling bride."
"We would not do that to you," Darcy said drily. "Life with Lydia will probably be difficult enough with her willing!"
He was, indeed, of the view that Captain Russell deserved at least ten thousand pounds for saving the Darcys and Bennets from scandal, and intended to augment the dowry to that degree so long as Elizabeth was in agreement.
/
The House at Half Moon Street
Jane sat at the desk beneath the window in the drawing room, her pen moving rapidly across the paper spread before her. Sunlight poured in through the window, illuminating her delicate blue dress and simply styled hair and smiling eyes as she wrote. Lady Appleby sat nearby, conversing quietly with Elizabeth with an occasional gracious comment to Phoebe Adler, who was slightly apart from the rest of the group at a small table, where she was toiling over a piece of needlework.
Lydia had separated herself from the group as much as possible, feeling entirely unequal to pleasant conversation. Instead she curled up on the chair nearest the fire, feeling very small and miserable and deeply anxious. Once again, her eyes stung, and she furiously swallowed down the lump that rose into her throat. She would not cry again, she would not. Her head already ached fiercely from the storm of her sorrow, as she had been unable to cease her weeping until late last night.
She still could not entirely grasp the horrifying events of the previous days. George Wickham, whom she had thought to be the love of her life, had proven to be so cruel, so…
Her vocabulary failed her. She had truly believed him when he said he loved her. She had been certain, absolutely certain, that he would be thrilled with the news of his baby, that he would be delighted to marry her and care for her and their child. And she had every intention of being a good and loyal wife to him.
She had never dreamed that he had been just … using her. She would never have believed the truth had she not heard his cruel damning words for herself. He had promised her that he loved her, that he would marry her. He had said that it did not matter if she gave up her virtue to him, that no one would know once they married. He had whispered honey-sweet promises in her ear, that he cherished her and only her, that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, that she was precious to him and he had such grand plans for their lives together…
How he must have laughed up his sleeve at her! What cruel amusement he had derived from his sugary lies! To string her along, to see the devotion in her eyes, to promise marriage – and all along, to be deceiving her despicably, for his own pleasure, for revenge on Elizabeth for wisely refusing his avaricious proposal.
It made her want to scream and rage and howl and claw his eyes out and curl up into a ball and whimper silently for eternity.
How smug she had been, how pleased, at the thought of being the first Bennet sister married. She had jeered inside her own mind, at her staid, cautious elder sisters, as she anticipated her upcoming nuptials. And now … now, Jane and Elizabeth were both engaged to upstanding gentlemen, while she sat ruined and pregnant and disgraced and abandoned, dependent entirely on the mercy of an unknown man.
Fear gripped her heart. What if this Captain Russell was unkind? Cruel or faithless, or inclined to drunkenness? What if he … hit her? She had heard of such things. She had not given credence to them before, but now, if Wickham could claim to love her so ardently and be lying, what else might be possible? She did not think her family would intentionally choose a cruel man for her to marry, but there was no time to get to know him, and most people would never believe that Wickham was cruel, either.
But she had no choice. There was no time for Lydia to becoming well acquainted with Captain Russell. Refusing to marry her unknown suitor was out of the question. Her father had told her, quite sternly, the previous night that she had only two options, accept Captain Russell's offer or be shipped off to Scotland to have the baby in seclusion. She would not be permitted to tarnish the Bennet name and ruin her sisters' chances of good marriages. The idea of spending the next year in Scotland, entirely alone, for there was no distant family member with whom she could dwell, was horrific. She would be dependent entirely on the inhabitants of whatever village she was left in, perhaps with a maid or two and a hired manservant to help with heavier tasks. The very thought filled her with unspeakable horror.
No, she would have to accept Captain Russell's offer and hope desperately that he would be kind to her or, at the worst, disinterested.
She was broken from these dreadful thoughts by the loud echo of a knock on the front door. She twisted her handkerchief between her fingers, straining her ears with a knot of anxiety in her chest as the butler admitted the visitors. She listened to the low murmur of voices in the hall before several sets of footsteps approached.
Lydia swallowed, the knot moving up into her throat, as the drawing room door opened. The butler stepped inside, announcing ponderously, "Mr. Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy, Captain Russell."
Lydia did not even notice the butler's withdrawal, her gaze pinned on the man who could soon be her husband. He glanced around the room, affording her a moment to observe him; medium height, dark hair, military posture and neatness of attire. His eyes landed on her, and she crumpled her handkerchief in her hand, looking up at him timidly.
He smiled at her, neither ardent and charming like Wickham, nor coldly haughty and disapproving like Darcy had always been, but gently and kindly. Lydia took a deep breath, a spark of hope kindling in her breast, and she tentatively smiled back.
/
"He seems very pleasant," Elizabeth murmured, watching the captain and Lydia, who were seated next to one another on a small settee near the largest window.
"Richard said he is a very fine man," Darcy replied, restraining himself with difficulty from reaching out to tuck one of Elizabeth's curls behind her ear.
A moment later, he decided that he had no reason to restrain himself. He and Elizabeth were engaged, and in any case, everyone in the room was watching Lydia and Josiah Russell. He reached out a finger to tuck one ringlet behind his lady's ear, which provoked a look of surprise, followed by a chuckle. "Mr. Darcy, I had no idea that you would be so forward in company!"
"You should be thankful that my self-control is sufficient that I do not kiss you right here."
Elizabeth blushed, her gaze drifting down to her fiancé's lips, and she leaned forward a little. "Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes, my love?"
"I think we should marry as soon as we can manage it."
Darcy grinned broadly. "I entirely agree, Elizabeth."
