Chapter Twenty #3
Why she would be Miss Bingley, Elizabeth did not know, but the woman’s entire demeanor conveyed disdain. “I am Elizabeth Bennet, and stand in awe of such fine manners.”
Two nearly identical sets of eyes narrowed.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” the man repeated with anger. “We should have known we would find the two succubae together, Catherine.”
“Catherine?” Suspicion welled in Elizabeth. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”
“Ah, so you have heard of me. Do not think that will save you from our wrath.”
“And you are, sir?” Miss Bingley asked, her voice coming out a touch strangled.
“I am the Earl of Matlock, and you will address me as ‘my lord,’ seductress.”
Elizabeth’s throat went dry. Fitzwilliam’s father.
What had Mr. Collins claimed? That Fitzwilliam would never be permitted to marry someone as low as Elizabeth.
She drew her shoulders back. “We are pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord, Lady Catherine, but it behooves me to ask why you have barged into Mr. Bingley’s drawing room. ”
“As if you do not know.” Though Elizabeth had spoken, Lady Catherine barreled up to Miss Bingley, thrusting a finger in her face.
“Whatever game you are playing, trying to come between Darcy and my Anne, you will desist immediately. Do you believe that even in this remote corner of nowhere, word does not reach me of any and everything to do with the nephew engaged to my daughter?”
Elizabeth readily recalled Mr. Collins claiming such an understanding, but she hadn’t believed him. Not with the marked attention Mr. Darcy showed Miss Bingley. How unfeeling of him to encourage her where there was no hope, and how typical, thinking only of his amusement and not her heart.
“Your nephew and I have spoken quite frankly on such matters,” Miss Bingley said, finding her usual hauteur. “I can say with some certainty that I have captured his affection, and that he has no intention of wedding Miss de Bourgh.”
“Yes, your efforts have been reported to me,” Lady Catherine muttered darkly. “But captured or not, you will set him free again.”
Reported? Elizabeth could guess by whom. Anger bloomed within her. Mr. Collins was the worst sort of snitch and sycophant. It embarrassed Elizabeth to call him cousin.
Miss Bingley matched Lady Catherine’s glare. “I will not.”
Ponderous jowls turned downward. “Fifty pounds should change your mind.”
Miss Bingley laughed, sending a flush of anger through her ladyship’s face. “Fifty pounds? When my dowry is twenty thousand?”
Elizabeth tried not to show her surprise at that. Maybe rumor of Mr. Bingley’s wealth wasn’t exaggerated.
“At least Darcy’s strumpet has a dowry,” the earl muttered. “The one attempting to entrap Richard is penniless, according to your informant.” He eyed Elizabeth with disdain.
“Entrap?” Elizabeth exclaimed, thoroughly offended.
“Very well, a hundred.” Lady Catherine’s words were clipped.
Miss Bingley cocked her chin. “Do you not comprehend the sum of twenty thousand?”
“Do you not comprehend that Darcy is already engaged?”
“Your nephew assures me he is free to do as he likes in that regard.”
“My nephew lies.”
As haughty and self-serving as Mr. Darcy seemed, Elizabeth wouldn’t label him a liar.
Perhaps Lady Catherine bluffed? After all, what better way to cause Miss Bingley to give up than to state that the object of her affection was already engaged?
Looking the red-faced, arrogant woman before them up and down, Elizabeth decided that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not above lying.
Besides which, were the engagement real, Lady Catherine would not be here, bargaining, would she?
“Even if your nephew lies, he has not done so to me.”
Lady Catherine’s teeth ground together, reminding Elizabeth of Fitzwilliam. “Five hundred.”
“It would take five thousand,” Miss Bingley cast back.
“Enough,” the earl roared. “We do not bargain, especially not with the likes of these. We will pay each strumpet a thousand pounds. Miss Bingley will agree never to seek a union with Darcy, and Miss Elizabeth will do the same in regards to Richard, and we will depart. We can be back to civilization before supper.”
Elizabeth’s heart squeezed. Surely the earl’s willingness to pay meant that Fitzwilliam held her in affection? Tempering her elation, she said, “Absolutely not.”
The earl studied her for a long moment. “Two thousand each is our final offer, and you will not care for the consequences of refusing me.” He leaned forward, brow furrowed and hard eyes full of menace.
“You will be accepted nowhere in London. None will receive you. Your prospects, and those of your sisters, for I hear you have an egregious many, will be ruined.”
Elizabeth matched his glare. “Save your threats, for my reply will not change.”
“You should agree.”
Startled by Miss Bingley’s low words, Elizabeth turned to her. “I should agree?”
Miss Bingley shrugged at her before returning her attention to Lady Catherine. “I will accept two thousand pounds in exchange for my word that I will not pursue a union with Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She’d truly thought Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy held affection for one another, yet he might be secretly engaged and she was agreeing to take money over his love.
Lady Catherine snorted. “Your word? I think not. You will sign.” She held out a hand.
The earl produced several folded pages, passing two to her ladyship as he observed, “We will need her guardian’s signature as well. Do not let her wriggle out of this.”
“I am of age,” Miss Bingley said stiffly.
“A strumpet and on the shelf?” Lady Catherine sniffed. “I do not know what Darcy is thinking.”
Miss Bingley turned narrowed eyes on her.
“We will make a note that she assured us of her majority,” the earl said. “She can sign that as well. Any court would side with you.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. As if this farce would ever end in a trial.
“I will sign that as well, for another five hundred.” Miss Bingley said with unconcealed annoyance.
Lady Catherine glowered at her for a long moment. “Call for pen and ink. Once you sign stating that you will not pursue Darcy, we will fill in the amount you are being compensated, and I will sign.”
Miss Bingley’s mouth twitched. “We will fill in the amount first, and you will sign, and then I will, or I am adding another five hundred.”
“Very well,” Lady Catherine snapped. “We are agreed.”
“Yes, we are,” Miss Bingley said firmly.
Lady Catherine cast a smirk at the earl. “You see, Henry? I told you I would see it done.”
Ignoring her, the earl demanded, “And you?” of Elizabeth, rattling the pages he still held.
“I will not sign,” Elizabeth said firmly.
“Accept the money,” Miss Bingley urged. “Agree not to pursue Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
The other woman had taken leave of her senses. “I will not.”
Miss Bingley placed a hand on her arm, meeting Elizabeth’s gaze squarely. “I give you my word, you have no hope of receiving a proposal from Colonel Fitzwilliam. Accept the earl’s offer.”
Elizabeth yanked away, stung. “No. Even if what you say is true, I will not sell my hope, nor my honor.”
The earl drew in a huge breath.
Before he could release it in a bellow of command, Elizabeth spun back to face him. “Nor will I remain here to be yowled at. Please give my regrets to Miss Darcy. I am leaving.” Chin high, Elizabeth skirted the two menacing members of the peerage and strode from the drawing room.
“You will return this instant,” the earl’s voice bellowed.
His continued injunctions following her, Elizabeth kept walking, circling back deeper into the house to depart through one of the servants’ doors, half afraid the earl would have her restrained if she attempted to leave out the front.
Her strides almost manic, she hurried away.
Indignation drove her, but a sharp pain in her heart threatened to slow her pace.
Could Miss Bingley be correct? Did Elizabeth have no hope of winning an offer from Fitzwilliam?