Chapter 5 #10
“We have been delayed,” Darcy replied evenly, “because you arranged a conversation of consequence without first ensuring that you possessed the necessary information for it. That is inconvenient. What is more serious, however, is not the error, but the assumption that made it possible.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Assumption?”
“That my sister’s future may be disposed of,” Darcy said, “as though she were a portion of the estate, and that her guardian may be informed of it after the fact, as one might be informed of a choice of curtains.”
Georgiana’s gaze lowered, not in shame, but in a controlled effort to remain quiet while the argument, at last, was fought on her behalf.
Lady Catherine’s colour rose. “You are exaggerating.”
“I am stating what has occurred,” Darcy answered, his tone firm rather than heated.
“You issued an invitation. You summoned my sister. You praised a gentleman in her hearing. You proposed a union—no matter how advantageous you believed it to be. And you did so without consulting me, without asking her, and without granting either of us the courtesy of warning.”
“You speak as though I were a stranger to her!” Lady Catherine retorted. “I am her aunt.”
“You are her aunt,” Darcy agreed. “And I have never denied you that claim. But you are not her guardian. Even Cousin Fitzwilliam, were he inclined to such interference, would not presume to act without consulting me first.”
Lady Catherine’s mouth tightened. “Guardianship ends at one-and-twenty.”
“It ends on paper,” Darcy said quietly, “and even then only in the sense that the law ceases to compel obedience. But my duty to Georgiana does not expire with a birthday next year, and I will not behave as though it does. Nor will I allow anyone—however near in blood—to treat her as though she may be pressed into ‘understandings’ for the convenience of another person’s pride. ”
Lady Catherine gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Pride! This, from you!”
Darcy’s gaze did not waver. “Yes—this, from me, Aunt. For I have learned, madam, precisely how much damage pride may accomplish when it mistakes itself for principle.”
The words landed with a force that was not loud, yet unmistakable.
Even Georgiana’s stillness altered; her breath caught, and her eyes flicked—only briefly—toward her brother, as if she had not expected him to say quite so much to Lady Catherine de Bourgh in her own house, and could not decide whether to fear it or admire it.
She lowered herself into the nearest chair.
Lady Catherine’s voice sharpened. “And what do you call it, then, when a young woman insists upon choosing her own future without guidance? Folly. Romance. Nonsense. You are encouraging her to imagine she may marry where she pleases, like a shopkeeper’s daughter.”
“I am encouraging her to imagine,” Darcy replied, “that her feelings are not irrelevant.”
“Feelings!” Lady Catherine repeated, with disdain so practised it might have been habit. “A girl’s feelings are always unsettled. They cannot be relied upon. They must be directed.”
“Directed,” Darcy said, and the word, repeated, took on a different meaning in his mouth—cooler, more exact.
“You directed mine, madam. You directed Anne’s.
You did not cease until the arrangement you preferred had been secured, and you congratulate yourself upon it still.
You have employed the same methods with countless others, both within the family and beyond it. ”
Lady Catherine stiffened. “I did what was necessary. No one has complained before. Such ingratitude.”
“You did what you desired,” Darcy corrected, and there was no heat in it—only the calm of a man finished with pretence.
“And because I have endured it—because Anne has endured it—because the household has learned, for the sake of peace, to accommodate your certainty—I will not now watch the same methods applied to Georgiana.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes flashed. “Do you speak of ‘methods’ to me in my own house?”
“In your house,” Darcy replied, “you may position the chairs, arrange the guests, and command the servants. But you may not command my sister’s heart, nor dispose of her future as if it were an ornament to be placed where it pleases you to see it.”
Georgiana’s hands had tightened in her lap; at those words, she loosened them slowly, as though some invisible cord had been cut.
Lady Catherine, sensing that she was losing ground and unwilling to be seen to lose it, shifted her attack.
“You are remarkably bold for a man who has produced no heir,” she said. “It would be more becoming to show humility, Fitzwilliam, when the continuance of your line is not assured. Mr. Collins, for instance, has a son already—and another child is expected.”
Darcy’s face tightened—a brief, involuntary reaction he did not wholly conceal. Georgiana saw it at once.
Mr. Darcy’s voice did not rise; it cooled. “Enough,” he said.
Lady Catherine paused, affronted. “How dare you—”
“I said, enough,” Darcy repeated. “You are fully aware of Anne’s health. You are fully aware that there are matters not to be used as weapons. If you cannot remember that from tenderness, remember it from propriety. You are speaking of your daughter.”
Lady Catherine’s lips parted, then pressed together.
Darcy continued. “My family is my concern, madam. It has never been yours to measure, nor to compare, nor to reproach. And Anne—” he turned slightly away, mastering himself “—shall not be harassed upon that subject again. Not by hints. Not by comparisons. Not by public remarks disguised as maternal care. For what it is worth, maybe you should also know that she didn’t feel well and she withdrew to her room before we got here. ”
Lady Catherine’s spine stiffened like a steel rod beneath her silk gown. “You take a great deal upon yourself, Fitzwilliam.”
“I take what has been mine since my father died,” Darcy replied, “and what has been mine since Georgiana was placed in my care. I will not apologise for fulfilling it. If you wish to advise, you may advise. If you wish to suggest, you may suggest. But you will not contrive.”
Lady Catherine’s gaze flicked toward Georgiana. “And what does your sister say to all this?”
Georgiana lifted her head slowly. “I wish to be treated as though my understanding were not an inconvenience, Aunt,” she said quietly. “And as though my happiness were not an afterthought.”
Lady Catherine stared, her eyes widening with imperious disbelief as she fixed her gaze upon her niece. “Georgiana, how dare you?” she demanded, her voice sharp with the authority she had long wielded without challenge.
Darcy spoke at once, his tone calm yet unyielding as he stepped forward slightly, shielding his sister with quiet resolve. “That is the matter, madam,” he said, his voice steady and firm. “It is settled.”
After a long moment, during which the air seemed charged with the weight of unspoken years, Lady Catherine stood, her posture rigid with barely contained indignation.
“Very well,” she declared, her chin lifting in a gesture of regained command.
“We have expressed ourselves with sufficient freedom. I shall not have my guests kept waiting because of domestic disputes.”
Darcy inclined his head with measured courtesy, his expression composed though a subtle firmness lingered in his eyes. “Nor would I, madam,” he replied, his words conveying both deference and quiet finality.
Lady Catherine turned toward Georgiana, her gaze attempting to restore her authority with familiar imperiousness. “Come.”
Georgiana rose gracefully, her movements composed though a faint tremor betrayed the emotion she mastered within.
She paused only long enough to glance at her brother, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of gratitude and quiet strength that drew a subtle, reassuring nod from him.
Darcy offered his arm; she took it—not as a child clinging for protection, but as a young woman choosing steadiness and alliance in the face of trial.
And as they moved toward dinner—because etiquette demanded it, because guests were waiting, because Lady Catherine would not allow even a quarrel to rob her of display—Darcy’s expression remained composed, revealing nothing of the inner triumph he felt.
But something had altered all the same. Lady Catherine had spoken and reigned for years. Darcy had endured with patient forbearance. And now, at last, he had answered—not with anger, but with the quiet authority of a man who had chosen his own path.
***
The guests already seated by the long table—extended to its full reach and dressed with a precision that would have satisfied Lady Catherine’s own eye—occupied the greater part of the Great Drawing Room, for her ladyship had long maintained that a room, like a household, was improved by being made to serve her purpose rather than its own.
The chairs were placed close enough to enforce conversation, yet not so close as to suggest familiarity; the lights were arranged to flatter rank before beauty; and the very centre of the room, cleared earlier for dancing, remained visible beyond the table’s end—an empty stage kept, as it were, in readiness for whatever display she might next require.
The servants began to move with that silent efficiency which, at Rosings, was less a habit than a law. The