Chapter Twenty-Four
Christmas at Rosings Park was not what one would call enjoyable.
In truth, Darcy would rather be anywhere—or almost anywhere—else.
His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was loud, demanding, and cantankerous.
Every other subject of discussion revolved around Darcy proposing to and marrying her only child, Miss Anne de Bourgh.
Rosings itself was as grand as ever, its long galleries dressed in greenery and candlelight, the servants moving with the precision of long practice.
Even still, the splendor only sharpened the oppression of it all.
Every glance Lady Catherine cast his way carried expectation; every pause in conversation felt like a prelude to another pointed remark.
Anne was heir to Rosings Park. By marrying his cousin, they kept the wealth within the family.
Uniting Pemberley and Rosings would make Darcy the richest untitled landowner in England.
They were tired, old arguments, and they moved Darcy not one jot.
He had heard them since youth—phrased differently at times, softened when his mother lived, sharpened since her death. They had been presented as inevitabilities rather than possibilities, as though his consent were a mere formality to be obtained at leisure.
It was just before the New Year when he finally lost his temper with his aunt. She began the evening by telling those at the table how preferable spring weddings were, and how nice it would be to have Anne settled by May.
The statement was delivered with a triumphant air, as though the matter had already been decided and only awaited public acknowledgement. Lady Catherine smiled at Anne in a way meant to be indulgent but carried an unmistakable edge of command.
“You must do your duty, Darcy.” She pointed a fork at him and frowned imperiously. “She is losing her bloom—you must see that now is the time to finalize matters.”
Anne kept her face down-turned, though Darcy thought he saw her cheeks turn red.
The girl’s hands trembled faintly where they rested in her lap. Darcy felt a sudden, unwelcome surge of pity—not romantic, not tender, but deeply unsettling. Anne deserved better than to be spoken of as though she were a perishable commodity.
His knife and fork clattered to his plate. Lady Anne Darcy was passive by nature; she had avoided contradicting her sister to her face.
“Aunt, let me be abundantly clear: this engagement is a fanciful creation of your own. If my mother wished for it, she did not inform me. I am not bound by contract nor obligation to offer for my cousin. If you are so set on Anne marrying within the family, why do you not bring the matter to Lord Matlock’s attention? ”
The words echoed in the sudden stillness, sharper than he had intended—and yet long overdue.
The entire table was silent. Georgiana, seated a little way down from Anne, gaped at her brother. Also at the table was Mr. Collins, his aunt’s new buffoon of a rector.
Mr. Collins shifted in his chair, his expression flickering between alarm and eagerness, as though sensing an opportunity to insert himself into importance.
“Mr. Darcy,” the man began, “as religious advisor to your aunt, I must implore you to reconsider your abrupt and disrespectful words. Lady Catherine is almost your nearest relation and therefore entitled to know all your dearest concerns. She has some say in the matter of who will be her niece—”
“No, sir, she does not. I have been my own master these last five years, and I have no intention of capitulating to my aunt’s whims. I have patiently attempted to convey as much for years, but my words have been brushed off and disregarded.
It appears I shall be required to speak abruptly in order to be rightly understood. ”
His voice was calm, but it carried steel beneath it. Darcy was keenly aware that this was no longer a family disagreement—it was a declaration.
His aunt sucked in a breath. “How dare you behave in such a manner at my table! Darcy, what has got into you? I have never heard such disrespectful drivel in all my life. You will marry Anne—immediately. I shall brook no disappointment.”
“You must, I fear, for I shall not go to the altar with my cousin.” If I must marry someone acceptable, it will be my choice. Perhaps I may find a lady I tolerate. Anne was too much like him—quiet, taciturn. If he married her, they would likely go for months without exchanging a handful of words.
The thought was not cruel—merely honest. And honesty, he was learning, was a dangerous thing at Rosings.
Lady Catherine’s face was a sickly sort of red. “Get out. Leave at once. You are no longer welcome here.”
“Mama, it is nearly dark—”
“Silence! I will not have him in my house another moment. Are the inhabitants of Rosings Park to be thus polluted with such…such blasphemy?”
Darcy stood and beckoned to his sister. There was an acceptable inn close at hand. They would depart immediately. “Anne, I hope you enjoy the rest of the festive season.”
His cousin nodded meekly. She did not look at him.
“Is that all the reply I am to expect? You mean to obey me instantly without begging for my forgiveness?” Lady Catherine slapped the table with her hand. “Is my condescension so easily forgotten? What say you, Darcy?”
He did not reply but held out his arm for his sister. They strode from the room together, both silent as they climbed the stairs to their chambers. Outside her door, Georgiana giggled.
“I am sorry,” she said timidly after clapping her hand over her mouth in shock. “I daresay our aunt has never been refused in her entire life.”
“She has not. It was quite the sight. Now, ask your maid to hurry. I wish to depart in half an hour.”
There was relief in his voice now, though it was tempered by the knowledge of what he had set in motion.
He likewise instructed Brisby, and within the allotted time, both he and Georgiana were in the carriage heading towards accommodations for the night. The moon was waning, making travel in the dark more precarious.
The road was quiet, the wheels crunching over frost-hardened gravel. Darcy drew his cloak tighter, breathing in the cold air as though it might scour the tension from his chest. He had not realized how stifling Rosings had become until it lay behind them.
They found accommodation at the King’s Head Inn, a reputable establishment where he had stayed once or twice over the years.
He and Georgiana were shown to delightful bedchambers, and the innkeeper was kind enough to bring up some tea and biscuits.
He and Georgiana shared the repast before returning to their own rooms. There was not much conversation to be had between them—both were still reeling from their confrontation with Lady Catherine.
They would likely speak about it at length on the journey to London.
The inn was warm, ordinary, and blissfully free of expectation.
As Darcy prepared for bed, he considered his firm refusal to marry Anne.
She was everything he claimed Elizabeth was not—wealthy, an heiress, connected to the first circles—yet he could not bring himself to offer for her.
He had always known affection was not the primary determination for whom he would marry, but now he wondered if it held more importance than he realized.
The thought unsettled him. He had prided himself on rationality, on weighing advantages and consequences.
I can find affection and still meet my family’s expectations, he reasoned. It would not be easy. Society ladies were trained from a young age to affect the personality of the man they wished to marry. Had not Miss Bingley agreed with him readily whenever he professed an opinion?
But agreement, he was beginning to realize, was not the same as understanding.
Bingley. Thoughts of his friend brought him some pain. After he and Bingley had gone to Town, the Hursts and Miss Bingley had followed soon after. Darcy had not remained long and had therefore only a letter from Bingley to describe the…intervention his sisters had instigated.
He reviewed everything again in his mind, each line weighted with regret.
Their words, along with your cautious advice, have convinced me that Miss Bennet did not hold me in true affection.
I tried to elicit some show of affection from her during the Netherfield Ball and received only tepid replies.
The thought of expressing my feelings only to be rebuffed—or worse, being accepted when she does not feel the same—is more than I can bear. I will not return to Hertfordshire.
Though Darcy understood his friend’s desire to separate himself from Miss Bennet, his departure from his leased estate would be much talked of by his neighbors. If he had chosen to go back, he would have ground to make up before they accepted him so easily again.
I left in a similar manner. Darcy had not taken leave of those with whom he had become acquainted, but it was different for him. They were so far beneath him—it was condescension to acknowledge the connection any longer.
The thought stopped him cold.
Goodness, when did I begin to sound so much like Lady Catherine? The thought struck him forcefully, and he shifted uncomfortably in bed. Imperious his aunt may be, but the rules by which she operated were commonplace in his set. He was bound by them—even if he did not marry his cousin.
That means Elizabeth is out of reach. The thought made his heart ache. Why is life so unfair?
He stared up at the darkened ceiling, the quiet of the inn pressing in around him. For the first time in his life, duty no longer felt like a shield—it felt like a prison.