The carriages drew to a halt in the circular drive. Footmen appeared, their movements precisely choreographed. There were faces she did not recognise, names that blurred together, curtseys and bows exchanged.
Fitzwilliam stood at the centre of it all, greeting his relations and managing introductions. He appeared perfectly at ease in this environment, his bearing suggesting comfort with grandeur that she could only approximate through determined effort.
This was his world. These were his people. And she was the interloper who had stumbled into their midst through circumstances that would seem fantastical if recounted as fiction.
“Uncle, Aunt, may I present my wife, Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy.” He gestured towards her. “Elizabeth, my uncle Lord Matlock and my aunt Lady Matlock.”
The Earl possessed the same height as his nephew, though age had added breadth and a certain gravitas to his bearing. His wife, the countess, was beautiful in a way that time enhanced rather than diminished. Her features were arranged in an expression that conveyed great welcome and a note of surprise.
“Mrs Darcy.” Lady Matlock greeted, her eyebrows raised in interest. “What a surprise. We received Darcy’s letter, naturally, but we assumed… That is to say, the circumstances described seemed rather extraordinary.”
“Indeed they were, ma’am,” Elizabeth responded, relieved that the older woman did not appear to radiate immediate disapproval.
“I am not given to jests, Aunt,” Fitzwilliam added dryly. “The letter I sent you stated facts precisely as they occurred.”
His aunt raised a hand in acceptance. “Of course, of course.”
Lord Matlock stepped forward, apparently deciding to override any awkwardness with determined geniality. “Welcome to Matlock, Mrs Darcy. And welcome to your family as well. Mr Bennet, Mrs Bennet and the young ladies, you are all most welcome.”
“You are most gracious, my lord,” Mr Bennet responded. “I understand you maintain an impressive library. I must admit I have looked forward to viewing it throughout our journey.”
“A man after my own heart!” The Earl’s face brightened. “Indeed, the collection has been accumulating for generations. You must allow me to show it to you personally. We have several early manuscripts that might interest you, and a rather remarkable first folio that…but I am running ahead of myself. There will be ample time for such discussions.”
Two gentlemen materialised beside the Earl. The elder bore such a resemblance to Lord Matlock that the relationship was undeniable. He had the same strong features, even as his manner was more reserved than his father’s easy geniality. He was introduced as Arthur Fitzwilliam, the Viscount of Doncaster and heir to the earldom. He greeted them with impeccable courtesy, revealing nothing of his private thoughts.
The younger man, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, wore regimentals and possessed an easier manner than his brother, his countenance open and animated where the Viscount’s was more measured. His features were softer, his colouring lighter, but his eyes held the same keen intelligence that marked them as relatives.
“Darcy!” Colonel Fitzwilliam clasped his cousin’s hand affectionately. “You dark horse. Married! I owe you five pounds, you realise. We had a standing wager on which of us would succumb first to matrimony.”
“I had not forgotten.” The corner of Fitzwilliam’s mouth lifted fractionally. “However, I dispute that ‘succumb’ is the appropriate term.”
“Certainly not,” the Viscount added, moving forward to offer his own congratulations. “Marriage suits you, Cousin. You appear remarkably well-settled.”
A young woman emerged from behind the gentlemen, her movements hesitant. She had bright blonde hair and bore a striking facial resemblance to Fitzwilliam, but where his features conveyed authority, hers suggested uncertainty. Yet her eyes held unmistakable intelligence and when she looked at her brother, her entire countenance softened with affection.
“Fitzwilliam.” She murmured, accusation lingering in her tone. “You married without telling me.”
“Georgiana.” He embraced her, his manner gentling in ways Elizabeth had not previously witnessed. “The circumstances were rather precipitous. There was no opportunity for proper notice. I apologise for that.”
Georgiana turned to Elizabeth, and her tentative smile transformed into delight. “You must be my new sister. How wonderful! I have always wished for a sister, and now I have one.”
The pleasure in her tone caught Elizabeth off guard. She had braced for some coolness and the subtle disdain new relations often deployed when marriages occurred without their blessing. Instead, Georgiana was addressing her so kindly.
“I do hope we shall be great friends,” the girl continued shyly. “I know we have only just met, but I feel certain we shall suit each other incredibly.”
“I am certain of it as well,” Elizabeth responded, returning the smile.
Lord Matlock had moved on to greeting her other relations, his courtesy extending to encompass even Lydia and Kitty’s enthusiastic responses. He had the gift of making people feel welcome without diminishing himself in the process.
“Miss Bennet.” He said to Jane. “Your beauty does you credit. I hope you will find Matlock comfortable during your stay.”
Jane blushed at the compliment. “You are most kind, my lord.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam proved more animated, engaging Kitty in conversation that drew ready laughter from both parties.
“You enjoy dancing, Miss Catherine?” the Colonel enquired, having apparently picked up on Kitty’s enthusiastic speculation about Derbyshire society.
“Oh yes! We call it country dancing at home. I have heard London balls are far grander.”
