Page 75 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

She looked at him a moment. “Then we shall not keep you from them.”

“You are not keeping me from anyone.” It came out more plainly than he had meant it to.

“Gardiner! I had hoped to see you here. I require your advice.”

Mr. Gardiner turned, and his wife followed as the gentleman approached them with an outstretched hand.

Before Miss Elizabeth could move after them, a matron appeared at her elbow. “Good evening, my dears. Lady Anne asks that you come and hear Miss Harcourt play.” She caught Miss Elizabeth by one arm, Miss Bennet by the other, and bore them both towards the music room.

His mother’s interference. Darcy watched them go, thinking that Georgiana would be glad of the company.

He stood where he was for a time, watching the guests at this party he had not planned. A shipowner had cornered a duke’s son, and both appeared to be enjoying their debate. Two dowagers had trapped a young barrister between them. A clergyman was speaking with a countess.

The Fitzwilliams were reformers, and his mother had always hosted whomever she pleased. His father had attempted to resist once or twice, but after nearly losing his wife in the year one had decided she was correct. In fact, he had become almost eloquent on the subject.

Darcy had therefore grown up thinking this sort of room ordinary. Rank and money, trade and title, wit and worth all pressed together under the Darcy roof, his mother presiding while his father stood beside her. If Lady Anne Darcy found that worth in Gracechurch Street, she would bring it to Mayfair. No, Miss Elizabeth had not been asked tonight for his sake. His mother was still protecting her from him. Miss Elizabeth had been asked for another reason altogether, and that reason arrived at half past eight.

Mr. Aldridge of Ashcourt was five-and-thirty, quiet, and not unattractive, Darcy supposed, so far as that went. He listened more than he spoke. He had an estate in Berkshire, just south of Newbury, improved rather than encumbered, and a widowed mother he was said to treat with great consideration. He had twelve thousand a year and might have a seat in the next Parliament if he wanted it, though he apparently had the good sense not to. He was a good match for Miss Elizabeth. Better than he was himself, come to that.

Darcy’s mother led him to the music room to meet Miss Elizabeth, and Darcy wandered in after them. To assure himself that Georgiana was well, of course.

He saw his sister safe enough near the window with Milton and Lady Euphemia and might have withdrawn again had the talk by the instrument not caught him first.

“My mother has Cowper open beside the tea tray every morning,” Mr. Aldridge was saying. “Mrs. Rawlings sits opposite with her embroidery and plays the martyr.”

“She does not care for poetry?”

“She cares for Crabbe. She regards Cowper as an affliction visited upon her by friendship. Sermons, however, they both condemn equally. My mother says they are too long, and Mrs. Rawlings says they are never long enough to be good.”

“And you, Mr. Aldridge?” Miss Elizabeth asked. “Are you a devotee of Cowper or Crabbe?”

“Neither, I am afraid. I am for Fielding, and I am admonished soundly for the impertinence of it.”

“You are staring, Cousin,” said Richard, arriving at his shoulder with two glasses of port. He followed Darcy’s gaze. “Ah. Aldridge. My father speaks well of him, and my father speaks well of almost nobody.” He cleared his throat to imitate the earl. “‘Sound man. Good land. Keeps his fences in repair.’”

“You sound like the register my mother is supposed to keep.”

Richard took a drink. “He may be a good choice on my aunt’s part. Miss Elizabeth is not only tolerating him, Darcy. Look at her.”

It was just as he feared. Miss Elizabeth stood with Mr. Aldridge near the instrument, her head tilted a fraction to the left. He knew that meant she was listening, and not merely to be polite.

“No,” Darcy said. “She is interested in the conversation.” He hoped she was not interested in the man.

Across the room his mother had placed Miss Bennet beside a gentleman with greying hair who spoke to her quietly, and Miss Bennet seemed content.

He glanced at Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Aldridge, wishing he could interrupt, but she was not in need of him and he was still the host—again. He wondered idly if he would be able to attend any entertainments at someone else’s house this season.

Darcy moved back into the drawing room to fulfil his duties.

When he returned to the music room around ten, Georgiana was standing by the two pots of camellias his mother had ordered brought in from the conservatory and were now displayed on a table. But she was not hiding, nor was she in distress. Miss Elizabeth was beside her, and they were examining the flowers together, Georgiana touching one of the blooms. He made his way over to them.

“I love camellias,” Georgiana was saying. “They are Mother’s favourite flower.”

“They are beautiful,” Miss Elizabeth said. Darcy admired the intricate styling of her curls this evening, which he could see better now that her back was turned to him. “These”—she indicated the one with the multicoloured petals—“are rather riotous.”

Camellias were not riotous at all, and he smiled at the jest.

“My brother says camellias are worth the trouble, because they bring us so much pleasure,” Georgiana said.