A Perilous Match

Chapter 15

One Week Later

Palace of Westminster, London

T he day had arrived. The sun shone brightly over London, casting a golden hue upon the stately buildings that lined the streets, lending an air of solemnity to the occasion. Her husband was to make his debut in the House of Lords, an event of great significance not only for him but for his family—a family which now included Elizabeth.

They had been married barely a week and had not found time for a honeymoon, a circumstance Fitzwilliam—as she now called him in the privacy of their home—promised to rectify once the Season had ended. Then, he said, they would go to Ashburn, the estate belonging to the Marquess of Dorset, and then to Pemberley.

For the present, they resided at Darcy House—a home grander than Elizabeth had ever imagined herself inhabiting and filled with servants who admired Fitzwilliam more than she had thought possible. She had found her time there to be comfortable and serene, a surprising contrast to the feelings she once harboured towards all things associated with the man who was now her husband.

“I can hardly wait,” Georgiana said beside her, drawing Elizabeth from her reverie. Georgiana reached for Elizabeth’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I am so glad you are here, Elizabeth,” she said with a warm smile that did much to reassure Elizabeth. “I observed our uncle in the House of Lords when I was a very young girl, but never did I think it would be Fitzwilliam to take such a place.”

Elizabeth could not help but feel a flutter of nerves mingling with her natural curiosity. This was a world she had never imagined herself a part of—a world of titles, power, and influence. That she should now be entering it as the prospective Marchioness of Dorset was a circumstance almost beyond belief.

“And I am glad to be here with you, Georgiana,” Elizabeth replied sincerely. The young lady’s genuine affection was a balm to Elizabeth’s spirit, which had been wearied by the cool reserve she had sensed from other quarters of the family.

The carriage drew to a halt, and the party alighted, making their way into the grand edifice. The marble halls of the Palace of Westminster were filled with an atmosphere of gravitas, the echoes of footfalls and murmured conversations adding to the sense of occasion. Elizabeth’s heart swelled with pride as she thought of Fitzwilliam, who was soon to take his place amongst the peers of the realm.

As they ascended the staircase, they were met by her husband’s family, who had arrived separately. Elizabeth noticed Lady Matlock casting an appraising glance at her, though her ladyship’s expression remained inscrutable. Lord Matlock, ever the gentleman, offered a gracious smile and escorted the ladies to their seats in the gallery.

Phillip, walking slightly behind, inclined his head courteously towards Elizabeth. “Lady Dorset, I trust you are finding London agreeable?”

Elizabeth bristled at her new title but returned his civility with a smile. “Indeed, Mr Darcy, it is quite unlike anything I have ever known.”

Phillip appeared satisfied with this response, though Elizabeth could not help but detect a certain restlessness in his demeanour. He spoke amiably enough, yet there was something in his manner that suggested an undercurrent of tension. She felt the weight of his gaze upon her, and though his words were pleasant, she could not escape the feeling that he regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and something more unsettling—perhaps a sense of disapproval or doubt.

As they entered the gallery reserved for the families of peers, Elizabeth’s attention was drawn to the chamber below, where the lords were gathering. The House of Lords was a magnificent sight to behold, its Gothic architecture soaring upwards to a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate carvings and stained glass. The chamber was lined with red leather benches, and at the far end stood the imposing Woolsack, the seat of the Lord Chancellor. The room hummed with the low murmur of conversation as the assembled peers took their places.

Elizabeth could scarcely suppress a thrill of excitement as she scanned the scene before her. Here was history in the making, and she was a witness to it. Fitzwilliam’s name was announced, and a hush fell over the chamber. All eyes turned towards the entrance, where he appeared, resplendent in his robes of state.

“All the pomp and circumstance, it never does become boring,” the Dowager Marchioness, who sat a few seats away, said loud enough for Elizabeth to hear. “And how regal he looks.”

“Almost as if he were born for it,” Phillip agreed, and this time, he sounded genuinely impressed.

Indeed, Elizabeth felt her breath catch in her throat as she beheld him. He walked with the easy grace she had always admired, yet there was a new dignity in his bearing, a gravity that befitted the occasion. He was accompanied by two sponsors—his uncle Lord Matlock, and great-uncle, the Duke of Norfolk—who served as the senior peers introducing him to the House. As they processed down the aisle, Elizabeth could see the respect with which the other lords regarded him, and her heart swelled with pride.

As Fitzwilliam reached the Woolsack, he paused and bowed to the Lord Chancellor, who returned the gesture. Then, in a voice clear and steady, he took the oath of allegiance, affirming his loyalty to the Crown and the Constitution. The words, though formal, resonated with a sincerity that was unmistakably his own.

Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on him, her heart full as she watched him perform his duty with such calm assurance. She thought of all that had led to this moment—the trials and misunderstandings they had faced, the changes in their circumstances, and the deepening of their affection for one another.

Once the oath was taken, Fitzwilliam proceeded to take his seat among the other peers. As he did so, Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Phillip, who was seated just across from her. His expression was inscrutable, but there was a tightness around his mouth and a tension in his posture that did not escape her notice. It was as if he could not quite reconcile himself to what was unfolding before him. He had watched admiringly, but Elizabeth had to wonder—was Phillip jealous? Or was it simply because she harboured a dislike for the man that she found herself thinking ill of him?

Indeed, when she caught sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who sat in the opposite gallery with the rest of the Fitzwilliam family, she noted a similar expression on his face. Were these two young men uneasy about Fitzwilliam’s ascension and the changes it might bring to their friendships? Was that what she saw in their faces? Mr Bingley, meanwhile, appeared utterly at ease and smiled throughout. But then, he was not related to any titled, genteel people and thus did not have to imagine himself in his friend’s role.

Elizabeth felt a pang of unease. She had sensed from the beginning that Phillip was not entirely at ease with the idea of her becoming part of the family, and now, as Fitzwilliam took his place in the House of Lords, that unease seemed to manifest itself more openly. Yet, outwardly, Phillip maintained his composure, offering her a polite smile when he caught her eye.

As the ceremony concluded, the gathered family members began to make their way out of the gallery. Georgiana remained close to Elizabeth, her manner as warm and unaffected as ever. Lady Matlock and Lord Matlock exchanged a few words with Fitzwilliam as he rejoined them, while Phillip lingered a few paces behind, his countenance inscrutable.

“It was a most impressive ceremony,” Lady Matlock remarked, her tone approving though her eyes flickered briefly towards Elizabeth.

“Indeed,” Lord Matlock agreed. “You have done us proud, Fitzwilliam.”

Fitzwilliam inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his gaze seemed to seek out Elizabeth, who met his eyes with a smile that spoke more than words could convey.

“Lady Dorset,” Phillip said as they descended the stairs, “I trust you found the proceedings interesting?”

“Very much so,” Elizabeth replied. “It is a rare privilege to witness such an occasion.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Phillip responded. “It can be overwhelming at first. My uncle told me he found himself rather at sea more than once as he found his way. I can imagine it is no easier for the wife of a peer who is not accustomed to all the pomp and circumstance. I shall be glad to assist you.”

“I am grateful, Mr Darcy,” she replied.

“Please, Phillip. We are family now, after all,” he said, and she nodded, wondering if she had been wrong about him. She had made a habit of misjudging, between her errors with Mr Wickham and Fitzwilliam, had she not?

The party made their way to the waiting carriages, and as they settled inside, Georgiana took Elizabeth’s hand again. “I am so glad you were with us today,” she said softly. “It meant a great deal to my brother, I am sure.”

“And to me,” Elizabeth replied, her voice equally soft. The warmth in Georgiana’s eyes was a comfort, and she felt a renewed sense of determination. She was a high-ranking lady now, and her husband a peer. There was much good she could do in this world, once she knew what to expect. For now, she had to get through the afternoon. The Matlocks were hosting a grand dinner, a dinner Fitzwilliam had fretted over as he wished to ensure she was comfortable.

She had not worried about the matter too much, having been to many a dinner, but now they were on their way, she worried.

“Pray, who will be at this dinner?”

Georgiana tipped her head to one side. “Well, the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families, of course. Earl Grey is certain to be there, and Earl Fitzwilliam. He is a distant cousin of ours. Some members of the Whig party, and I hear Lady Caroline Lamb will attend. And rumour has it, Lord Byron might come.”

At this, Elizabeth gasped. Lord Byron, Earl Grey—these were names she knew from the broadsheets but had never hoped to meet in person. Suddenly, as the carriage neared their destination, she could not deny the anxiety that rose within her, and she had to wonder—was she ready for her first grand outing as a marchioness?