Bedlam （Darcy）
I had entered an absolute madhouse! That was the only possible explanation!
Anne was conspiring to turn Elizabeth against me.
I had no idea what stratagem she used or why, but she was clearly up to something!
She looked at me as you might some particularly loathsome form of vermin, even though just a few hours earlier she had looked at me in something more closely approaching approbation than her usual thoroughly dismissive disregard.
Something had happened to anger her, but what could have possibly happened when I had not seen or spoken to either lady all day?
I felt certain Elizabeth had been welcoming of my addresses; it had been in every expression of her countenance on our walks those few mornings, in every teasing remark at Netherfield.
She must have seen the adoration in my eyes, and she must have understood no man stared at a woman for any reason save esteem.
She must have been both expecting and welcoming my addresses… or was she?
I could barely keep up with Elizabeth at the best of times, and to be honest, I am not certain I even always did that. She sometimes seemed to be saying something that was just beyond my reach, just beyond my understanding, just like… just like… Oh, horrors! Just like she spoke to Caroline Bingley!
In a rush, much of what she had said over the weeks of our association came back with an entirely different and not quite so charitable light, just in time for her to pound me practically into the ground with just a dozen or so words: ‘I was thinking of Jane, but of course, as you know, she is heartbroken in London, so she might not be all that merry.’
She had said it as an unambiguous, not to be refuted, well known statement of fact, exactly as if she either expected me to already know it, or to tell me that she knew what I was about and was not to be trifled with.
In a panic, I may have actually recommended the silly sisters visit Rosings, so she had clearly rattled me beyond comprehension.
She stared at me like a worm for a moment, then simply dropped me from her attention like removing a stone from her shoe, and asked Anne in quite a sincere tone if she had gone insane enough to invite Lydia Bennet to Rosings.
Anne’s reply sent me nearly into a panic. All five Bennet sisters at Pemberley? At once!
My cousin glanced over at me looking sweet and innocent. “Oh wait! That will never do! Five unmarried women in a bachelor’s home! The ton would burst into flames. No, that will never do at all!”
She said that with a mock look of consternation, but she was not fooling me in the least. She was working her way up to something most foul.
She turned back to Elizabeth. “You must bring your mother! That will make everything right!”
Her mother! Mrs Bennet! EGADS!
Anne turned to me and spoke sweetly, “Of course, with so many merry visitors at Pemberley, I imagine we would not want my mother to feel left out, so you must invite her as well.”
Like a runaway coach about to dispatch me to the Netherworld forever, she added, “Of course, that will make Pemberley very lady heavy. We will need our own time for our female pursuits, so of course you must invite Fitzwilliam and that Bingley fellow!”
What was this? Soooo… Elizabeth must have learned about Bingley and Miss Bennet from Anne.
I wondered how she had found out. Probably my hubble-bubble cousin, who clearly needed to learn to keep his mouth shut; though I wondered how in the world such a subject could possibly have come up between him and Anne.
They never talked about anything of substance, let alone other ladies.
That all made perfect sense! The colonel told Anne about Miss Bennet and Bingley.
Anne, in a tither came over to tell Elizabeth about it straightaway.
Elizabeth would have responded with some teasing, which would have flustered Anne, and the mad spiral went downhill until I interrupted them right as they were trying to decide whether to have me hanged or just transported. It all made perfect sense.
Somehow, unless I challenged Anne directly, I would have Pemberley full of Bennet women, including her mother.
Well, three could play at this game… though, a more careful examination found Elizabeth sitting there with her mouth hanging open, entirely bereft of speech.
I had sat with her for a half hour without her speaking once in Netherfield, but that was more a contest of wills than anything else.
Here, she was simply stunned into silence; and Anne was sitting there smiling like the cat, torn with indecision between the canary and the cream.
Anne turned to me and sweetly said, “Oh, I apologize, Darcy. I did not bother to ask if Pemberley can afford eight guests. Will it stretch your resources too thin?”
Now she was batting her eyes at me like Miss Lydia, just wanting me to say something stupid.
What kind of a ridiculous question was that?
She knew perfectly well Pemberley could afford to host anything from a dozen to a hundred.
Why had she used those particular words?
Was someone spreading rumours about Pemberley and she was silly enough to believe them?
“I assure you Anne, Pemberley can host all of those and more without the slightest strain,” I said emphatically enough to remove all doubt.
She raised an eyebrow in an expression I knew for certain she copied from Miss Elizabeth, while that selfsame lady sat there either stunned into silence or enjoying herself immensely. I imagined she was quickly moving from the former to the latter.
Anne asked, “Your habits of expense do not strain it too much?”
What a bizarre question, and what the blazes was a habit of expense?
“I assure you, I have no habits that Pemberley cannot afford.”
She sniggered. “It is all settled then! Saturday week?”
I had no idea how, when or, more importantly, why I had agreed; but then again, if Elizabeth came to Pemberley, I would accept any consequences that came with it. That would give me some time to see where the devil I had gone wrong, and if the problem was solvable.