Chapter 23 #3
The carriage came fully into view.
He did not stir. Something in its appearance struck him immediately – the crest, the colour, the very air of it. Recognition followed at once.
His expression altered.
Not visibly to everyone, perhaps, but to Elizabeth, who was watching him closely, it was unmistakable.
“Miss Mary,” he said, without turning from the window.
His tone was quiet, but there was something changed in it.
Mary looked up, startled. “Yes, sir?”
“Did you, by any chance, write to Mr. Collins of… recent events?”
The room stilled.
Mary coloured deeply. “I did,” she said. “I thought – I did not mean any harm. I only supposed he ought to know. Have I done wrong?”
She looked so distressed that Elizabeth at once pitied her.
Darcy turned from the window. “You have done nothing that can be called wrong,” he said. “It was natural that you should write.”
Elizabeth had risen fully now. “What is it?” she asked.
Darcy looked again toward the window. The carriage had come to a stop. “I believe,” he said, with measured calm, “that Lady Catherine de Bourgh has done us the honour of a visit.”
A general exclamation followed.
“Lady Catherine!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Here?”
Lydia, from the other room, seemed delighted. “How very grand! Does she always arrive in such style?”
Elizabeth scarcely heard the rest. Her attention was entirely upon Darcy. “And she has come…”
“To inquire,” he said, meeting her look, “and to oppose.” He drew a breath. “I must apologise in advance,” he added, more quietly, “for what is likely to follow.” There was no alarm in his manner – but there was certainty.
Elizabeth felt her breath catch, though she kept her countenance steady. She could not be entirely certain she succeeded.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bennet,” said Darcy, turning at once, “is there a room in which I might speak to my aunt in private? I should be very sorry to expose you unnecessarily to the unpleasantness of her visit.”
“You may use my book room,” said Mr. Bennet, stepping forward at once.
“Thank you.” Darcy then turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth…”
“I hope you are not about to advise me to retire upstairs, Mr. Darcy.”
For the briefest moment, something like a smile touched his face. “I was about to suggest that very thing,” he said. “It was imprudent of me. You do not mean to leave me to face her alone.”
Elizabeth held his gaze and, after a moment, inclined her head. “No.”
“I see.” He nodded once. “You do realise I am equal to the occasion.”
“I have no doubt of it. But if I am not mistaken, she will question our… understanding. I wish to be present.”
He exhaled softly, “It will not be pleasant.”
“Why is it not going to be pleasant?” cried Mrs. Bennet, now in real agitation.
Darcy answered her with grave civility. “Mrs. Bennet, my aunt has long wished me to marry her daughter. She has now learnt that my attentions are directed elsewhere. I do not doubt that she has come to confront me – and, very likely, your family as well.”
“Good Heavens! Oh, Mary, what have you done?”
“She means to… part us.” Elizabeth placed her hand over her heart.
“She may attempt it.”
“Will you allow her…?”
Darcy met her eyes fully now, “No.”
Elizabeth looked into his eyes long. “Good, I would not allow it.” She nodded several times as if to reassure herself.
Something in her tone – quiet, but resolute – caused his expression to sharpen for a moment, before it softened again.
Georgiana, who had risen quietly, came nearer. “Fitzwilliam…” she said in a low voice.
He turned to her at once, and his expression softened. “You need not remain,” he said gently. Then, glancing toward Lydia, he added, “Nor you. It may prove less entertaining than you expect.”
Lydia looked as though she meant to protest, but Georgiana, who understood far better what was coming, slipped her hand through her arm.
“Come,” she said softly. “Kitty, you too.”
With visible reluctance, Lydia allowed herself to be led away. Kitty followed without a word.
“Mr. Bennet, with your permission, Miss Elizabeth would join me in the book room.”
“As you see best.”
“Yes, go, Lizzy. You must show her ladyship how very well you will do.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth reddened.
“You have an exceptional daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.”
Voices were already audible in the hall.
For one brief moment, no one moved. The house, which had seemed so animated only moments before, now felt unnaturally still.
Elizabeth saw Darcy clench his jaw. “You are not responsible for your aunt,” she said quietly.
A faint expression passed across his face – something between gratitude and admiration.
He did not move from his place.
Elizabeth remained beside him. Whatever indignity, reproach, or opposition was about to enter that room, Elizabeth knew one thing with perfect certainty – she would not leave him to face it alone.
***
The door opened without ceremony. Mr. Bingley entered. He looked about the room with a degree of agitation wholly unlike his usual cheerful composure. His colour was heightened, his manner hurried, and for a moment he seemed uncertain to whom he ought first to speak.
“Darcy…” he began, then checked himself, glancing at the others. “Miss Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Bennet…” He stopped altogether, as though aware he had addressed no one properly.
Darcy stepped forward. “Bingley.”
Bingley came nearer at once, lowering his voice, though not so much that Elizabeth, standing close, could not hear.
“She has been to Netherfield first,” he said quickly. “I met her there. She would not be persuaded to wait – nor, indeed, to remain. She demanded that I should conduct her here at once…” He hesitated, as if uncertain whether to continue.
Darcy’s expression did not change. “Go on.”
Bingley leaned a little closer. “She found much to criticise,” he said, with forced composure.
“The house, the arrangements, even the neighbourhood – everything. She declared the place ill-chosen, ill-managed, and…” he stopped again, then added in a lower tone, “she nearly reduced Caroline to tears.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. The effort to remain composed was not entirely successful.
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and gave the faintest inclination of his head. “I see.”
Bingley drew a breath. “She is quite frightening.” With that, he withdrew slightly, taking his place beside Jane.
As if summoned by the words, they heard a walking stick strike sharply on the stone floor.
A servant appeared at the door. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
She entered without hesitation. Her presence seemed, in an instant, to alter the very air of the room.
Tall, composed, and magnificently certain of her own consequence, Lady Catherine advanced as though she conferred distinction merely by crossing the threshold. Her gaze passed over the company – not with curiosity, but with assessment.
She looked at Mr. Bennet and waited.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes widened. He hesitated, then looked at Darcy.
He stepped forward. “Aunt, this is unexpected.” He bowed slightly. There was no tenderness in the exchange. Then, turning with deliberate formality, he addressed the room, “Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennets, this is my mother’s elder sister from Rosings, Kent, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
He then inclined his head toward Lady Catherine. “My aunt, Mr. Bennet and his family.”
Lady Catherine gave the faintest sign of acknowledgement, though it was nearer to tolerance than civility.
First, she huffed slightly, as if displeased by the necessity of the introduction, but she looked at everyone in turn. Then, her eyes moved to the three younger ladies in the room. “Which of you is Miss Mary Bennet?”
Mary looked up and quietly answered as she curtseyed once more.
The older woman looked at her from head to foot, but without saying anything further, she turned her gaze to Jane, and then to Elizabeth.
Her disapproving eyes rested on Elizabeth, then on Darcy. There, they remained. “Fitzwilliam,” she said.
“Aunt.”
Lady Catherine’s attention returned, for a moment, to Elizabeth.
“This is Miss Bennet, I presume.” Her tone suggested that the presumption was unnecessary.
Elizabeth curtsied, composed and respectful. “Miss Elizabeth, Madam.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes sharpened at the correction and did not return the courtesy. Instead, she turned again to Darcy.
“I had expected to find you at Netherfield,” she said. “Though, upon reflection, I ought perhaps not to be surprised that you are elsewhere engaged.”
Darcy did not answer.
She continued, as though no reply were required. “I considered the matter sufficiently urgent to admit of no postponement. I have travelled without delay, hoping, expecting that the report that had reached me was false,” she said, “but present circumstances make me believe otherwise.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been struggling between awe and alarm, now stepped forward.
“Lady Catherine, we are most honoured – quite honoured – to receive you – though we had no notion – no expectation…”
“No,” said Lady Catherine, with calm decisiveness. “I do not suppose you had.” The words were not rude in form. Only in effect.
Mrs. Bennet faltered.
Lady Catherine turned again, this time with a more deliberate survey of the room.
“I understand,” she said, “that a great deal has been proceeding here of late. I prefer not to rely upon report where I may obtain certainty.” Her gaze settled once more upon Elizabeth. “I am come, therefore, to be satisfied.”
A silence followed.
Darcy stepped forward. “You shall be satisfied, madam,” he said. “But not here.”
Lady Catherine turned to him slowly. “Not here?”
“No. I will speak with you in private.”
A pause. Her eyes sharpened.
“I had not supposed,” she said, “that there could be anything between us which required concealment.”
“There is nothing to conceal,” he returned. “But there is much which does not concern others.”
For a moment, it seemed she might refuse.
Then…
“Very well.” Her tone made the concession sound like authority.
***