Page 28 of Till Death Us Do Part: Book 2
She had deliberately chosen a public venue to eliminate any chance to reply with more venom, or at least, to prevent them from doing so if they possessed an ounce of decorum.
Matlock looked her up and down, while Lady Matlock fumed.
Matlock finally said, “I thank you for your,” then he waited quite a noticeable time before continuing with, “hospitality, Mrs Darcy. We hope to see you at Matlock soon.”
Elizabeth did her best not to refrain from muttering anything under her breath about certain places freezing over. “My travel plans are up to my husband, my lord. If he chooses to go to Matlock, I suppose we will.”
Lady Matlock looked like she was eating a lemon, but managed to say, “Of course. You are welcome any time.”
Taking one last chance to dig out something useful, though to be fair she had passed up a dozen chances in the few days of the visit, Elizabeth asked, “Are you certain you have no idea when he will return?”
She had ensured there were no servants close enough to hear before speaking, and spoke quietly enough to keep it private, having chosen the venue carefully to prevent a public screaming fit. She thought it unlikely to be productive but had to at least try.
Matlock looked her up and down with an expression she could not read, and finally said, “Well played, madam.”
Elizabeth just shrugged. It was damning by faint praise if she ever heard it, but she would take what she could get if it would reduce her uncertainty just a little.
Matlock finally said, “I do not know when he will return. I expected to hear from him by now but have not. If I learn anything, I will send a note. Will that do?”
Elizabeth thought it might just be the tiniest bit of thawing in their relationship. She still thought very poorly of the couple and was disinclined to spend any time in their company, but she would take what she could get.
“I would appreciate that, my lord. Pray, enjoy your journey.”
Elizabeth waited on the steps until the Matlocks left. The couple did not wave or otherwise acknowledge her, which saved her the trouble of ignoring them. She was still not certain she had played the visit correctly, but it was done, so there was little point in fretting.
She briefly worried about Mr Darcy. It was understandable enough that he would ignore a nuisance wife, and she had not the slightest idea whether to be worried that he was ignoring the earl and his wife or not. She really had no idea how her new family operated. There was reputed to be a judge for an uncle somewhere, he had Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who frankly sounded half mad, and then the lovely couple she had just met, who seemed little improved over Lady Catherine. There was a sister somewhere, but she had no idea where she was or what she was like, aside from Mr Wickham’s words, which she no longer trusted.
Was it meaningful that her husband had not contacted his uncle? She had no idea if the earl was trusted adviser or family nuisance, so the fact that he had not heard did not necessarily mean anything. Her own family had no idea where she was or what she was doing, so why would her husband not do the same if necessary?
The lack of contact was either a worrisome development, or yet another sign that her husband did not care about her very much. Either seemed equally likely.
Trying to think through it, she reasoned that England had provided reliable mail service from everywhere within several thousand miles for centuries. It even carried on through most wars, with the notable exception of the current one. Regular mail service with the Continent had been established in the seventeenth century, though it was curtailed by the war with Napoleon. Therefore, if her husband had the poor sense to go towards a war instead of away from it, she supposed it was just barely possible he could not get regular mail service, or perhaps he might not trust the couriers. It seemed possible, but highly unlikely—and even more so given the number of months that had elapsed without a single word.
A much more likely explanation might be that he went to some far-flung holding that needed attention. He probably had holdings in India, the Caribbean, or the Americas. Even if he did not, it seemed inevitable thatsomeonein his family did, and he had said his task was afamily matter. For those places, a trip would take several months to get there and back, presuming something had to be done while he was there. It waspossiblehe could not get a message back to England, but unlikely. At the very least, he had plenty of time to write heroneletter before his departure, or even in the first few days. Almost any ship routinely met up with any number of mail packets, on any voyage of significance.
Of course, she had to admit, there was a real possibility he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, buried in a shallow grave after being robbed, at the bottom of the ocean, or sitting in a hospital dying. He had shown signs of fever at the wedding, so the chances that it got worse were not to be ignored.
In the end, Elizabeth decided to put it from her mind since she was climbing on Omega again. It was possible he was sick, dead, incapacitated, or imprisoned somewhere; but equally likely he just did not feel the need to inform his wife of his whereabouts. If he wanted her to know where he was going or what he was doing, he could have done so easily when they had the privacy of the coach. Ergo, the fact that he had not written to either her or the earl meant absolutely nothing.
Feeling another headache coming on, which happened whenever she got dizzy from chasing her tail, she decided to just quit worrying about things she could do nothing about.
What shecoulddo was show just a bit of pride and allow her faithful stablemaster his share of amusement. She followed the Matlock coach towards Lambton to a spot they chose together just for the moment. It was a wide spot where two coaches could pass each other with room to spare.
With a shout of glee, she kicked Omega into the fastest run yet and flew by their coach looking like some kind of screaming banshee, her head inches from Omega’s and her bonnet and most of her hairpins lost somewhere in the first hundred yards of her dash. She never looked back, nor did she worry about Longman, who would be along soon enough. She just gave Omega his head and let him run for as long as he pleased. For that day, he matched her humour because it pleased him to run another mile.
With her little temper tantrum out of the way, she gradually slowed the beast and continued to Lambton at little more than a trot. The first couple of months at Pemberley she had walked. It was five miles each way—a good hour and a half at best. That meant three hours of a day just going back and forth. That had been a good system when she had nothing else to do, but the fact that she could get there in a half-hour anytime she pleased was agood inducement to visit more often. She even visited Kympton from time to time but did not like it as much.
When they reached the village, Longman took both horses to the stable and went to visit his daughter, who ran a small bakery with her husband. He visited her regularly during his usual duties, and doing so when Elizabeth was in town made little difference.
Elizabeth walked through the street, looking at the windows. She had used her limited bits of coin to buy some small things from time to time, so most of the merchants were at least familiar. She suspected most assumed her small purchases were due to her mourning, and they would pick up over time. Elizabeth believed this might have made them nicer to her than her patronage was worth, but she made it a point never to overextend the courtesy. She passed by if a shopkeeper was busy or she had visited recently. She was distantly polite to everyone she encountered, but not to the point of satisfying anyone’s curiosity. She was Mrs Darcy. She was in mourning. That had to be enough.
The one exception was the bookshop. On her first visit after returning to Pemberley after her wedding, Mr Bartlet made it abundantly clear she was welcome as often as she liked and for as long as she liked, so Elizabeth had taken him up on the offer. She bought a few books for Molly, but she mostly believed that the ageing proprietor just enjoyed her company. She never disturbed his custom, and they could easily while away hours at a time talking about things they had read. Mr Bartlet was, unsurprisingly, the best-read man she ever met, beating out her father in his one lone accomplishment. Every day brought a list of another dozen books Elizabeth would like to read, andshe kept an ongoing list that she continuously organised and reorganised.
On that particular day, she saw another gentleman perusing the shelves.
Bartlet said, “Ah, Mrs Darcy. Welcome as always.”
Then he pulled her aside and whispered, “Since you are close to leaving deep mourning, would you care to meet a few of the local gentry? If so, today would be a good day for it, and if not, you might want to go to the tea house for an hour.’
