pleased to meet you…”
Lady Matlock smiled and, when Lydia said nothing and did not curtsy, looked about in an embarrassed fashion. Silence fell, and my aunt Matlock blinked slowly. The clock ticked, and the footmen’s soles clicked in the hall. I could bear it no longer and gave a slight tug on my sister’s arm at which she seemed to remember herself.
“It is an honour to meet you, Lady Matlock. I am Elizabeth’s sister, Mrs. Wickham.”
“Mrs. Wickham, I hope that you have been enjoying your stay at Pemberley? It is so beautiful at this time of year.”
Lydia smiled but said nothing. Just as I thought she was about to speak, she let out a hiccup followed by a giggle, and my mind raced to account for her demeanour.
“It is quite lovely, Lady Matlock, although I am not much of one for rambling about the countryside as my sister is. I would much rather dance. Do you enjoy a dance, Lady Matlock?”
With this, she peered at Fitzwilliam’s aunt, who is nearly sixty, but did not wait for a response.
“I do, but being a widow, I declare that I have not had one dance these eight months. I shall be glad to dance again when I am allowed, I can tell you. My husband died a hero, Lady Matlock. A hero. What a thing that is to have a hero for a husband. I cannot imagine anything more splendid—except him being alive, of course. My goodness, did you know that my husband actually grew up at Pemberley? Yes. He had such affection for this place, and can we not all see why? I take great comfort thinking of him running about the gardens as a boy and building camps in the woods…”
Words streamed from her lips, and I thought they would never stop. In fact, not only did they not cease, they grew louder and more insistent. Her hands fluttered around and everything about her was distracting. It was like watching a horseless carriage thunder down a steep hill. Lord Matlock had stopped speaking of the road, and he and Fitzwilliam were turned to us in silence. My husband fixed me with a grave look and, with his gaze, indicated Lydia’s wine glass, now left on the small table beside her chair. At the moment I realised her predicament, Lydia seemed to reach the apogee of her confidence.
“I hear, Lady Matlock, that you have an unmarried son who is a colonel of the regiment. Is that not the case? How marvellous. There is nothing like regimentals on a man, is there?”
I knew that I had to stop her.
“Erm, Lydia. Maybe we should allow Lady Matlock to sit and gather herself. She has only just arrived, and it is a long journey from Matlock.”
Matlock to Pemberley is only ten miles of good road, but as to that, any port in a storm, thought I.
“Yes, of course, Lizzy. Why, my journey here from Hertfordshire was such a trial. I can well sympathise. It took me a full three days to recover myself! Although, I must say that Mr. Darcy’s carriage was vastly comfortable indeed. Mama was so envious to see me disappearing in it, I can tell you…”
“Aunt Mary, is the weather fine at Matlock? We have been kept in by rain here.” I scrambled for a topic, and in my panic, the weather was the only one I found.
“It has been reasonably fair…”
“Oh, but it is so cold here, do you not think so, Lizzy? It is far colder here than ever it is in Hertfordshire at this time of year. I wonder that Lizzy manages, for we were never so chilly as girls. She must wear a great deal under her gowns to guard against the wind, for it is bitter!”
“Lydia!” I moved towards her as one might approach a horse who had gone rogue.
“Well, it is true, Lizzy, and I know you think so too, for did you not write to Mama when you were first married that you were cold?”
With this, Fitzwilliam turned to the fire, his body a rage of tension.
“No, I did not say that, Lydia. I have always been more than comfortable in Derbyshire. It is my home, and I love it.”
She gave me a dismissing look with which I was well familiar before engaging poor Lady
Lady Matlock smiled and, when Lydia said nothing and did not curtsy, looked about in an embarrassed fashion. Silence fell, and my aunt Matlock blinked slowly. The clock ticked, and the footmen’s soles clicked in the hall. I could bear it no longer and gave a slight tug on my sister’s arm at which she seemed to remember herself.
“It is an honour to meet you, Lady Matlock. I am Elizabeth’s sister, Mrs. Wickham.”
“Mrs. Wickham, I hope that you have been enjoying your stay at Pemberley? It is so beautiful at this time of year.”
Lydia smiled but said nothing. Just as I thought she was about to speak, she let out a hiccup followed by a giggle, and my mind raced to account for her demeanour.
“It is quite lovely, Lady Matlock, although I am not much of one for rambling about the countryside as my sister is. I would much rather dance. Do you enjoy a dance, Lady Matlock?”
With this, she peered at Fitzwilliam’s aunt, who is nearly sixty, but did not wait for a response.
“I do, but being a widow, I declare that I have not had one dance these eight months. I shall be glad to dance again when I am allowed, I can tell you. My husband died a hero, Lady Matlock. A hero. What a thing that is to have a hero for a husband. I cannot imagine anything more splendid—except him being alive, of course. My goodness, did you know that my husband actually grew up at Pemberley? Yes. He had such affection for this place, and can we not all see why? I take great comfort thinking of him running about the gardens as a boy and building camps in the woods…”
Words streamed from her lips, and I thought they would never stop. In fact, not only did they not cease, they grew louder and more insistent. Her hands fluttered around and everything about her was distracting. It was like watching a horseless carriage thunder down a steep hill. Lord Matlock had stopped speaking of the road, and he and Fitzwilliam were turned to us in silence. My husband fixed me with a grave look and, with his gaze, indicated Lydia’s wine glass, now left on the small table beside her chair. At the moment I realised her predicament, Lydia seemed to reach the apogee of her confidence.
“I hear, Lady Matlock, that you have an unmarried son who is a colonel of the regiment. Is that not the case? How marvellous. There is nothing like regimentals on a man, is there?”
I knew that I had to stop her.
“Erm, Lydia. Maybe we should allow Lady Matlock to sit and gather herself. She has only just arrived, and it is a long journey from Matlock.”
Matlock to Pemberley is only ten miles of good road, but as to that, any port in a storm, thought I.
“Yes, of course, Lizzy. Why, my journey here from Hertfordshire was such a trial. I can well sympathise. It took me a full three days to recover myself! Although, I must say that Mr. Darcy’s carriage was vastly comfortable indeed. Mama was so envious to see me disappearing in it, I can tell you…”
“Aunt Mary, is the weather fine at Matlock? We have been kept in by rain here.” I scrambled for a topic, and in my panic, the weather was the only one I found.
“It has been reasonably fair…”
“Oh, but it is so cold here, do you not think so, Lizzy? It is far colder here than ever it is in Hertfordshire at this time of year. I wonder that Lizzy manages, for we were never so chilly as girls. She must wear a great deal under her gowns to guard against the wind, for it is bitter!”
“Lydia!” I moved towards her as one might approach a horse who had gone rogue.
“Well, it is true, Lizzy, and I know you think so too, for did you not write to Mama when you were first married that you were cold?”
With this, Fitzwilliam turned to the fire, his body a rage of tension.
“No, I did not say that, Lydia. I have always been more than comfortable in Derbyshire. It is my home, and I love it.”
She gave me a dismissing look with which I was well familiar before engaging poor Lady
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