Read Online The Elizabeth Papers by Jenetta James - Free Book Online
Authors: Jenetta James
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Matlock once more.
“Now, Lady Matlock, it is such a pleasure to meet you at last, for Lizzy is always speaking of you. I am glad that you are come to supper, or I might have thought she had made you up! Now, my sister tells me that your younger son is frightful handsome and extremely agreeable company. Well, I should like to meet him, for I do not see why Lizzy should get all the amiable gentlemen.”
Desperate times, I concluded, called for desperate measures.
“Lydia, I need to have a word with Mrs. Reynolds before supper. Would you mind coming with me please?”
“Whatever for?”
I took her arm.
“Well, I shall tell you on the way. Please excuse me, Lady Matlock. I shall be back directly.”
Lydia looked confused, but I could tell from her eyes that she was not about to refuse. If I thought, however, that the evening had thus far gone badly, worse was to come. For when we went to move towards the door, my sister’s grip upon my arm tightened, her slippered feet stumbled, and she nearly fell.
“Lydia!”
“Oh! My goodness. I am sorry. I am all right, Lizzy.”
“I think you may be feeling poorly. I shall see you to your chamber…”
When we were in the hall and beyond the closed door of the drawing room, I am ashamed to say that I almost dragged her upstairs.
“Do not pull on me so, Lizzy! Stop it. I do not feel very well.”
“Of course, you do not feel very well. What were you thinking? You are not used to drink, Lydia, nor should you be!” I said when we were safely behind the closed door of her chamber.
She sank down on the edge of her bed and groaned. I turned to Milly, who had joined us at my request.
“Milly, Mrs. Wickham is feeling unwell. She will not be able to join Mr. Darcy and me for dinner. Please, can you assist her to bed and bring her tea and buttered toast in case she becomes hungry in the night? Thank you. Lydia, I suggest that you will be better off in bed. I will visit you in the morning.”
I did not wait for her to reply but turned on my heel, clicked the door closed, and departed.
I have enjoyed merrier suppers with my husband and his relations than that which followed. At first, there was a lack of conversation. The room was filled with the sound of silver tinkling on china, glasses being picked up and replaced, and James pacing the room with various dishes, his polished shoes padding around the thick carpet. I knew that I could not allow it to continue, and so, angry and upset though I was, I forced myself to be cheerful. With some effort, I encouraged Lord Matlock to tell us of his recent visit to Town. Lady Matlock, who can be relied upon to discuss her family, was immediately at ease when I asked her how plans for her eldest son’s wedding were progressing. Although we are not close, Lady Matlock has always been kind to me. She looked at Fitzwilliam, surly and taciturn, and then trained her eye upon me. I believe that she consciously held out her hand by way of assistance when she resolved to be happy and talkative. Even so, my husband said little. He sat opposite me, slightly in shadow, and when I moved to catch his eye around the side of the candle, I was certain that he looked away.
Our guests did not stay late, for they had some miles to travel home. We bade them farewell at the main door and watched in silence as their carriage clattered away down the moonlit drive and out of sight.
“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam…”
“Elizabeth, I have to write a letter.”
“A letter? At this time of night?”
“Yes, there is a problem with the tenant at Rosschapel. I have to write to my steward urgently. I would have done it before dinner but…it is nothing for you to worry over. You should retire.”
That was the last he spoke to me before stalking into his study without a glance back. It has now been two hours, and here I am at the desk in my chamber, alone. I am not fooled by the suggestion that a letter was so urgent it had to be written at night nor so long
“Now, Lady Matlock, it is such a pleasure to meet you at last, for Lizzy is always speaking of you. I am glad that you are come to supper, or I might have thought she had made you up! Now, my sister tells me that your younger son is frightful handsome and extremely agreeable company. Well, I should like to meet him, for I do not see why Lizzy should get all the amiable gentlemen.”
Desperate times, I concluded, called for desperate measures.
“Lydia, I need to have a word with Mrs. Reynolds before supper. Would you mind coming with me please?”
“Whatever for?”
I took her arm.
“Well, I shall tell you on the way. Please excuse me, Lady Matlock. I shall be back directly.”
Lydia looked confused, but I could tell from her eyes that she was not about to refuse. If I thought, however, that the evening had thus far gone badly, worse was to come. For when we went to move towards the door, my sister’s grip upon my arm tightened, her slippered feet stumbled, and she nearly fell.
“Lydia!”
“Oh! My goodness. I am sorry. I am all right, Lizzy.”
“I think you may be feeling poorly. I shall see you to your chamber…”
When we were in the hall and beyond the closed door of the drawing room, I am ashamed to say that I almost dragged her upstairs.
“Do not pull on me so, Lizzy! Stop it. I do not feel very well.”
“Of course, you do not feel very well. What were you thinking? You are not used to drink, Lydia, nor should you be!” I said when we were safely behind the closed door of her chamber.
She sank down on the edge of her bed and groaned. I turned to Milly, who had joined us at my request.
“Milly, Mrs. Wickham is feeling unwell. She will not be able to join Mr. Darcy and me for dinner. Please, can you assist her to bed and bring her tea and buttered toast in case she becomes hungry in the night? Thank you. Lydia, I suggest that you will be better off in bed. I will visit you in the morning.”
I did not wait for her to reply but turned on my heel, clicked the door closed, and departed.
I have enjoyed merrier suppers with my husband and his relations than that which followed. At first, there was a lack of conversation. The room was filled with the sound of silver tinkling on china, glasses being picked up and replaced, and James pacing the room with various dishes, his polished shoes padding around the thick carpet. I knew that I could not allow it to continue, and so, angry and upset though I was, I forced myself to be cheerful. With some effort, I encouraged Lord Matlock to tell us of his recent visit to Town. Lady Matlock, who can be relied upon to discuss her family, was immediately at ease when I asked her how plans for her eldest son’s wedding were progressing. Although we are not close, Lady Matlock has always been kind to me. She looked at Fitzwilliam, surly and taciturn, and then trained her eye upon me. I believe that she consciously held out her hand by way of assistance when she resolved to be happy and talkative. Even so, my husband said little. He sat opposite me, slightly in shadow, and when I moved to catch his eye around the side of the candle, I was certain that he looked away.
Our guests did not stay late, for they had some miles to travel home. We bade them farewell at the main door and watched in silence as their carriage clattered away down the moonlit drive and out of sight.
“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam…”
“Elizabeth, I have to write a letter.”
“A letter? At this time of night?”
“Yes, there is a problem with the tenant at Rosschapel. I have to write to my steward urgently. I would have done it before dinner but…it is nothing for you to worry over. You should retire.”
That was the last he spoke to me before stalking into his study without a glance back. It has now been two hours, and here I am at the desk in my chamber, alone. I am not fooled by the suggestion that a letter was so urgent it had to be written at night nor so long
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