Chapter 22
Sunday, 24 November, 1811

The residents of Darcy House attended church, arriving just as the service began and discreetly taking seats near the back. Though their entrance did not go unnoticed, they managed to leave without engaging with any acquaintances. Georgiana Darcy's presence was noted, as was the unfamiliar couple accompanying them. Yet, most of the congregation paid little attention to anyone beyond the Darcys themselves.

However, the unknown couple caught the eye of two individuals. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, attending the service with her brother and his wife, had come with her mind far from worship. It had been several weeks since she had last seen her daughter—certainly not since the girl had defied her, leaving Rosings for Pemberley, and later taking the outrageous step of locking her own mother out of the estate.

To see her daughter now, standing beside a man, free from her control and together with the Darcys, was more than Lady Catherine could bear. The realisation hit her like a physical blow. Her daughter had not only escaped her grasp, but it seemed she had found someone to marry her—without her mother's knowledge or approval. Lady Catherine's thoughts swirled in a storm of disbelief and fury. Although it was only a suspicion that her daughter had wed, the evidence seemed clear. There was a defiant confidence in her stance, a poise that hinted at a life lived independently of her mother's will.

The possibility that her daughter had married in secret, without her blessing, felt like an unforgivable betrayal. Losing control over the girl was one thing—but to be kept in the dark about such a significant event? To defy her by refusing to marry her cousin, as Lady Catherine had always intended, and then to dare claim the inheritance that rightfully belonged to her? It was intolerable.

Her chest tightened with the force of her anger, each breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts as she fought to maintain her composure. The rage threatened to spill over, but before she could act, her brother, noticing her distress, leaned toward her and hissed, "Catherine, control yourself! We are in a church in Mayfair—this is not the place for one of your outbursts."

His words, spoken in a low but firm tone, cut through her fury. Lady Catherine stiffened, forcing herself to regain her composure, though the resentment simmered just beneath the surface. As soon as the interminable service ended, she turned to find the party, but was met with disappointment when she saw them quickly moving from their pew and out the doors of the church.

Once they had arrived at Matlock House, Lady Catherine moved to begin her tirade. However, her brother cut her off before she could start. "In my office, Cathy, You have never learned to speak of these matters in private, which is why your servants were so free with their gossip."

Lord Matlock stalked into his study, heading straight for the sideboard. Without a word, he poured himself a drink and downed it in a single, large gulp before refilling the glass. "Sit," he commanded his sister sharply, not bothering to look at her.

Lady Catherine stood rigidly for a moment, her face tight with indignation, before complying. "Silas, I cannot believe the nerve of Darcy, allowing Anne and that man to stay in his house after the disgraceful way they both have all treated me. And then to parade that hussy he married at church—it is simply too much! The audacity of my daughter and nephew to defy me so openly. I will not stand for it. I will make sure they both—"

"Enough!" Lord Matlock cut her off, turning an enraged glare toward her. His voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "You will do nothing of the sort, Cathy. Are you even aware of the trouble you have already caused? Or are you truly that blind?"

Lady Catherine's mouth fell open, but before she could retort, her brother continued, his tone seething. "It has been nearly a month since you sent that idiotic letter to Wickham, instructing him to kidnap Darcy's wife. Have you heard from him? Of course not. Even if the fool had succeeded, how did you expect him to deliver the woman to you, seeing as you no longer have control of Rosings? Do you not realise Wickham has likely taken whatever funds you gave him and disappeared, if he has any sense at all? And Darcy? Darcy would never let that man, or anyone else, come near his wife or sister. You, Cathy, are far too inept for the subtlety required for such a scheme."

Lady Catherine tried to interject, but Silas's voice grew colder, cutting her off again. "You need to accept reality—your daughter is married, and she has claimed her inheritance. Rosings is no longer yours, nor will it ever be again. You have no funds left at your disposal, and have no money to carry out your ridiculous plans. I am sick of your endless whinging and scheming since you returned from Kent after learning what Anne had done."

He paused, letting his words sink in before delivering his final blow. "Tomorrow, you will go to Matlock, and you will stay in the dower house there. I have business in London until Parliament is finished, and I do not have the time or patience to watch over your every move. But hear me clearly, Sister: if you dare defy me and seek retribution, I will have you thrown out of Matlock altogether. Since Anne will not have you at Rosings, and Darcy refuses to recognise you as family, you will be completely on your own. Sir Louis's will left you only your dowry as jointure, and you have already squandered most of it on your foolishness. If you disobey me, you will be left homeless. And make no mistake—I will know."

His words hung in the air, cold and final. Lady Catherine sat stunned, her defiance momentarily silenced. Lord Matlock downed the rest of his drink as he continued to stare.

"Very well, Silas. I will do as you bid," she replied, her tone brittle as she clearly attempted to hold back the words she wished to say. Even as a child, Lady Catherine had not liked being told what to do, but liked it even less when it was her younger brother doing the telling. But since Matlock was the head of the family, and the only one still willing to house her at present, she truly had no choice but to do as he commanded.

A servant knocked on the door, and upon hearing the call to enter, asked if the pair intended to join Lady Matlock for their breakfast.

Lord Matlock looked at his sister. "No, thank you, Silas. I will ask for a tray in my room as I begin packing," she replied, holding her head up as she stood and departed the room. Shaking his head, Lord Matlock followed her and went to join his wife.

"Did you see Darcy at church this morning?" his wife said as he entered the room. "And Anne. I know that she wrote to us and her mother to say she was married, but I cannot say that I recognised the young man who was with her. Did you?"

Lord Matlock did not answer, merely grunted in response.

"Silas, I am sure you meant that to mean something, but I cannot say that I can interpret that answer to mean anything. Did you see Darcy and Anne or not? And did you recognize either of their spouses?" Lady Matlock asked again, raising her brow at her husband as she did so.

"Yes, I saw our nieces and nephew, but, no, I did not recognize either the woman with Darcy—though she certainly must be his wife—or the man accompanying Anne. Have you received any correspondence from any of them? Or from our own children? I have not heard from Richard in some time, although Andrew writes often enough to ask for more funds," Lord Matlock replied.

Lady Matlock let out a huff of breath. "What do you intend to do about your son, Silas? I know you arranged for the sale of his townhouse, but neither his estate nor ours can be sold. What will he do when he gambles so much that he can no longer pay?"

Closing his eyes and propping his head on the palm of his hand, Lord Matlock thought about how to respond to such direct questions. "He needs to marry well, but then his reputation is so poor that it might be difficult. He will need to do something about his habits; however, or he will run through his wife's dowry as quickly as he has run through his own funds."

"I have heard rumours that Matlock is in trouble, Silas. Should I be worried?"

"All will be well, Julia."

"So our son has not nearly bankrupted our estate as well? Matlock is not in danger of ruin without a substantial influx of funds?" Lady Matlock asked, her voice sharp, her brow raised in accusation as she fixed her husband with a scathing look.

Lord Matlock's eyes narrowed as he set down his fork. "What have you heard?" he demanded, his tone cold.

"Only whispers," she replied, never breaking eye contact with her husband, "rumblings of bills that were not paid on time. It seems Andrew's management of Ashworth is not quite as steady as you would like to believe. He would have done well to marry Anne, had Catherine not been so fixed on gaining Darcy as a son. Richard would have been a better match for her, of course, but at the very least Andrew might have learned how to work. Richard may not possess Darcy's skill in estate management, but he certainly would not have squandered funds the way your son has done."

"Our son," Lord Matlock corrected, his voice stiff with indignation. "Andrew is as much my son as Richard is."

"Do not pretend that you treated them equally," Lady Matlock snapped, her eyes flashing. "You left Richard to Darcy and his father, allowing him to spend more time at Pemberley than he ever did at home. Meanwhile, you kept Andrew under your roof, indulging him at every turn. Instead of teaching him how to manage Matlock, you taught him how to spend the money it brought in. And now, he is as good as useless and a continual drain upon our income."

She paused, her mouth tight with frustration, as a footman entered, silently setting down the next course. Lady Matlock waited for the servant to leave before continuing, her voice lower but no less cutting. "Do not act surprised, Silas. This is as much your doing as it is Andrew's. You made him into this—a man who is incapable of fulfilling the role he should be preparing to step into."

Lord Matlock's grip tightened around his glass. "Andrew is not beyond redemption."

"Not beyond redemption?" Lady Matlock scoffed. "Tell me, how do you propose to redeem him when the estate he was meant to manage is slipping through his fingers? He has neither the skill nor the discipline to make things right. The damage has already been done. His habits are too ingrained"

Her husband's face darkened, and for a moment, there was a tense silence between them. Then, in a strained voice, he replied, "I will not see Matlock fall into ruin. I will do what is necessary."

"What is necessary?" she repeated bitterly. "It is too late for 'necessary,' Silas. We needed action years ago—when you first noticed the growing bills, when you saw Andrew's recklessness. Now you will have to make sacrifices."

Lord Matlock's eyes flicked up sharply. "What kind of sacrifices?"

"Either you sell some of the land that is not entailed or you will have to seek help from Darcy," she said, her tone as cold as ice. "You need his funds for he has not wasted his on women and gambling. I do believe Pemberley is rather better off than Matlock, and it is certainly better than Rosings. Catherine is nearly as bad as you and your son at spending money without thought. Do you think Darcy already suspects something? All of society whispers about Andrew's failings, even if they are too polite to say it to your face."

Lord Matlock's face twisted in a mixture of anger and pride. "I will not beg Darcy for anything."

"No, of course not," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Better to watch your precious legacy crumble to pieces than swallow your pride and ask the man who has made Pemberley stronger in these last years for help. A man who, unlike your son, understands the value of wealth and how to maintain it."

Clenching his jaw, anger simmering just beneath the surface, Lord Matlock bit out. "I will not let Darcy interfere in our affairs."

"I suggest you think of something," Lady Matlock said coldly. "I do not think marriage will be enough to save Ashworth, not so long as Andrew is managing it, and you, Lord Matlock, are hardly better."

Lord Matlock said nothing, but the fury in his eyes betrayed the storm brewing within. Lady Matlock, satisfied she had made her point, took a slow sip of wine, letting the silence linger.

The two were silent for several moments. Finally, Lord Matlock broke the silence between them. "Julia," he said slowly, his voice laced with a calculated calm, "you are right about one thing. Action must be taken, but perhaps not in the way you imagine." He paused, measuring her reaction, and continued, "I have my own plans in motion."

She raised an eyebrow, suspicion creeping into her expression. "What do you mean?"

"I have made arrangements," he said, keeping his tone neutral.

Lady Matlock's expression hardened. "What kind of arrangements? I trust that you are not as foolish as your sister, but what can you possibly do that will prevent your ruin from being made public?"

"Will it not be your own ruin as well?" he asked, chuckling darkly.

"If it becomes known, I will go to my father's house. I still have my dowry and there is nothing you can do to take those funds from me. I will be well provided for, regardless of what happens to Matlock," Lady Matlock informed her husband with a sardonic grin.

Scowling, Lord Matlock dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "I will yet salvage this situation. But I will remember how unwilling you were to do anything to help the name you bear."

With that, he turned his attention back to his glass, leaving Lady Matlock fuming at his dismissal. The two finished the meal in silence, each contemplating their own plans to save themselves at the expense of the other.