“Thank you. I welcome your support, though I confess, I am curious what Elizabeth has said to you that has made your mind up so decidedly.”
“It is not what she has said tome, dear boy. It is the change she has wrought inyou. Your uncle and I could never disapprove of anyone who made you this happy.”
Perhaps understanding that he knew not how to respond, Lady Matlock chose that moment to indicate to Georgiana and Elizabeth that they ought to withdraw.
“Nay, I say we do not separate this evening,” Fitzwilliam objected.
“You can say what you like, boy, I want my port,” Lord Matlock replied stoutly.
“Bring it with you. My cousins are all off home tomorrow. Let us enjoy the evening together.”
Lord Matlock grumbled a bit more but levered himself to his feet with his cane and limped out of the room, shaking his head as he went.
“Come, Mother,” Fitzwilliam said, taking Lady Matlock’s arm. “Do not look so concerned. Father will survive the indignity.”
Lady Matlock continued to fret but submitted to being led into the drawing room while she did so. The others followed behind.
“I cannot remember the last time I had such a pleasant day,” Georgiana said to Darcy.
“How is that for gratitude?” Fitzwilliam said over his shoulder. “That is the last time I take you to London!”
“He is teasing,” Darcy said quickly, knowing she would baulk otherwise. “It has been a most agreeable day. I suggest you make the most of it. Things are not quite so peaceful at Pemberley.”
“Is it truly that bad?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“But Lizzy has found a new housekeeper. She must be helping to settle the household, at least.”
Darcy considered how to phrase his response.
“What is that face for?” Fitzwilliam enquired, dropping onto the sofa.
“He does not approve of my choice of housekeeper,” Elizabeth answered, lowering herself more demurely to sit next to him.
“That is not true,” Darcy objected. “But you do seem to spend an inordinate amount of time with her.”
“She has only just begun.”
“My mother never needed to spend as much time with Mrs Reynolds.”
Fitzwilliam snorted. “How old were you when Mrs Reynolds began working at Pemberley—three? Four? What can you truly recall from that long ago beyond how your nursemaid conducted herself?”
“I was seven when she was made housekeeper. I recall plenty.”
“Your mother might not have spent much time with Mrs Reynolds, but you certainly did.”
Darcy looked at his uncle in surprise. Lord Matlock had not seemed to be paying attention to the conversation, occupied as he was with the footman pouring him a glass of port. The footman departed, and his lordship met Darcy’s eye. “You were forever pestering her. For food, mostly, since you were too terrified of the cook to ask for it yourself.”
“Lady Anne’s cookwasterrifying,” Fitzwilliam said, feigning a shiver. “I do remember though, Darcy, you could always persuade Mrs Reynolds to give us biscuits.”
“It was not biscuits that had you in the servants’ quarters all the time,” Lady Matlock interposed. “It was the kitten you rescued from the stables, which your mother forbade you from having in the house. Mrs Reynolds let you keep it in her sitting room until it recovered.”
“Upon my word, I had forgotten all about Dung!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed.
“Dung?” Elizabeth said, laughing.
“Darcy called it that because it is what everybody thought it was—a little brown thing lying in the straw. It was only when it started mewling that anyone noticed it.”
