Chapter 4 #2
“What does that have to do with it?” Lady Catherine said, evidently unable to stop herself from taking part in a conversation that had nothing to do with her, to Darcy’s way of thinking.
To Lady Romsley, Fitzwilliam said, “Would you really want your son to marry a lady he did not even like? And I assure you, he does not, and she certainly does not care for him.”
“Well, no,” the countess replied. “Not when you put it that way, but he and Lady Cassandra could learn to like each other.”
With a loud bark of laughter, Bramwell said, “No, we could not.”
“If not her, who will you marry?” she asked. “You are thirty years old, and it is past time for you to establish your own family.”
“Tell them,” Fitzwilliam advised his brother.
Briefly, Bramwell glared at him, then said, “Fine.” He took a deep breath before admitting, “I intend to marry Miss Rebecca Darcy.”
The silence that followed this statement was absolute.
For himself, Darcy had not known of the viscount’s interest in his cousin Rebecca, who was the daughter of his father’s younger brother.
While it was a relief to have the attention removed from his situation, with each passing minute, he was growing increasingly frustrated that his family was arguing in a home that did not belong to any of them.
He said as much, calling it, “beyond comprehension that you are here, causing this scene in my friend’s house. ”
Bramwell and Fitzwilliam were quick to agree.
“Nothing will be gained by continuing the discussion,” Darcy went on. When his uncle interrupted, he sighed heavily, not bothering to hide his fatigue and vexation.
“While I do not agree that we are done with the discussion, I do agree it is enough for the moment. Let us all take some time to compose ourselves, consider everything that has been said”—he looked at Darcy as though telling him he needed to think about the excellent points he and Lady Catherine had made—“and we will resume it when we can do so rationally.”
To himself, Darcy scoffed. He was resolved that it would not.
With a curt nod at his uncle, a somewhat less stiff one to the countess—and none at all for his other aunt or Anne—he turned his back to his relations and walked towards the door, silently vowing that he would immediately write to his solicitor for whatever advice he could offer.
He heard his uncle say, “As for you, Bramwell,” just as he closed the door behind him.
Darcy sought sanctuary in his apartment and avoided his family as much as possible for the remainder of the day, even refusing to dine with them once he received word that Bingley would take the evening meal with the Bennets.
How he envied his friend! What he would give for five minutes alone with Elizabeth.
But I must settle this matter with my family first!
She has every right to want reassurance that they will not cause problems for us.
How could he ask her to trust him until he could give her that much at least?
The notion that he had a legal requirement to marry Anne was one he dismissed out of hand.
Not even Lord Romsley could alter that reality.
Even had his father and Lady Catherine agreed to a contract, Darcy himself had not signed it.
The question of his honour being engaged was trickier, and one he would spend more time thinking about when he was less agitated.
But no matter what his parents might have said in support of the union—and Darcy had only other people’s assurances that it was what they wanted—he had always been against the scheme, a fact he had not kept secret.
Whether he had been believed was another matter.
The true threat lay in what Lady Catherine and Lord Romsley would do, possibly with Lady Romsley’s assistance.
Would they make it known that the family had anticipated the marriage and they felt Darcy was failing to live up to his responsibilities, that, in short, he was going back on promises he had made?
In truth, if anything could have convinced him to marry Anne, it was knowing that it was what his father wanted.
His mother’s desires were also important to him, but for whatever reason, it had always been his father’s approval he sought, possibly because Darcy had always thought of him as the best man he knew, and he wanted to be like him.
Pleasing his relations by marrying Anne might also once have been enough to encourage Darcy to take such a step—but that had been before he had met Elizabeth.
“No one who knows Elizabeth would think me a fool for marrying her,” he murmured.
Within half a year of their marriage, the earl and countess and his other connexions—apart from Lady Catherine and Anne, he assumed—would understand why Elizabeth made the best possible wife for him.
With her, he would be happy in a manner he had never believed possible, and she would be an exemplary helpmate, meaning those about him, from his sister to his tenants, would likewise benefit.
Lord and Lady Romsley must see that Lady Catherine was going too far, that she was allowing her apparent obsession with him marrying Anne to consume her.
Darcy would have to discover what she had told them to convince them to invade Bingley’s home as they had.
It was especially galling because his three older relations hardly recognised his friend, thus compounding their rudeness.
The only members of his family Darcy spoke to again that day were Bramwell and Fitzwilliam; they came to his chamber late that evening, demanding entrance.
“I suppose I ought to thank you for adding your…what should I call it? Astonishing news?” he said to Bramwell. “You and Rebecca? Truly?”
“That is how you express your gratitude? Disbelief and mockery?” the viscount replied.
His cousins told him of the conversation at dinner—which apparently had been stilted and largely occupied with Lady Catherine reiterating that Darcy had promised himself to Anne and all the reasons he could not be permitted to marry Elizabeth.
“As though she has the right to permit or forbid you to do anything.” Fitzwilliam laughed at the notion, but there was an obvious edge to it.
Lady Catherine did not care whether or not she should do something; if it served her purposes, she proceeded, often displaying an unseemly lack of both respect and rationality.
What did it matter if she was cruel and caused misery if she got her way in the end?
“How have you spent the past hours?” Fitzwilliam asked.
Darcy shrugged. “I attempted to write letters, but was unsuccessful.” Reading through one he had intended to send to his solicitor, he found it was incomprehensible, which was a mark of the depths of his agitation.
“I shall attend to it in the morning. I do not suppose your parents and our aunt have decided to depart? And Anne with them naturally.” He often forgot about Anne, which should make him feel wretched.
Instead, it exemplified why they would make such a terrible married couple.
Bramwell laughed, and Fitzwilliam rubbed the back of his neck as he shook his head.
“The dragon claims she will not go until you are prepared to attend her and Anne to Rosings where you will remain until your nuptials,” Bramwell said, using his nickname for her. “She has finally given into madness, has she not?”
Darcy paced about the room, running his hands through his hair.
He would have to talk to them again, at least to convince them to leave Bingley’s home.
Saying as much to his cousins, he added, “But I am determined never to go to Rosings again. Lady Catherine has gone too far this time. The way she spoke to Elizabeth, the horrible names she called her, are unforgivable, let alone her interference in my affairs. Tomorrow morning. There is no need for you two to be here. If you do not wish to return to London—which is what I think you should do—explore the neighbourhood. Go to Meryton. It is pretty enough, and the bookseller is quite decent.”
In the end, the three of them agreed that Bramwell and Fitzwilliam would leave Darcy to talk to the earl, countess, and Lady Catherine alone, but they would not, as Bramwell said, ‘abandon you to the fools’ by returning to town.