The front door opened before they reached it, and a butler appeared—dignified and utterly impassive.
“Mr. Darcy, welcome. Lord and Lady Matlock are awaiting you in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Henderson.” Mr. Darcy kept his hand at Elizabeth’s elbow, guiding her through an entrance hall that seemed to stretch upward forever, past gleaming marble floors and walls hung with portraits of stern-faced ancestors.
Elizabeth had no time to take it all in before they were ushered into a large, beautifully appointed drawing room. Two people rose as they entered—a distinguishedgentleman with silver hair and keen eyes, and a woman whose regal bearing made Elizabeth want to curtsy on instinct.
“Darcy,” the woman said, approaching them. “We received your express early this morning.”
“Aunt Helen, Uncle Malcolm, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn?” Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, my aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Matlock.”
Elizabeth executed her best curtsy, acutely aware of her travel-rumpled dress. “My lord, my lady. I am deeply grateful for your hospitality. I know this must seem most irregular?—”
“Indeed,” Lord Matlock said, his tone not unkind but decidedly reserved. “Most irregular. Please, sit down, Miss Bennet. I believe we have much to discuss.”
Lady Matlock gestured to a chair—not the sofa where she herself sat, Elizabeth noted, but a separate chair that maintained a certain distance. “You must be fatigued from your journey. Henderson, bring tea.”
Elizabeth sat, folding her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. The warmth she had hoped for was notably absent. Instead, she felt very much like a curiosity being examined, weighed, and measured.
“Our nephew’s express was somewhat…thin on details,” Lord Matlock said, settling into his own chair with the air of a judge preparing to hear a case. “Darcy, perhaps you might explain how you came to be in this situation?”
Mr. Darcy remained standing, his posture formal but his voice steady. “Mr. Bennet determined that Miss Elizabeth would marry his cousin, Mr. Collins—a clergymanof limited sense and even more limited appeal. Miss Elizabeth refused. Her father informed her that her refusal would not be permitted. She was to accept Mr. Collins’s proposal this morning, regardless of her own wishes.”
Lord Matlock’s expression darkened. “Did he have the right to force the match?”
“He did,” Mr. Darcy confirmed. “However, Miss Bennet’s sister Mary has formed an attachment to Mr. Collins and would be far better suited to him in temperament and interests. But Mr. Bennet was resolute. Miss Elizabeth would marry Mr. Collins, or she would face consequences she could not bear.”
“You offered an alternative,” Lady Matlock said.
“I did.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was firm. “I proposed marriage and offered Miss Elizabeth sanctuary here until she reaches her majority in three weeks. At that point, no one—including her father—can compel her to do anything against her will.”
“A rather dramatic solution,” Lord Matlock said.
“The situation was dramatic, Uncle. I saw no other way to prevent an injustice.”
“I know it must seem impulsive and foolish,” Elizabeth interjected. “But I could not—I would not—marry a man with whom my next younger sister was in love. Mr. Darcy was kind enough to offer me a choice.”
“Kind indeed,” Lord Matlock said flatly. “My nephew, one of the wealthiest men in England, has proposed marriage to a young woman of no fortune and connections that are, forgive me for speaking plainly, decidedly inferior to his own.”
The words stung, though Elizabeth had expected them. “That is correct, my lord.”
“And you accepted this proposal despite having known my nephew for...?”
“Four weeks, my lord. We became acquainted when my sister fell ill and was forced to remain at Netherfield Park.”
Lord Matlock turned to his nephew. “Darcy, I must ask you directly. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Uncle—”
Lord Matlock raised a hand. “Your father entrusted me to guide you in matters such as these. You are proposing to marry a woman with—forgive me, Miss Bennet—a family situation that borders on scandalous. What possible justification can you offer for such a match?”
Elizabeth burned with humiliation. The express Mr. Darcy sent must have been thorough indeed. Everything Lord Matlock said was true, after all, but she raised her chin with all the dignity she could muster.
Mr. Darcy’s face was thunderous. “The justification, Uncle, is that she may not yet be in love with me, but I am deeply in love with her.”
Elizabeth’s breath faltered. He had told her that he admired her, that he cared for her, but love? He loved her?
Lady Matlock leant toward him, her eyes astute and assessing as they fixed on her nephew. “You are certain of this, Fitzwilliam? This is not merely infatuation or a misguided attempt at chivalry?”
