by Jennifer Joy
Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to share in her glee. Entering the room behind his aunt, he only slightly attempted to conceal his large grin. His cousin, on the other hand, did not look amused in the least. Dark thunderclouds hung over Mr. Darcy and the sight of them made Elizabeth determined to behave herself.
Mother rose to receive them, curtsying so deeply and enthusiastically, she had to use the table to prop herself up before she landed unceremoniously on the floor at Lady Catherine's feet.
Lydia giggled, Father cleared his throat to conceal his reaction, and thus began what could only prove to be a call about which Elizabeth would laugh years from now. At that moment, however, the full gravity of her situation came crashing down around her along with the weight of Mr. Darcy's scowl.
Wobbling up to her feet, Mother had hardly asked Betsy to bring in the tea set (with a meaningful arch of the eyebrow to imply that the best china be used) when Lady Catherine crossed the room to stand in front of Elizabeth.
"You must be Miss Elizabeth," she accused.
Elizabeth met Lady Catherine’s glare with confidence as the great lady inspected her from head to toe. "I am."
Mr. Darcy stepped forward to interfere, to place irons on his aunt’s hands before she clawed her with her fingernails, or politely do what was most expected and perform introductions … Elizabeth would never know because he was interrupted.
"Are the rumors true? Have you used your feminine devices against my nephew in order to seduce him into an uneven marriage?"
The elderly woman’s acrid breath reeked of stale coffee.
Mr. Darcy boomed authoritatively. "Lady Catherine, I must insist you behave with the decorum expected from one of your station." He stepped forward to take his aunt's arm. Colonel Fitzwilliam stood at her other side. His smile was gone. Elizabeth was grateful the colonel did not wear his sword, nor any other weapon, for she believed Lady Catherine capable of running her through in the middle of her family’s parlor. Consequences be damned.
Lady Catherine trembled in her ire, small red veins running through the whites of her cold, gray eyes, reflecting the blood she wished to draw.
Father's smile, like the Colonel’s, had disappeared. Not even he could ignore the tension in the room. "Please, be so kind as to have a seat. We are pleased to welcome you into our home." This, he addressed principally to Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam in a quiet voice. A subtle cut, but a cut nonetheless. Well done, Papa!
As for herself, Elizabeth stood still and calm, seemingly unaffected by Lady Catherine's tirade. No one else could see how rapidly her heart beat against her ribs, nor would she give the lady the satisfaction of observing any reaction other than disinterested coolness.
The gentlemen flanked their aunt on the sofa nearest the fireplace, Lady Catherine going to great lengths to express her discomfort on the lumpy furniture with multiple sighs and huffs.
Betsy brought the tea tray in, the cups clattering against the saucers in her shaking hands, and Lady Catherine pursed her lips in disapproval when Mother poured. Nothing they could do would meet her impossible standards, but there was a silver lining in that knowledge. It made her criticism bearable — for if Elizabeth was certain of anything, it was that there would be criticism.
Mr. Darcy shifted his weight, accepting with a quiet mumble of gratitude the tea offered him.
Lady Catherine took a sip, wrinkled her hawkish nose, set her cup and saucer down on the table, and said, "You can be at no loss to understand my motive in paying a call."
Her narrowed eyes focused solely on Elizabeth.
"You are mistaken, your ladyship. I cannot fathom the purpose for your call unless you bear news of my father's cousin Mr. Collins. Is he well?" Elizabeth added a hint of a smile. She knew it would provoke Lady Catherine further, but she could not help herself.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam’s appreciation of her reply … even if Mr. Darcy did not. What was he thinking? He brooded in surly silence, but he sat forward on the sofa as if ready for action. As if he deeply regretted this call.
"You are an insolent girl. A country bumpkin too insignificant for anyone of worth to notice," observed Lady Catherine.
“Aunt Catherine,” Mr. Darcy warned.
The venomous words had no effect on Elizabeth, for she could not fail to appreciate their irony. She was not as insignificant as Lady Catherine supposed if her own nephew had taken notice of her.
Father cleared his throat. "My daughter possesses a strong character, earned through extensive reading on a variety of subjects. It is more than can be said for most young ladies who see no benefit to improving their minds as she has."
Elizabeth inwardly applauded her father's defense, even though she knew society would be shocked he took pride in having an intelligent daughter.
Lady Catherine clearly upheld society's views. "You would praise your daughter for making herself a bluestocking?" Turning to Mr. Darcy, she asked, "Are the halls of Pemberley to be thus polluted?"
Mr. Darcy rose, holding his hand out to assist his aunt up. To Father, he said, "I apologize, Mr. Bennet. We will take our leave immediately."
Father gaped at them.
To their credit, Elizabeth's sisters remained silent. Jane reached over to squeeze Elizabeth's hand, but Elizabeth knew her sweet sister would never engage in a confrontation unless she felt she could dissolve it. Her strengths lie in comforting after the damage had been done. But Elizabeth would need no comfort. She was too angry. She felt her nostrils flare out and her blood boil. Why had Colonel Fitzwilliam not worn his sword? ‘Twas a pity.
Lady Catherine looked at Mr. Darcy defiantly as Colonel Fitzwilliam rose and held his hand out expectantly to his aunt on the opposite side. She gave no indication of being willing to leave.
It was all Elizabeth could do not to burst out in laughter. The relief she felt knowing Mr. Darcy's family was as far from perfect as her own was tremendous. The image of him and the colonel carrying Lady Catherine out of the parlor by force, tossing her over their shoulders like a sack of potatoes, was precious. She would remember this moment every time she saw Lady Catherine (which she prayed would not be often).
Lady Catherine was spared a humiliating departure when Mother stood. With a calm composure Elizabeth had never seen in Mother’s possession (and which as a consequence shocked Elizabeth, her father, and her sisters) Mother said, "Elizabeth, you stay. Jane, Kitty, Mary, Lydia, would you be so kind as to go to the rose bush and select the finest blooms to adorn our table for dinner this evening? I want a word with Lady Catherine before she leaves Longbourn forever."
Only Lydia and Jane hesitated. Lydia, no doubt, because she wished to witness the dramatic comedy of errors playing in the parlor. Jane only closed the door behind her when Elizabeth nodded at her. She would be well. She could take care of herself before the likes of Lady Catherine. She was not certain Lady Catherine would fare so well before Mother.
The door clicked and Mother continued. "You come to my home, attack my daughter before even being presented, accusing her of being anything but honest with Mr. Darcy, and all the while belittling us with your sarcastic remarks. I understand you are under the false assumption that Mr. Darcy is engaged to another? Dare you question his honor to his face before witnesses?"
Elizabeth held her breath. What Mother said was bold and brave … and wonderful. However, it could not continue. Not with what she knew.
Lady Catherine was above answering questions which did not suit her. She lifted her chin and looked regally off to the side as if the conversation were too dull to participate in.
Mr. Darcy answered. "I am under no obligation to Miss de Bourgh. I would never pursue a courtship with another were I not free to do so."
Elizabeth had known it. But still her breaths came easier on its confirmation.
Lady Catherine whipped her face around to face him and commence a staring match from which neither of them would back down. “You have been engaged these many years
to Anne. It was agreed upon at her birth.”
Mother ignored her. "Of course not, Mr. Darcy. We know you to be an honorable gentleman and above such underhanded dealings."
A self-satisfied smile brought a happy flush to Mother's cheeks and she flicked her fan out, her wrists waving her accessory with a superior air. When a smile crept up one side of her mouth, Elizabeth saw the accusation coming. She had to try something.
“Is Miss de Bourgh well?” Elizabeth asked. Her question was met with silence.
Mother continued, "If Miss de Bourgh is engaged these many years to Mr. Darcy, why does she not appear? Is her health so poor, she cannot defend herself and must rely on her mother to arrange her affairs? Would the halls of Pemberley support such a weak mistress? My Lizzy will fight for the gentleman fortunate enough to win her heart. I pity you and your daughter if you think you can come here and intimidate her.” She closed her fan, smacking it against her palm.
Father set his untouched teacup on the table, not even noticing an open book was there. “Well put, my love,” he said, for once giving more attention to Mother than to his reading material.
Elizabeth was filled with both pride and shame. Pride in her Mother’s defense of her. Shame it had not been her father to do so in a more tactful manner. Pride in the rational argument Mother had presented, as well as her uncharacteristic use of sarcasm to prove her point. Shame at how effectively the rude comment had cut Mr. Darcy’s aunt. It was something Elizabeth would have said … only to wish it unsaid.
She felt Mr. Darcy’s eyes burning on her skin and looked up to meet his stare. She could not bring herself to pretend to be anything but what she was. Trapped in a tower of conflicting emotions between two fire-breathing dragons at cross purposes.
Chapter 8
Darcy wanted nothing more than to profess the ardor of his affection to Elizabeth. Had she not asked him for more time, he would have thrown caution to the wind and dropped down to one knee on the worn carpet in Longbourn’s front parlor. There was no room in his heart for anyone other than her. He appraised the mix of emotions fleeting across her face. He wished he could be more like her. A world of pride, embarrassment, and uncertainty — enough to fill a fashionable novel — could be read in her expression. She had not learned the necessity of disguise, a loathsome skill he despised, to mask her vulnerabilities. He prayed she never would.
Mrs. Bennet’s reply to Aunt Catherine had been deserved, and he could not fault her in saying it when a daughter of an earl who ought to be exemplary in deportment had acted abominably in a stranger's home. However, he did not wish for Miss Elizabeth to suffer for her mother's plain speech. She was no more responsible for her mother’s words and deeds than he was for his Aunt Catherine's.
But the uncertainty? Did Elizabeth doubt him? Or was she merely curious? An inquisitive mind such as hers would want to understand how such a misunderstanding had come about, how it had endured the passing of the years, and why his aunt would even consider a sickly young lady as a suitable wife for him. He, too, had questioned it. Until yesterday. Now, he understood completely. And it pained him. It would not change his future, nor his choice in a wife, but he would have to delay his happiness until he could do what he could for Anne. His honor demanded as much.
"I know of your daughter’s illness." Mrs. Bennet spoke the damning words softly, but their effect penetrated Darcy to his bones.
Aunt Catherine gasped before she composed herself.
Richard went completely still.
In a forcibly casual voice, Aunt Catherine asked, "What do you know of her illness? Mr. Collins has not bored you with the details of her concerns, has he?"
Mrs. Bennet's face was unchanged. Crossing her arms and tapping her fan against her arm, she said, "I know enough."
Did she really know? Darcy dared not react on the chance she knew no more than anyone else. Anne had always suffered from poor health. That fact was well-known. Could Mrs. Molly have revealed her secret? Why would she do so at the risk of her employment? He and Tanner had been agonizingly specific what the consequences would be….
Darcy would ask Elizabeth. If Mrs. Bennet’s words were merely a bluff, he could confide in her, trusting her to keep his family’s secret safe just as she protected Georgiana’s reputation and her sisters’ happiness.
"You know nothing," Aunt Catherine said, her unwavering glare focused intently on Mrs. Bennet.
Her intimidating look only encouraged the matron, who seemed to enjoy the attention and recently acquired power.
"I assure you, I do. However, I am able to keep a secret. All I ask in return for my silence is for you to keep your peace about this imaginary engagement between your daughter and Mr. Darcy. Let us leave the decision for Mr. Darcy to make."
It was not a bad idea, and Darcy had to admit to a small amount of admiration for how well Mrs. Bennet manipulated the situation for the advantage of her daughter. However, Aunt Catherine also acted on behalf of the best interest of her daughter. Two women with the same purpose, neither of them willing to back down until their goal was met. This could not end well.
As Darcy knew she would, Aunt Catherine balked. "The decision was made long ago. If Darcy refuses to honor it, he will have to live with the consequences."
Mrs. Bennet sucked air through her nose and sat back in her chair. "Then you leave me no choice but to spread word all over Meryton about Miss de Bourgh's illness. It is a marvel you have been able to keep it secret this long."
It was a marvel, but it explained so many things. Darcy searched Mrs. Bennet's face for any sign indicating a lack of confidence in her knowledge, but she was an excellent actress. And very convincing.
He took notice of Elizabeth again, but he only observed frustration. Had Mrs. Bennet confided her knowledge (if indeed she had any) to her?
Elizabeth turned her attention away from her mother to him. Their eyes met. How he wished he could speak with her alone. He would ask her directly about Anne, although from the way she chewed the corner of her lip and arched one of her eyebrows in a question mark, she was as uncertain as he was about what Mrs. Bennet knew. He would tell her. He would soothe her brow and explain the actions he must take so she would have no cause to doubt him.
Aunt Catherine pounded her cane against the floor, interrupting his flashing thoughts. Extending her cane and pointing it at Mrs. Bennet, she said, "The world would be a better place if you did not occupy space in it, madam. I curse the circumstances which brought you into my acquaintance and have determined to treat you as if you are dead to me. Nothing you can say against the Darcy family or the house of de Bourgh will stand. It will be your word against ours, and believe me when I tell you how badly you will fail. We are too far above your influence." She turned, offering no curtsy or words of departure to soften her threats.
Darcy pinched the back of his neck. It would take a miracle — or several sought-after antiquated tomes, of which Darcy was gratefully in possession — for Mr. Bennet to allow him to call at Longbourn after today’s disaster. Darcy had assumed Aunt Catherine would behave herself; that his presence when she called was preferable to her calling alone. He had underestimated her desperation.
Aunt Catherine was two paces from the door when it opened and more callers were announced.
"Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Hurst wish to know if the family is in," said the house servant.
Obviously, they were in. It would shock Darcy if they had not heard Aunt Catherine’s heated threats from the threshold. He hoped Mrs. Bennet had the grace to send them away.
When her cheeks turned red with pleasure and she clapped her hands together, Darcy groaned.
Gloating at Aunt Catherine, Mrs. Bennet instructed, "Please see them in. We always welcome our friends with open arms. And call my girls indoors. Mr. Bingley will want to see my beautiful Jane."
Aunt Catherine was forced to move out of the way when Bingley entered the room, looking as if he would rather be anywhere but where he presently was.
Lovely. All of her “favorite” people in the world were gathered in their crowded parlor. Elizabeth had never been in a room with so many uncomfortable people in it before. She was certain she would laugh about it at a later date. Much later, she was inclined to think.
Father jumped up from his chair, motioning for their newly arrived callers to have a seat and making Mr. Bingley feel all the more uncomfortable when he insisted that the young man take his chair. Rubbing his hands together and grinning, Father said, "Ah, more people! Welcome, welcome. This has been the most diverting afternoon, and I welcome you to join with us in the entertainments."
Was everything a parody to him? While Elizabeth could appreciate the humor in most situations, this most assuredly was not the time to laugh. Had not Lady Catherine threatened Mother's life only moments ago?
Mr. Bingley's pink face darkened to a brilliant shade of red and his eyes latched gratefully on to Jane when she entered the room.
"It is about time we were allowed indoors. It will be a miracle if we do not catch our death from a chill," complained Lydia, turning her back to their company (there being no wholly unattached gentlemen present to tempt her charm) and taking a place close to the fire.
Not everyone in the room was acquainted, although Elizabeth imagined Miss Bingley knew very well who Lady Catherine was. She would leave no important details such as that to chance. And so, it fell on Mr. Darcy to perform introductions. Which he did civilly.
With a sickeningly sweet smile and a breathy voice, Miss Bingley said, "Lady Catherine, it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance. You are spoken so well of in the highest circles, it truly is an honor."
Lady Catherine responded to her flattery with a queenly nod.
Mrs. Hurst continued, "And Miss de Bourgh? Is she well? We would so love to improve our circle by making her acquaintance."
Flattery softened Lady Catherine further. "She was fatigued from our recent travels and is resting at the inn in Meryton."