Chapter 10
Darcy did not come down until dinner, which might be taken as a good sign, for perhaps he had returned to his former way of being, when no one could tell what passed within his heart.
Yet, when they sat at the table—only the three of them, Lady Catherine having hastily excused Anne, who, it was said, did not feel well—the colonel understood that the battle was about to begin.
He sighed deeply, but his resolution did not waver.
He would save Darcy, and even if his cousin were displeased that evening, he would one day thank him for his intervention.
Lady Catherine did not disappoint. She opened the attack at once, even before the first course was served.
“I have heard,” she began, “that there have been some interesting events at the Parsonage today.”
Darcy raised his eyes from his plate and cast a reproachful look towards the colonel, who hastened to defend himself.
“How can you imagine that it was I? Lady Catherine has other sources of information at the Parsonage, both faithful and prompt to acquaint her with every event.”
“Mr Collins?” asked Darcy, a disdainful smile curving upon his lips.
His aunt said nothing, pretending to begin her meal.
The colonel could not help but admire her self-command.
To see her, in general company, declaiming without restraint, one might have thought her incapable of mastering her temper—yet one would have been mistaken.
That evening, Lady Catherine proved herself a strategist who knew how to wield her weapons and to measure her discourse.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said at length, in a tone calm and even mild; for she seldom used their Christian names.
“Yes, aunt,” returned Darcy in the same manner, for he rarely addressed her so either.
“I believe you must be sensible that persons within our circle ought to marry among themselves. The incident of today, which I do not doubt has given you pain, is but proof that the several ranks of society cannot be mingled—no more than oil with water.”
Darcy looked at her, then at the colonel, and replied only,
“I believe no one is interested in what has passed today, and I would wish this conversation to cease.”
“Agreed,” said Lady Catherine, eager to forget that her nephew might harbour regrets for Miss Bennet which could prevent him from considering his future—or, worse still, tempt him to renew his pursuit.
She was shrewd enough to know that nothing inflamed a man’s spirit more than a refusal.
..yet she trusted that Darcy’s wounded pride would prove stronger than any tender feeling he might still entertain.
“Let us then speak of the future,” she continued, in that calm and reserved tone she so rarely employed, being more accustomed to speaking loudly and at length.
Darcy made no reply and began to eat, perhaps in the hope of silencing her by such indifference. But he was mistaken; Lady Catherine was only at the beginning of her harangue.
“You know well that your mother and I—may my dear sister rest in peace—spoke, from the time of Anne’s birth, of a union between you and her.
I believe that the wish of a mother, now no longer among us, must have some weight with you.
Such a marriage would be ideal; without the affectations and impertinences displayed by the young women of the present age, brought up in a very different spirit from that in which I have reared Anne—”
“Lady Catherine,” interrupted Darcy firmly, at the very moment when the colonel was about to intervene, “that you may spare yourself this discourse... I am engaged to be married. The wedding shall take place at Christmas.”
Both Lady Catherine and the colonel let their forks fall in astonishment, the sound ringing out in the tense silence.
Lady Catherine, however, recovered quickly, while the colonel smiled, persuaded that Darcy had at last prevailed upon Miss Bennet.
“I shall not permit you to marry that young lady!” cried she. “I shall write to my brother, who is the head of this family—”
But her voice faltered before Darcy’s smile.
“My dear aunt, I am long past the age when any person may impose a command upon me. Besides, with all respect, I am a Darcy, not a Matlock. Perhaps my father might have forbidden me something...yet it was not in his nature to do so.”
“I shall contrive that neither you nor she shall be received in the best circles of London. You must break this engagement at once!”
Darcy laughed outright. “That would indeed be immediate—a proposal refused, another accepted, and then a broken engagement, all in one day. Nothing would remain but to make a third offer.”
He laid down his cutlery, took a slice of bread, spread it deliberately with butter, and rose.
“You have forgotten to ask with whom I am engaged.”
“With whom?” demanded the colonel, fearing the worst; for, judging from Darcy’s smile, he was certain it could not be Miss Bennet, and dreaded that he had indeed asked for Anne’s hand directly of herself.
“With Lady Elizabeth Ashcombe,” said Darcy, and that name fell like a thunderbolt upon both his hearers.
“I shall prevent it!” screamed Lady Catherine, flinging her napkin upon the table as she rose in fury. “I shall go this very instant to Ashmore, to tell them that their daughter was asked only after Miss Bennet—a disgrace no father could bear!”
“Be seated, I entreat you,” said the colonel; and it was not clear to whom he spoke, yet both Lady Catherine and Darcy resumed their places.
“There is nothing to be done now,” he added, not without regret, but the situation was beyond recall.
No gentleman like Darcy would ever withdraw from such a declaration.
Miss Bennet would have suited him ideally, yet Lady Elizabeth was also a proper wife for his cousin. Only Anne would have been disastrous.
More tranquil, the colonel applied himself to restoring peace, and in great measure succeeded. Lady Catherine had no wish to offend Lord Ashmore; they had known each other all their lives, and in their narrow society, poor in diversions, his family were their nearest and most constant neighbours.
Without knowing why, the colonel smiled later that night, alone in his chamber, gazing upon the gardens of Rosings bathed in the light of a splendid moon. At least his cousin would never make a blunder with his new fiancée...if, following his heart, he were to call her Elizabeth.
One thing only he could not comprehend: why, on the following day, before their departure, they stopped at the Parsonage, that Darcy might deliver a letter to Elizabeth...Bennet.
Yet by then all had returned to order, and no further confidence was possible.