“I am Lady Matlock. It is my pleasure to meet you.”
Mrs Wythe stepped forward. “I am Mrs Wythe, of London. My husband is with your steward inspecting the herds and arranging your wool purchase. This is my daughter, Miss Margaret Wythe, and her friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”
The three were so surprised to meet the lady of the house that they hardly knew how to act, but falling back on politeness never hurt.
Lady Matlock was not one to let a mystery slip through her fingers. “Would you consider taking tea with me?”
It was such an unusual request that none had considered an answer. Fortunately, Mrs Wythe assumed they could consume a few biscuits without overly embarrassing themselves, so agreed to the scheme.
Regaining her composure, Elizabeth said, “Lady Matlock, what a beautiful, wonderful home. I fear were I ever to enter this house clandestinely, you would simply need to search the library. You could set a trap as for a rat, or leave the cat in there, because I would show up eventually.”
“My mouser is a very narrow-minded cat. He cares only for mice and has not caught a single intruder in the library in at least six months.”
The ladies laughed at the little witticism, not really brave enough to attempt more ambitious banter, but at least saw that Lady Matlock possessed a sense of humour. The matrons organised the conversation much like a pair of generals organising a battle. They both wanted a certain amount of discussion from each participant, and they simply divided the questions and answers automatically to keep everybody talking pleasantly.
Lady Matlock and Mrs Wythe took an immediate liking to each other. The countess was not about to dismantle society like the French, but she would not avoid an acquaintance with an amiable group in her own home. She had always believed the idea of someone being below her because they were in trade was preposterous, particularly since she knew Mr Wythe was partially responsible for her prosperity.
The countess believed Margaret Wythe a wonderful young girl, who would be a woman of true merit in three or four years. She resolved to keep an eye out, because even with her connections to trade, she thought she could enter a society amenable to her prospects. The lady was not a matchmakerper se, but she did like to give the occasional young woman a little push. She enjoyed being of use, particularly since it occasionally had some small chance of success, unlike her efforts with her younger son and nephew, which seemed more akin to the labours of Sisyphus.
Elizabeth Bennet, on the other hand, already seemed a force to be reckoned with. Shy and timid at first, she gradually forgot her surroundings and shed her reserve. Their conversations had been at times pleasant, sometimes contentious, and at times somewhat raucous after her first shock in the gallery, but they were all honest—or so Lady Matlock believed. When they discussed books, it seemed entirely possible Miss Bennet espoused views she did not hold, merely to prolong the discussion. It was obvious the lady barely tapped her education and made no effort to conceal that she was educated much more like a man than a typical lady. Having been called a bluestocking herself more than once, Lady Matlock liked Miss Bennet immensely. The young lady never strayed an inch from polite discourse, but also never gave an inch that was not earned.
Lady Matlock, like any mother, wished her own son settled. He might have been a suitable candidate for this young lady; but considering the gasp of shock at the marble statue, followed by a refusal to look again, she suspected that was a lost cause.
That left Darcy, and frankly, he seemed a near perfect fit for young Miss Bennet. The lady would need all the iron backbone she possessed to drag him into conversation, as he was not a man particularly amenable to the sport. They would certainly, disagree from time to time, which was likely to at the very least explode, and possibly bring about the apocalypse. They seemed a perfectly matched couple, and Darcy seemed more likely to seek a bride in a leper colony than in the ballrooms of London. Perhaps a little encouragement and an introduction were in order.
Wanting a few moments of the young lady’s undivided attention, she seized the opportunity when Miss Wythe retired and her mother accompanied her. The countess approached the matter obliquely. Miss Bennet was certainly the liveliest, loveliest, and most agreeable conversationalist she had met inyears, quite unlike the ladies of the first circle, so it was time to discover her connections.
“I noticed you had a peculiar reaction to the bust of my son, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Can you tell me what that muttonhead has done to offend you?”
The young lady's face fell precipitously. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her brow furrowed. She seemed to search for a polite reply, but failed.
Lady Matlock, feeling bold, asked, “Pardon me, but I am a mother of three sons. I know an offended woman when I see one. Do not fear retribution nor the necessity of an answer, but I would like to be of service.”
Elizabeth was torn between a desire to know the defects of the two gentlemen from Derbyshire and her desire to avoid offending Lady Matlock, the only person of the first circles she found worthy of respect.
She recalled her father speaking earnestly to her ten-year-old self while Charlotte Lucas sat a little distance away, weeping softly over some altercation.
Lizzy, your temper is your best and your worst feature. Sometimes it will be the thing that allows you to smite your enemies, and it will be of great use to you. Other times, it will only allow you to smite your friends, so it will embarrass you and damage your family.
Try to do more of the former and less of the latter, my girl.
The gentle rebuke proved far more effective than her mother’s worst tirade, so she instantly ran to Charlotte to make amends. Grovelling at her friend’s feet embarrassed the older girl more than anything else, but they reconciled and remained the best of friends.
She wondered how much to say, but given that she was a guest of important connections of the Wythes, she chose prudence, though she would be missing a golden opportunity to learn at least something of the gentleman from Derbyshire, however biased and probably favourable.
“I have no offence to report against your son or your nephew. Pray, be easy.”
Unwittingly, she betrayed more than intended, and now wished only for the return of Margaret and Mrs Wythe, that she might escape further embarrassment.
Lady Matlock, on the other hand, wished to adopt the girl right then and there, but could do nothing without understanding her situation. Ignoring all propriety, she reached across the small table to take Miss Bennet’s hand. The vivacious spitfire of ten minutes before was gone; she beheld only a distressed and nervous young lady.
Gently, she said, “So, Darcy as well? Or mostly Darcy?”
This seized the young lady's full attention; her eyes snapped up in consternation.
“I have no offences to report.”
“That is hardly the same as having no offences. I cannot demand your confidence, but I can offer my sympathy and advice for what it is worth.”
