A Matchmaking Mother Page 17

  “I understand and appreciate that,” replied Elizabeth. The lady’s words, her obvious affection for Mr. Darcy, spoke to the truth of this assertion.

  “Now, will you not share with me what happened between you last night? Trust me—my constitution is hearty enough to withstand whatever misbehavior in which my son engaged.”

  While Elizabeth did not wish to speak, something about this woman’s request, firm yet not intrusive, induced her to explain. By the time she had finished her recitation, Lady Anne was shaking her head in exasperation, though not at Elizabeth.

  “It seems my son has a way of insulting you far beyond any behavior I might have expected of him. It is a wonder you have not yet informed him exactly what you think of him in language which cannot be misunderstood— it is equally shocking you still think of him as anything other than a highborn lout!”

  The words set off a chain of thoughts in Elizabeth’s mind, leading her to wonder at her feelings for the man who had now insulted her in two ballrooms. From the moment of his first slight, Mr. Darcy had impressed Elizabeth as a proud and disagreeable man, but something had always drawn her back to him. Whether it was their sparring or her wish to humble him she did not know, but she was not usually given to extending a second chance to someone who had impressed her as unworthy of her notice.

  Mr. Darcy, however, had seemed to become something of a different man since her arrival in London, and Elizabeth had found herself responding to him in some manner beyond her ability to understand. Even this latest slight had not, beyond the initial flame of anger, caused her to dislike him any more than she already had. Any other man would have been beneath her notice after such poor manners. Then why was Mr. Darcy any different?

  “Perhaps I should speak to my son,” said Lady Anne, pulling Elizabeth’s attention back to her.

  “I wish you would not,” said Elizabeth, not eager for Mr. Darcy to learn of her discussion with his mother.

  Lady Anne peered at Elizabeth for a moment before she nodded slowly. “Yes, I can see why you would not wish it.” She paused and grinned. “I promised I would not push you together, Elizabeth; I did not promise not to take my son to task when he is misbehaving.”

  When Elizabeth made to protest further, Lady Anne laughed and patted her hand. “Do not concern yourself, for I shall keep my own counsel. However, I would urge you, Elizabeth, to speak to him should the opportunity arise.”

  “Why would you have me do so?” asked Elizabeth, feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Because, my dear,” said Lady Anne, rising to her feet, “no one should tolerate such boorishness, whether in my son or the Prince Regent himself. Unless I am very much mistaken, you did not take him to task over his remarks at your first meeting, did you?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “I understand why you would avoid the subject. But maybe you should have confronted him. If you had, it would have been clear to him you would not put up with it. William should not need that reminder to behave himself, but it seems he does.”

  With a smile, Lady Anne excused herself, leaving Elizabeth to consider what she had said. As she sat pondering the matter, a conviction came over her that Lady Anne was correct. Should the opportunity arise, Elizabeth was determined to ensure Mr. Darcy knew she would not allow him to treat her in such an infamous manner.

  Being out of sorts was not a feeling Darcy relished. Sitting in his study, avoiding contact with anyone else in the house—Miss Elizabeth in particular—Darcy knew without any doubt that he had not behaved as he ought the previous evening. In his defense, the woman upset his equilibrium, left him twisting in the wind uncertain of what to do or how to act. That was not an excuse, to be certain—or, at least, it was not a valid excuse. Feeling unequal to being in her company—or, heaven forbid, apologizing—Darcy remained in his study with naught but his own ruminations for company.

  That changed with his cousin’s arrival.

  “Good morning, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam as he stepped into the room and sat in one of the pair of chairs facing Darcy’s desk. Fitzwilliam’s lack of anything other than a distracted greeting and his pensive mien differed from his usual behavior when he would give a hearty greeting, help himself to a glass of Darcy’s brandy, and rest his booted feet on the edge of Darcy’s desk. For that matter, Fitzwilliam was not dressed in his regimentals that morning, which was odd, as Darcy had not thought his cousin was on leave from the regiment.

  “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your presence?” asked Darcy, attempting to spark a hint of the man he knew through his jest.

  Even then, Fitzwilliam gave him nothing more than a distracted grin. “Need I have a reason to visit my favorite cousin?”

  “A reason, no. However, when you come into my room with much less than your usual joviality, I must own to confusion. I have rarely found you this introspective.”

  It seemed Fitzwilliam had not realized his demeanor was any different than usual, for he started in surprise. A moment later, however, a rueful grin came over his countenance.

  “Have you not longed for this sort of behavior?”

  Darcy could not help but laugh. “I suppose there has been a time or two when you have been an annoyance.”

  Rather than prompting the return to his usual insouciance, however, the brief banter faded away with Fitzwilliam assuming a more serious demeanor. “I suppose I have been distracted, Cousin, but I believe it is with a good reason.”

  “Oh, and what reason would that be?”

  “What are your intentions regarding our cousin?” asked Fitzwilliam instead of answering.

  Darcy was shocked. “Our cousin?” asked he, unable to fathom Fitzwilliam’s question.

  “Anne,” clarified Fitzwilliam. “You know, the cousin our Aunt Catherine continually insists you marry?”

  “Yes, I am acquainted with her,” said Darcy, coming to his senses, but still curious as to Fitzwilliam’s meaning. “What of her?”

  “I thought my words were plain enough,” replied Fitzwilliam. “In case, however, your wits have deserted you, let me elucidate: Anne, the daughter of your mother’s sister, the woman your aunt has insisted you marry for almost as long as any of us can remember. For years, you have avoided speaking of the matter with Lady Catherine, never giving her encouragement, yet never denying your interest. The rest of the family has, of late, thought you were beginning to consider offering for Anne, though you are damnably difficult to read.”

  “You wish to know if I mean to offer for her,” said Darcy, taking care to enunciate his words so he understood.

  “I do,” confirmed Fitzwilliam.

  “Why?” asked Darcy.

  “Does it matter?” rejoined Fitzwilliam.

  “It does,” averred Darcy. “As you have stated, I have not given Lady Catherine encouragement, nor have I warned her off, but at the same time, no one in the family has ever asked me concerning my intentions. There are only a few reasons you would bring this up now, and I would know which of my suppositions is true.”

  “Can you not just answer the question?” demanded Fitzwilliam, his annoyance rising.

  “I might say the same, Cousin,” said Darcy. “Why do you not inform me of the reason for your query?”

  Fitzwilliam threw up his hands and leaned back in his chair, glaring at Darcy. “Very well,” growled he after a moment. “As you have likely guessed, I am interested in paying court to Anne myself. However, if you are set on offering for her, I would never dream of stepping in where I am not wanted. Thus, I thought to ask you, to discover the truth once and for all.”

  “You wish to pay court to Anne?” asked Darcy, feeling the confusion well up within him.

  “I do,” snapped Fitzwilliam, his growl deepening. “Have you been so blinded by our aunt’s ubiquitous soliloquies on the subject of your future that you have missed the fact that Anne has become a desirable young woman? Or have you decided that any woman will do as you lack interest in any of them?” />
  “Is that what you truly think of me?” asked Darcy, surprised and stung by the vehemence in his cousin’s voice.

  “I would if I did not know you better,” said Fitzwilliam. “I know you are not heartless, Cousin, but at times you give the appearance of it.”

  Darcy was shocked anew, but his cousin’s pointed glare was enough to inform him he could not sit back and refuse to give an answer. The problem was, he was not even certain of the answer himself. Though Darcy knew his mother’s feelings on the subject of Lady Catherine’s continued insistence he marry Anne, Darcy had never given much thought to it himself. The reason was simple, if not a flattering portrayal of his character: Darcy had looked on it with a certain level of fatalistic acceptance. It was not that his aunt’s arguments moved him in any way, or the thought of her displeasure caused him to shrink. It was rather that his years in society had jaded him. Society teemed with young misses who saw him as nothing more than a pocketbook or a ticket to an easy life, and while there were many good and intelligent women among their number, many were insipid, could speak of nothing more than fashion or the latest gossip, and the behavior of many men, who married women they could not tolerate, solely for fortune or connections and then kept mistresses, repulsed him. Darcy found himself tired of such games and uncertain if he could find a woman who interested him. If there was no one with whom he felt he could connect on a deeper level, then did it matter whom he married? And if so, why not Anne? She was comely enough, and he had known her all of his life; there should be nothing standing in the way of their making a good life together. Rosings was a consideration, but not a large one, though the increase in wealth the estate would bring was, again, a factor.

  As these thoughts ran through Darcy’s mind, however, the sound of tinkling laughter replaced them, and a pair of bright, intelligent eyes looking back at him with amusement. Possibilities he had never allowed himself to consider clamored in his mind, refusing to be silent, forcing Darcy to ponder what he wanted. And what he wanted, he decided was not his cousin. No matter how much he respected and esteemed her, Darcy knew Anne was not the woman he wished to marry, no matter how much her dowry would enrich him. Had he not disdained such grasping for wealth all his adult life? Keeping Anne in suspense was unfair to her, as it was to allow Lady Catherine to forever hope for the union. Darcy now knew he wanted no part of it.

  When Darcy was again at liberty to consider his cousin, it surprised him that Fitzwilliam had allowed him to contemplate the matter as long as he had, for Fitzwilliam was impatient for an answer. It was so unlike his cousin to be this tense, but Darcy could see Fitzwilliam waited with bated breath, desolation warring with hope. Darcy could not allow him to continue in this state—Fitzwilliam was his cousin and his dearest friend all in one. Fitzwilliam had always joked about how he needed to marry a woman with a substantial dowry; should he feel something for Anne, he would make a much better husband than Darcy.

  “Given your manner of approaching me and your words concerning Anne,” said Darcy, “can I suppose your wish to court Anne is based on something more than your oft-stated need to marry a woman with a handsome dowry?”

  It seemed to Darcy that Fitzwilliam was on the verge of saying something caustic. But he maintained a hold on his temper, paused for a moment, considered the question, and then answered.

  “I am not in love with Anne if that is what you are asking. In my defense, I have never considered her as a potential wife, given Lady Catherine’s continued statements concerning which cousin she wishes Anne to marry. In the last weeks, however, I have begun to consider what I never have before, and I believe it is possible to achieve that level of regard for her.”

  “Then you should go to it, Cousin,” said Darcy. “I have given the matter some thought of late, and I am convinced that Anne and I would not do well together. As I wish Anne every happiness, I have little compunction in stepping aside in your favor.”

  All at once the tension drained from the room. Fitzwilliam leaned back again in his chair, heaving a great sigh of relief, attempting his usual grin. It took no great insight to see it was forced.

  “Given your behavior of late, I was uncertain of the response I would receive. I thank you, Cousin, not only for your assurances but also for seeing the truth of the matter.”

  “And what would that truth be?” asked Darcy.

  “That you should not marry Anne,” replied Fitzwilliam, his gaze pointed. “Most of the family have been skeptical for some time now, but none of us knew your opinion.”

  “I did not know my own opinion until you compelled me to think on it,” confessed Darcy. “Now that I have, however, it is nothing less than obvious.”

  “As it should be.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the conversation, and when Darcy called permission, the butler opened the door, allowing Bingley to enter. It was clear his friend was in an ebullient mood, for he seemed like he was walking on a cloud, greeting them both with the cheer which had been Bingley’s hallmark for as long as Darcy had known him.

  “What brings you here, Bingley?” asked Fitzwilliam with a knowing grin. “I might have thought you would be in the sitting-room paying court to your lady.”

  “That would be my preference,” agreed Bingley. “At present, however, she is unavailable, though I was informed she will receive me in half an hour. As I am forced to wait, I thought I would visit my good friend.”

  “You see, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, gesturing to Bingley. “This could be you, should you only find a woman as suited to you as Bingley’s is to him.”

  “It was my understanding that Darcy was to marry his cousin,” said Bingley, throwing them both an interested look. “Has something changed?”

  “Darcy, it seems, is blind to our Cousin Anne’s charms,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I have agreed to step into his place, for I will not be foolish and dismiss them.”

  Bingley laughed. “In fact, I agree with Darcy—I could never see him marrying your cousin. But I would not wish to be nearby when your aunt discovers this change of plans.”

  “I think we shall refrain from telling her for the moment,” said Fitzwilliam.

  “Given how she watches both her daughter and your cousin, I cannot imagine it will be a secret long.”

  “No,” replied Fitzwilliam. “But perhaps she will become used to seeing us together. I shall provide many examples of my willingness to pay court to Cousin Anne, for she is an angel.”

  Bingley grinned at him. “I must think you daft, Fitzwilliam, for there is only one angel, and she is mine.”

  The two men began to debate the merits of their chosen ladies, their arms gesticulating to make their points, their claims growing wilder by the moment. Though their antics amused Darcy, there was somewhere he would rather be, and after a time of listening to their banter, he excused himself, not missing the looks exchanged by the other two. But Darcy said nothing, content to leave them to their amusement.

  A quick query of the butler gave him the location of the woman he sought, and Darcy felt all the bemusement of learning she was in the library next to his study. Carefully, Darcy opened the door, looking in and noting her presence, sitting in a chair immersed in her book. For a moment, Darcy stood and watched her, noting her utter absorption in whatever she was reading, the way she nibbled on her lower lip, the light of intelligence in her eyes.

  The danger of her noticing his scrutiny prompted him to move long before he might have wished, for he did not know how she would react to such knowledge. Miss Elizabeth looked up as he made to enter, the barest hint of a frown settling over her face as he stepped forward. The way she put down her book was deliberate, careful, as was the look she bestowed on him as he approached.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I was wondering if I might have a word with you,” said Darcy without preamble.

  “Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said she, the formality of her tone almost leading him to flinch. “How may I assist?”

  “Assistance is not what I re
quire,” replied Darcy, favoring her with a faint smile. “Rather, I believe I owe you an apology for my behavior last night, and I wished to offer it without reservation.”

  Miss Elizabeth watched him for a moment, the hint of surprise playing about the narrowing of her eyes emphasizing to Darcy he had behaved poorly. Though he had already known it, the reminder was difficult.

  “Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth. “I appreciate your gesture.”

  “It is obvious to me that I have allowed my pique at matters completely unrelated to affect my behavior,” said Darcy, knowing he was not being truthful, for Miss Elizabeth and his attempts to remain unaffected by her were at the root of his mood. “For that, I apologize and promise to amend my conduct, for you do not deserve my censure.”

  “Oh, so I am not a witless female speaking of matters of which I know nothing?” asked she, one eyebrow raised in an elegant arch. “Does this mean I am also worthy of being asked for a dance, or are you still concerned about my being slighted by other men?”

  It was all Darcy could do to hold his countenance and avoid wincing. “You are right to ask me, Miss Elizabeth,” said he. His mother had told him of her hearing those words but learning of it from her own lips made it strangely real. “I offer no excuses and apologize without reservation. I hope you will allow me to prove that I am not the man such behavior would paint me as being.”

  For a long moment, Miss Elizabeth seemed to consider this, and Darcy sat, dreading the manner her response would take. Years of being sought after by every matchmaking mama and their daughters had not prepared him for the possibility of rejection.

  “I thank you for your apologies and accept them, Mr. Darcy. Let us begin anew.”

  Though Darcy still did not know what he wished from this woman, he felt as one saved from damnation. A bright smile lit his face, and he thanked her and began speaking of other subjects. In the back of his mind, he determined he would not allow himself to treat her in such an infamous manner again.