Excentryke's Musings

Title: The Matlock Assembly
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: Pride & Prejudice / Twilight Saga
Pairing(s): Bella/Darcy, (past) Elizabeth/Darcy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Bella was born in the late eighteenth century, Elizabeth is disliked, death (pre-story)
Summary: Darcy found Elizabeth touring Pemberley.  He was less than pleased.

The Matlock Assembly

Darcy stormed into Pemberley barely being able to rein in his temper.  How dare Elizabeth Bennet come here of all places!  She had turned down his proposal of marriage at Easter and then she comes to Pemberley as if nothing had happened, touring the house and gardens as if to assure herself that what she had turned down was not worth her while!

Well, he thought as he took the stairs up to the main gallery, Pemberley was so fine even the high and mighty Elizabeth Bennet would surely regret refusing the chance to be mistress of it!

He went to the gallery windows and looked out to the path below.  He could just see the carriage making its way out of the park.

Good.  She was gone.

Elizabeth said she was staying at the Inn at Lambton.  He would have to give that place a wide berth. 

He turned around and went in search of the library.

As the sun set, Darcy found himself restless.  He had been at his correspondence, and found an invitation to the local assembly four miles away at Matlock.  It was surely far enough away for Elizabeth to not be in attendance.  His relations, the Matlocks, were also in residence, so he might see them.  He could at least hear music for an hour and have a bracing ride.

Making his decision, he called for his man.  He needed a shave.

The full moon guided his way and he made it to the assembly hall in good time.  The string quintet had already struck up the Allemande when he entered and he looked around for anyone he knew.

“Ah, Darcy!” his cousin, Owestry, came forward and greeted him.  “I did not know you were come to Pemberley.  Georgiana is not here, is she?”

“She is not yet arrived,” Darcy confessed.  “Beside she is not yet out in society.”

“No, of course not.”  Owestry agreed.  Owestry was the eldest son of Darcy’s uncle, the Earl of Matlock, and he much resembled the Matlock family.  He was a slight man with watery blue eyes and thinning blond hair.  He did not have a displeasing face and had been widowed these three years, having a small daughter but no heir.  “It is a good thing you are here,” Owestry was now saying, leading Darcy further into the room.  “My goddaughter is here.”

“Your goddaughter?  Are you old enough to have a goddaughter?” Darcy asked.

They had come to the refreshments table.  Darcy picked up a glass of punch and turned to survey the dancers. 

“I am a rightside older than you are,” Owestry retorted.  “No, Isabella is shy.  She is in the dance line, but I do not wish to hover over her.  Her father was killed in a hunting accident.  Brutal.  His face was shot clean off.”  He shuddered and then took a swig of his own punch.  “The mother is flighty and I took Isabella right off her when I saw how badly that was going.  Richard has been sniffing around because of Isabella’s dowry, but I have been keeping her away from him.”

Owestry and Darcy shared a look.

“Now, I know you only dance with women of your most intimate acquaintance.”

“I quite take your point,” Darcy agreed.  “I can dance with her twice.  It shall be no trouble.”  He needed the distraction anyway.

“Good man,” Owestry cheered.

The dance was just now ending.  The couples were coming off the dancefloor.

“Look sharp,” Owestry told him.  “I should warn you.  She has the most disarming eyes.”

“I beg pardon?” Darcy asked, but it was then that a young lady in a pink silk gown was led toward them by a young man of no significance.  At first Darcy thought she was rather pale with midnight dark hair, but then she looked up at him with the most incredible indigo eyes he had ever seen.  His breath caught in his throat.

“Uncle Andrew,” she greeted as she was left with them, turning to Darcy in expectation.

“Isabella dear.  We are most fortunate.  My cousin Darcy has ridden over from Pemberley for a night of merriment.”

“Cousin?” Isabella asked carefully.

“My aunt’s eldest child,” Owestry supplied, “Lady Anne Darcy.”

“Indeed,” Isabella whispered, curtseying.  “We are not related though,” she checked.

“No,” Owestry quickly inserted.  “He is not a Swan.”

“You are a Swan?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, yes, forgive me,” Owestry apologized.  “Miss Isabella Marie Swan, my goddaughter and little cousin.”  Owestry’s mother had been Lady Arabella Swan.  It was clear that Isabella was some relation of hers.  That must be why she called him ‘Uncle Andrew’ and not ‘Viscount’ or even ‘Owestry.’

“Well, Miss Swan,” Darcy opened, his voice stern despite his best intentions, “may I have the pleasure of the next set?”

It was then that the Master of Ceremonies announced the waltz.

Isabella blushed quite prettily.  “I will, of course, release you,” she murmured.

“Nonsense!” Owestry announced for him.  “Darcy will be more than pleased.”

Darcy caught his eye and saw that Owestry was matchmaking.  A Wrexham Swan was certainly a fine prospect for a Darcy of Pemberley, it was true.  Darcy took another look at Isabella.  She was nothing like Elizabeth.  That was all for the good.

Isabella flicked her eyes up at Darcy again in question, and Darcy was caught by the enchanting color.

“Indeed, Miss Swan,” he told her.  “I would be more than pleased.”  He offered his arm and she took it, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

The music had already struck up and Darcy took his stance, allowing her to put her hand in his and her other hand on his shoulder.  He looked down at her and saw that she was shyly looking to the side.  With the downbeat they began to waltz and she moved effortlessly across the ballroom.  Isabella fit comfortably within his arms, his nose coming about level to her eyes. 

About halfway through the song, Darcy realized Isabella was humming along to the music.

“You have a lovely voice,” he commented.

She immediately stopped humming and flicked her gaze up at him.  “I do sing,” she admitted.  “Matlock House has an excellent pianoforte.”

“Is Owestry kind to you?” he inquired, feeling strangely protective of her now that he was holding her.

“Oh yes,” she agreed.  “I could not ask for a better uncle.”

“How close is the connection?”

“I believe Charlie—my father—was Uncle Andrew’s second cousin once removed.  He has always been ‘Uncle Andrew,’ however, as he is my godfather.”  She flicked her eyes up at him again and he caught her gaze, holding it.  Her eyes really were the most incredible color—

“You are fortunate to have Owestry as a godfather.  He takes his responsibilities seriously.”

“Annabelle is a darling,” Isabella agreed.  “I play dollies with her while her nurse takes tea.  It would have been nice to have had a little sister.”

“Your maternal instincts do you credit.”

Her eyelashes fluttered and Darcy could detect a blush.  Darcy held her slightly closer. 

Perhaps he should let Owestry matchmake.  His mind had already turned to matrimony earlier that year, albeit with another woman, but she had proved willful and full of ill opinions.  There was not an ill opinion upon Isabella’s face.  He doubted she had a vicious bone in her body.

Smiling to himself, he thought it was a plan well done, and certainly well done.

He could be married by the end of the season, if he so chose.  They could spend the Autumn at Pemberley.  Bingley had made noises of going back to Hertfordshire, but Darcy wanted no reminder of Elizabeth Bennet.

“You grimace,” Isabella noted carefully glancing up at him.  “Am I really such a horrible dancer?”

He looked down at her and saw real concern on her face.  “Not at all, Miss Swan,” he assured her.  “The violin merely missed a note.”

This seemed to quiet her.

They went back to dancing.

Yes, it was indeed a well laid-out plan.

As the dance ended, Darcy released her and bowed to her formally.  She curtsied most elegantly.  Yes, a well laid-out plan, indeed.

The End.