Chapter 7
Elizabeth
Lady Catherine learned of our engagement two days before my departure from Hunsford.
I never knew whether Mr. Collins had overheard a confidence, whether Colonel Fitzwilliam had been careless, or whether Lady Catherine simply possessed that gift common to those who watch everyone—the ability to discover what others try to hide from them.
She had her carriage stop before the parsonage at nine in the morning and entered without waiting to be announced.
Charlotte and I were having tea. Mr. Collins rose so quickly that he overturned his cup.
“Your Ladyship! What an unexpected honor…”
“Leave us, Mr. Collins.”
He appeared delighted to obey such a personal command. Charlotte wished to remain, but Lady Catherine fixed her with a look that would have discouraged a regiment.
“I wish to speak with Miss Bennet alone.”
“This house is mine,” Charlotte replied calmly. “I shall remain if my friend desires it.”
I gave her a grateful smile.
“Thank you, Charlotte, but I believe I can hear what Lady Catherine has come to tell me on my own.”
When the door closed, Lady Catherine turned to me.
“Is it true that my nephew has asked you to marry him?”
I saw no advantage in lying.
“Yes.”
“And you have accepted?”
“I accepted his proposal. We are now considering the terms of our engagement.”
This nuance seemed to irritate her more than the answer itself.
“No condition exists that could render such a union suitable. My nephew has been destined since childhood for my daughter. Their estates, their families, their wishes have always been united.”
“I did not know that wishes could be united before being expressed.”
“Do not play with words. You have used your stay in my neighborhood to attract the attention of a man far above you.”
“I fear your nephew is too proud of his own discernment to appreciate that description.”
“Then you refuse him?”
The question caught me off guard.
“I did not say that.”
“Then you confirm that you will marry him.”
I felt my anger rise at the way she was trying to steer me toward an answer. Yet I had none to give.
“My decision will be made neither to obey you nor to spite you.”
Lady Catherine approached.
“Do you even know what would await you at Pemberley? The looks from his family, the judgment of his acquaintances, the responsibilities of a mistress of the house—responsibilities no one has prepared you to assume? You will be compared to his mother. Every fault of your sisters will be repeated in drawing rooms. Every vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet will fall upon him. You will make him ridiculous.”
Her words struck where my own fears had already taken root.
I forced myself to smile.
“Such a frightening prospect that I am astonished Mr. Darcy survived the mere act of proposing to me.”
“He is blinded.”
“Then you should speak to him.”
“He refuses to listen to me.”
A shameful satisfaction swept through me.
“That must be very painful for you.”
Lady Catherine flushed.
“Promise me you will break this engagement.”
“No.”
The word came out before I had decided to speak it.
She stared at me.
“No?”
“I will make you no promise concerning a decision that belongs to Mr. Darcy and myself.”
“Then you persist in hoping to become his wife.”
“I persist in believing that his choice belongs to him.”
She threatened me with the contempt of his relations, the opposition of his family, and a permanent break with Rosings. I listened to the end. The more she spoke, the more a strange certainty grew within me: I could not bear for Mr. Darcy to renounce his happiness out of submission to this woman.
That did not yet mean I must be that happiness.
But I refused to let Lady Catherine decide for me.
When she left, Charlotte found me standing by the window, my hands trembling.
“I suppose the interview went smoothly.”
“She informed me that I would be despised, incompetent, and ridiculous.”
“And what did you reply?”
“That I made her no promises.”
Charlotte smiled.
“I believe Mr. Darcy would have appreciated that.”
The thought brought a warmth I immediately pushed away.
I left Hunsford two days later. Mr. Darcy had already departed for London. He did not come to say goodbye. I should have been glad of it. Instead, every turn in the road reminded me of our walks, his hand around mine, his face when he understood the reason for my acceptance.
At Longbourn, Jane greeted me on the front steps. She was paler than I remembered, but her smile held its usual gentleness.
“Lizzy, I am so happy to see you.”
I held her close for a long time.
“Me too.”
My mother appeared behind her, complaining about the slowness of the carriage, the state of the roads, and the cost of the journey.
Lydia and Kitty bombarded me with questions about the officers I might have met in Kent—demonstrating a grasp of geography as remarkable as their interests.
Mary informed me she had prepared several edifying extracts on economy.
My father waited until evening to summon me to his library.
He had aged since my departure. The change showed neither in his hair nor his features, but in the weariness of his smile.
“Well, Lizzy,” he said, “Jane assures me you know enough to judge me even more severely than usual.”
I sat facing him.
“She told me about Mr. Ellison.”
“A charming friend, so long as he lived and no one called in their debts.”
“Why did you sign that guarantee?”
“Because I was young, convinced that five thousand pounds was merely an abstract figure, and certain the future would have the courtesy never to arrive.”
His irony wounded me.
“The future has arrived, Papa.”
He removed his spectacles.
“Yes.”
I placed Mr. Darcy’s sealed letter before him.
“What is this?”
“An official request for consent, I believe. And perhaps something else.”
He looked at me over the paper.
“From whom?”
“Mr. Darcy.”
The silence was so complete that I heard the wood settling in the fireplace.
“Mr. Darcy asked you to marry him?”
“Yes.”
“And you accepted?”
I told him everything: the proposal, my response, the revelation concerning Jane, our quarrel, Darcy’s letter, and the delay I had requested. I omitted only the details concerning Georgiana, which were not mine to share.
My father listened without joking.
When he finished reading Darcy’s letter, he remained silent for a long time.
“He knows about the debt,” he said at last.
“I did not give him your name or that of the creditor.”
“He found them. His man of business proposes to purchase the obligation and allow me repayment over fifteen years. The terms are so favorable they border on insult.”
“He specifies that the arrangement does not depend on our marriage.”
“I know how to read, Lizzy.”
I stiffened.
He ran a hand over his forehead.
“Forgive me. My pride does not bear well being rescued by a man my daughter does not love.”
“I do not know what I feel for him.”
“But you were prepared to marry him for us.”
“Yes.”
He rose and went to the window.
“No.”
“Papa…”
“You will not do it. I will sell everything that can be sold. I will reduce the household. I will find another solution. You will not give your life in payment for my faults.”
“Mr. Darcy does not demand it.”
“And you? Do you demand it of yourself?”
The question struck me.
“I do not know.”
He turned around.
— Then you'll refuse until you know. If you cannot tell me that you respect him and believe you can be happy with him, I will not give my consent, even if he erases every debt in England.
I felt tears rise to my eyes.
“You'll accept his financial arrangement?”
“I will negotiate. I will repay every penny, with proper interest. But I will not tie this matter to your marriage.”
“That is exactly what he wishes.”
My father lowered his eyes to the letter.
“That makes him more dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because a rich and arrogant man is easy to refuse. A rich, arrogant, and honorable man requires more thought.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“He is not always arrogant.”
My father raised his eyebrows.
I understood too late what I had just revealed.
“Ah,” he said. “There, perhaps, is the beginning of an answer.”