Chapter 9 Alternate Arrangements
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh is here, sir.”
“Thank you, Clarke. Pray put her in the Blue Parlour, serve her refreshments, and tell her I am presently engaged in crucial business, and will attend her within the hour.”
Aaron Clarke, normally the most staid and unperturbable butler that ever lived, gave a small chuckle. “Yes sir, I can see you are engaged.”
Admittedly, butlers were known for their unflappable countenance, but since the young Fitzwilliam Darcy had spent considerably more time riding around on the shoulders of the man that would one day become his London butler than his own father’s, they enjoyed a camaraderie different from the usual master-servant roles.
Of course, not a single person in the world, save his two equally important housekeepers, his cousin Fitzwilliam, or his friend Charles Bingley were aware of the fact.
With a last smile and even something approaching a wave, Mr Clarke went to do his bidding.
It was true that Darcy had been working like a galley slave from dawn to midnight for the previous fortnight, as he had much to do while preparing for both his upcoming nuptials, and his lengthy absence from England.
The Master of Pemberley planned to leave nothing to chance by making certain his sister and estate were well taken care of, his family did not finish its act of ritual suicide, and his new wife did not cause too much trouble during his absence.
The release of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam would take months of tedious negotiations, where Napoleon and his courtiers would try every trick they could dream up (dirty or otherwise), to squeeze out advantage.
They would eventually learn they had the heir, and not just a doubly superfluous spare long before it was over, and they would make Darcy pay.
He only hoped his family could afford the price.
However, at that very moment, the master had been sitting by the fire with his feet up on an ottoman enjoying a quiet lunch and brief half-hour of poetry.
His house slippers were strewn on the floor, his cravat was undone, and his coat sat astride a chair.
Clarke knew the master could make himself presentable in about two minutes even without his valet, but jumping to Lady Catherine’s bidding was not to his taste, so she could just wait until he finished his meal and became bored with his book.
Exactly fifty-three minutes later, Darcy gave a great sigh, stood up, rearranged his clothing to its usual impeccable state (more or less), then went to brace the dragon and get it over with.
At fifty-nine minutes since the entry of Clarke, Darcy entered the parlour. “Lady Catherine, what brings you here?”
His unwanted guest was a tall, large woman, with strongly marked features, which might once have been handsome, but presently had an even bigger scowl than usual—though her normal countenance was not all that pleasant.
She gave her hand to her nephew, and he gave the most minimal approximation of bowing over it he could manage, while she started without preamble.
“You kept me long enough. I have been waiting a full hour for you to attend me. You cannot possibly have been doing anything so important.”
Darcy looked at her carefully. “Wait here a moment if you please.”
Without another word, he walked out of the parlour, and a moment later, Lady Catherine heard the front door open and remain open for a minute, before closing.
A few moments later, Darcy returned to his place, his cheeks red from the cold.
“My apologies. I had to look to be certain. A glance from the lane confirms that we are presently in Darcy house. The key word there is ‘Darcy,’ which means I set the rules. You came to my home without notice or invitation, so you can take your chances on my availability.”
The lady gasped at the sheer, effrontery of her nephew refusing to kowtow to her wishes, and that was even without the supreme impertinence shown by the stunt of walking outside to belabour his point.
She opened her mouth to deliver a setdown, but Darcy forestalled her. “Once again, Lady Catherine, what brings you here? I am rather busy. If this is a social call, it must wait.”
The lady gave a ferocious frown but decided it was time to get on with it. “You can be at no loss, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I’ve come.”
Darcy knew perfectly well why his aunt was there but was not presently in a humour to do her work for her.
“Indeed, you are mistaken, madam. I have not been at all able to account for the honour of seeing you here.”
“Nephew!” snapped her ladyship, in an angry tone, “You ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that, not only were you outright refusing to do your duty with respect to your family, but that some young trollop, a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my own nephew. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure you so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.”
Darcy thought that if he were in better humour he might go gently on his imperious aunt, but at that moment, he was fresh out of patience. However, since his friends Bingley and Richard had told him a hundred times that he needed to be a bit more playful, he thought to give it a go.
“If you believed it impossible, I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?”
“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.”
“Your coming to London will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence.”
“If!” she screeched. “Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? I have a firsthand report, directly from my rector who was present for the debacle. I know it all. You were caught in a trap of your own making, and I insist on knowing all the particulars so I can help you extricate yourself.”
Having had his share of amusement, and feeling a bit tired of his officious aunt intruding on his business, he answered angrily.
“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer.”
“This is not to be borne. I insist on being satisfied. Have you made her an offer of marriage?”
Finally, just wishing to get the conversation over, Darcy said, “I have. The proposal has been made and accepted, the contract signed. We wed on the twenty-third of December.”
With a gasp, Lady Catherine said, “I never! How could you do so without consulting your own relatives?”
“I did consult my own relatives!” he snapped angrily, “We examined every conceivable way to escape the connexion. Normally, I could just walk away with little material damage to my own and my family’s reputation, but in this case it was impossible.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet will be Mrs Darcy, whether any of us want her or not. The die is cast.”
Slamming her teacup down, the lady said, “Heaven and earth! Of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?”
Darcy snapped, “Yes, they are—though I completely fail to understand how the shades of Pemberley are any of your business, with your estate being two hundred miles from it.”
“What about your betrothal to my daughter? Is she to be tossed aside without a by-your-leave?”
Darcy, starting to become frightfully short on good temper, backed away from his aunt and sat down on a chair a few feet away, at the optimal distance to prevent himself from doing something ungentlemanly.
“You know perfectly well you made up that whole thing. What was it you said, ‘While in their cradles, we planned the union,’ which, as you perfectly well know, is absolute nonsense? To start with, our cradle days were separated by three years. In the second place, did you know I read Mother’s journals? ”
The lady gasped, but Darcy continued without pause.
“Mother consumed two full pages describing a particularly ugly set of baby clothes you gifted me, which she naturally gave to the poor as soon as you left. She once spent half a page talking about the wildflowers in the southern fields. She spent a good thirty pages on her rose garden. In all this writing, does it seem reasonable that she would omit entirely a discussion of a betrothal with her sister. I think not!”
Darcy could see his aunt was seething, looking for another opening, but he was in no mood to indulge her.
“Let me ask you something. What does Anne want in a husband? Have you even asked her?”
“She wants you, and even if she did not, she will do her duty.”
“So, her duty is to spend the rest of her life with a man she does not particularly care for, just to make up for your defects in the last two decades of managing Rosings? You think you can use the Pemberley coffers to shore up your own excess?”
Lady Catherine slapped the arm of her chair and spit out angrily, “How dare you?”
Darcy, equally angry, slapped his own chair.
“I dare because my family matters to me. If it did not, I would not have endured Easters at Rosings these last ten years, trying and failing to bring your spending down to the level you can afford, despite an abundance of wilful excess. Let me ask you something, aunt. When did it become my responsibility to solve all the problems of this family?”
Confused, the lady asked, “What do you mean? Explain yourself.”
“Gladly! Do you know why I had to offer for Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Have you any idea what the last straw was?”
“I would if you spoke in plain English instead of riddles.”
“Fine!” Darcy spat out, then tried to calm himself.