She huffed at him angrily and swept out of the room. Darcy followed her to the carriage, not out of deference but to make sure she left before she could insult any other member of the Bennet family. Once outside, he made as genuine an attempt to be conciliatory as his mood allowed: “If you had only come to me, Aunt, I would have listened to you and tried to assuage your concerns. But you had no right to go behind my back, nor to treat Miss Bennet so; she is a virtuous lady who has done nothing to earn your contempt.”
But Lady Catherine was not to be appeased by less than complete capitulation. “Mark my words, Darcy,” she snapped, “you will regret this day! You will regret the day you even laid eyes on that lowborn, conniving, flirtatious fortune hunter! You must not think to come to me then! Nor will you ever be welcome at Rosings while you have her with you.”
“Nor will you be welcome at Pemberley until you have learned to treat her with the respect she deserves as my wife,” he returned, containing himself with a strong effort. “I will thank you to remember in the future that this rift is of your making, and until you can be brought to understand how grievously you have wronged both myself and Miss Bennet, all further intercourse between us must be at an end.” He turned his eyes to the interior of the carriage, where Miss de Bourgh sat very pale. “My cousin is, of course, always welcome. Anne, Mrs. Jenkinson.” He nodded curtly. “I bid you good day. Lady Catherine, please accept my best wishes for your future health and happiness.”
Refusing to answer him, she accepted her footman’s assistance into the carriage, and very soon they were bowling down the drive. Darcy watched them go and turned back to the house, his most pressing thought being an overwhelming need for Elizabeth’s presence. Upon accosting Sally, the maid, he was informed that Miss Lizzy had gone upstairs to her room. “Will you please ask her to come down?” he said. “Inform her that I am waiting for her in the breakfast room. Also . . . ,” he let out a breath, “reassure her that Lady Catherine has left.”
Bemused, Sally did as she was bid, and he shut himself into the room in question, trying to calm himself. He had confidence in Elizabeth, in her strength and her faithfulness, but as he waited, that part of him that could never forget that she did not love him was afraid that his aunt might have, after all, succeeded to some extent, that by her abominable rudeness she may have caused Elizabeth to question her decision to marry him.
In her chamber, Elizabeth had also been trying to calm herself. She cared little for the opinion of Lady Catherine or her ilk, but never in her life had she been called such names or accused of such wickedness. The woman had actually tried to buy her off! Nor could she imagine what Mr. Darcy might be saying to her. She was, after all, his aunt—and her opinion of his consequence was not far off from his opinion of his consequence. She did not for a moment imagine that he would appear and suddenly break their engagement. He had been prepared for his family’s displeasure, and she did not doubt that he was too deeply in love anyway, but would he suffer from torn loyalties? Would he be more grieved over his aunt’s displeasure or hers? What mood would her complicated groom-to-be be in now?
She watched through the window as he brought Lady Catherine out, noting the obvious lack of cordiality between them. It was not a surprise when a minute or two later Sally knocked on her door to say that Mr. Darcy requested her presence in the breakfast parlor. She went down the stairs a little pale, her head aching slightly, and entered the room with a pounding heart.
Her reception was not what she expected. No sooner had she shut the door behind her than Darcy walked straight up to her and, without so much as a word, took her in his arms and began to kiss her urgently. It was as different from the last time he had kissed her as that had been from the first. Later, she would reflect to herself on the apparent different moods of kisses, but at that time that kiss—that hungry, demanding kiss—was too much for her. Whatever he was seeking from it, whether reassurance or comfort or a reminder of why he wanted her, she did not feel capable of giving it. Not in that way, after everything that had just happened. So she did what she had resolved not to do: She turned her face, twisted out of his grip, and walked away. Behind her she could hear Darcy’s ragged breathing and feared he was going to be angry. But all he said, after a long minute or two, was, “Forgive me. I forgot myself.”
Afraid that if she spoke she would cry, she said nothing. Then he was beside her, taking her hand gently. “You are not well. Will you not sit down and let me send a servant for a glass of wine?”
She let him lead her to a chair but nodded silently at the sideboard, where he saw a decanter and some glasses. He brought her some of the red wine and sat in the chair beside her as she sipped it, watching her gravely. “I am afraid my aunt’s rudeness distressed you very much.”
She set the glass down on the table and looked him in the eye. “She wanted to give me money.”
That this intelligence shocked him was obvious. “What?”
“Your aunt offered to pay me to ‘take my talons out of you.’”
“My dear girl!” he exclaimed. “I had no notion. Even of Lady Catherine I can hardly believe it.”
“Neither can I, but it is the truth. She had a bank draft ready to be made out in my name, in the amount I specified.”
He stood up, clearly agitated. “I do not know what to say.”
“Will you tell me something?”
“Of course.”
“Was there ever a time you contemplated marrying your cousin?”
He gave her a startled glance. “Anne?”
“I assume you have no other cousins who might be expecting an offer of marriage from you?”
“Of course not! Nor should Anne have been expecting one. I never gave her any reason to do so.”
“Your aunt seemed to believe otherwise.”
“My aunt is—” He bit back a word and took a moment to gather himself. “My aunt is a stubborn woman,” he said more quietly, “who does not accept disappointment easily.”
“I noticed.”
“I am sorry that you should have borne the brunt of her anger.” He came to sit back beside her and take her hand. “I have made attempts, in the past, to convince her that her expectations were in error, but I was unwilling to force a break with her to do so.”
“And now?”
“Now she has broken with me,” he said firmly. “I will not allow you to be treated so by anyone, even my family.” He caressed her cheek. “Are you better? You will suffer no lasting effects from the encounter?”
She laughed lightly and stood up. “Indeed not. I am not such a poor creature as that! Your aunt had no power to crush me.”
“So I observed.” He smiled at her. “You were positively fierce.”
“I am afraid I was not as polite as I could have been.”
“I do not think it would have mattered. Her anger was not personal, as much as her words were.”
“Tell me, sir.” She decided to be saucy and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Will there be many ladies in London whose anger will be similarly impersonal when I make my bow to society?”
He colored slightly, but she could see that he was relieved by her return to impertinence. “If there are, they will have as little justification for their anger as my aunt has for hers,” he replied firmly.
“I do not doubt it.” Just then, Mrs. Bennet came knocking at the door, wondering most inquisitively what could have happened with the great Lady Catherine, who had departed before she had even had a chance to be introduced to her. She was rather indignant at the fact and would have straightaway launched into blaming Lizzy for keeping her all to herself if she had not seen Mr. Darcy in the room.
Lady Catherine’s visit had shaken Darcy more than he wanted to admit. It was not only the intolerable impropriety of her behavior (which rather threw anything anyone in the Bennet family had ever done in the shade). It was also the uncomfortably close resemblance between her attitude towards Elizabeth’s situation and his own. He had assessed—oh, not
her personally, but her value in terms of suitability, in very much the same way Lady Catherine had. He had been nearly as indignant as she at the idea, and if he had not been under the sway of the most violent affections, he would never have laid his objections aside as he had. Even his opinion of Elizabeth’s behavior at Rosings had been similar to hers: He, too, had believed her to be flirting with him, to be wishing to entice him.
It was not a thought that made him comfortable; instead he dwelt indignantly on his aunt’s insults and on her officious, high-handed interference. He took great satisfaction in refuting in his own mind the charges she had laid against them both, especially Elizabeth. He dwelt on every proof of that lady’s virtue, her disinterestedness, her lack of cold ambition or mercenary tastes. He thought, though with less pleasure, of the indifference with which he had treated his cousin Anne for the last half a dozen years, of the times when he had hinted to Lady Catherine that she should not plan on his marrying her. She should have known—she would have known if she had been but willing to accept it—that he was not going to be her son-in-law.
Over the next few days his mind returned often and uncomfortably to the encounter. Although he did not actually speak much more to Elizabeth’s family, when Mrs. Bennet said something particularly foolish he found himself unable to censure her as strongly as he had in the past.
Chapter Thirteen
The Bennets were seated at breakfast a day or two later when the servant brought in a note for Lydia. This damsel snatched it up eagerly. “Oh, look, it’s from Harriet Forster! I declare, she’s the dearest friend I ever had! And if only Papa would let us go to Brighton for the summer, I wouldn’t have to give her up!—I shall cry for days when she goes, I’m sure I shall.”
Her mother clucked sympathetically, but her father deigned to do no more than raise a single sardonic eyebrow. Lydia opened the letter, read it quickly, and shrieked with delight.
“Oh, Mama, look! Harriet has invited me to spend the summer with her as her especial guest! I shall go to Brighton after all!” She stood up from her chair and did a jubilant jig.
“What about me?” demanded Kitty immediately.
“Oh, heavens, no—why should she have invited you? I’m her particular friend!”
“Mama!” she cried. “I ought to go, not her! I’m two years older!”
“Now, now, dear, we can’t make Mrs. Forster invite you! To be sure, it would have been a fine thing if she could have taken both you girls, but just think, Lydia! A whole summer in Brighton, with the militia! Oh, I would have given my eyeteeth for such an adventure when I was your age!” She waved a handkerchief before her face.
“And we shall go to balls and parties, and I shall dance every dance with only the handsomest officers! I’ll have so many beaux, and then when I’m tired of flirting with all of them, I’ll pick the one I want and come back married!”
Mrs. Bennet cheered this plan of action immediately, while Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes, Kitty burst into tears, Mary frowned, Jane sighed, and Elizabeth looked on in the greatest distress. She felt—she truly felt that her youngest and brashest sister should not be allowed to go to Brighton with no better company than the frivolous Mrs. Forster and officers who liked to steal kisses, but she could see that there would be no one to oppose it here. Waiting for a pause in the noise, she said clearly, “But you cannot go to Brighton. You have to stay here and attend my wedding.”
Silence fell over the table as six pairs of eyes peered at her. Obviously it had not occurred to anyone that Lizzy would care whether or not Lydia attended her wedding. “Pooh!” said Lydia first. “What do I care for your wedding next to officers?”
“Now, Lydia . . . ,” murmured Mrs. Bennet uncertainly.
“It would be very proper for Lydia to attend Lizzy’s wedding,” said Jane, coming to her support. “Of course she wants all her sisters about her.”
“The outward display of family unity must symbolize to all present the purity and respectability of the bride as she comes to bind herself in the sacred ceremony,” added Mary.
No one paid attention to that.
“But why should I have to miss an entire summer at Brighton just to stay here for two extra weeks? It’s completely unfair! Mama! Say I don’t have to!”
“I’m sure I don’t know why you could not go join them in Brighton after the wedding! Surely, Mr. Bennet, she could do that, couldn’t she?”
“By all means, Mrs. Bennet! I daresay a journey of two days may be undertaken by a young gentlewoman alone without a second thought. I do not know why I do not send the lot of them off on their own every summer.”
“Oh, you do like to vex me, Mr. Bennet! Why should Lydia not go? If you don’t like for her to travel alone, then you should take your family. Lydia may stay with Mrs. Forster, and Lizzy will be married, so there will only be the five of us. And perhaps Mary might prefer to stay here with my sister if she does not like the notion. You could not object to that, surely! Not be willing to take two such lovely girls as Jane and Kitty to the sea shore? Why, if we are fortunate we could have them all married or engaged before the summer is out!”
Elizabeth could see from her father’s expression that he had no intention of carrying out that plan. She believed he was inclined to let Lydia go though because of the peace it would afford him at home. At least her mother seemed to view a wedding as sufficiently important to command the whole family’s attendance. “Mama! I want Lydia to stay for my wedding!”
“But why should I stay?” demanded Lydia indignantly. “I think it’s the unkindest thing ever for you to ruin my treat like that! You’ll be rich and grand soon enough; what do you care if I’m in Brighton enjoying myself?”
Clearly, Mrs. Bennet was wavering. “We wouldn’t want to offend Mr. Darcy.”
“Or his family,” put in Jane.
It was on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue to suggest that Colonel Fitzwilliam and other eligible parties from his side of the family might be present, but she realized immediately that she would be ashamed for Darcy to ever hear that she had said such a thing, and so she restrained herself. Then Mr. Bennet seemed to put flight to all her hopes. “Now, now, Lizzy, you can surely do without one of your sisters. You have three others to attend you. No one will think you lacking in sisters.” He chuckled. “In fact, I think your wedding will be rendered all the more sensible by Lydia’s absence.”
Perfectly impervious to this insult, Lydia crowed, “See, Papa says I may go, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me! Don’t worry!” She danced about exultantly. “I’ll be sure to give your regrets to Denny and Carter and Wickham, Kitty!”
“It’s not fair!” wailed Kitty. “Why does Lydia always get what she wants and I never do? She shouldn’t even be out yet! If anyone should get to go to Brighton, it’s me!”
Assiduously avoiding his second daughter’s reproachful gaze, Mr. Bennet buried himself back in his morning paper. Mrs. Bennet, apparently considering the matter settled, said, “Well, well, it would be very hard for the dear child to give up her summer to your wedding, Lizzy. I do not blame you for wishing her to be there, but I’m sure no one in his family will think it strange that we let her go. It’s very natural, after all. Dear Lydia! Such high spirits! I was exactly the same when I was her age!”
The only ones who seemed to enter into Elizabeth’s feelings on the matter were Mary and Jane; but since Mary’s disapproval was not heeded and Jane was too tender-hearted to express her opinions with any strength, she did not feel she had any help. Why, oh, why did her father have to undermine her like that, just when she almost had her mother persuaded?
The moment breakfast was over, she followed him into his library to argue her case some more. “Papa!” she exclaimed. “How can you let her go like that? Do you not see how much opportunity she will have to engage in even further improprieties than she usually does? She is already a determined flirt, but she will grow even worse, and you cannot imagine that Mrs. Forster will check her in any way!”
He sighed. “My dear, Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place, and I shall have no peace at all over the summer if I do not let her go. Colonel Forster is a sensible enough man to keep her out of real harm, and she is too poor to be the object of fortune hunters. Come now, you cannot tell me you really want her present at your wedding breakfast, flirting with every unattached man in sight and making our entire family appear ridiculous to your new relations?”
No, Lizzy could not say that she did, but she held to her point. “If you do not check her behavior now, she will become quite beyond any amendment,” she insisted. “She will never be able to be in any company at all without appearing wholly vain, ignorant, and uncontrolled. She will be an embarrassment, not only to us but to all our connections!”
“What, are you afraid your Mr. Darcy might be frightened off by her foolishness? I am sure that he knew what she was before he proposed to you! Or is it that his grand family will be ashamed of his having married you on her account? I would not care for the opinion of such if I were you, Lizzy. You will learn soon enough that the rich like to think themselves better than others, but they are just as capable of folly and meanness as any.”
“How can I not think of the humiliation it will be to him to acknowledge such an intimate connection with a woman such as she is becoming? She will be slighted and censured by everyone who sees her!”
“Then I advise you to keep her away from your wedding. After all, you need not invite her to visit you afterwards if you do not wish it; I, certainly, would be the last to blame you.”
And so her father was not to be moved. As Elizabeth came out of the library, she could still hear Lydia, chattering on in her ecstasy in the next room, punctuated by angry cries from Kitty and Mrs. Bennet’s cheerful prattle. Just then, the front doorbell rang.
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 19