Mr. Darcy's Refuge (25 page)

Elizabeth closed her eyes, wishing herself far away. Being forced to observe as her father amused himself at the colonel’s expense was the last thing she wanted.

As the colonel reseated himself, Mr. Bennet placed his spectacles on his nose and opened the letter. “I was particularly taken by this part: ‘Although Colonel Fitzwilliam gave distinguished service during his years in India, it is unlikely that he will advance beyond his current rank. While he has always performed his duty, his lack of enthusiasm for military offensives on the Continent has been noted. While I, having worked closely with him, have no doubt as to his loyalty, I do not anticipate placing him in a combat position unless he chooses to return to India, which I believe to be unlikely.’ And this is your character reference? Tut, tut, young man!”

The sudden rigidity in the colonel’s expression told her that this intelligence was unexpected. But he recovered quickly. “I did tell you he would describe my flaws as well as my sterling characteristics.”

“These are telling flaws indeed – disloyalty and – shall we say cowardice?”

“Father!” Elizabeth cried. “That is untrue.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s hand had fallen to his sword hilt, but he slowly unclenched his fingers. “If you call it cowardice that I cannot ride cheerfully into battle against my kinsmen and friends, then indeed I am a coward, but as that letter says, I have
always
done my duty. I have killed as many French soldiers in battle as any other officer; you will have to forgive me if I do not triumph in it.”

“A French sympathizer in His Majesty’s service? I am shocked indeed!”

Elizabeth stood. “That is beyond enough, sir! Amuse yourself as you like, but I will not have you insult a guest in this house.”

Mr. Bennet ignored her completely. “Well, Colonel?”

“I believe I saw a bottle of smuggled French brandy in your library, and Miss Bennet is charmingly attired in a style that I believe originated in Paris. Does that make you a traitor for supporting England’s enemy? Our very word for good society – the
ton
- is French, and most ladies can speak at least a smattering of French. Many of our fashions originate in France. Yet we are supposed to delight in killing the French. We are all students of hypocrisy – or perhaps I should say
l’hypocrisie
.”

“But
you
apparently take it a step farther than drinking French brandy. Perhaps you are an admirer of Bonaparte.”

“I am no Bonapartiste, but I do sympathize with the French people. They have suffered enough in the last thirty years, even before the tyrant Bonaparte came on the scene. My mother is French, and when the political situation allowed, I have visited France with her. I speak French as well as I do English, which is why I am of particular use in the War Office. It is the current fashion to view all the French as demons. I do not, and have been forced on more than one occasion to defend my honor because of it, but I am
not
ashamed of my sentiments.”

Shaking his head, Mr. Bennet folded his glasses as placed them in his pocket. “Matlock married to a Papist. Who would have believed it?”

“A very, very wealthy Papist heiress, precisely at the time that his estate was in desperate need of money.” The colonel was all amiability again.

Elizabeth noticed then that Jane’s hand clutched the colonel’s arm. Her face was ashen, but her voice was steady as she said, “I cannot bear this talk of politics on such a beautiful day. Colonel, perhaps you would care to see our gardens? The flowers are delightful this year.”

He looked down at her in surprise. “That would give me great pleasure, Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth, will you join us?”

Elizabeth found her voice. “In a few minutes, perhaps.”

Jane kept up a smiling monologue as she and Colonel Fitzwilliam left the room. Elizabeth looked accusingly at her father.

“Lizzy, of all the unfortunate occurrences in Kent, the worst has been the complete disappearance of your sense of humor. For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?”

“Laughing at others can sometimes be very hurtful. I do not find insulting a perfectly amiable gentleman amusing. Regardless of what you believe, Colonel Fitzwilliam has been very kind to me.”

“You will have to forgive me if I assume that if Lord Matlock’s son was kind to you, it was because he found it to be in his best interest.”

“He is not responsible for the sins of his father. Perhaps he takes after his mother.”

“Just because he feels sympathy for the poor, poor Frenchmen who are doing their utmost to kill as many Englishmen as possible.”

Elizabeth began to make a retort, then stopped as a thought occurred to her.

“What is it?”

“I was thinking about what he said to me when he saw the earl approaching the house. He told me to hide because he would rather see me face Napoleon’s guns than be in the same room with his father with no one to protect me.”

“That is the most sensible thing I have heard of him so far. The worst bullets can do is to kill you.”

Elizabeth gave him a sharp glance, but said nothing.

“But I will say, Lizzy, that was a remarkable set-down that you gave Lord Matlock. I was proud of you.”

It was an olive branch of sorts, but Elizabeth was not sure if she wanted to accept it or not. “I should join the others.”

She circled the house without catching sight of Jane and the colonel, nor did she find them in the arbor or the formal garden. The only other likely place was the small wilderness beyond the ruined wall. She turned her steps there and was only a few feet from the wall when a sound came that she had not heard in far too long. It was the sound of Jane laughing freely, not a forced or polite laugh, but a real, joyous laugh. The murmur of the colonel’s voice followed and Jane laughed once more.

Elizabeth could not recall such gaiety in her sister since Mr. Bingley had left Netherfield. Jane had been sad throughout the winter and during Elizabeth’s stay at Hunsford, and after that, Jane’s spirits had been equally oppressed by the conflict with their father, even though it did not involve her. Between the two blows, Jane’s natural good humor had been replaced by a quiet sadness.

If Colonel Fitzwilliam could give Jane a few minutes of happiness, Elizabeth had no desire to interrupt the
tête-à-tête
. Her own appearance would only bring up the painful subject of their father. She crept quietly back into the garden, then took care to lose herself in the shrubbery for at least a quarter hour.

She did not have a chance to speak to the colonel alone until he was ready to depart. As the groom brought his horse, the colonel said, “I hope my visit did not make matters worse for you.”

“Not at all. I just wish sometimes that I could go back to before all this happened, but of course one cannot step into the same river twice – and it would be very unwise to try when the aforementioned river is in flood. But I am sorry for my father’s inexcusable behavior.”

“You need not apologize – your sister has already done that at length, despite my protests, and quite charmingly as well.” He took the reins of the horse in one hand. “I must say, Bingley was a
fool
to leave her. Darcy as well, but Bingley even more so.” He shook his head in disbelief.

Elizabeth laughed. “You will get no argument from me on that score, sir. I am glad you can still believe that after meeting with my father today.”

He swung up into the saddle with a practiced grace. “As I said earlier, you have met
my
father, Miss Bennet. Until we meet again!”

Chapter 13

Elizabeth usually enjoyed summertime, since it gave her so much freedom to ramble and explore, but this year it seemed that she was simply marking time. Her tour to the Lakes was now the object of her happiest thoughts; it was her best consolation for all the uncomfortable hours which the discontentedness of her father made inevitable.

The trip was almost upon her when Hill, her face white, announced a most unexpected visitor. “The Countess of Matlock is here, Miss Lizzy.”

Elizabeth dropped her embroidery in an untidy heap.

“Jane, Mary – you should not stay here. Truly.” Elizabeth sounded half-strangled. She moved to stand behind her chair and gripped its back, her knuckles showing white. It was a poor defense, but it was the best she had.

Mary merely looked quizzical, but Jane, who knew more of Elizabeth’s confrontation with Lord Matlock than Mary, said, “We will not leave you to face this alone.”

Before Elizabeth could importune them further, Hill showed in an elegant lady of about Mrs. Bennet’s years, wearing a fashionably cut gown of green silk. “The Countess of Matlock.”

Lady Matlock surveyed the room with a glance and moved directly to Elizabeth. “
You
must be Elizabeth! I may call you Elizabeth,
n’est-ce pas
?

Elizabeth gripped the chair back more tightly, glancing from side to side with a certain desperation. How had Lady Matlock recognized her? A description of her appearance would have fitted Mary equally well. “I would be honored, Lady Matlock.”

“Ah!” The countess spread her hands in front of her. “You want to know how it is I knew you. It was simple; Richard told me you have met my ’usband, and you are the only one who looks as if you expect me to pluck all your feathers and serve you for dinner.” She pronounced her son’s name
Ree-shar
in the French manner, and it was a moment before Elizabeth realized of whom she was speaking. Leaning forward and using a confidential tone, Lady Matlock added, “You need not fear. I am nothing like my ’usband,
vraiment
.”

Making an effort to loosen her fingers, Elizabeth said, “I mean no disrespect to Lord Matlock.”

Her visitor trilled with laughter. “Ah, but I
do
! Come, sit by me,
cherie
. We must become better acquainted, you and I, since you are to be my niece.” She gracefully seated herself on the sofa and patted the space beside her.

So this was where Colonel Fitzwilliam had learned his amiable manners. Elizabeth sat as instructed, albeit with a nervous glance at Jane. “Thank you, madam.”

“Richard has told me all about you. You have quite charmed him! Darcy, of course, he only scowls, the poor boy. I knew immediately that I must meet the lady who has captured my nephew’s so elusive heart.”

Elizabeth could not suppress a smile. “It was quite unconsciously done, your ladyship.”

“But of course it was! Darcy would never have taken notice of you had you been one of those young ladies who fawn over him so embarrassingly! He hates that so
very
much.”

“I was as far from fawning as possible! My behavior toward him could only be described as impertinent.”