Chapter Thirteen The Cherry Tart Ultimatum #2
"Oh, stop talking about shades," her ladyship snapped. "You sound like a gothic novel. And yes, I approve. Your brother approves. In fact, we are quite delighted. It turns out the girl's uncle imports excellent brandy."
"Brandy!" Lady Catherine shrieked. "You are selling our nephew for alcohol?"
"It is very good brandy," her sister-in-law noted. "And frankly, Catherine, anything is better than forcing him to marry poor Anne, who looks as if she is about to expire from boredom."
"I am," Anne contributed helpfully. "I really am."
"They are engaged!" Lady Catherine stomped her foot. "It is a compact!"
"It is a fantasy," the Countess countered, stepping closer.
She was taller than Lady Catherine, and she used it.
"There was no compact. Anne Darcy told me herself, before she died, that she hoped her son would have the sense to find a wife who could handle him.
She never mentioned your daughter. Not once. "
"Liar!"
"I do not lie, Catherine. I merely have a better memory. Now, sit down before you have a fit of apoplexy. You are turning a very unflattering shade of puce."
Darcy watched, stunned. He had expected a battle. He had not expected his aunt Matlock to arrive with artillery.
From the hallway, he saw a small movement. Georgiana was peeping around the doorframe, her eyes wide, checking for flying objects. Darcy winked at her.
She giggled.
The shouting match continued for another five minutes. Lady Catherine invoked duty, honour, and the Prince Regent. The Countess invoked common sense and the fact that Lady Catherine's hat was three seasons out of date.
It was a stalemate. Until the cavalry arrived.
"What in God's name is going on?"
The Earl of Matlock stood in the doorway, blocking the light. He looked grumpy. He looked cold. And he looked very annoyed that his morning had been interrupted.
"She is shouting, Henry," his wife said, gesturing to Lady Catherine. "She is upsetting the servants."
"I am upholding the dignity of the family!" Lady Catherine roared.
"You are startling the pigeons," the Earl rumbled, walking into the room. He looked at Darcy. "Well? Did you tell her?"
"I did, Uncle."
"And?"
"She disagreed."
"Naturally." The Earl turned to Lady Catherine. "Catherine. Stop it. You're making my head ache."
"Henry! You must talk sense into him! He wants to marry a Bennet!"
"I know," the Earl said, picking up a tart, sniffing it, and putting it back. "Nice girl. Smart. Good family. I owe money to the father. Uncle knows trade. Useful."
Lady Catherine looked as if she had been slapped with a living trout. "Useful? You are the Earl of Matlock! You are the head of the family!"
"And as the head of the family," the Earl of Matlock said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble, "I am telling you that this engagement nonsense ends now.
Anne doesn't want him. He doesn't want Anne.
And frankly, Catherine, if you force them to marry, they will be miserable, and you will spend the rest of your life listening to them complain. Is that what you want?"
"I want Rosings to be—"
"Rosings is fine," the Earl interrupted. "Anne can marry whoever she likes. Or no one. She has a fortune. Let the girl read her books in peace." He turned to Anne. "Anne. Do you want to marry Fitzwilliam?"
"No, Uncle," Anne said clearly. "He is very serious. And he smells of horses."
"There," the Earl spread his hands. "Rejected by the lady herself. You can't force a man on a woman who thinks he smells."
Darcy opened his mouth to protest that he did not smell, then decided against it.
"This house," the Earl continued, looking around the room, "is too small for this much noise. And Darcy looks like he's about to faint. Catherine, put your gloves on."
"I shall not! I shall stay here until—"
"You shall come to Matlock House," the Earl ordered. "We have better rooms. And soundproof walls. You can scream at me there. I have a bottle of scotch and very thick skin."
He offered his arm to Lady Catherine. It wasn't an offer, not really. It was a command.
"Come along, sister. We can discuss the decline of the aristocracy over luncheon. I believe we have pheasant."
Lady Catherine looked at the Earl, then at his wife, who was smiling like a shark. She looked at Darcy, who was standing tall and unyielding. She realized, for the first time in her life, that she was outnumbered.
"Very well," she sniffed, grabbing her gloves from Mostyn. "I shall come. But only because this house is drafty and the tarts were subpar."
She marched to the door. "Anne! Come along!"
Anne stood up. She walked past Darcy. She paused, patted his arm, and whispered, "Good luck with the Bennet lady. She sounds exhausting. I like her."
And then she followed her mother.
The Matlocks herded Lady Catherine out like expert sheepdogs. The front door slammed, shaking the house. The sound of the heavy carriage rolling away faded into the distance. Silence returned to the morning room. Darcy stood in the centre of the rug. He felt lightheaded. He felt exhausted.
"Is it safe?"
Georgiana stepped fully into the room. She looked around, as if expecting Lady Catherine to pop out from behind the curtains.
"It is safe," Darcy let out a long breath. "They are gone. The Earl has taken them."
"He took them to Matlock House," Georgiana marvelled. "He sacrificed himself for us."
"He did. We should send him a case of wine."
"Or a medal."
Darcy looked at his sister. She was smiling. She wasn't cowering. She had hidden in the hall, yes, but she had stayed.
He laughed. It started as a chuckle and grew into a full, chest-deep laugh of pure relief.
"We did it," he said. "We actually did it."
Georgiana ran to him and hugged him hard. Darcy wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.
"You were very brave," she mumbled into his coat. "You told her 'no'."
"I did."
"And you told her about Miss Elizabeth."
"I did."
Georgiana pulled back, looking up at him with shining eyes. "So... there are no more obstacles? No more engagements? No more secrets?"
"None," Darcy promised. "The path is clear. Lady Catherine is the Earl's problem now."
"Good." Georgiana smoothed his lapels. "Because you have a promise to keep, Brother. You told Lady Catherine she should expect happy news shortly."
"I did say that."
"So," Georgiana grinned, a mischievous expression that looked suspiciously like Robert's. "Now let us go and make her marry us, Fitzwilliam. I want a sister."
Darcy smiled. He looked out the window at the grey London sky, which suddenly seemed bright with possibility.
"You want a sister," he agreed. "And I... I want her."
"Then stop standing there!" Georgiana pushed him towards the door. "Go! Go to Cheapside! Before Lady Catherine escapes from Matlock House and returns with reinforcements!"
Darcy took a step, then stopped. He turned back to his sister, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
"No," he said slowly.
Georgiana blinked. "No? William, did the shouting damage you? You just said you wanted her."
"I do. More than anything. But I cannot just rush in." He began to pace again, but this time it wasn't the frantic pacing of anxiety. It was the measured stride of a general planning a campaign.
"I rushed in Hertfordshire," he murmured. "I made judgments. I made mistakes. I do not want to stumble into this proposal breathless and flustered because my aunt yelled at me."
He turned to Georgiana. "Elizabeth deserves better. She deserves... an occasion. A proper beginning."
"A strategy?" Georgiana asked, her eyes lighting up.
"A strategy," Darcy confirmed. He checked the calendar on his desk. "Today is the twenty-seventh. In four days, it will be New Year's Eve."
"The Matlock Ball," Georgiana breathed. "Aunt Matlock mentioned she invited the Gardiners."
"New Year's Eve," Darcy repeated. "The end of a terrible year, and the beginning of a new one. That is when I shall ask her. When the clock strikes twelve. A fresh start for 1812."
"It is very romantic," Georgiana sighed. "Robert will approve. He loves theatrical timing. I wager he will do the same."
"Then it is decided." Darcy smoothed his waistcoat. "We have four days to prepare. We need to ensure the Bennets attend. We need to ensure Robert doesn't accidentally propose to Miss Bennet first and steal my thunder. And we need to ensure Lady Catherine remains contained at Matlock House."
"I shall write to Richard," Georgiana volunteered. "He is excellent at containment strategies. It is his job."
Darcy smiled, a genuine, confident smile that reached his eyes.
"Excellent. We have our orders, Georgiana." He looked out of the window, towards Cheapside. "We have a battle to finish, and a question to ask. But we shall do it with style."
"With style," Georgiana agreed. "And with lemon biscuits?"
"Definitely with lemon biscuits. Those cherry tarts are an abomination."