The Countess of Matlock turned toward her. Elizabeth had expected grandeur and received warmth. Lady Matlock was handsome rather than beautiful, elegantly dressed in dark blue travelling wool, with lines about her eyes that suggested she laughed more often than Lady Catherine de Bourgh would have approved. “You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Yes, my lady.”
The countess crossed the room and embraced her.
Elizabeth went rigid.
“My dear girl,” Lady Matlock said into her hair, “thank you for finding him.”
Elizabeth’s hands hovered helplessly before settling against the countess’s shoulders. “You are welcome,” she managed.
Lady Matlock drew back and took both her hands. “And welcome to the family.”
The room became silent.
Elizabeth stared. Behind Lady Matlock, Richard suddenly became absorbed in examining a painting of a bowl of pears.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes narrowed.
Mrs. Bennet made a sound like air leaving a bellows.
Jane turned pink.
Lydia whispered, “La!”
Elizabeth recovered first. “My lady, I think there has been a misunderstanding.”
Lady Matlock smiled. “Has there? Richard’s letter was quite explicit.”
“Richard’s letter was written while Mr. Darcy was delirious,” Elizabeth said.
The Earl looked at his son. “Richard.”
Richard spread his hands. “He announced the engagement six times, Father. At one point he attempted to order me to London for a ring.”
The countess’s smile deepened.
Elizabeth wished herself in Scotland.
Mr. Bennet stood. “Lizzy. My study.”
Mrs. Bennet cried, “Mr. Bennet, surely—”
“My study.”
Elizabeth followed him.
The door closed. Mr. Bennet went behind his desk but did not sit. “Did Mr. Darcy ask you to marry him?”
“Yes.”
He blinked.
Elizabeth hastened on. “But Papa, he had been thrown from his horse. He was bleeding and confused. He kept trying to sit up every time I would not answer, and I was terrified he would injure himself further. So I said yes to make him lie still.”
Mr. Bennet stared at her. “You accepted a marriage proposal as medical treatment.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds foolish.”