A Travelling Coach and Pair (Henry Bunbury)

Richard Fitzwilliam settled onto the bench in the Earl of Matlock’s travelling coach next to his friend Charles Bingley and across from his mother.

“She is a pleasant enough girl, I suppose.” Lady Matlock adjusted her gloves and did not meet Richard’s eyes as the door closed. Her timing was impeccable, for she had begun her discussion at just the right moment – early enough that she would have the most time to present her case but not so soon that a servant would hear her and just late enough that none of her travelling companions – most especially her son – could exit the vehicle.

“Of which Miss Bennet are you speaking?” Richard’s cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy asked.

“Oh, not yours.” Lady Matlock gave his knee a pat.

“Mine?” Bingley asked.

“No.” Her eyes finally found Richard’s.

He had known from the start that it was Miss Mary of whom she spoke.  

“It seems her cousin is rather taken with her,” she continued. “He would make a better match for her; do you not think?”

Richard pulled in a deep breath through his nose. “Did you speak with the man at length?”

He hated to think it of his mother, but in his opinion, anyone who thought that Mary Bennet and Mr. Collins would make a good match had to have some sort of disorder of the mind.

“No, I did not have the pleasure of doing so.”

Richard saw his cousin’s lips twitch with barely contained amusement, and he fully understood why.

“Trust me, Mother. It would not have been a pleasure.” Next to Richard, Bingley chuckled quietly.

His mother merely arched one eyebrow at him as if she did not believe what everyone else in the carriage knew to be a fact.

“Mrs. Bennet mentioned that they were hopeful that Mr. Collins might make an offer to Miss Mary until you started to show her marked attention,” she said when he did not respond to her raised eyebrow.

“Is that so?” He feigned a look of surprise. He had known that. In fact, it was the threat of someone like Mr. Collins attaching himself to Miss Mary when she clearly did not want him to do so that had led to Richard offering to pretend a courtship with the lady.

“You do not fool me,” his mother said with a chuckle. “I dare say anyone who knows Mrs. Bennet knew about that desire. The lady is not backwards about putting her girls forward. Not that I condemn her for doing so. The responsibility of seeing one’s offspring well-matched is a constant worry for a mother.” Once again, her critical eyebrow arched, this time over a pointed look. “And not just for mothers of daughters.”

“I will marry when I am ready to marry.”

“One would think, from the way you were constantly at Miss Mary’s side today, that you might be ready now.” She fluttered her lashes at him. Oh, she was a scheming woman. He loved her, and he likely had her to thank for his own ability to formulate a strategy, but, at the moment, he found himself doing anything but admiring her keen mind.

This was why his father had sent her. Officially, it was because he could handle Lady Catherine’s displeasure better than Lady Matlock could. However, if Richard were asked to place money on the true reason for his mother’s unexpected arrival, he would wager twenty pounds that his father knew that his wife would be better suited for trying to manipulate whatever circumstances surrounded the attachment of Richard to Miss Mary into something long lasting. Most gentlemen only had to worry about their mothers trying to rush them towards marriage. He was not one of those fortunate fellows. He had two parents who, come hell or high water, were eager to see him as happy as they were.

“Perhaps I am.” He held her gaze with a look that he often used on his men to get them to comply and believe whatever it was that he was telling them. “And if I am, then, I will thank you to not suggest other gentlemen as possible husbands for the lady I am courting.”

“I thought you said earlier today that you had no lady.”

She was good.

“I had hoped to keep that bit of information to myself until such time as I was ready to share it. That, however, does not seem to be my lot. Therefore, I will say I might have a lady. I am allowed to take my time in assessing my desires, am I not?”

She shrugged. “I suppose, but Miss Mary does not seem the sort of lady you would choose.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?” He thought Miss Mary was delightful in a unique sort of way. He had not expected to find her so, but he did.

[from Pretending to Love Mary]