Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Entering Netherfield, the butler directed Darcy and Elizabeth to the drawing room.
Once there, he took in the various people arranged in seats or standing near the fireplace.
He had not known what to anticipate, and seeing his aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess of Romsley, and their two sons, along with Lady Catherine and her daughter Anne, was shocking, incongruous, although he felt he had no right to the sensation.
He regarded them with trepidation, an icy sensation forming deep in his stomach.
“What—” he said, unable to finish his question as Lady Catherine spoke over him, insisting, “She has no business here. You will leave at once!”
Darcy’s gaze followed his aunt’s finger to discover she was pointing at Elizabeth.
Her rudeness ought not to be a surprise.
She had made her disdain for Elizabeth plain.
He met his beloved’s bright eyes and gave her a brief head shake to communicate his desire that she remain regardless of what anyone else said.
To his aunt, he said, “Miss Elizabeth has every reason to be here, if only because I wish it.” Turning to her again, he quickly named his other relations so that she would know who was present beyond the three she had previously met: Lady Catherine and his cousins Anne de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
To his family, he asked, “Why are you here?” His panic, which had momentarily been masked by irritation with Lady Catherine, returned, and not allowing anyone the opportunity to speak, he added, “Has something happened to Georgiana?”
Fitzwilliam shook his head and said, “No.”
His voice was nearly lost behind Lady Catherine’s louder, more strident tone.
“We are here to demand you end your connexion to that girl and her family once and for all.” Again, she thrust a finger in Elizabeth’s direction; he wanted to slap it away.
“I never would have believed that you, my own nephew, would be so stubborn, so intractable as you were when we last spoke in town. Your unwillingness to see past that girl’s arts and allurements, to remember your duty to your family, to your own dear parents’ wishes! I am ashamed of you.”
“This is ridiculous!” Darcy interjected.
Lord Romsley took a step away from the fireplace and towards Darcy. “Do not speak to your aunt in that manner!”
“What of her manner of speaking to Miss Elizabeth, to say nothing of me?” Darcy retorted.
Bramwell leant against the mantel; he appeared to snigger. Lady Romsley held a handkerchief to her mouth. Beside her on a sofa was Anne; as always, she only seemed to be partly attending to the conversation. Fitzwilliam, who had been nearest to Lady Catherine, stood and went to his brother.
“Neither of you was willing to do what is right, what self-interest and the dictates of society, of responsibility to one’s family and future generations, demand,” Lady Catherine went on, apparently willing to overlook whatever else was said.
“Thus, you have forced my hand. You will marry my daughter this autumn.”
Darcy felt like knocking his head against the wall. Though, it might be better to do it to my aunt. Dislodge this nonsense and allow sense to take its place. “There is nothing you can say to convince me to give into your desire—”
“Not just mine,” his aunt interrupted with an air of triumph. “It was your mother’s fondest wish and your father’s intention that you unite the Darcy and de Bourgh estates. I have proof of it. He wrote to me shortly before his death. We were preparing the marriage contract.”
In London, Lady Catherine had attempted to browbeat him into succumbing to her demands, while in the next breath, she had informed him of Elizabeth’s refusal to say that she would never accept an offer of marriage from him.
He recalled wanting to laugh at his aunt; at the very moment she had given him hope that he might yet claim the woman he loved with everything that he was, she wanted him to agree to marry a lady he barely liked, let alone held in tender regard.
Darcy slowly shook his head, unsure what to say, and not entirely certain any of this was real. Was it all a dream, from proposing to Elizabeth to his family’s nonsensical intrusion?
The countess said, “Can you not see how this situation is distressing poor Anne?”
It was unclear which situation she meant, although Anne did look uneasy.
Her head was lowered, and she was twisting a linen handkerchief in her hands.
From what Darcy had been able to discern over the years, his cousin would be willing to become his wife, but who was to say whether it was her wish or if she was only doing what she believed to be her duty?
“Listen to your aunts, Darcy,” the earl demanded.
He heard a heavy sigh from the direction of his male cousins, but he did not know which of them had made the noise.
Glancing at Elizabeth, he could not fail to notice signs of shock.
She stood still, and he saw her swallow heavily.
Frustration and anger at his family burned in his stomach, and along with it, fear of her reaction.
What if she decided she did not want to come between him and his family?
What if this disgusting scene reminded her of the ill-advised, hurtful words he had said during their disastrous interview in Kent?
Why had the footman not been delayed even a minute?
Then she would have accepted him, they would be betrothed—leaving aside the need for her father’s permission—and nothing that was happening presently could threaten to separate them; both he and Elizabeth would be bound by honour, as well as mutual affection.
As surreptitiously as possible, he brushed his finger against her hand and was rewarded by her looking at him.
She gave him a smile—almost too slight to see, but it meant everything.
For now, I shall allow my aunt to say what she likes.
Then I shall send her on her way, along with my other relations, after making them understand that I am my own man and no duty requires me to live my life as they want me to!
There was no purpose to entering into a screaming match with Lady Catherine.
It might distress Elizabeth, and certainly would Lady Romsley and Anne.
It would also be against his nature, and he knew it would have displeased his mother to see him treating her sister with less than respect.
Briefly, he wondered if his mother—and father—would approve of her treating him as she was.
“Anne and I understood young men need time,” Lady Catherine went on. “With your father’s death, we grudgingly accepted that another delay was necessary, although it would have comforted you to have a devoted wife by your side.”
This time, the snigger that came from his cousins’ direction was loud enough that both Bramwell and Fitzwilliam must have contributed to it. Lady Romsley turned in their direction, giving them what Darcy supposed was a reprimanding look.
“Anne then had that unfortunate setback with her health, but she is better now,” Lady Catherine said.
“None of this materially alters the situation, madam,” Darcy interjected.
“Not a week ago, I told you, as plainly as possible, that I am not willing to marry Anne. Nothing you say will alter my feelings on the matter. I will not be swayed by the notion of adding Rosings to my wealth or because you and my mother dreamt of your children marrying one day.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “You are much mistaken if you believe you can so easily toss aside all the plans your parents have made for you. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment. You and Anne are formed for each other. Your parents and hers intended for the match to take place—as you well know—and it will!”
Darcy ran a hand over his mouth before responding, hoping to keep himself from saying anything that would be cruel or needlessly insulting, such as that his life would become one of misery if he succumbed to her demands.
Most of all, he did not want to draw attention to Elizabeth by comparing her to his cousin.
There was not a man in England who would prefer Anne de Bourgh to Elizabeth Bennet—unless they were sorely in need of Anne’s wealth.
Miss Bennet and Bingley had quietly entered the room, and Darcy did not want either of them, or Elizabeth, to have to witness him having a fit of ill-temper.
But it would relieve some of my fury if I could hit or throw something!
He said, “Yet, neither my father nor my mother ever spoke to me of this arrangement you claim was so dear to you all.” If he were being completely honest, this was a slight prevarication.
His mother had died when he was thirteen years old, and he did not recall her ever mentioning his future marriage.
But his father had made a few casual remarks about it; he might even have mentioned Anne, but it had been years ago, and Darcy was not certain.
He had not paid much attention, being too young to contemplate such matters.
When he turned one-and-twenty, his father had said that he should amuse himself for several years—until he was five- or six-and–twenty—and that then they would ‘see to things’.
With his father’s sudden death two years later, they had never had a chance to discuss marriage or his father’s hopes further.
Darcy turned to Elizabeth and added, “I will make my own decisions, as is my right.”
“Not regarding this matter,” Lord Romsley said, his gaze steady on Elizabeth.
His look was one of disapproval, and it left Darcy determined to find out what he had been told about her and by whom, although he could guess the answer.
If his uncle took even five minutes to know her, his objections would lessen.
“You will marry Anne,” Lady Catherine said for what seemed the tenth time in the last few minutes. Her voice became menacing as she continued. “Or you will risk a scandal that will ruin you. Your entire family will turn against you.”
“I doubt that,” Darcy said. His aunt could be vindictive, but, in the end, there was not much she could do to damage him, and his family was too sensible to break with him.
It was not as though he intended to marry a scullery maid; Elizabeth was a gentleman’s daughter.
“For the last time, there is no engagement, you—”
“There is!” Lady Catherine cried.
“I believe it is time for Jane and me to depart,” Elizabeth said, her tone deceptively calm.
Instantly, Darcy forgot about everyone else; all his attention was on her.
Something he could not name told him the consequences of her leaving, of allowing this appalling conversation with his relations to continue, would be dire.
He lightly grasped her elbow. “No! It is not necessary. I shall tell them—”
“Let her go, Darcy,” Lord Romsley said. “This is a family matter, and we shall settle it amongst ourselves.”
At the same moment, Lady Catherine said, “The chit finally says something worth hearing!”
Elizabeth did not look at either of them, and he saw a flash of anger in her eyes before she lowered her gaze, apparently no longer willing or able to regard him either.
Her posture stiffened, and he would not be surprised if she literally bit her tongue to avoid retorting.
Softly, she said, “I must. The earl is correct that this is for you to-to…resolve.”
She stepped away from him, and he watched as she reached for Miss Bennet’s hand and, together, they continued to the door.
His expression one of sympathy and support, Bingley said, “I shall arrange my carriage for them. Leave you to…”
He followed the ladies from the room, and Darcy turned to once again do battle with his exceedingly obstinate, bull-headed, interfering aunt.
Elizabeth was too dazed to think. She walked out of Netherfield mechanically, separating herself from Jane and Mr Bingley while they waited for his carriage.
There was a stone bench at a slight remove, and she sat there, staring ahead of her, willing herself to shake off the fog of confusion that enveloped her.
What had just happened? She had been so glad to learn that Mr Darcy had returned!
Although she would not allow herself to fully believe it meant he still cared for her and would renew his addresses, the look he had given her when they first met again that morning suggested that he did love her.
It was difficult to describe the difference, but when he had come to the neighbourhood with Mr Bingley the previous month, his demeanour had been cautious; his silence had convinced her that Lydia’s elopement represented an insurmountable barrier between them.
But today, his expression had been one of determination and warmth, and it had left her almost sick with anticipated joy.
Then, just as she was about to assure him that she loved him and longed to be his wife, they had been interrupted.
That had been unexpected, to be sure, but she had never considered that the footman approaching them meant the start of her dreams of a happy future with Mr Darcy crumbling down about her.
That had happened once before, in the Lambton Inn when she had told him of Jane’s letter announcing Lydia’s rash actions.
But at present, her expectations had been so much higher!
He said that he still loves me, still wants to marry me. And, oh, how I want that too! He cannot be engaged to his cousin!
Willing—needing—to believe Mr Darcy was too honourable to pursue her if he had even the slightest obligation to Miss de Bourgh, Elizabeth leant against the warm stone of the house, closed her eyes, and forced her mind to be still.
She would return home and, as much as it was possible, wait patiently for him to call and explain the scene she had just witnessed.
Later today, or at the latest the next morning, he would come to her, tell her his relations were gone, and they would laugh about it.
She sighed. While she anticipated seeing him soon and learning what was behind his family’s unexpected visit, she doubted even she would be able to find humour in the episode.
“Our moment of happiness has been ruined,” she whispered.
“It was so close, almost within our grasp and then…” The great fireball of joy inside of her had been ready to burst, filling her with a warmth and contentment she knew would last a lifetime.
Instead, Lady Catherine, the odious woman, had come to wreak havoc.
When she had been at Longbourn and Elizabeth had refused to promise she would never marry Mr Darcy, the woman had said she knew how to act, and apparently she did.
Elizabeth could only pray the damage she did was of short duration.