Chapter Twenty

Elizabeth

30 thth November 1811

Matlock Manor, Derbyshire

T he next morning, Elizabeth looked around the chamber she had been assigned and felt entirely ill at ease. She had been exhausted the previous afternoon and gone to sleep soon after dinner without taking in much of the place.

Now that she did, she felt insignificant. The bed, an enormous four-poster with rich curtains and a matching canopy, stood imposingly in the centre of the room, while at the far end, a grand fireplace, though richly adorned, did little to keep the cold air at bay.

The heat from the fire barely reached the other side of the chamber, and Elizabeth had quickly learned the night before that its decorative grandeur was no match for the bitter draughts that swept through the room. However, she discovered that a maid attended to her needs and awaited just outside her door, and when she ventured out to request a cup of tea, the woman had not only promptly brought fresh tea but also provided her with extra blankets.

She had to admit, Darcy had not been exaggerating when he warned her about the draughtiness of the house. She had assumed at the time that he was simply trying to make her feel better, but in truth, he had been quite correct.

Now, as she stood by the window, gazing down into the vast gardens below she spotted Mr Darcy walking alongside his uncle, the Earl of Matlock. How strange it was to find herself in his uncle’s home, brought here under his protection for both her and Maggie’s sake. There was no denying that Mr Darcy was a good man—honourable, protective, and kind. Her feelings for him had softened greatly since their first acquaintance, so much so that they now troubled her. Could it be, she wondered, that under different circumstances she could fall for the man. But no. She must not allow herself to think such things or become moon-eyed over him. Even if they were not in the midst of such peril, they were from vastly different worlds.

It was true, of course, that they were both technically of the same social class. Mr Darcy was a gentleman, as was her father. But that was where the similarities ended. Mr Darcy’s wealth and status far exceeded that of the Bennet family, and though her father was a gentleman, his estate was modest, and he was far from adept at managing it.

A knock on the door pulled Elizabeth from her reverie. She called for the visitor to enter, and a moment later, a footman appeared.

“Miss Bennet, Lady Matlock invites you to join her for breakfast. Miss Maggie is already in her company.”

Elizabeth blinked, surprised to find that it was already time for breakfast. At Longbourn, the family did not usually dine until almost ten, and it was barely nine. She nodded politely.

“I shall come at once,” she said, gathering herself.

Descending the wide, winding staircase—which made her feel as though she were in one of the royal palaces—Elizabeth stepped into the bright and airy breakfast room. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating the room and casting a golden glow over the remnants of snow that had fallen abundantly during the night. The frost-covered gardens beyond were now beginning to thaw in the morning light.

Lady Matlock sat at the breakfast table, her back straight, her chin slightly raised as she buttered a roll with calm deliberation. Despite the grandeur of the house, Elizabeth noted with surprise that the breakfast table was not laden with the abundance one might expect in such an opulent home. There were a few simple rolls, some marmalade, lemon curd, and a pot of tea.

At Longbourn, her mother would have insisted on a far more lavish spread, even for unexpected guests. There would have been fruits, cheeses, meats, and porridge, enough to satisfy any visitor. Was Lady Matlock simply frugal when it came to breakfast, or was this sparse offering intentional? Elizabeth couldn’t help but remember the way Lady Matlock had looked at her the day before when they had first arrived—a look that carried with it a certain judgement.

As Elizabeth entered, Lady Matlock’s sharp eyes met hers. “Miss Bennet, you are risen, I see.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed slightly at the remark. “I am not in the habit of rising late, my lady. In fact, I have been awake for several hours but I am accustomed to a later breakfast. I did not wish to presume and thus stayed in my chamber until called.”

“We are still keeping to our Town habits,” Lady Matlock replied coolly. “My husband and I have spent much of our time in London, given his duties in the House of Lords.” She spoke as though Elizabeth were unaware of this fact, as if her husband’s political duties were somehow new information.

Maggie was sitting quietly at the table, attempting to butter a roll. Elizabeth smiled softly and, without a word, moved to sit beside the child, gently taking the roll from her and slicing it for her.

“Can she not manage that herself?” Lady Matlock asked, her tone indifferent but carrying an edge of reproach.

“She can,” Elizabeth replied, “but she makes quite a mess of it. It has become easier for us to help her.”

“A child does not learn if everything is done for them,” Lady Matlock commented dryly. Elizabeth bit back the retort that immediately came to her mind, reminding herself that Lady Matlock, as a countess, likely had little to do with raising her own children. It was well-known that the aristocracy often employed nurses and governesses to tend to their offspring. Elizabeth doubted that Lady Matlock had ever buttered a roll for a child in her life.

“Well,” Elizabeth replied, keeping her voice calm, “given that we are not her parents, I thought it best to make her as comfortable as possible until she can be reunited with them, and they can raise her as they see fit.”

Lady Matlock’s gaze rested on Maggie, and she pressed her lips together as though deep in thought. “I see. And how long has she been in your care now?”

Elizabeth hesitated, trying to remember the exact time. “Almost seven weeks now.”

“And you still have no idea where she came from?” Lady Matlock’s voice was sceptical.

“No,” Elizabeth replied firmly. “As we explained yesterday, she arrived under peculiar circumstances, and no one has come forward to claim her. Other than the man who was clearly not her father.”

Lady Matlock folded her hands on the table, her expression unreadable. “I see. And what, pray, are your plans for her once this threat is over?”

Elizabeth sat back slightly, the question catching her off guard. The truth was, she and Mr Darcy had not yet considered what to do about Maggie if her parents were never found. But now that the question was before her, the answer seemed clear.

“If we are unable to find her family,” Elizabeth said, wrapping one arm protectively around Maggie, who had grown stiff at the conversation, “then she will remain with my family. My mother adores her, and my sisters are very fond of her as well. She will have a loving home with us, no matter what.”

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly down at Maggie, who returned a shy but grateful smile. Lady Matlock studied them both for a moment before speaking again.

“And your family has the means to take in an additional child?”

Elizabeth felt a flash of irritation at the question. What business was it of Lady Matlock’s? “My father is a gentleman, and we have our own estate in Hertfordshire. While we may not be as wealthy as some,” she added pointedly, glancing around the lavish room, “we are by no means paupers.”

Lady Matlock stiffened at the remark but quickly recovered, inclining her head slightly. “Of course not. I did not mean to imply otherwise.”

With that, the conversation shifted to mundane topics such as the weather and the origin of the lemon curd Maggie presently ate but Elizabeth could not help but feel certain that she was being judged, and none too kindly.

***

The more time Elizabeth spent at Matlock, the more unsettled she became. Despite the grandeur of the house, with its fine furnishings, sprawling gardens, and endless halls, the air was thick with judgement. Lady Matlock’s cool demeanour only heightened her unease. There were glances cast when Elizabeth spoke, small, imperceptible gestures that conveyed more disdain than words ever could. Her position as a guest—however necessary for her safety—felt precarious. She could not shake the feeling that she was being measured and found lacking.

As the afternoon wore on, Elizabeth sought the solace of the gardens. She had always found peace in the outdoors, the fresh air offering a respite from the oppressive weight of society’s expectations. Netherfield’s grounds had been a marvel, but Matlock’s gardens, though equally vast, felt different—less natural, more manicured. The hedges were clipped into perfect shapes, the flowerbeds arranged with such precision that they felt stifling rather than freeing.

As she wandered through the gravel paths, she spotted Mr Darcy in the distance, deep in conversation with another man. The two figures were walking with purpose, their heads bent together as they talked. Curious, Elizabeth approached.

Mr Darcy noticed her first, his gaze softening when he saw her, and he offered a slight nod of acknowledgement. As she drew closer, he turned to her with his usual calm politeness.

“Miss Bennet,” he greeted her, “allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth curtsied as the colonel stepped forward. He was a handsome man, with a bright, open face that was immediately warm and engaging. His bearing was unmistakably that of a soldier—strong, confident, and yet entirely unpretentious.

“A pleasure, Miss Bennet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, his voice pleasant and slightly teasing. “I have heard much of you from my cousin.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, glancing at Mr Darcy, who looked mildly uncomfortable at his cousin’s playful remark. “I hope you have heard nothing but the best, Colonel,” she replied with a small smile.

“Indeed, only the highest praise,” The colonel laughed lightly.

“What good fortune that we should have come upon you right when we too are visiting,” she said. The two men exchanged a glance.

“Fortunate, yes but more so for you than me,” he said. ‘My cousin has told me about your predicament related to your young charge and I think I might be of help.”

Elizabeth’s smile faltered. “You mean Maggie?”

“Yes,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, growing serious. “Darcy has told me of her and the rather mysterious circumstances surrounding her. I understand you’ve had little luck in finding her family thus far?”

“None at all,” Elizabeth admitted, her brow creasing with worry. “We believed her to be a poor child, perhaps one of those unfortunate enough to have been stolen to be sold.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded, but there was a glint in his eye as he spoke. “That is certainly a possibility, but I fear there may be more to it. There has been a troubling increase in kidnappings of late, particularly in and around the smaller towns. Not long ago, the son of an earl was taken and held for ransom. The perpetrators seem to be targeting families of some means.”

Elizabeth felt a chill run down her spine. “Are you suggesting that Maggie might have been taken for ransom?”

The colonel shrugged, his face grim. “It is a possibility we cannot ignore. If Maggie were from a well-to-do family, they may have been attempting to secure a ransom. Or worse, perhaps her family was killed during the attempt.”

Elizabeth’s heart tightened at the thought. Could it be true? Could Maggie have been stolen away from a life of comfort, her parents murdered by criminals seeking profit? The idea was horrifying, yet with each passing day, the mystery surrounding the child only deepened.

“I cannot bear to think it,” Elizabeth murmured, casting her eyes downwards. “We had believed her to be a poor orphan, taken for other nefarious purposes. But the more I observe her, the more I think you may be right. There is something in her manner—something refined. She might very well be from a family of status.”

Mr Darcy, who had been silent during this exchange, spoke then. “It is indeed strange, however, that no one has come forward to claim her. If her family were searching for her, surely we would have heard something by now. If the family were of note then surely there would have been something reported in the newspapers?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam considered this for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “It is possible they have been searching, but they may not yet have had word of her. Communication is slow, and if they are farther afield, it could take weeks before they learn anything. Moreover, those who commit such crimes are often careful to cover their tracks.”

Elizabeth glanced up at the colonel, her mind racing. “Then there is hope that her family may still be alive and searching for her?”

“There is always hope,” the colonel replied kindly. “And I intend to help in any way I can. I will be returning to my regiment in Brighton tonight, and I will make enquiries among my contacts. It is possible that someone in the military or law enforcement has heard something about similar cases.”

“That is most kind of you, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said sincerely. “We would be deeply grateful for any assistance.”

Mr Darcy, too, nodded his approval. “Your help will be invaluable, Richard. I had hoped you might have some insight into the matter.”

“I only wish I could do more,” the colonel said. “But I must admit, these recent events have been alarming. Kidnappings of this nature are becoming more frequent, and those responsible are becoming bolder.”

Elizabeth felt her heart sink. The idea that Maggie could have been caught up in such a dangerous scheme made her feel sick with dread. And what if they were still in danger? What if the people who had taken Maggie in the first place were still after her?

As if sensing her distress, Mr Darcy stepped closer, his voice low and reassuring. “We will do everything in our power to ensure Maggie’s safety, Miss Bennet. You have my word.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, meeting his dark, earnest eyes, and for a moment, the weight of her fear lessened. She knew she could trust him. He had already proven himself a protector, not only of Maggie but of her as well. And now, with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s involvement, there was a renewed sense of hope.

“Thank you, Mr Darcy,” she said softly. “I do not know what we would do without your help.”

Mr Darcy bowed his head slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. “It is my duty, Miss Bennet. And my pleasure.”

There was a pause, a moment of quiet understanding between them, before Colonel Fitzwilliam broke the silence with a good-natured grin. “Well, cousin, I must say, I admire your dedication. I can see why you are so concerned for Miss Bennet and young Maggie.”

Elizabeth felt the heat rise to her cheeks at the colonel’s words, but Mr Darcy only gave a slight smile in response.

“We are all concerned,” he said simply, though his eyes lingered on Elizabeth for a moment longer than necessary.

The colonel chuckled softly and, with a bow, excused himself, leaving Elizabeth and Mr Darcy standing alone in the garden. The air between them felt different now, charged with unspoken emotion, a mutual understanding that neither of them dared put into words.

For Elizabeth, the presence of Mr Darcy had become not just a comfort but a source of strength. Though Lady Matlock’s judgement weighed heavily on her, it was Mr Darcy’s quiet resolve and steadfastness that gave her hope. Whatever dangers lay ahead, she knew she could count on him.

As they began to walk back towards the house, side by side, Elizabeth glanced up at him once more. “You are truly too kind, Mr Darcy. I cannot thank you enough for all you have done.”

Mr Darcy shook his head, his voice soft. “You owe me no thanks, Miss Bennet. I only wish to see you and Maggie safe. That is all that matters.”

And in that moment, as the afternoon sun bathed the gardens in a warm, golden light, Elizabeth felt something stir deep within her—a feeling she had not anticipated, but one that she could no longer deny.