Chapter Eight

Chapter Seven

Two days before Christmas, Darcy stared at the empty top of his desk.

He'd read the last paper his steward had sent to him and written in careful hand on the bottom his instructions for how the matter was to be dealt with.

Darcy had been busy since they returned to Pemberley making a quick review of the final matters about the management of the estate for the end of the year so he would not need to be bothered with much business the two weeks his family would be here. And now he'd touched on all of the urgent matters. There was a great deal more he might do; the simple fact was that he had been gone from Pemberley for six months, ever since he'd gone south on his simultaneously disastrous and lucky scheme to surprise Georgiana at Ramsgate.

He was regularly filled with a hidden fear that Elizabeth was deep down unhappy with him. When he watched her, his mind constantly whirled about the question of what she thought of him, and if her smiles and expressions were of affection or simple tolerance. Whenever she sighed, it made him anxious. And no matter how often he insisted to himself that she had no right to be unhappy now that her schemes had succeeded and she was the mistress of Pemberley, he returned to staring and worrying about how she felt.

There were times he'd say something, and she became silent, and… the sparkle disappeared from her eyes.

It was still less than three weeks since they married.

And he worried about whether she loved Mr. Wickham. She had after all stared at Wickham's portrait the day they arrived at Pemberley.

Darcy had been useless for the rest of the day after that — he'd ridden round the whole park three times despite the exhaustion from the long trip. He couldn't get it out his mind, the way she'd passionately defended his childhood friend.

Did she love Wickham more than him? Like Papa? And Georgiana?

Papa didn't love Wickham more , the reasonable voice of the dutiful son inside of him replied, he only treated you more harshly because he expected more of you .

Papa's last words had begged him to say where Wickham was, and to tell him as soon as he arrived. Papa then fell back to sleep in his illness, and never woke again.

That voice said: You never made him laugh like Wickham. He didn't smile with you. He only needed you to be the heir, but it was Wickham he loved.

Even if it had been a matter of policy from his father, to raise him in such a way, Darcy was determined that he would never be so… disciplined as his own father had been with him.

Wickham had of course not arrived in time to see his benefactor's death, too busy tupping one of the maids at an inn along the route to hurry.

And Georgiana.

Georgiana had told him her plans, but that didn't mean that she had loved him more than Wickham, just that she had not expected him to completely put an end to the whole matter. In any case, it was natural that a sister ought to love her husband more than her brother. Or love in a different way that did not compete. In any case, while he worried for his sister, it wasn't a wound in his soul, the way the competition he'd felt he was in for his father's love, or perhaps now Elizabeth's, had been.

He had explained to Georgiana what the man's character was, he'd told her about his lack of expectations, and he had even told her that he had only a few months prior to the attempted seduction refused to give Wickham the Kympton living, and further that when the gentleman had parted from him he'd sworn to have revenge. In addition to her fortune, that was likely an added motivation.

There was a knock on his door, and when it opened, one of the footmen informed him that the carriages of his uncle and cousins had been sighted, winding their way down into the small valley that made up Pemberley's park.

Darcy went to the window of his study and leaned against the wall as he watched the fine carriages, the size of ants in the distance, wind their way down into the valley along the path and then over the bridge across the stream that fronted Pemberley.

It had not snowed in two days, and the road was clear for his family's carriages, and men had been busy yesterday shoveling the snow off to the side all along the way.

The rest of the park glistened white from the fallen snow, everywhere in piles. The air was still.

Perfect weather, if there was no storm, for tomorrow's planned hunt.

But today was for Elizabeth to meet his mother's family, and Elizabeth would be judged harshly by them. Deep down, some part of Darcy that had grown more and more desperate for her each night did not think she deserved their judgement. They could not understand her value.

He hardly understood it himself.

When the carriages had all crossed to the far side of the bridge, Darcy went down.

He'd dressed in a fine coat that morning, and he found Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Mrs. Reynolds waiting by the front hall. Mrs. Reynolds and Elizabeth amiably conversed about the plans for the Christmas gifts to the servants, while Georgiana listened to them, clearly interested, but equally clearly not prepared to offer an opinion, even when directly asked.

Elizabeth gave him a familiar smile, though he could tell that her features were more strained today than usual. During breakfast she had just picked at her food, eating barely anything. She'd said she didn't feel at all hungry, and Darcy was sure that it was her nerves at needing to perform for his family.

Neither of them was good at performing for strangers, and it was Darcy's dear, dear hope that she would think of his family as her own by the end of their visit. Despite her pallor, Elizabeth looked lovely in an almost white gown that Darcy thought was silk. Her hair had a simple pin through it to bind it into a neat chignon, with curls falling around her cheeks.

What made Darcy frown in anxiety was the small ruby cross that she wore as a necklace. It was a piece he remembered seeing on her several times when she was still Miss Elizabeth, and it clearly was not particularly expensive. He should have told her this morning to don some of the old family jewelry.

Elizabeth studied him as he studied her. Her smile faded away, and she looked down at her gown self-consciously.

Let them all think what they want, she is my wife . It is not their place to judge.

With that thought Darcy firmly stepped across the checkerboard marble floor and took Elizabeth's arm. "Shall we go out to greet them?"

Besides Darcy and Elizabeth, half a dozen senior members of the staff walked out into the cold to greet his aunt and uncle.

The thin sun beamed on them, and the valley that Pemberley was built in protected the house somewhat from the wind. Each of their breaths still made little puffs of vapor visible in the air.

Lord Matlock's carriage first pulled to a stop in front of the house, and Lord Matlock climbed out before giving his hand to his wife.

Darcy stepped forward once both of them were out and grasped his uncle's hand firmly. "Very good to see you."

At five and fifty years of age, the Earl of Matlock had an authoritative presence. Though he was a man of only medium height he had a handsome face and a robust frame from years of active hunting, fencing and pugilism. He had always been a fine looking man, and while he never would have seduced the maiden daughter of a respectable gentleman, he'd had a rakish reputation when younger, and he kept two mistresses with the knowledge, and apparent acceptance, of Lady Matlock.

His sharp eyes pierced Darcy, studying and judging.

Darcy met the gaze with calmness. He loved and respected his uncle, and he knew he had made a terrible mistake when he married Elizabeth, but he would allow no one to disrespect his wife, or his right to make his own decisions as master of Pemberley.

Lord Matlock nodded stiffly in respect, and then turned to study at Elizabeth with that same sharp gaze.

"I am glad to meet you at last, Mrs. Darcy." He bent over and kissed her hand.

The tone of voice told nothing about what his judgement of Elizabeth was on this quick first meeting. And that itself was not a good sign. His uncle had once spent thirty minutes explaining to Darcy at length how he trusted the first impression he gained of a person, and how rarely it was wrong.

His two grandchildren bounced out of Viscount Hartwood's carriage before it had fully stopped, somewhat wrecking the solemnity of the scene. Laughing, the boy grabbed the legs of Lord Matlock and lisped out, "Grandpa, Grandpa, please, please, please. Let me come on the hunt," while the girl shouted about how they'd been unable to walk for two hours, and danced around Georgiana while she studied Elizabeth with wide eyes.

Viscount Hartwood helped his wife Lady Susan out at a more sedate pace before he came up to Georgiana to give his cousin a kiss on both cheeks. Then with a grin he tried to kiss Darcy as well.

With a small laugh at Hartwood's usual joke Darcy pushed him away.

His cousin looked very well in his impeccably tailored blue coat, and despite the cold he wore it open so that his waistcoat with a dazzling array of intricately woven silk threads could be admired. He was a dandy in the style of the Prince Regent or Beau Brummel, and if he was not quite so fashionable as those two, he made it up by simultaneously having somewhat more substance.

Lady Susan was made after the same model, elegantly dressed even after a three hour carriage ride, lovely and impeccable in a traveling dress that wrapped around her perfectly, with high cheekbones and a dismissive gaze. She was universally acknowledged as one of the best dressed women in the ton , though she also was rather silly about matters unfashionable.

Hartwood and his wife made a happy pair, with three children, and they always overran Hartwood's allowance by a little due to their joint expenses on clothing.

"My lady," Hartwood said to Elizabeth, making a florid bow before Darcy could begin the introductions. "Creature of beauty, delightful angel — the one who has captured my dear cousin's soul! I am delighted to meet you, we have heard so little about you that I feel as though I will only come to know you through conversation and actually meeting you, which is less poetic by far than if my soul simply understood yours — and I suppose I ought to have let Darcy introduce us before introducing myself."

Lady Susan came up, to curtsy and be introduced to Elizabeth, but it was exactly as Darcy had imagined. Lady Susan's eyes studied Elizabeth and judged her clothes and her appearance and her manners, and the way she held herself decreed that she found Elizabeth to not quite the crack, and nothing out of the common way.

And then, Hartwood's six year old daughter, Julia, tilted out from behind Georgiana's skirts and exclaimed, "Is she the fortune hunter?"

Lady Susan held her hands to both sides of her face dramatically, though Darcy could tell she was not actually blushing. "No, no, no, dearie. Don't say such things."

Georgiana frowned at Julia. "Elizabeth is very nice."

"I heard you married Uncle Fitzy because he was so very, very rich!"

Darcy hardly dared to glance at Elizabeth, to see how she took this. She was suppressing a smile, and her eyes were crinkling in amusement.

He began to relax and tried to figure out what he could say to the children that would not be overbearing, but would clearly deliver the message that such things should not be said or believed, in a way that a six year old might respect.

In truth, Darcy had no sense of what six year olds respected.

Julia asked Elizabeth again, "Was it because you married Uncle Fitzy?"

"You call him Uncle Fitzy?"

"La! I do!" the little girl said quickly. "Because his first name is Fitzwilliam, even though he doesn't use it, and my last name is Fitzwilliam, and we are all Fitzwilliams, and when you have a child are you going to call him Fitzwilliam?"

"No," Darcy said firmly. "If we have a son, he will be Bennet, and if we have a daughter, she will be Anne."

Elizabeth looked at him with surprise. "Your mother's name?"

"And your father's."

She frowned, sparks of something going through her face. "You need not honor him so far, not for my sake."

"It is our tradition."

"And then I'd call him Uncle Benny!" Julia hopped up and down.

"No," Elizabeth replied, grinning at the child, "he would be Cousin Benny."

"Oh. Oh, right." Julia paused.

"Do you like to throw snowballs?" Elizabeth asked the girl seriously.

"Oh, very much." She glanced at her mother. "I mean no, it is not very ladylike." And then Julia said in a perfect imitation of the tone of the most distinguished member of Almack's, "It is not the done thing."

"That is too bad, because I love to throw snowballs very much," Elizabeth replied. "And there is so much snow all about here."

The whole party hurried into Pemberley to get out of the cold. Julia followed Elizabeth and Georgiana, while Lady Susan stepped next to Darcy, and said, "I told you to send her to Madame Genevieve's. If this is how she looks during the season, Lady Thorne and Mrs. Booke will laugh, and laugh, and laugh at me."

"She is only your cousin," Darcy replied coldly.

"I always make our dear Georgiana dress so well — she listens. When she comes out, she'll be a credit to us all, and—"

"For my part, I am not pleased," Darcy took her arm and slowed her to let the rest of the party tramp towards the drawing room ahead of them, "that it seems your daughter thinks that the correct way to refer to my wife is as ‘the fortune hunter'."

"Oh that." Lady Susan laughed and flapped her hand. She did not bother to fake embarrassment for him alone. "It does show why she must dress very well. Then everyone else will see that there is nothing to the rumors. Besides, she has an eccentric sort of beauty that might be polished by the modiste's art."

"What? Elizabeth is all that is lovely — besides, you made a leap of logic that makes no sense."

Lady Susan's blank stare was the reply.

"How would her being dressed elaborately and expensively make anyone think Mrs. Darcy to be less of a fortune hunter?"

"If she follows proper instruction, everyone will agree she is well dressed."

"And?" Darcy raised his eyebrows.

Lady Susan threw up her hands. "Men, always using logic!"

She left Darcy to follow her into the drawing room.

It was not, in fact, Darcy's impression that the women he was closest to, Elizabeth and Georgiana, had any difficulty with the use of logic.

It was Darcy's ordinary view that women who claimed an inability to think clearly, and further that this inability gave them some special insight into the world, were hiding some form of perfectly clear and logical reasoning that they did not wish to confess.

In the drawing room, Elizabeth had settled on a sofa with Lady Matlock and Lord Matlock taking up the positions next to her on the sofa, and Viscount Hartwood in the winged armchair next to her. She had a pinched look to her, and she glanced at him with a frustrated and unwelcoming frown.

Darcy pulled up a chair to sit as close to Elizabeth as he could. Georgiana was with them, but the young children had been gathered by the nurses and taken upstairs to the long empty, and hence outdated nursery. Such at least was the complaint that Lady Susan made with a nose crinkled in disgust every year when the Matlocks visited for the holiday that Pemberley had been assigned for the year.

In addition to being a supremely dressed over-spender, she was a loving and attentive mother.

Lady Susan spoke to Georgiana eagerly, "You are even taller than before! I am so jealous — it isn't quite the height of fashion, not all the crack, to be so tall. But if you wear the right clothes, you'll make every other girl dead and sick with envy, because they can't match the style being so short."

Georgiana frowned. "I don't want to be odd or to have everyone… look at me."

"No, no, believe me you do!" Lady Susan said confidently. "Every woman wants to be looked at by their peers and thought better than them. It is deep here," she tapped her chest as she spoke, "inside the liver and the guts."

That only brought up a frown from Georgiana.

Elizabeth looked at him, and their eyes met. She had a half smile as though she wished to laugh. And suddenly Darcy had a sense of seeing Lady Susan as rather ridiculous, and he had to look down to keep from smiling as well.

Now Lady Susan turned to Elizabeth. "And Mrs. Darcy. Such an… unusual choice for a morning dress. Where did you get that dress? I must know the name of the modiste."

Elizabeth replied with a name.

"Who? I have never heard of her. I thought I knew every dressmaker in the ton worth knowing about. And several not. An addition to the list! An undiscovered maestro. And such fabric!"

She actually stood up to finger the silk of Elizabeth's dress. "I did not know that you could even get such silk through a dressmaker."

"Ah, my uncle — the one in trade, because you must have heard that I have an uncle who lives in Cheapside —" Elizabeth replied, her head lifted high, and her color red, "does some business with the Indies. He got it at a discount."

"I see. A discount . And I'd feared you had overpaid."

Elizabeth shrugged. "When you are the fortune hunter, you must keep such matters in mind. To preserve the fortune ."

Darcy found himself sitting higher, torn between admiration of Elizabeth's confidence — in this she refused to offer disguise — and a wish that the subject of her family was not brought up at all. And he'd been right, he should have somehow forced her to go to Lady Susan's dressmaker.

"Yes, yes, I need not care about that ," Lady Susan replied to Elizabeth. "And your almost brown complexion. You could pass for an Italian, or even an Egyptian. I will make you as striking as Georgiana with all her height."

Elizabeth smiled and opened her hands wide. "I am as I am. Mr. Darcy has admired my complexion."

Darcy frowned. "Enough, enough. Mrs. Darcy has only just entered our sphere. It does not speak ill of her that the way she dresses is not yet to your standards."

The glare that Elizabeth gave him made Darcy feel as though he'd made a serious mistake by trying to defend her in the female battle of wits. In fact, everyone but Lord Matlock looked at him as though he'd said something shocking and totally inept.

Even Georgiana frowned with worry as she looked between Darcy and Elizabeth.

For his part Lord Matlock said, "Hear, hear. I always preferred women who didn't spend much on clothes and who did not chase the fashion of the year."

Lady Matlock elbowed him with a smile.

That made the earl add, "Perhaps one might chase the fashion of the decade."

"It is not," Viscount Hartwood crossed his legs and leaned back, the picture of relaxation, "usually something a woman wishes to be known for, not pursuing the fashion of the year."

Lady Susan smiled widely and looked at Elizabeth with a raised eyebrow. "Though I would not have said it so bluntly as he did, it is clear that even your husband agrees that you must improve your selection of dresses before we meet all the ton in spring."

"It is unfortunate then for you all, including Mr. Darcy, that I am the one to select what I shall wear, and I have not the slightest intention of ever spending more than fifty pounds in a year on my clothing, no matter how ridiculous it makes me appear."

That speech, clear, simple, and delivered with a pert smile left an impact on his assembled relations rather like that of grapeshot on a column of soldiers.

"You surely do not think," Lord Matlock said, recovering himself first, "that limiting yourself to such a small amount will make either us, or the world, forget that the, ah, material advantages in your marriage to Mr. Darcy were wholly on your side. Or that the, ah, rumors around the quick engagement suggest some manner of irregularity in its formation."

Elizabeth's wide eyes looked at him, with an impression of childhood innocence. "No, whatever do you mean? Mr. Darcy is rich? No one told me."

Lord Matlock actually laughed. "Fine point, fine point. I like you, young lady. I did not expect to do so. I can already see that you'll make the conversation here more interesting."

"Is that why the estate is so large? I was quite confused, the park must be ten times" — Elizabeth spread her arms out wide as she spoke — "ten times the size of anything my father owned."

Lord Matlock reached over his wife to pat Elizabeth on her knee. "I see why Darcy made a fool of himself for you."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous." Darcy said this to his own surprise. "You will spend a decent part of your private money on clothes — I spend much more than fifty pounds on my clothes, and I am not a woman."

"Or an impressive dresser," Viscount Hartwood drawled. "No fine taste to go with the money. It is wasted on him."

"You must at least," Lady Susan said, "wear a bigger hat, stay inside, and let your complexion go white over the next months — how you keep it so brown in the middle of winter I cannot understand. But a brown tanned look is very much not the crack this year — or this decade — and it is not so uncommon as to be striking, like Georgiana's height will be. It merely looks, ah… peasantish"

Darcy had noticed that Elizabeth spent a great deal of time out. She walked round and round and round in her private walks. He suspected that after only a week she was well on her way to having memorized all the near walks in the park. He felt an odd, but deep, satisfaction to watch his wife so eager to know his land.

Snow did not stop her, and she had proclaimed that she rather liked it — though he had a little concern the first few days to make sure that she was accompanied, as he knew that she was not used to the heavier snows they had in the Derbyshire hills.

"Peasantish?" Elizabeth replied, adopting the same wide-eyed expression she'd looked at Lord Matlock with. "You mean like Marie Antoinette and her sheep with the ribbons?"

Everyone laughed, even Lady Susan.

"Yes," Lady Susan replied, "and we'll take your head too, if you do not make a respectable showing of yourself." She then mimed repeatedly the dropping of a guillotine blade with her hand while giggling each time.

"We will have a ball to celebrate my marriage to Mrs. Darcy on the day the calendar turns over, and I thought we might have Christmas singing along with the pudding to celebrate the date. Otherwise, the traditional hunt tomorrow — we've got a party from all round the neighborhood, but it will start from here. Sir Ravenswood's lands are open, as is everything up to the turnpike to the east."

"And the feast following the hunt? Your generosity, or will we depend on Ravenswood's kitchen like two years past?" Lord Hartwood asked, "Does he still have that awful French fellow?"

"Not since his mother died. The French chef was to her taste, not his."

"Good, good." Darcy's cousin rubbed his hands in a way that seemed almost to imply that it was the death of the baronet's mother that was good, and not the dismissal of the French chef.

English dishes, without too much ornamentation or sauce, was the general preference of the Fitzwilliam family.

"And beyond that—"

"We're settled for the next few days," Hartwood said. "I'll rely upon you to surprise me with a good time — will there be archery for the ladies?" He turned to Elizabeth, "Can you shoot?"

"With a gun," Elizabeth replied dryly.

"Susan is archery mad. It is the game among her friends this year."

"In this weather?" Darcy asked, surprised. While he would happily tramp about in the snow with her each day like Elizabeth did — now that he'd caught up with all of the estate business — that did not match his impression of his cousin's wife.

"We cleared one of the galleries, put up wood around the lower windows in case of misses, and Susan and Julia have been shooting at a target on the far end for weeks, isn't that right, dear?"

"You've taken one or two shots yourself," Lady Susan replied to Hartwood.

"And Mrs. Darcy!" Lord Hartwood continued, "You are the hostess, what are your plans?"

Elizabeth smiled thinly. "Pudding and games. I thought we might play charades, it was always a favorite with my family, and Mrs. Reynolds told me that we have more than enough old clothing stored, and even costumes from past games to dress everyone for guessing at tableaux scenes."

"Not snap-dragon or cards?"

With a slight flush, Elizabeth replied, "I have never been a great enthusiast for cards, but as for snap-dragon, if that is a game you enjoy, I would be happy to play."

"Do you get along well with Mrs. Reynolds?" Lady Matlock asked Elizabeth. "I dare say you might find her intimidating, but she knows everything there is to know about Pemberley."

"Oh! She is a perfect housekeeper. I depend wholly on her and am looking to learn everything I might. I like her very much."

"Do you think she likes you?" Lady Matlock's eyes were friendly, but Darcy could tell that she was testing Elizabeth. "After so long being nearly the mistress of the estate, it must be difficult for her."

"I had the same thought. And Darcy respects her so much — he'd told me tales as we traveled up the pike of her managing him when he was a pranking young boy. So of course I've determined to follow her counsel, and only make changes once I understand why things are the way they are — but she has been eager to help. Exactly what a housekeeper should be, knowledgeable about everything, offering her own ideas, and asking intelligent questions so I can express my own preferences, or even develop them in cases where I did not know what I wanted at first."

"You have had no difficulties with her?"

Elizabeth shrugged with that light and sparkling attitude. "You must ask her if you wish to know whether she has found me a dreadful and intolerable mistress. I will not confess to being one. What she says to me is that she has been very eager for the house to have a mistress again. I think she hopes that I will give her enough entertainments to organize so that her powers will be better exercised."

"Ah," Lady Matlock said, "but Mrs. Reynolds would not say anything against you if directly asked by anyone, but perhaps Mr. Darcy, no matter what her true opinion is."

"As I said," Elizabeth replied with a complacent air, "she is a perfect housekeeper. We are fortunate to have her."

Darcy frowned. "Mrs. Reynolds knows her place, and it is not her place to judge Mrs. Darcy. It is my place though to say that Elizabeth has impressed me greatly in how she has taken on the role. There is nothing more to be said on that matter."

The way Elizabeth looked at him, in surprise, and with something happy, made Darcy flush. For once he had said something accidentally which pleased her rather than displeasing her.

"It is true," he added. "You are proving to be exactly what the mistress of Pemberley ought to be."

And he meant it. He also knew from how Mrs. Reynolds spoke of Elizabeth's active participation in all the tasks she thought important for her to engage in that this was an opinion shared by the housekeeper. He of course would not ask Mrs. Reynolds for her opinion of Elizabeth. As much as Darcy valued his old servant, it was not her place to put judgement of any sort upon his wife, whether Lady Matlock thought so or not.

"Mrs. Reynolds has been a fixture in your lives, and also ours," Lady Matlock replied, "for more than these twenty years. I do not like that notion many have that a good servant is supposed to be an automaton, a geared clock, having no feelings and expressing no feelings. It may not be Mrs. Reynolds' place to express a judgement on her mistress, but she is human, and it is impossible for any human to not form judgements."

"Hear, hear," Lord Matlock said, patting his wife's leg affectionately. "Hear, hear. And since we are on the subject of judgements of Mrs. Darcy — I hope you do not mind that we are talking about you, but you are the new wife of my nephew who we have never met."

"I think my minding or not is of no importance to you all," Elizabeth replied, "so I will not deign to say that I mind your questioning."

"It is a matter of concern to me," Darcy said. "If you do not wish us to pursue this line of conversation, we will cease."

Elizabeth looked at him again, with some surprise. She then smiled once more and shook her head. "I knew you came here to see who I am — though I confess I did not expect to be directly described as ‘the fortune hunter' before we made it all the way into the house."

Lady Susan coughed, and something about how she sounded made Darcy suspicious that Julia's loud statement had not come merely from the social ineptness of a child but had possibly been a planned scheme by Lady Susan to see how they all reacted.

Darcy studied Elizabeth. There hadn't been anything that went so far beyond the bounds of propriety that he should interfere with the conversation to protect Elizabeth, but at the same time… at the same time… his family members were not acting as her friend.

Elizabeth kept up a cheerful manner, but she considered herself to be under attack. It was like when she argued with Miss Bingley while her sister was ill at Netherfield. Except… then Elizabeth was having fun, and at present she was not.

"I received," Lord Matlock said, "a letter from my son, the one you've met before who is in the army, about you and his judgement of you."

"I hope it was not a harsh depiction of my many faults," Elizabeth replied lightly. "I was favorably impressed by him , and I would hate to think that he dislikes me."

"His taste in the fair sex is abominable, but then he hasn't tried to marry any of those abominable women. But he speaks positively of you, and I trust his judgement of character."

Viscount Hartwood rolled his eyes. "Dicky always was his favorite. You think I would be, the heir, and the better looking by far, but nooooo , always Richard says this, Richard does this, Richard is twice as strong as you and three times as brave, why can't you be more like Richard? And then look what Richard did, as soon as he finished Eton, joined the army where he'd be forced to wear the same uniform as everyone else, just to spite me."

"Wellington is an excellent dresser, with the way he's decorated his uniform," Lady Susan said with an envious sigh. "And such a fabulous figure of a man."

"I am delighted that you now know my good character because a man who has met me twice for an hour each has given me such a reference of good character," Elizabeth replied. "But I beg you to make your own judgement after you have spent enough time in my company for it to display itself to you. One should not rush to judgement upon a person." Elizabeth waved her hand to Darcy. "I once heard you say that you were very cautious of forming your opinions, especially before choosing to dislike a person."

Lord Matlock huffed.

Hartwood laughed. "I'd thought that about Darcy too. Very precipitate on both your parts. You'd known each other what, three weeks?"

His cousin was asking him the question, not Elizabeth.

Darcy read the challenge clearly. He wanted to either judge him for being the besotted and infatuated man who'd thrown away his hand on a pretty face, or to see his anger at having been maneuvered into a position where his honor demanded he make a bad marriage.

"It was certainly longer than that," Elizabeth replied for Darcy. "I believe it was shortly after Michaelmas when you and Bingley stomped into our assembly ball. He did a shocking thing, and danced with no one outside of his own party, though I know for certain fact that gentlemen were scarce, and more than one lady was required to sit out a set for lack of partner."

She had a sly smile as she looked at him, and Darcy suddenly remembered the first time he really noticed Elizabeth. Bingley had said something to him, about dancing with her, and he'd foolishly decided not to, and then she walked off, and there was something about her…

"Just surprising. Surprising." Hartwood continued, "I expected more of a beauty — I mean no insult to you, Mrs. Darcy, but if a famed bachelor falls to a country maiden with no fortune, one expects…"

"Yes, what does one expect?" Elizabeth replied. She smiled widely, and Darcy thought falsely. "Besides, I am the heir to a whole fifty pounds a year — what, you expect me to pretend it to be higher, or to not say anything about the matter at all?"

Fifty pounds a year? Wasn't that also what Elizabeth had said she intended to limit her clothing purchases to?

"Small change. That might be enough to keep me in gloves for a whole year, but not shirts as well. In such a case a man expects the, uh, lascivious — pardon me, Georgie — the lascivious interest to be aroused. I myself am an expert in watching such interests become aroused, as a member of the circle of his esteemed highness. Though I do not take part in his revelries, I need not pretend with such a friend that he does not revel."

"It was my conversation," Elizabeth replied. Her smile was wholly gone now, and her fingers tightly pressed into the arm of the sofa. She'd wriggled slightly further away from Lady Matlock on the cushion.

"Your conversation? Ah… yes, that is the story we have heard," Lord Matlock replied instead of his son.

"This is enough," Darcy said firmly.

"I hardly know what story you heard, but I assure you," Elizabeth suddenly laughed with real humor, "it was a matter of conversation."

Lady Susan giggled. "Conversation! A matter of male and female conversation ."

Everyone, except Georgiana who looked confused, turned to stare between Darcy and Elizabeth.

"Was it now?" Lord Matlock said slowly, "Was it?"

"No," Darcy said sharply. "And you ought to know me better than to even imagine I would do such a thing."

"I would not have imagined," Lord Matlock said, "that you would marry in such a precipitous way — no warning to Lady Catherine and Anne, never allowing the rest of your family to see the girl beforehand, so that we might offer our opinions, and no—"

"Your opinions," Darcy said, "were not desired."

Elizabeth frowned. It was clear that this line of conversation bothered her in a way that being called a fortune hunter had not.

"I assure you," Darcy added, "that if you had ever believed that I was the sort of man who needed your approval and blessing before I chose to marry, you were deeply mistaken in my character."

Hartwood stood up from the chair next to Elizabeth and clapped Darcy on the back. "Good man. I agree, you don't need the approval of the Earl of Matlock for anything."

Darcy glared at his cousin.

Unfortunately, that had little effect on his cousin who, as he'd often announced, remembered perfectly well that time Darcy had stripped off his little pants to run around bare bottomed during a family visit to Matlock when Darcy was three and the Viscount eight years of age.

"Solid man, solid man. Not asking my father's approval. You do not need mine either. Never thought you did. And with the appeal of such loveliness, and of such conversation —" He winked at Elizabeth. "Even if she does not dress… a ton . Though in a lovely manner. But not… a ton ."

"Perhaps," Elizabeth replied tartly, "you merely say that because you dress too much to a ton ."

"You will set precedent my dear!" he exclaimed. "Precedent. In two years, they will be aping your current dress at Almack's. I see from your mouth that you mean to reproach me, as you assume my speech to be sarcastic. But that is neither here nor there. We must return to the topic later. Darcy, surely you can understand my father's annoyance. He had to receive Batty Catty's letters."

"Don't call your aunt that." Lord Matlock sat straight. "She has no resemblance to a bat."

Lady Susan giggled. "That bat. It rhymes."

Lord Matlock had an expression which suggested that he rather at this moment wished for a different daughter-in-law.

"See, you look upon a defeated old man. He cannot manage his own sister," added the grinning Lord Hartwood.

It was impossible for Darcy not to grin back at his cousin. "I received letters from Aunt Catherine as well expressing her opinions on the marriage." He noticed Elizabeth looked at him with a half frown. "I of course only read the first paragraphs before burning them."

Viscount laughed. "If only my father could reply in such a way."

"It surprised us very much," Lady Matlock said. "Quite unlike you — you do not owe us an accounting. Not at all. No matter what my husband might think, you are your own man. But…" The gray-haired woman smiled brightly at Darcy. "We are family."

Lady Matlock had always been the kinder and more friendly of the two.

There was too much of Lady Catherine's confidence and stubbornness in Lord Matlock — and in Darcy himself, if he was honest on the matter — for it to be easy for them to manage when they disagreed.

But with her sweetness, combined with a fine intellect that was the equal of any man's, Lady Matlock served as the peacekeeper who had kept the occasional angry disputes within the Fitzwilliam portion of the family from exploding out of bounds — at least she had until Lady Catherine had written so viciously about Elizabeth and Darcy in response to the marriage. Until such time as his aunt apologized, which might easily be never, there would be a rupture between them.

"I wish…" — that I had not been so desperate to finally be married and to be enjoying the reward of my lack of wisdom — "that I could have given you all ample time to know Elizabeth and her virtues before the marriage. But as I wished to return quickly to Pemberley, and I wished to marry before that return, it seemed best to simply do so."

"Balderdash," Lord Matlock said. "Could have still given us more than a week's warning. Waited out the banns — wouldn't have hurt anything if you needed to let the lady sit in Hertfordshire till January or February. I wrote courting letters to Lady Matlock for nearly six months before we married, and it did us both good to understand each other so well. Conversation? That is not a good reason to hurry. Unless there was a need to hurry."

"I have already told you my reason — Georgiana, do you feel up to playing?" Darcy stood from his chair, and he went to Elizabeth and pulled her up. "Would you both not like to play to display to the company? — perhaps you might play a duet."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, no. I would much prefer to let us all simply hear Georgiana — you all know how superior she is to the usual performer. I am not."

This surprised Darcy. She had generally been perfectly happy and willing to play whenever he'd asked before now, though she never made a point of seeking opportunities to display. Exactly what, in his view, an accomplished woman should be. But she had no cause to be anxious about playing in front of her family, Darcy always found her song wholly lovely and delightful.

Georgiana exclaimed, "No, no, Elizabeth, you must sing with me. I ever so prefer it to not have everyone's eyes upon me." And she grabbed Elizabeth and pulled her to sit next to her by the large piano on the side of the room.

"If I must sing," Elizabeth replied, "then I must. "