Page 44 of The Slipper Scandal
As they reached the main entrance hall, Lord Matlock's expression grew more serious. "There is talk, you know," he said in a lower tone. "At the clubs. Several of the younger men seem to find great amusement in the idea of proud Darcy finally brought low by a country lass."
"I suspected as much." It did not mean he had to like it.
"Lord Winterbottom was particularly vocal last evening. Spoke of how a healthy country wife would 'enliven your nights considerably.' I nearly called him out for it."
"I appreciate your restraint," Darcy replied drily. His uncle was terrible with both foil and pistol. His only real weapon was pointed words spoken in the House of Lords.
"It was not for his sake but yours. Such a challenge would only fuel the gossip." Lord Matlock's eyes held genuine concern. "Some jest that you have been tamed at last, that this country miss has managed what the diamonds of the season could not. It is sure to goad the ladies into a fury, and it will not be you they blame for their disappointment."
Darcy felt his face grow hot with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Miss Bennet's character is above such speculation or attack."
"As we are both aware, the ton is no respecter of character." Lord Matlock sighed. "They will test her, Darcy. Some will be genuinely curious, others deliberately unkind. The women, especially, may be merciless. Those with daughters they had hoped to match with you will be in attendance on Friday, as will more who simply delight in witnessing another's discomfort."
"Miss Bennet can weather their scrutiny," Darcy said with quiet confidence. "She is possessed of remarkable composure."
"I hope so, for your sake and hers. But she ought to be warned." His uncle squeezed his shoulder briefly before taking his leave, disappearing back into the depths of Matlock House.
As he walked down the steps to where his carriage waited, Darcy found himself anticipating Friday with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
Chapter Twelve
Elizabeth stood at the window of her bedchamber, absently gazing out at the rain-dampened garden below. Behind her, Arabella reclined on the bed, leafing through a fashion plate fromLa Belle Assemblée, occasionally offering commentary on the latest London styles that Elizabeth only half heard.
"This one might suit you," Arabella said, holding up an illustration of an evening gown with elaborate embroidery and tassels all around the hem. "Though perhaps with less ornamentation. Your figure is so light that you always look best in simpler styles."
"Hmm," Elizabeth murmured noncommittally, her thoughts on tomorrow's art salon at Matlock House. Lady Matlock had asked them to arrive an hour early, and she could not help but be anxious. Why, she did not know. She still had no intention of going through with this marriage.
Mrs. Abernathy knocked softly before she swept in with her usual graceful efficiency and closed the door behind her.She stood there for a moment, studying them both with an affectionate gaze.
“You are thinking about us as girls again, are you not?” Arabella asked her mother.
“Yes, my dear, I am. It seems only yesterday you were both scampering into the house through the kitchens so that I would not catch you in dresses with ripped hems and muddy skirts.”
“Yes, we come in through the library now,” Arabella said with a smile. Elizabeth shook her head at Belle. They both loved Jane, admired her, sought her opinion, but the two of themunderstoodone another.
"I need to speak with you girls about tomorrow," Mrs. Abernathy said, her usually cheerful countenance taking on a more serious aspect. "Lady Matlock’s art salon will put you in company with many ladies of the first circles. Arabella has grown used to this over the past two years, but Lizzy, given your situation, I fear some may not be welcoming."
Arabella sat up and glanced at Elizabeth.
"You mean they shall despise me on sight," Elizabeth said. "Pray do not mince words, Mrs. Abernathy. I am quite aware that I am hardly the match society expected for Mr. Darcy."
"Lizzy!" Arabella protested, but her mother held up a placating hand.
"Elizabeth is correct in her assessment," Mrs. Abernathy said calmly. "Though I would not have been so direct. The truth is, my dear, that several of those ladies have spent years promoting their own daughters as suitable matches for Mr. Darcy. His sudden engagement to you has caused considerable disappointment in many quarters."
"And speculation," Arabella added, her expression darkening. "I suppose Lord Ellington's insinuations have not helped matters."
"Indeed not," her mother agreed. "You must prepare yourself, Elizabeth. There will be veiled insults, thinly disguised as pleasantries. There will be scrutiny of your appearance, your manners, your conversation, anything they might use to prove what they already believe: that you are unsuitable."
Elizabeth set down her hairbrush with perhaps more force than was necessary. "Then I shall likely prove them correct, for I have no intention of pretending to be something I am not merely to please a collection of society matrons."
Mrs. Abernathy's chin lifted ever so slightly. "And that, my dear, is precisely why you shall triumph. Their pointed insults are meant to wound, but because you truly do not care for their good opinion, their words cannot harm you. They may sting a bit, I grant you. No one likes to be insulted. But they will do you no lasting harm. And the best part is that you need not pretend to be anything but yourself, for you already possess everything you require to navigate any social battle."
"I am not certain I deserve such a compliment," Elizabeth demurred, though a small part of her thrilled at the way Mrs. Abernathy viewed her.
"Nonsense," Mrs. Abernathy waved away her protest. "Do you recall the summer you were sixteen, when Mrs. Vandercross visited Netherfield?"
“Oh, Aunt Vandercross,” moaned Arabella. “What a dreadful creature. Papa ran away and left us to entertain her, even though she ishissister. I am so pleased she married again and settled in Rome. Too bad she could not move even farther away.”
