She had hit upon my deepest concern, of course. But it was none of hers. I continued to fold the last of my garments.
“I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world. You believe I am unkind. I am not. I wish you no ill. But Pemberley? How do you imagine your father’s tiny country estate prepared you for Pemberley? He is accustomed to the very best—he has already had the best, while you have done nothing more important than fancywork in your entire life! You can scarcely hold a conversation, much less entertain! The Pemberley parties were famous when his wife was alive, but I have told you that. You believe you can step into her place, when she made the place all her own.”
Lady Matlock strode away from me, towards the small window in my chamber. There was no view from there, but she had begun speaking absently, as if looking only at the past. “We went to his wedding, the earl and I. I had never seen Fitzwilliam look so happy. The wedding breakfast was for a hundred-fifty. I know you believe yourself to be an accomplished woman; you have a thorough knowledge, I suppose, of music, singing, drawing, and dancing.” The countess turned back around to face me, angry, still—but it was not all anger. “Yet she was something more. Mrs Darcy found time to speak to each of us on her wedding day—she possessed a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, which enchanted. She was the pinnacle of accomplishment. My husband turned to me after talking to her and said, ‘By Jove, she makes a man feel young again’.”
She pinned me with her stare. “I never saw such capacity and taste, application and elegance, as was united in his first wife—Mrs Anne Darcy. That she should be replaced by an elderly spinster is ridiculous and insupportable. What advantage can it be to you to try it?”
I could not remain silent. “How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell, but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject.”
“You are resolved to have him, then?”
“I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness and his.”
“You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world.”
“The world in general would have too much sense to join in such scorn,” I replied, latching my trunk.
She shook her head in disgust. “It only shows,” she said, “how little you know of the world. Unfeeling, selfish girl.”
* * *
It was not until we were in the coach that I took a full breath. I sat beside my betrothed, while Mr Tilney watched me with concern.
“Were you not safe in that house, my sister?”
So he had heard. “I was safe, to the best of my knowledge. We had few visitors, and those, respectable ones.”
Mr Darcy stiffened, and I could only imagine his thoughts, the indignity of being forced to defend his silly aunt’s honour.
Mr Tilney took my hand, and in his usual kind way, sought to lighten the mood. “I taught her how to throw a punch, Darcy, and no mere flourishing—she can defend herself.”
I grinned at him. I had indeed asked him questions on the science of pugilism, which he expertly demonstrated in a most un-vicar-like manner, and much to Jane’s chagrin. But then he surprised me.
“I ask you to come home to us,” Mr Tilney continued. “If you wish to marry Darcy, surely there is no hurry. He can visit you from our home.” He fixed a stern gaze upon my betrothed. “Darcy, what is thirty miles of good road? You have had a bad year. Time to come to know each other would surely give this marriage a better foundation.”
“I do not wish to wait,” he said, his voice low and even. He turned to me. “Do you wish it?”
I noticed that he did not phrase his question, ‘Unless you wish it?’ A picture entered my mind of him pulling from his pocket a list titled ‘Female Acquaintances Previous to Marrying Anne Darcy’, crossing off my name, and moving on to the next woman who still had only one chin and all her teeth. I smiled reassuringly at Mr Tilney.
I had stayed with the Tilneys on many occasions, and I loved them dearly. After my uncle’s death, when Aunt Gardiner determined she must live with her mother, I planned to live with them permanently. I simply did not want to. It was not only that their home was rather full; I did not mind the lack of privacy so very much. When I had first asked Mr Tilney whether a position as companion or governess might be found for me, he and Jane had protested, and, I think, were rather hurt. I was sorry for it. But I hated the thought of being a burden, a charge on their income when they needed it for their own brood. I suppose, if I were being brutally honest, it was easier living with the critical countess, who had no power to touch my feelings, than to watch everything Jane had—love, children, family—and know I had no opportunities for the same. My accursed pride!
“You have, evidently, known Mr Darcy for many years. Do you know of any reason why, beyond the brevity of our courtship, I should not marry him?”
Mr Tilney furrowed his brow. “No, of course not. He is all that is respectable. But we would have you happy, my sister. I feel as though the home the countess provided for you was not as good a home as you deserved, and you might have made this decision in haste to escape it. It is not your only recourse.”
Mr Darcy appeared to take no notice, as though our conversation could not have meant less to him; and why should it, really? If I did not marry him, he would have no trouble finding another. The carriage slowed as we entered the town of Hunsford, the sounds of other vehicles and people calling to one another floating on the dusty air. I had been here several times, to Madame Marchand’s shop and a few other places when the countess was in a mood for commerce. To my surprise, however, the carriage drew to a halt before a church of red sandstone. I looked at Mr Darcy, who withdrew his pocket watch.
“Now?” I asked, almost incredulously.
“We are here somewhat earlier than I arranged,” he said brusquely. “What shall it be? I am to take the carriage on to Pemberley. Your brother was to return to Matlock on the post. You are, of course, free to accompany him. Or we may wed today, and you may accompany me to Pemberley. The choice is yours.”
I suppose I had assumed that Mr Tilney had come to travel with me to Pemberley. But of course, if we were married, there was no reason for it, and I was certain he hated being away from Jane at any time, much less while she was increasing. Mr Darcy’s terseness was off-putting, I admit. But this was my chance, one I had longed for on lonely nights and long, tedious days. I knew I would regret losing it.
I took a deep breath. “I suppose we should see whether there is someone available to marry us, though we are early. You will witness?” I asked Mr Tilney.
I thought I felt Mr Darcy’s body beside me easing just a bit—as if he had truly cared more for the answer than he had let on—but it was likely my imagination.
“Darcy,” Mr Tilney tried, seeing he was having no success in convincing me, “come to Matlock, and let us host a grand wedding breakfast, with all your family. Do not you wish to present your bride to the world with proper ceremony?”