Mary’s expression grew brighter. “Is it true then? There is something there? I have hoped it for you, Lizzy.”
“Our betrothal will be announced the night of the ball, and is a great secret until then, if you please.”
Mary threw her arms around Elizabeth. “Oh, I am so happy!” she cried. “And I hope you will not mind that I am also selfishly glad. Milton’s parents will be that much more approving when they hear of it.”
“Have they been disapproving, dear? You have not said anything, and so I did not like to mention him.”
“They have counselled him to wait until I am older, and until he is, but they are very well off, and plainly hope he will change his mind. His curacy does not pay much, and I know that at the heart of their concern is that I bring very little to the marriage. I still bring very little, but a brother in Mr Darcy is a wonderful something more, is it not?”
Elizabeth smiled at this. “He is indeed a wonderful something more, and not simply because of his fortune. I am in love for the first time in my life, Mary, and I almost cannot believe it.”
“I am glad, Lizzy. It does not seem quite fair, does it? That I should meet Milton so early, while you had to wait so long?”
Elizabeth thought of the gangly Milton Palmer—and that many would say the age of twenty was not a long wait at all—and smiled again. “Wonderful ‘something mores’ are always worth the wait.”
Rejuvenated by the conversation with her sister, it was with a spring in her step that Elizabeth went downstairs; however, a new visitor had entered the Bennets’ drawing room since Mary had gone to fetch her: a sharp-eyed, tall, distinguished man with silvering hair. Mrs Hill and Mama stood gaping at him, while Mrs Harrington and Lady Lucas gawped from their chairs. Another descriptor for him was ‘elegant’; stylishly dressed in expensive travelling clothes, he wore a pleasant expression that scrupulously ignored the open stares surrounding him.
Elizabeth looked at Jane and Mr Collins enquiringly. Mr Collins appeared to be frozen in place.
“Oh, um, Lizzy…I mean, Elizabeth,” Jane corrected herself, blushing faintly and stuttering with an embarrassment unusual to her. “Your lordship, my sister, Mrs Elizabeth Ashwood. Elizabeth, this is Lord Matlock, Earl of Matlock, and Mr Darcy’s uncle. He is um, looking for his nephew, whom he believed might be visiting here.”
“My deepest apologies,” the earl said swiftly. “I did not mean to come charging in, without even an introduction. When I arrived at Netherfield only to find him gone, and heard he might be here, I took your direction and came. He is not expecting me, you see. It was to be a surprise.”
No doubt, Elizabeth thought. “I am happy to meet you, your lordship. Please, come near the fire and be warmed from your journey. Can we offer you refreshment?”
At her words, the tableau surrounding him seemed to un-freeze; Mrs Hill took his coat, gloves, and hat, Mr Collins found his voice at last, welcoming him to Longbourn with an over-hearty greeting, and Mama titterednervously. Elizabeth led the earl to the seat nearest the fire, took the chair beside him, and conversed on the usual topics one discussed with a stranger—the weather, the roads—while the rest of the company looked on, still round-eyed and, for the most part, speechless. Mrs Hill brought out a sherry trifle—which had probably been meant for dinner that evening—and Elizabeth helped Jane serve their awed visitors with as much cheer and aplomb as she could manage. After several minutes of such casual dialogue, the earl made a polite gesture towards the windows.
“Mrs Ashwood, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side of your lawn. After such a wearisome journey as my old bones have undertaken this morning, I should be exceedingly obliged if we might take a turn in it, if you would favour me with your company.”
“Go, my dear sister,” cried Mr Collins, “and show his lordship about the different walks. I think he will be pleased with the garden’s new design, even if we have yet to see its anticipated blooms.”
Elizabeth obeyed this directive, and, running into her own room for sturdier shoes and outdoor wear, soon attended her noble guest downstairs and into the garden.
Once upon a time, Elizabeth might have been as awed as her family by the sudden presence of an earl in Longbourn’s drawing room—or at least as curious. But she was no longer a young miss who knew only of dancing and diversions. She had run a large household, entertained her husband’s company, and buried that husband after many a trying illness. Mr Ashwood had not been titled, but like Mr Darcy, was a gentleman of a fine and illustrious family. She had not hosted earls, but there had been titles and prominent guests.She was incapable of pretending that this was a visit of happenstance.
“I believe we have already exhausted all the common civilities, and I am certain you have more important things to do today than furnish compliments to the garden. Please, sir, feel free to address to me your concerns. You must have some.”
33
VANISHING ACT
Elizabeth did not exactly wait with bated breath to hear the earl’s opinions, but she could admit to a certain relief when he smiled in response.
“You are a very direct person, are you not?”
“I apologise if I seemed impolite. It did not seem likely that you would endure a call upon people unknown to you in order to expedite your reunion with your nephew by an hour—unless you had an important motive for doing so.”
“Ah.” But instead of addressing those concerns, the earl turned away, looking over the knoll to where Longbourn House sat. “Your property is lovely, Mrs Ashwood.”
For the first time, Elizabeth tried to examine it through a stranger’s eyes. A stately manor with noble lines and glorious views of its acreage, it was nonetheless only half the size of Netherfield and—at least according to Miss Bingley—nothing compared to Pemberley. Still, with its stout, imposing stone walls, arched doorways, wooden beams, and ample casement windows, the old Tudor had achieved adegree of grandeur; it was obviously well-suited to its prosperous surroundings.
But it was no longer hers in any sense, only a place she currently resided.
“I thank you. It is my sister’s home, however. I have agreed that mine will be wherever Mr Darcy is. I do not much care whether that home is a great house or a hovel—I have lived in both. I can be happy in either. It is common to disparage the practice of marrying for love as irrational, but I lived without it in my first marriage. I endured it, and even achieved something close to contentment—but I shudder at the thought of ever doing it again. I can assure you, sir, that I would not willingly choose such a course, no matter how great the property, did Darcy not hold my heart.”
His brows rose at her bold declaration, but his answering words were mild. “I hope you will forgive my small deception. I only desired a bit of privacy for this conversation.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I think, however, that your desired privacy is at an end. The cavalry approaches.”
