Chapter 5 #8
The Marquess nodded. “That was plain enough. His manner with Mary was courteous, even attentive, but not practised. I much prefer a man who does not waste his art on performance.”
“As do I,” Lady Catherine said firmly, although she believed otherwise. “Flattery is the refuge of those who have nothing better to offer. Colonel Fitzwilliam is a man of real distinction, though he would be the last to proclaim it.”
There was a pause. The Marquess nodded again, his expression now touched with quiet satisfaction.
“I am not unaware,” he continued after a moment, “that such a connection, though not grand in fortune, would place Mary within a circle of considerable influence. Her comfort, and her safety, are all that truly concern me now.”
“By all means, Lord Ashford,” Lady Catherine replied, with a gracious nod not entirely free of condescension.
The gentleman offered no reply beyond a slight bow. He had known Lady Catherine long enough to recognise the subtle rearrangements of pride and policy when one plan had been overturned and another not yet secured.
“In any event,” she continued, with an air of conclusive satisfaction, “I am most gratified by what has passed this evening. One cannot always command events, but one may, at least, prepare the ground. I believe we have done so admirably.”
“I shall speak with my daughter in due time,” the Marquess said. “If she remains inclined, I see no reason to discourage the acquaintance.”
“Then we are agreed,” Lady Catherine said, rising with the gravity of a woman confident that her preferences would be mistaken for principle. “It is always a pleasure to work with those whose judgment does not require correction.”
Lord Ashford stood as well and offered a parting bow. “Good evening, Lady Catherine. And thank you—for the hospitality, and the… arrangements.”
“They are not yet arrangements,” she said archly, “but if all parties behave with sense, they soon may be.”
He smiled faintly and, without awaiting dismissal, withdrew with the quiet elegance of a man accustomed to courtrooms, drawing rooms, and careful negotiations.
***
The Marquess had scarcely departed when Lady Catherine de Bourgh rang the bell and addressed the footman in a tone that bespoke both expectation and authority.
“Go at once,” she said, lifting her hand with composure, “and inform Sir Henry and his son that I have the honour of requesting their company in the little parlour. Kindly impress upon them that it is a matter of some personal importance.”
The man bowed and withdrew. Left alone once more, Lady Catherine allowed herself a moment’s reflection—not of uncertainty, but of calculation.
The evening had thus far progressed tolerably well.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s interview with Miss Fletcher had not resulted in immediate rejection—a circumstance she deemed, under the present state of society, almost equivalent to success.
But the night could not end with only one potential triumph.
It was imperative, absolutely imperative, that her niece Georgiana be properly settled, and quickly.
The assembly had afforded opportunity—she had organised it with that very aim in mind—but opportunity was a delicate thing, for it required management and some degree of expertise in diplomacy. And who better to manage it than herself?
Miss Darcy was not without attractions, nor entirely lacking in social consequence.
Her fortune was ample, her manners unblemished, and her countenance—though reserved—possessed the kind of elegance that promised refinement rather than boldness.
Yet Lady Catherine knew too well how men of sense could be dissuaded by the very qualities that should inspire constancy.
She required, therefore, a match that could not easily slip through her fingers—or Darcy’s, whose leniency she often found exasperating.
The baronet’s heir was suitable in every respect—solid, reputable, not too ambitious, and, more importantly, not already entangled.
Lady Catherine had long observed that baronets were often eager to marry upward, and Mr. Darcy’s sister offered a connection far superior to any their own acquaintance might provide.
The footman returned with the expected announcement. “Sir Henry Dashwood and Mr. Dashwood, your ladyship.”
“Very good. Show them in—and remain.”
The door was opened with ceremony, and the gentlemen entered—Sir Henry, courtly and precise in bearing, with the fine air of a man who had served in Parliament in less turbulent times; and his son, Mr. Dashwood, a tall young gentleman of nine-and-twenty, whose quiet manner suggested self-command rather than pride.
Their bows were executed with care. The footman withdrew a single pace and remained by the door.
“Lady Catherine,” the baronet said, “we are at your service.”
“I thank you both,” she replied with gracious dignity. “Your presence at Rosings this evening has been of singular pleasure, and I should be remiss not to say that your conduct—both on and off the dance floor—has met with my fullest approval.”
“You are most kind,” Mr. Dashwood said, bowing once more.
Lady Catherine indicated the chairs. “Pray, be seated. I shall not detain you long, but I wished to express—directly and without subterfuge—that the true culmination of this evening’s entertainment has not yet been revealed.”
Sir Henry exchanged a look with his son, polite but curious. “Indeed, your ladyship?”
“Yes,” she said, folding her hands with self-assurance.
“While the assembly has afforded agreeable diversion, I believe in higher purposes. I have therefore arranged for a supper, presently to be served in the blue dining parlour. It is not merely a refreshment of the body, but an opportunity for further observation and discourse. The younger guests will, I trust, find it most… illuminating.”
She let the word hang in the air with theatrical weight.
Mr. Dashwood glanced toward the fireplace, where a discreet branch of laurel ornamented the mantle—possibly a detail unnoticed by others, but not by him.
“I shall look forward to it,” he said with a slight inclination of the head.
“Excellent,” Lady Catherine pronounced with regal satisfaction. “But before we adjourn to that more convivial setting, I have one more detail to arrange.” She nodded towards the footman. “Find Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy and inform them that I wish to speak with them shortly as possible.”
With a final bow, the servant was gone, and Lady Catherine leaned back in her chair with the air of a general confident in the success of her campaign.
“My nephew and his sister Miss Darcy, I trust, may benefit from the society of such distinguished company. Allow me an instant and I shall explain what Providence sent to my mind.”
Sir Henry inclined his head, as if he began to suspect something. “Miss Darcy has been much admired this evening, Lady Catherine.”
“Indeed, she has,” Lady Catherine replied, her voice edged with strategic precision.
“She is a young woman of distinguished understanding, unspoiled by the excesses of modern fashion and wholly capable of managing an estate should her husband require it. Naturally, I should not mention such things,” she added with a dismissive wave of her hand, “were I not among friends who understand the importance of family and propriety.”
The door opened once more, and the footman reappeared, his voice low but clear. “Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy, your ladyship.”
Lady Catherine rose at once, inclining her head with studied grace as her guests entered the room.
Mr. Darcy’s manner was his usual mixture of composed vigilance and restrained politeness; his sister, pale and poised, curtsied with elegant precision, her eyes briefly flicking to the two seated gentlemen before settling, dutifully, on their aunt.
“My dear Georgiana,” said Lady Catherine, taking her niece’s hand as if bestowing favour rather than offering greeting. “Mr. Darcy. I thank you both for attending so promptly.”
“Your message conveyed urgency, Aunt,” Mr. Darcy replied, his voice neutral, though his glance shifted inquisitively toward the baronet and his son. “I trust all is well?”
“Perfectly,” Lady Catherine replied, with that particular tone which always implied that matters could only be otherwise if left in lesser hands.
“Indeed, we are most excellently situated. Sir Henry Dashwood and his son were good enough to oblige me with a brief visit before supper, and I wished you both to be present for what I am persuaded shall prove a conversation of mutual consequence.”
Miss Darcy lowered her gaze. Mr. Dashwood, seated beside his father, inclined his head politely. Mr. Darcy’s expression remained unchanged, but one brow arched by the smallest degree.
“Then let us be seated,” Lady Catherine continued, gesturing with regal magnanimity. “There is little I value more than plain speaking among honourable families.”
The party reassembled accordingly—Darcy and Georgiana taking the chairs nearest their aunt, while the Dashwoods resumed their places on the opposite side. Lady Catherine surveyed the arrangement with approval and smiled.
“I shall come to the point,” she said, folding her hands atop her lap with an air of deliberation.
“In this modern age, so full of indecision and moral decline, it is refreshing—indeed essential—to reassert the value of prudent alliances. We are none of us strangers to the importance of sound connexions. Miss Darcy, with her admirable qualities, her education, and her fortune, is precisely the sort of young lady whose future ought to be settled with the gravity and discernment such advantages deserve.”
Georgiana shifted slightly in her seat, though her expression did not waver. Darcy, beside her, sat very still, the effort of restraint visible only in the firmness of his posture.