Two days hence, they began approaching Newcastle. Elizabeth was no nearer to peace with herself; she knew now that her feelings for Darcy were out of the common way, and much dearer than friendship. She also knew that he had made no mention of their aborted arrangement. He had not, in fact, attempted to approach her or single her out in any fashion at any point during their trip from Derbyshire.
Elizabeth could only reasonably conclude that Darcy was pleased to have done with her; that his ostensible reason for travelling with them – to survey the holdings of Matlock – was his sole motive; and that he had no reason to resent Mrs. Gardiner for wishing to see Elizabeth matched to her nephew.
At this last realization, Elizabeth had grown rather angry. Wishing to enjoy the last of the journey with her aunt and uncle, and even with Darcy, she did not examine the emotion too closely. It would keep.
She was more effectively distracted from it by the worsening weather. The innkeeper at their last stop was deeply impressed to be suddenly in the service of an earl, even a newly minted one, and helpfully informed Darcy that word had come that same day of a snowstorm headed for Newcastle. The innkeeper had advised their party to remain another night, to delay travelling at all if they were able. Darcy had thanked the woman for her kindness but asserted that they would continue northward as planned.
The innkeeper’s information proved true. The road into Newcastle was slick with ice. More than once had the occupants felt the carriage slipping to one side or the other. The driver had slowed their progress to a near crawl as they came into town, but as they approached the falling snow provided some traction and they were able to move steadily through the otherwise deserted streets of Newcastle to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Charleton.
Mrs. Jane Charleton was a beautiful woman who’d chosen her partner in life from a crowd of suitors; she was wont to say she’d chosen well. Mr. Charleton was a respectable man who’d made a sizeable fortune in textiles; he made no pretense about the fact that he was besotted with his wife, and that his judgement relied heavily on hers. Their daughters, Mary and Harriet, were both about sixteen and pretty like their mother, though they shared their father’s fondness for tea and cake. That fact and their general good humor gave them the appearance of constant good cheer.
Henry Charleton was not round like his father, nor was he entirely beautiful like his mother. If anything, he was almost exotic to Elizabeth’s eyes. Mr. Charleton had inherited his mother’s blond hair, so light it appeared white at times. His dark brown eyes drew the gaze of anyone he passed, simply for being so unlikely a sight under hair of that hue. If Elizabeth had wished to draw a face representing everything opposite the look of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Henry Charleton would be the result.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” said Henry Charleton to Elizabeth at tea later that afternoon.
“And you as well,” said Elizabeth. “My aunt Gardiner speaks very fondly of you.”
Mr. Charleton blushed becomingly.
“Been talking me up, has she?” he asked with a smile. “I’m afraid my family are quite taken with the idea that you and I might like each other.”
Elizabeth’s smile caught when she noticed Darcy staring from across the room.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. She laughed and returned her focus to the man before her. The mirth in his eyes seemed to encourage it, even if he seemed abashed at his family’s behavior. “Has it been a great trial to you?”
“Herculean. I am daily tasked with the arduous labor of talking with clever, pretty women. You may imagine how I suffer.”
“You poor man,” said Elizabeth. She found herself rather charmed.
“It is a burden,” said Mr. Charleton.
“I wouldn’t have thought the streets near Cambridge to be so abundant.” She knew from Mrs. Gardiner that he attended his education faithfully.
“You’d be surprised,” he said with a smile. Elizabeth could not but smile in return. “But never mind my tedious schedule. Tell me, how were the roads coming into town? I was supposed to leave on Friday but unless we see the start of a thaw, I expect I shall have to extend my stay.”
They continued on in that vein, and after awhile Elizabeth lost track of who was tending whom in the room around them. Henry Charleton was a charming conversationalist, a skill she appreciated and determined at once to exploit while they were ensconced at Byrne Hill.
The weather was an easy turn of conversation; indeed it was the talk of all the city, as Newcastle had not seen a storm like this in more than five years, or so the elder Mr. Charleton told them all at dinner.
The storm worsened rapidly; had they arrived in the city any later that day travel would have been entirely impossible. Snow piled up in drifts; from the window in her room upstairs, Elizabeth could see the mounds of it piling against the building down the street, tall as horses.
It rendered the city white, and after a full day of becoming acquainted with their hosts and a full night’s rest from travel, the representation was not lost on Elizabeth. She felt the singular impression of having become newly aware of herself, as though before this week – before the events of these past few weeks – she never knew herself.
She was keenly aware of those tender feelings she’d discovered in the carriage regarding Darcy – regarding Matlock. Elizabeth also knew that man had made no attempt to approach her in any way since they’d been brought together on the roadside in Derbyshire; not since she’d put an end to his counterfeit interest. Elizabeth was not often compelled to check her pride; her situation in life rendered her sensitive to its overabundance. But the unfamiliar condition of holding one man elevated in her mind, pride grew up unfettered as a security against that feeling. Whether it protected her feelings from him, or herself from its’ growing stronger, Elizabeth knew not.
She knew only that pride would not allow her to pursue the subject of their arrangement. Thus, she and Matlock rarely spoke at all.
Indeed, the easy conversation she knew of him, the open friendliness that had been his customary expression were gone. In their place was a man Elizabeth scarcely recognized; he was stiff, unapproachable. He spoke little and did not invite conversation. The change in him was so stark, it became possible to think of him as Matlock at last, for he bore so little resemblance to the man she knew as Darcy that Elizabeth could hardly believe her own eyes.
Such a distinct turn of behavior heightened the guard in her mind, and Elizabeth set about the task of distracting herself from it entirely. On the second day of their stay in Newcastle, she fulfilled her promise to write to her sister.
Dearest Jane,
I hope this letter finds you well. Please give my love to Mama and Papa and all our sisters.
What can I tell you that you do not already know?
Elizabeth’s pen hovered – where on earth to begin?
A great deal has happened since last we spoke. On travelling into Derbyshire, our carriage saw fit to eject one of its wheels. Be not alarmed – no one was injured, although my composure suffered more than its share as a result. We were not three miles from Pemberley, you see, when the offending instrument broke. Uncle Gardiner had gone on in the carriage before us, and the servant was sent to retrieve him. Who should arrive on scene before my uncle could return, or even the servant? The Earl of Matlock himself, riding the grandest horse I’ve ever seen and as though the world was burning behind him.
It was like a scene out of a novel, Jane. Even you would have appreciated the sight of him, I think.
The rest of my story is rather more pedestrian; I am afraid of boring you, yet I shall continue as best I may. The Earl helped us to his estate while the carriage was being mended. After making the acquaintance of my aunt and uncle, it was decided that Matlock should travel with us into Newcastle, for he’s business to attend here in the north. He and Uncle Gardiner seem to get on remarkably well.
Regarding that arrangement I told you about… he has spoken not a word about it.
I flatter myself I am possessed of no more vanity than any other woman, but I will tell you now that it is vexing in the extreme to have terminated a courtship and witness no effect upon the other party.
Dearest Jane: you’d hardly recognize the earl if you saw him now. He’s untalkative, terse, unwilling to engage anybody in conversation (except our uncle) unless absolutely forced by the barest civility. Whatever business he came here to attend must have turned out very poorly for him; I cannot imagine a reason he should be so ill-tempered otherwise.
There is a silver lining – his name is Mr. Henry Charleton. He is the son of our Aunt Gardiner’s sister, and a student of the law. He’s secured a position in Hertfordshire, of all places, once his studies are completed. He’s a rather charming sort; you’d like him, but then, you like too many people in general.
We shan’t be here long enough for me to become engaged again, I fear. Provided the weather turns, we intend to leave for Scotland Sunday next.
I shall write you again before then, if there’s anything to tell.
Yours, etc.
Lizzy
Elizabeth pushed the pages away and stared at them, dissatisfied. She should not describe Mr. Charleton so, only it would surely make Jane frown at her letter and laugh.
Personal correspondence erred better on the side of amusement than accuracy, concluded Elizabeth. She left the letter as it was, turning to answer the soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” she said, turning over the pages as Matlock himself came into the room.
“My lord,” she said, a blush rising instantly to her cheeks.
She’d burn that letter at first opportunity.