A Perilous Match

Chapter 12

T he Little Theatre was alive with activity. Ladies fluttered hither and thither, mingling in the opulent foyer, while others ascended the grand staircases to the boxes. Elizabeth could not help feeling rather uncomfortable. She had attended the theatre before, but generally for matinee performances, which were more economical, and always in the company of her aunt and uncle.

Tonight, however, she found herself alone—well, not entirely alone. Jane was with her, but having caught sight of Mr Bingley, she had temporarily deserted Elizabeth to converse with the young man, who looked exceedingly pleased to have Jane’s attention once more.

Thus, Elizabeth was left in the company of Georgiana Darcy and her fiancé. This was her first appearance in public with him since she had accepted his offer. She glanced up at him, scarcely able to comprehend that they were betrothed.

“What a lovely gown! Is it from Madame Faye?” Georgiana enquired, drawing Elizabeth from her thoughts. She looked down at her dress and nodded. “It is. I collected it this morning.”

That she, Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of a gentleman as modest as Mr Thomas Bennet, should be wearing a gown from one of the premier Parisian modistes in London was almost beyond her comprehension. Indeed, when her new fiancé had informed her that he had accounts at all the finest milliners and dressmakers, and that she was to visit them to acquire a wardrobe befitting a marchioness, she had nearly found herself in need of her mother’s smelling salts.

“I had two dresses made there at the start of the season,” Georgiana said. “I would have ordered another two, but Fitzwilliam cautioned me against being too frivolous.”

“Did he indeed?” Elizabeth said, surprised to hear this.

“He feels that a lady requires a well-outfitted wardrobe, but he also says that I am in danger of being spoiled, for both my aunts, Lady Catherine, and Lady Matlock enjoy taking me shopping. And when I went on an outing with Lady Aspen, she too bestowed upon me what Fitzwilliam called a ridiculous number of ribbons and bonnets.” Georgiana said with an amused smiled. “But Fitzwilliam never holds a grudge for long. He knows I adore my bonnets and ribbons, so he lets me indulge in them.”

“Georgiana,” came a voice, and the gentleman in question approached with a smile. “Are you speaking ill of me to my bride-to-be?” he asked.

“I was only telling her how you disapprove when I spend all your money on bonnets and ribbons and such,” Georgiana responded.

“On the contrary, I do not mind it at all, so long as you spend some of the money on books and furthering your accomplishments,” he replied. “The sort befitting a young lady.” Elizabeth recalled his mention of Georgiana’s clandestine reading of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “You must ensure that your sister becomes one of those six accomplished women you once spoke of, must you not, Lord Dorset?” She added this with a small laugh, but noticed his sharp intake of breath and feared she might have said something amiss. However, he soon laughed as well.

“You have an excellent memory, Miss Bennet,” he said, offering his arm, while Georgiana looked puzzled.

“Six accomplished women?” she asked.

“May I share with your sister the content of our earlier conversation?” Elizabeth asked Mr Darcy.

“Please do,” he replied. “I fear on occasion my sister holds me in too high regard. It will do her good to hear a less flattering account.”

“I cannot imagine there is anything I could hear that would make me think any less of you,” Georgiana replied earnestly.

Elizabeth proceeded to recount the exchange they had shared during their first acquaintance, wherein Mr Darcy had remarked that he had only known six accomplished women in his lifetime. Georgiana laughed lightly at the story, but their conversation was interrupted as Elizabeth entered the Dorset box. She was struck speechless.

She had never sat in one of the private boxes before, always taking seats among the general audience with her aunt, who, though perfectly capable of affording better seats, preferred the lively atmosphere of the common folk. However, seeing the comfort of these boxes, Elizabeth had to admit that there were certain advantages to a more elevated status that she had not previously considered.

“Miss Bennet,” came a voice, and her stomach dropped as she saw Mr Phillip Darcy rise from one of the seats. She recalled their less-than-pleasant conversation at dinner some weeks prior and had heard from Georgiana that Phillip had opposed her union with Mr Darcy due to her inferior connections.

Not that she could truly blame him for it. Even her own parents had been astonished to learn that a marquess sought their daughter’s hand. Her mother, of course, had recovered from the shock almost immediately and announced the engagement in her usual exuberant manner.

Still, her father had raised the uncomfortable topic of the family’s lack of funds to provide a dowry befitting a marquess. Mr Darcy had quickly allayed such worries, but it had reminded Elizabeth once more of the unequal standing between them.

Being confronted with a member of his family who shared these concerns was less than comfortable, but she extended her hand with as much composure as she could muster, which Mr Phillip Darcy took with some reluctance.

“My dearest soon-to-be cousin Elizabeth, it is a pleasure to see you. I trust you are enjoying the theatre?”

“Very much so,” Elizabeth replied, though she caught the disapproval in his tone. He was a rather supercilious man.

Mr Darcy, ever perceptive, quickly indicated the two seats at the front, and they sat, with Georgiana taking a seat beside her cousin behind them.

“That is our box,” Mr Darcy said, pointing to an opulent box on the level above and to the right.

“Is that your uncle?” Elizabeth asked, spotting the Earl of Matlock in one of the boxes near the King’s box.

“It is. We shall have an opportunity for formal introductions later. I had hoped to formally introduce you to my grandmother, the Marchioness of Dorset, but she was called away to her brother’s estate. You met them, of course, albeit it briefly when we promenaded with your sister and Bingley.”

“The Duke of Norfolk?” Elizabeth said, hearing the tremor in her voice. What sort of family was she marrying into? Her fiancé, a marquess, his uncle, an earl, and his great-uncle, a duke? It seemed like a dream, though whether a pleasant one or not, she could hardly tell, for the anxiety it induced made her feel more ill at ease than anything else.

Yet, to give Mr Darcy credit, he had done all in his power these past two weeks to make her feel comfortable. Indeed, his demeanour seemed to have improved since becoming a marquess, and she found him far less haughty than she had upon their first acquaintance.

Indeed, he had also continued his efforts to reconcile Mr Bingley with Jane. Although she had noted that his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had also taken an interest in Jane and had accompanied her on a promenade only the previous day. Thinking of her sister, she grew weary.

“I fear Jane will be entirely lost and not find this box, ought we to find her?”

“I am certain Bingley will delivery her to us in due course,” Mr Darcy replied with a smile. “I hear he has plans to take her to the opera next Tuesday, though I believe he is rather anxious and fears my cousin will take the lead.”

Elizabeth bit her lip and leaned forward. “I suppose I am glad for the competition for Mr Bingley might have remedied his ill behaviour, but he still caused my sister much distress.”

“But you think her mind is made up? Should I disabuse my cousin of the notion she might harbour affections for him?” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

“You always seem rather keen on discerning my sister’s feelings based on appearances,” she said, a hint of reproach in her tone, though she could not entirely suppress the smile that accompanied it. To his credit, however, he took it in stride.

“I do indeed,” he admitted. “But I also pride myself on learning from my mistakes. If I were pressed to give an answer, I would say that your sister is still very fond of Charles. However, I would not blame her for guarding her heart against further disappointment by considering other gentlemen.”

“Lord Dorset,” Elizabeth replied, “I must say, I believe you have keenly observed the matter this time. I know my sister well, and I know she is afraid of being hurt again, but I cannot imagine that any gentleman will hold a place in her heart as sincerely as Mr Bingley does.”

A silence passed between them as the theatre around them filled with others taking their seats.

“I shall look forward to meeting your grandmother,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “Georgiana has told me many wonderful things about her.”

Mr Darcy nodded. “You will like her very much, I am certain. However, you may enjoy meeting my great-uncle even more. He is rather a character.”

“I recall from the brief interchange we had when we saw him in his carriage with your grandmother,” Elizabeth said. “It is lovely to see the two of them, at their age, still so very close. I hope to be as close with Jane when I am advanced in years.”

At this, Mr Darcy’s expression grew more serious. “They are indeed close now, but it has not always been so. You see, my Great-Uncle Norfolk is married to a woman my grandmother does not approve of. It strained their relationship for quite some time.”

“She does not like her sister-in-law?” Elizabeth asked, puzzled.

“It is not her sister-in-law that she dislikes,” Mr Darcy explained, “but her sister-in-law’s religion. My Great-Aunt Margaret is a Catholic, and it has caused my great-uncle a great deal of stress and strain, particularly in the House of Lords. That is partly why I am determined to support the cause of Catholic emancipation once I take my seat in the House of Lords next week.”

This declaration surprised Elizabeth, though in a positive manner. She had always thought it a rather outrageous injustice that, in their day and age, Catholics were still barred from taking their seats in the House of Lords and that marriages between Protestants and Catholics were not recognised as valid. However, hearing Mr Darcy say this surprised her. She had been under the impression that most northern gentlemen were opposed to the Catholic relief proposals.

“Is that so? I am glad to hear it. Have you given thought to what other causes you might wish to support?” she asked, anxiously awaited his response. She realised she had no idea to what political views her soon-to-be husband subscribed to and hoped they would not be at odds with her own. The thought of being married to someone who supported ideas she found abhorrent was disconcerting.

Mr Darcy, however, almost immediately set her mind at ease.

“Well, abolition is a cause I am very passionate about and have been for some time. I am pleased to report that some years ago I brought my Uncle Matlock around to it. Of course, it helps that Catholic relief and abolition are on the Whig platform, but he was not initially a believer, though he is now.”

He continued, “I am also looking to sponsor a change in the law regarding the chimney sweep boys. I find it intolerable that there is so little protection for these poor children. I also believe that more must be done to support farmers. At Pemberley and Matlock, we already implement rather more liberal practices to ensure our tenants are treated well, and once I take charge of Ashburn, the same will be true there. But this is not the case in most of England.”

Elizabeth listened intently as he spoke, meandering from one topic to another, and she could hardly believe her ears. These were all causes she felt passionate about—causes her mother had warned her never to voice before a potential suitor, lest she be seen as a radical. Yet here was the man she was going to marry, sharing the very views she held dear. Had she been so very wrong about Mr Darcy?