Darcy stiffened. The Earl glanced from son to nephew abruptly.
“You have done your duty. More than your duty, I should say. You married where you were told, you raised a child, you managed your affairs and your grief with a composure that has earned you the respect of this family and the admiration of society. No one could have asked more of you.”
Darcy waited, knowing where this was heading, and that there was more to come.
“But duty is not contentment, Fitzwilliam. And contentment is not a luxury reserved for lesser men. It is time you found happiness and a mother to your child. Anne deserves that, and so do you.”
The Earl looked at him. Lady Matlock’s eyes were on Darcy as well, and in them he recognised the same cool, appraising intelligence that had seen through him at the tea table in March. It was the awareness that the master of Pemberley could not take his eyes off his daughter’s governess, and that this was neither a passing fancy nor a problem to be solved, but a fact to be reckoned with.
Darcy did not answer. How could he? The words his uncle required—Yes, Uncle. You are right. I shall attend to it—were simple enough, but they would have been a lie or a confession, and he was not prepared to offer either.
He inclined his head. A nod was respectful, noncommittal, and diplomatic, indicating that he had heard the counsel and would consider it in his own time, on his own terms.
The Earl accepted this. Richard exhaled, long and slow, and the tension in his shoulders released for the first time since Darcy had entered the room.
“Well,” Richard muttered. “That went better than Badajoz.”
“Most things do,” the Earl replied, without raising his eyes from the page.
Darcy and his cousin left Matlock House just after noon. Richard walked beside him in silence for the first few streets, his hands clasped behind his back, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Well?” Darcy asked at last.
“Well,” Richard echoed, “that went exactly as I expected. I received cautious approval and a lecture on the dangers of marrying for lineage. My mother is a remarkable woman.”
“She is. And your father surprised me.”
Richard gave a low laugh. “You should not be surprised, Darcy. They have carried the failure of my brother’s marriage like a shared wound for years. I believe they are tired of carrying it.”
They turned into Grosvenor Street. The day had grown warmer, the May sun bright on the stone façades. Darcy felt the weight of the morning’s conversation settle differently inside him now—not lighter, exactly, but more manageable. The Matlocks had not forbidden anything. They had, in their careful aristocratic way, opened a door.
Back at Darcy House they retreated to his study. Richard dropped into his usual chair, stretched his legs, and accepted the glass of claret Darcy poured for him. For a time, they spoke of ordinary things—the progress of Georgiana’s wedding preparations and Anne’s antics. The conversation was easy, familiar, a deliberate return to solid ground after the emotional terrain of Matlock House.
Yet Darcy’s mind kept drifting.
He kept seeing Elizabeth’s face as she had looked at him across the dining table the last two weeks—composed, careful, but with something new and unsettled beneath the surface. He kept remembering the way her fingers had tightened in his waistcoat, the soft sound she had made when his mouth found the curve of her breast. The memory was both torment and comfort.
At six, the dinner bell rang.
They made their way to the dining room. Georgiana was already there, radiant in pale green, and Elizabeth entered a moment later, quiet and composed in one of her new gowns.The cream silk suits her, Darcy thought, though he tried not to dwell on how well it suited her.
The Colonel greeted Elizabeth with his usual warmth. “Miss Bennet. I trust your morning with my niece was agreeable?”
“It was, Colonel. Thank you.”
Richard’s smile widened. “I am glad.”
They took their places. Darcy at the head, Georgiana to his right, Elizabeth to his left, Richard opposite. The first course was served—white soup, fragrant and steaming. Forseveral minutes the conversation moved lightly, carried mostly by Georgiana and Elizabeth, discussing the weather.
Then Richard set down his spoon.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, his tone becoming more serious, though still warm, “I have a matter I wish to discuss with you. It concerns your sister, Miss Jane Bennet.”
Elizabeth’s hand paused on her spoon. She looked at him directly, her expression attentive but guarded. “Indeed?”
“I wish to court her.”
The words landed with gentle force. Georgiana’s eyes widened with immediate delight. She pressed her napkin to her lips, clearly fighting the urge to clap her hands together.