Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Hunsford
Darcy
“A word, if you will, Mr Darcy.” Mr Collins stood a little distant from his relations. The party from the parsonage had come to dine, and Darcy, ever courteous, had accompanied them to the door when it was time to depart, leaving his aunt and cousins in the drawing room.
He inclined his head and led the way into a small anteroom just off the receiving hall, the one commonly used by ladies to change from their slippers back to shoes or boots before travelling. “What is it you wish to discuss, sir?”
The parson clasped his hands behind his back, his countenance grave. “Your intentions towards my cousin. I am well aware she is a widow and perfectly able to decide for herself, but she is a guest of my house, and I will not see harm come to her.”
Darcy smiled. “You may rest easy, Collins. My intentions are honourable, I assure you. Your concern does you credit. Elizabeth has accepted my proposal. For the present, we keep the matter private—my aunt’s discovery would invite calamity.”
Mr Collins blanched. “Lady Catherine wishes you to marry her daughter. Sir, if she learns of this there may be consequences for my wife and me.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Yet I shall face whatever comes.”
“Be at peace. My cousin will assume control of her estate when she attains five-and-twenty in June. Should Lady Catherine’s tirades become insufferable, you and Mrs Collins will be welcome guests at Pemberley for a few months if you wish it.
If all proceeds as I hope, Elizabeth and I shall be married before my aunt suspects a thing. ”
He doubted his aunt’s ignorance would last; her sharp eye missed little. During his stay, he had not devoted much time to her company, save for meals and a few evening obligations. His days were given to estate matters—or to Elizabeth.
Mr Collins murmured his thanks and executed a hasty bow before retreating, muttering something of having recovered his wife’s misplaced handkerchief.
A clever ruse, Darcy thought with wry admiration. When the sound of farewells and departing wheels had faded, he quitted the anteroom and, with some resignation, returned to the drawing room, prepared to tolerate whatever monologue his aunt had reserved for the remainder of the evening.
Darcy strode into the drawing room, schooling his features into polite indifference. Lady Catherine, enthroned near the fire, turned her sharp gaze on him the instant he crossed the threshold.
“Nephew, where have you been?” Her fan snapped shut with an irritable flick. “Anne has been obliged to entertain Fitzwilliam while you dallied with our guests.”
Darcy inclined his head with calm politeness. “I had matters to attend, Aunt. Mr Collins wished to express his gratitude for your generosity; I could not be discourteous and rush him.”
Lady Catherine sniffed, unimpressed. “The man is too foolish to be of any real use. His wife, at least, possesses a sensible nature—though she clearly lacked refinement before her marriage. I shall see what can be done to improve her manners while she resides in the neighbourhood.”
Her disparagement of Mrs Collins rankled him, though he concealed it. Such remarks were Lady Catherine’s habit when thwarted, and he suspected her resentment arose from the couple’s growing independence.
From the corner of his eye, he observed Richard and Anne seated together on a settee. A brief gleam of amusement crossed his cousin’s features before good breeding reclaimed it. Anne, unusually animated, folded and refolded a lace handkerchief, a delicate flush tinting her cheeks.
Lady Catherine, oblivious to all but her own designs, straightened and fixed him with a look that might have pierced stone.
“You waste your time on inconsequential trifles, Darcy. Your duty lies here with your family. It is high time you turned your mind to serious concerns.” Her hand swept towards Anne with an air of significance.
“You know what is expected. The arrangement formed by your mother and me is the logical course—the only course—and I shall brook no disappointment.”
Darcy met his aunt’s stare without flinching.
“We have discussed this before, Aunt,” he replied evenly.
“And as I told you in my last letter, I shall marry only where I may find my future happiness. A man may have many obligations, yet the most personal choice of a wife must be guided by inclination as well as prudence.”
Her lips thinned to a hard line. “You speak as if sentiment outweighs duty! Such notions are dangerous. Anne is well-born, well-dowered, and entirely suited to your station. She will preserve Pemberley’s honour and maintain the integrity of your lineage.”
“Undoubtedly,” he returned smoothly. “Anne is a lady of excellent character and position. She will make a fine match.”
At this, Anne’s head rose sharply in alarm; her eyes darted first to him, then to Richard. The colonel, to his credit, merely adjusted his cuffs with elaborate care, though his mouth twitched with the hint of a smirk that threatened his composure.
Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes. “A fine match, indeed,” she repeated, her suspicion sharpening. “I trust you do not mean another gentleman shall be the beneficiary of such a union?”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, refusing to look either cousin’s way. “Anne’s future is her own to determine.”
The words fell between them like a drawn curtain.
Anne’s breath escaped in a quiet flutter, her fingers tightening about her handkerchief.
Richard crossed one leg over the other, a picture of nonchalant ease.
His efforts to woo their cousin seemed to be bearing fruit, for Anne adjusted her skirts and moved a fraction closer to him.
Lady Catherine’s gaze darted amongst the trio, a spark of dawning comprehension flickering behind them. She drew herself up with a sniff of disapproval. “We shall speak of this matter another time, Darcy. Mark me well, I shall not allow Pemberley and Rosings to be so carelessly divided.”
“As you wish, Aunt.” He bowed slightly. “Another time.”
As she swept from the room, he glanced towards his cousins with a knowing look. For now, his aunt’s suspicions were little more than murmurs, but once fully realized, the outcome would indeed prove interesting.
Elizabeth
Elizabeth was quite alone that morning. Miss Lane had taken Elinor out for a stroll, and Mary was visiting parishioners.
Mr Collins was at the church, preparing for the Sunday service.
Intent on perusing a book, Elizabeth had curled in a chair in the parlour, morning sun spilling through the windows and spreading its warmth across her lap.
The bell sounded, and she rose as the maid entered. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mrs Fiennes.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and began to withdraw.
“Close the door on your way out.” The command was imperious. “Do not disturb us.” The maid complied.
Elizabeth gestured towards a chair in invitation. Lady Catherine ignored the offer, advancing instead until they stood almost face to face.
“You can be at no loss, Mrs Fiennes, for my presence here,” she began, her tone one of lofty condescension.
“Indeed, I cannot account for the honour.” Elizabeth felt a familiar tremor of unease stir within her and checked it firmly. She will not intimidate me. She is not my husband. Her composure steadied. “Mary is out, if that is whom you seek.”
“Silence! It is you whom I wish to see.” Her voice cut across the room like a lash.
“A report of a most alarming nature has reached me. Whispers amongst my servants have told me all. They say you mean to unite yourself with my own nephew, Mr Darcy. It is impossible, of course, for he is to marry my daughter. Determined that their reputations will not suffer, I set out immediately to insist upon having such whispers universally contradicted.”
“Your coming here to see me will be rather a confirmation of them, should they exist.” She would not give the lady the satisfaction she craved.
“Do not be obstinate. Mr Darcy is engaged to my daughter—”
“Your ladyship has said so, but I have heard no such report.” Elizabeth watched with satisfaction as the lady’s face turned an unfortunate shade of red.
“Their betrothal is of a peculiar nature. From childhood, they have been intended for each other. My dear sister, Lady Anne, wished for it. We shared the desire, and I will see it fulfilled, since she cannot.” Her chin lifted in triumph.
“Now, I will hear you deny these scandalous falsehoods. Tell me at once—are you engaged to my nephew?”
“Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.” Elizabeth knew it was shameful to take pleasure in provoking the woman, but the freedom to do so, without fear of reprisal, felt strangely intoxicating after years of constraint.
“Headstrong, foolish girl!” Lady Catherine thundered.
“Is my nephew to marry you, a lady spoiled by another man? The idea is shameful. Though you may possess fortune enough to tempt him, he could do much better than the widowed daughter of an insignificant country gentleman. You are nothing to the scion of an earl!” She drew herself up to her full height.
“Are you engaged to him? Answer me at once!”
Elizabeth folded her hands before her, tilting her head in careful consideration.
“I am certain you, Lady Catherine, know more of your nephew’s affairs than I do,” she said smoothly, though she doubted such was the case.
“As you have declared his engagement to your daughter to be a certainty, I cannot fathom why you have sought me out. Surely, Mr Darcy himself would have informed you if the situation were otherwise.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes sharpened with suspicion. “Then you admit there is nothing between you?”
Elizabeth met her gaze with unwavering calm. “I admit to nothing, my lady, except my desire that Mr Darcy should act in a way that brings him happiness. Surely, that is what all who claim to care for him should wish?”