“A month, then. Surely we may have a month.”
“Very well. One month with their grandmother, and one with their cousins. I shall write to my mother tonight.”
“You must. Margaret shall want to prepare her drawing box for Grace.”
They spoke a few moments longer, until the second bell was sounded, drawing renewed motion through the lobby. The Matlocks and Ashfords offered their parting courtesies before ascending the main stair to their upper-tier box.
“Come, my dear,” Mr. Gardiner said to Elizabeth. “We shall be late if we do not follow.”
The Gardiners climbed the stair to the second tier, their box situated near the curve of the house with a clear view of bothstage and audience. The playbill lay upon the seats, and the candles in the sconces flickered gently behind their glass.
Elizabeth took her place, her aunt settling beside her.
“I knew you were connected,” Elizabeth said quietly, with a sidelong glance, “but I did not quite expect you to greet an earl as though he were, in truth, your uncle.”
Mrs. Gardiner removed her gloves.
“Habit has a way of smoothing distinctions, particularly when one has known them since childhood.”
“I suppose it must. Though I cannot help thinking how differently my mother would have managed the same acquaintance.”
Her aunt laughed. “You are imagining it exactly. She would have spent years attempting to throw one of her daughters in the path of every titled gentleman with more than ten thousand a year.”
“And if you declined to assist?”
“She would have managed perfectly well without me.”
Elizabeth smiled.
“Then the Earl of Matlock would scarcely have escaped Longbourn alive.”
“Nor Lord Ashford,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “I suspect she would have married him to Jane before the evening was out.”
Elizabeth laughed, then turned her gaze outward, her amusement giving way to curiosity as she took in the glittering sweep of chandeliers and silk-clad figures. Her eyes were drawn upward to a box set directly opposite theirs, rather higher than her own.
The Matlocks were now seated within their box, Lady Matlock upright and composed, her gown catching the light with each small movement. Beside her, the Viscount and Viscountess appeared equally at ease, conversing in low tones.
Elizabeth found her eyes returning to the Countess, not from presumption, but from an unsettled desire to understand. The earlier regard had been too deliberate to dismiss, and Elizabeth, accustomed to being overlooked rather than examined, could not help but wonder what had drawn it. She ran, in brief review, over her own conduct, her dress, her manner of address, and found nothing remarkable in any of them. Yet the impression remained, and with it a faint, unwelcome suspicion that she herself had been found wanting in some way she did not yet perceive.
As this thought took shape, the door to the Matlock box opened. Two gentlemen entered. One was of middle height, with sandy hair and an open, agreeable countenance. He bowed lightly as he took his place and was greeted with easy familiarity.
The other was taller by half a head. His shoulders were broad, his figure straight and well formed, and he moved with a quiet assurance that required no display. His hair was dark, his brow grave, and there was something in his presence that altered the attention of the box at once.
He did not glance her way. Yet she found herself oddly disappointed by the omission.
~BTML~
Mr. Darcy was not in a humour to enjoy the theatre.
He had accepted Lord Matlock’s invitation a week ago without hesitation. Family duty, especially to the uncle who had never turned his back on him, was not a thing he took lightly. But after the events of the previous night, he had scarcely wishedto be seen at all, let alone in a crowded theatre. It was not in his nature, however, to break a promise. And so, he came.
He and Richard had timed their arrival with care. The bell had already rung once, and the vestibule was nearly empty. Only a few stragglers lingered within the marble hall, and no one turned to note their passage.
They made their way quickly through the corridor and climbed the steps to the upper tier without pause. Darcy kept his head slightly inclined, his face unreadable. After last night, discretion was a necessity.
They entered the Matlock box in silence. Lord Matlock stood at the front, one hand resting on the rail, his eyes cast over the house with habitual detachment. Lady Matlock sat just behind, composed and still, revealing no more of her thoughts than etiquette required.
“You are late,” said the earl, without turning.
