“You heard the entire exchange?” Elizabeth questioned.
“Enough of it. We were approaching the doorway when his voice rose. I have never heard him speak with such passion. He meant every word, Lizzy. I could tell. He truly values you.”
The corridor seemed suddenly too warm, the walls pressing close despite the hallway’s generous proportions. Fitzwilliam had defended her, elevating her position whilst chastising his own aunt for presuming to criticise their alliance.
What had prompted such vehemence from a man who prided himself on restraint?
Lady Matlock appeared from an adjoining passage. “Lady Catherine, there you are! I wonder if you and your sisters might enjoy a tour of the grounds this morning? The weather is fine, and I understand you have not yet seen the pleasure gardens.Such a pity to remain indoors when autumn presents herself so agreeably.”
The sisters accepted the invitation, Elizabeth managing appropriate sounds of gratitude as her mind continued circling that scene in the breakfast room. The fury in Darcy’s voice and the unequivocal claim:that woman is my wife. The way he had risen, every line of his body radiating protective annoyance.
He had chosen to defend her publicly, to align himself with her and her relations despite their obvious shortcomings. He had claimed her as his own before witnesses with a conviction that suggested what? That he cared?
The questions followed her as they assembled for the grounds tour. Mrs Bennet arrived in high spirits, already praising the elegance of everything she had seen. Jane and Mary joined them more quietly, whereas Lydia bounded forward with the sort of unconstrained energy that made Lady Matlock’s eyebrows rise fractionally. Mr Bennet, it was explained, had excused himself to spend the morning in Lord Matlock’s library, an invitation extended the previous evening that had clearly delighted him beyond measure.
“Your father is most welcome to peruse the collection at his leisure,” Lady Matlock assured Mrs Bennet as they descended the front steps into morning brightness. “My husband is always pleased to find another gentleman who appreciates medieval manuscripts and early printed texts. They shall no doubt spend hours discussing illuminated pages while the rest of us enjoy more earthly pleasures.”
The grounds proved as impressive as Lady Matlock had suggested. They began with the formal gardens immediatelyadjacent to the house, geometric beds planted with late-season blooms that created patterns of colour and texture designed to be viewed from the upper windows. Box hedges defined the spaces, their clipped surfaces suggesting years of proper maintenance.
“The parterres date to my late father-in-law’s time,” Lady Matlock explained. “He was influenced by Continental styles encountered during his Grand Tour. The central fountain is Italian marble, imported at considerable expense and requiring equally considerable persuasion to navigate English customs.”
Mrs Bennet moved closer to examine the fountain’s carved dolphins and classical figures. “How magnificent! Such workmanship! And the flowers, are they not lovely, girls?”
“Very lovely, Mama,” Lydia agreed.
As per usual, her attention had already shifted to the wider landscape visible beyond the gardens. “Might we see the lake?”
“We shall reach it presently,” Lady Matlock explained. “The path winds through the pleasure grounds first, a more naturalistic style that provides transition between the formal garden and park.”
They proceeded to specimen trees that stood at calculated intervals. They included ancient oaks that predated the house itself and ornamental cherries that would blaze with blossom come spring.
Jane paused beside a particularly fine beech, her artist’s eye appreciating its proportions. “The placement is remarkable. It must have required tremendous foresight. These specimens are decades old at minimum.”
“My husband’s grandfather oversaw much of this planting,” Lady Matlock acknowledged, pleased by Jane’s perceptiveness. “The goal was to enhance natural beauty rather than impose rigid structure upon the landscape.”
Mary had stopped to examine an architectural folly visible on a distant rise, a small classical temple complete with columns and pediment. “Is that a proper structure or merely decorative?”
Lady Matlock gestured towards the temple fondly. “Quite proper, however its purpose is primarily aesthetic. It houses a viewing platform and provides shelter during sudden weather. The interior is fitted with benches and storage for refreshments when we picnic. My children spent countless hours there as youngsters, pretending it was variously a fortress, a castle, or a ship sailing distant seas.”
Kitty clasped her hands together. “How delightful! Might we visit it?”
“Maybe another day, when we have more time. The path is somewhat steep, and I promised to show you the lake before luncheon.”
They continued through the pleasure grounds, Lady Matlock pointing out features of interest as Lydia exclaimed over everything with uncritical delight and Kitty asked questions demonstrating more interest than Elizabeth had credited her with possessing.
The lake revealed itself as they rounded a curve in the path, a substantial body of water that stretched about a quarter mile in length. Willow trees trailed branches into the shallows as swans glided with stately grace across the middle distance.
Mrs Bennet pressed both hands to her bosom. “Oh! Is it not the loveliest thing you have ever seen, girls?”
“Indeed, Mama,” Kitty agreed, moving closer to the water’s edge. “Might one swim here in summer?”
“The gentlemen occasionally do, but ladies naturally refrain from such activities.” Lady Matlock’s tone held amusement rather than censure. “There is a bathing house on the far shore. The water there remains quite cold even in the height of summer.”
They walked along the lake’s perimeter, Lady Matlock continuing her narration of the landscape. Elizabeth contributed little, her attention repeatedly drifting inward despite the beauty surrounding them.
What did Fitzwilliam’s defence of her mean? She wanted to understand his motivations, to know whether his defence stemmed from regard or wounded pride at having his choices questioned. The distinction mattered enormously, yet she possessed no means of determining which interpretation was correct.
“Mrs Darcy!” Georgiana’s voice carried across the lawn. The girl approached, her earlier shyness continuing to diminish as familiarity grew. “I hoped I might find you. Would you care to see the rose garden? It is my favourite location on the grounds, and I should dearly love to share it with you.”
