Chapter 34 #2
Unlike her cousin, Anne appeared distressed. “Oh, dear,” she cried, blushing profusely. “Oh, no, Darcy. No, I do not mean I am to marry you. I refer to my engagement to Mr Joseph Sutherland.”
Darcy gaped at her in astonishment. “Mr Sutherland? You are engaged to marry your physician?”
Anne coloured more deeply, but the happiness radiating from her countenance could not be denied. “We are to be married next month.”
“But your mother!” he blurted ineloquently. “Lady Catherine cannot possibly support your being engaged to your physician! Forgive me, Anne. Excellent man though he is, you must admit Mr Sutherland’s position in society is hardly equal to her aspirations for you.”
The smile slipped from Anne’s face. “You mean his standing in society is very different from your own. I mean no disrespect, but Mr Sutherland suits me—nay, he complements me—in ways that you never have, nor ever will. Though I care for you, Cousin, I never desired to be your wife. That was my mother’s dearest wish, not mine.
While she spoke of nothing but her anticipation of our betrothal, I spent most of my life dreading it.
It was not until April last, when I saw how you looked at Miss Bennet with such admiration and yearning, that I finally understood I was safe from ever receiving your addresses.
When news of your engagement reached Rosings two days ago, I gathered my courage and revealed my heart to my mother.
As you can imagine, it did not go well.”
“No,” Darcy muttered sheepishly. “I would imagine it did not. I am sorry, Anne—exceedingly sorry—that you ever believed I would appease your mother in such a fashion. We ought to have spoken of it long ago. Lady Catherine must have been livid.”
“She was,” Anne admitted with no little emotion.
“She abused poor Mr Sutherland abominably, and she blames Miss Bennet for the entire business for having distracted you from your duty. I attempted to impress upon her the utter futility of her forwarding a match between us, but she refused to hear a word I uttered. She intends to remind Miss Bennet of the inferiority of her station and her circumstances in life and convince her to break her engagement to you. Mother is confident she will carry her point. Once you are free of Miss Bennet you will come to see the error of your ways and seek consolation with me. I will, of course, miraculously forget Mr Sutherland ever existed, and you and I will do our familial duty and wed, thereby uniting Rosings and Pemberley under one name.”
“That is utterly absurd,” Darcy declared, agitated and alarmed. “Even Lady Catherine cannot influence what is in a person’s heart!”
“She underestimates us,” said Anne with a stringent verity that startled all in the room.
“She underestimates Miss Bennet as well. She is a clever young woman and has far too much self-respect to permit herself to be worked on in such a manner. You have long been your own master, Darcy, and can well afford to marry whomever you choose. I am nine-and-twenty and the heiress to Rosings Park. I have the means to seek my own independence and marry whomever I desire as well. I intend to do exactly that, regardless of my mother’s opinion on the subject. ”
In all the time he had known Anne, Darcy had never heard her oppose her mother, or even so much as voice a difference of opinion.
He was stunned by her mettle, impressed by her speech, and in awe of her determination.
She would make a wonderful mistress of Rosings, if she and Mr Sutherland could only manage to banish Lady Catherine to the dower house.
“Well said, Anne,” Lady Carlisle told her with a mixture of haughtiness and pride.
“While I cannot deny I would have preferred to see you marry a wealthy heir to a large estate, a physician is hardly the worst you could do. Bring your Mr Sutherland to dine and I shall be pleased to make his acquaintance. Darcy will not object, will you, Nephew?”
“Mr Sutherland,” said Darcy, “is an excellent man and I welcome the opportunity to know him better. I assume from what you have related that Lady Catherine has not accompanied you to town, Anne. But dare I ask if Mr Sutherland escorted you?”
Anne flushed scarlet. “Mr Sutherland would not hear of me travelling with only a footman for protection, and Mrs Jenkinson was kind enough to accompany us. His sister and brother-in-law have a fine home in Curzon Street, where we plan to reside until our wedding. Mr Sutherland has left his practice in the hands of his associate, Mr Walker, for the time being. We will be married from Curzon Street at the end of January and then return to Rosings shortly thereafter.”
“And Lady Catherine remains at Rosings?”
“Oh,” she said dolefully, “that is the other matter I wished to mention. I am so sorry, but I am afraid my mother has already gone to Hertfordshire.”
Darcy paled. “To Hertfordshire? She would not dare!” But one look at Anne’s sympathetic countenance told him that Lady Catherine most certainly had dared to do just that and more. He strode to the window, slammed his hand upon the casement, and uttered an oath.
“Her efforts will amount to nothing,” said Fitzwilliam with far more confidence than Darcy felt. “As Miss Bennet is currently in London, she will never even see Lady Catherine until after she becomes Mrs Darcy. All will be well.”
“All will not be well, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy said in frustration.
“Elizabeth’s mother and two of her sisters are still at Longbourn.
Mrs Bennet is as stubborn and irrational as Lady Catherine!
Despite her initial awe of our aunt’s affluence and position in society, the two will certainly end up arguing and there will be no one of any sense there to intervene. ”
“Oh, surely, it will not be so bad as all that,” said Lady Carlisle.
He gave his aunt a pointed look and said grimly, “You have met Mrs Wickham. She does not take after her father.”
“Goodness,” muttered the countess, frowning into her teacup. “I had not given that a thought. How unfortunate. Your poor Miss Bennet, to have such interesting relations. We shall have to do something to improve upon their manners once you are married, her youngest sister especially.”
Darcy snorted. “I give you leave to do whatever you can to instil an ounce of sense into Mrs Wickham and wish you the very best of luck in your endeavour.”
Darcy breathed a sigh of relief as his hands encircled Elizabeth’s waist. They were blessedly alone for the moment, but were by no means alone in actuality, a fact Darcy had difficulty recollecting as Elizabeth’s fingers traced light, intricate patterns upon his waistcoat.
The hour was late—well after midnight—and they had been granted a few moments of privacy to say goodnight before Darcy departed for Brook Street.
Elizabeth had pulled Darcy into a little parlour at the front of the house her sister favoured during the day, where a bed of dying coals provided a warm, intimate setting.
All the way from the drawing room, Darcy could hear Caroline Bingley proclaiming her fatigue to the Hursts.
He shut his eyes and repressed an urge to utter a sarcastic retort under his breath.
The woman had done nothing but make herself disagreeable that evening, complaining about everything from the neighbourhood, to the house and its furnishings, to the number of courses, to Jane serving beef instead of fish for supper.
The new Mrs Bingley had borne it all with equanimity and grace, but Bingley had shot his sister a series of caustic looks throughout the night that did little to quell the flow of her commentary.
Even the Hursts appeared annoyed and embarrassed by her remarks—a first in Darcy’s experience.
Though he had been friends with Bingley for many years, and therefore thrown into company with his family for nearly as long, he was hard-pressed to recall a more unpleasant evening spent with Bingley’s youngest sister.
If not for Elizabeth’s presence, Darcy would have made his excuses and departed far sooner.
Now, it had grown so late he had little choice in the matter.
The thought of parting with Elizabeth pained him.
“Come home with me,” he whispered, enfolding her in his arms. “I will secret you away in my greatcoat pocket. Bingley will be none the wiser.”
She laughed at his silliness and slipped her arms around his neck.
“As tempting as your offer sounds, I believe propriety demands that I decline. Even if Charles did fail to notice my absence, which I highly doubt, you know my sister will not. No, sir, you must choose again, and choose well. ‘Like as the waves make towards the pebbl’d shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end’. ”
“‘Then give me one kiss’,” he replied feelingly, “‘and I will give it thee again, and one for interest, if thou wilt have twain’.”
With utmost tenderness, Elizabeth whispered, ‘“Touch but thy lips with those fair lips of thine’.” Before Darcy could oblige her, she stood on the tips of her toes and bestowed a soft, sensual kiss upon his lips that warmed him like a flame from within.
He met her with equal feeling as she stroked the side of his face and wound her fingers through his hair, deepening their kiss of her own volition.
With a surety that threatened to overwhelm him, Elizabeth traced Darcy’s ear with her fingertip, the line of his jaw, and the edge of his shirt collar.
She was not wearing gloves, and the moment her fingers dipped beneath the fabric and grazed the sensitive skin of his neck, Darcy found himself struggling to retain what little remained of his self-control.
He kissed her with an ever-increasing hunger while his hands explored her slender form with as much gentleness as he could bring to bear—her back, her shoulders, her waist. When his fingers teased the supple flesh along the neckline of her gown, then followed the column of her neck and sought the clutch of rich curls at her nape, Elizabeth gasped and moved to embrace him more fully.
Darcy stifled a groan as a shower of hairpins fell to the floor and several long, dark tresses tumbled free to brush against his hand.
He worked his fingers into her hair, pressing her against the wall as he kissed her with abandon.
With a ragged breath, he pulled her body flush against his, dragged his mouth along the curve of her neck, the smooth dip of her shoulder, and tasted the sweet, salty flavour of her pulse.
Somehow—Darcy hardly knew how—the sound of the Hursts and Miss Bingley bidding their hosts a good night in the drawing room registered in his lust-fuelled brain.
With a herculean effort, he removed his hands from Elizabeth’s body and his lips from her throat and tore himself away.
“Forgive me,” he rasped, reaching out a hand to steady her as she faltered, then righted herself against the wall.
He drank in her flushed countenance, her dishevelled hair, and the glazed look in her eyes as they both struggled to catch their breath.
Mrs Hurst’s bird-like laughter floated into the hall, prompting Darcy to act. “I must go. It is the last thing I want to do, but I am not fit to be seen and neither are you. Once again, my behaviour has been reproachable. I am so sorry.”
“Our behaviour,” Elizabeth whispered in earnest, blushing more deeply as she caught his hand and raised it to her lips. “I promise you I feel no regret, nor will I once you have gone. I love you so dearly.”
Her sincerity moved him as much as her proclamation of love, so much so that a lump formed in Darcy’s throat.
With difficulty, he swallowed it and said, “And I you. In six days, I shall show you how much.” He heard footsteps in the hall, and Bingley’s genial voice.
In no state to meet with Miss Bingley and the Hursts, or to engage in benign pleasantries with his hosts, he quickly pressed a kiss to Elizabeth’s lips, strode from the room, threw open the front door, and quit the house.
He dearly hoped she would be able to extract herself from the parlour before anyone saw her hair in such a state of dishabille.
If not, Bingley would likely be paying him a call in the morning that had nothing to do with being sociable.