Chapter 24 #2
The journey, despite her frequent orders that it be undertaken with all possible speed, seemed to her intolerably slow.
More than once she put her head to the window to urge greater haste, only to draw it back again in displeasure at the dust. Her coachman proved most disobliging, refusing to press the horses to the pace she deemed proper, and insisting that such exertion would occasion only greater delay, as they must then change horses more frequently—at an unnecessary expense—or drive them beyond their strength.
By the time they approached Meryton, her impatience had only increased, for the want of proper directions obliged her to submit to the indignity of enquiring of a passer-by—a necessity she found exceedingly vexatious.
When at last she arrived at Longbourn, Lady Catherine was thoroughly displeased and fatigued, nothing having proceeded according to her wishes.
Scarcely waiting for the footman to set down the step, she descended from the carriage with a haste that sat oddly upon a lady who prided herself on dignity, and, as she moved towards the house, cast a critical eye over it.
The house was well kept, though modest in size; its neatness might have recommended it to a less exacting observer. To Lady Catherine, however, it was merely sufficient—respectable enough for her parson, and rather finer than he might reasonably expect.
Yet as she passed round the carriage, her attention was arrested by another equipage standing in the yard.
She recognised it at once as belonging to her nephew, and paused, uncertain whether she ought to feel gratification at his presence, or resentment that he might interfere with her design of confronting Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Drawing herself up, she stepped back that her footman might knock, and waited to be admitted, expecting, as a matter of course, to be shown in and her request conveyed that she be granted a private audience with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet is not here,” said the servant who opened the door.
At this, Lady Catherine advanced a step, her voice rising with authority. “Then show me to my nephew, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. He must be here, for that is his carriage in the yard.”
“Mr Darcy is not here either, madam,” the servant replied. “He and Miss Lizzy were married yesterday and are now gone upon their wedding trip.”
For a moment, Lady Catherine did not speak. The certainty with which she had travelled—the conviction that she had only to appear in order to set everything to rights—seemed, for an instant, to falter.
“That cannot be possible,” she said at last, her voice rising despite her evident effort at composure. “Fitzwilliam Darcy is engaged to my daughter; no clergyman of sense or propriety would have married them.”
“Madam, I do not know who you are,” said the servant with respectful firmness, “but I can assure you they were married entirely proper, and that the rector satisfied himself of all particulars before granting the licence.”
From behind the servant came another voice, one that was most unwelcome.
“Aunt Catherine, what are you doing here? If you came to congratulate Darcy, you have arrived too late, for he is already married and most happily on his wedding trip. He and his bride intend to travel north, and Georgiana and I will follow them to Pemberley shortly.”
Lady Catherine was not pleased to hear her nephew’s voice—particularly not this nephew.
If Richard Fitzwilliam was here, then her brother was likely already aware of the marriage and had done nothing to prevent it.
She shot a glare at the servant, who at least had the good sense to scurry away, unlike the imperturbable servants at Matlock or Darcy House.
Still, Fitzwilliam remained where he was, standing between her and the house.
“Then I will follow him to Pemberley, and if he will not hear reason, I shall speak to your father. He can force the matter and demand that Darcy have his sham of a marriage annulled.”
Lady Catherine grew more irate still when her nephew laughed.
“My father knew Darcy’s intentions before he wed,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “Even if he had not approved, he knew Darcy to be his own man, under no obligation to him. He might have wished for a grander match, but he knew Darcy would not be dissuaded once he had made up his mind.”
“But Darcy is engaged to my daughter,” Lady Catherine insisted, quite heedless that she stood upon the very steps of a house she considered beneath her, displaying a disregard for propriety that would have startled any well-ordered household—though she herself appeared wholly insensible of the impropriety.
“He is not,” the colonel said, his calm tone only serving to irritate her further. “Darcy and Anne have both told you they did not wish to marry, but you chose to ignore them. My father has said the same, yet you have heard only what you wished.”
For a moment, they stood in silence, neither willing to yield to the other.
Lady Catherine drew a slow breath, then raised herself to her full height, as though she might, by sheer force of will, compel him to concede what reason would not.
“You may say what you please, nephew,” she returned, with increasing hauteur, “but I shall not be so easily satisfied. If Darcy will not be brought to reason here, he shall be made to hear it elsewhere. I will follow him to Pemberley and demand that he see sense.”
She turned at once, as though the matter were already settled, and moved towards her carriage, unwilling to remain where she had been so openly contradicted. Calling out an order to begin the journey to Pemberley, her carriage quickly departed from the yard.