THE ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE SOCIETY column of The Times , proclaiming to the world the engagement between Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire and Professor Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, was published the following day. It was the source of much discussion and amazement in the breakfast rooms of the elite, and a collective sigh of despair could be heard from every match-making mother and single young lady of suitable age in the city. The chatter was everywhere: Who was this girl? Had anybody heard of the family? Someone’s sister’s brother-in-law had seen Darcy with some girl at the theatre—might it have been her? Was she a great beauty? Exceedingly wealthy? The buzz would not cease.
The one man in town who did not read the announcement was, by a twist of fate, George Wickham. After his tryst, after he had returned Caroline Bingley to her carriage, her hair perhaps not quite as perfect as it had been before, her frock slightly in disarray but unnoticeable under her cloak, he had chanced to come upon an old friend from the gaming tables some years back. A gab on the pavement near the entrance to the park became a longer gab at the Fox and Firkin over some good ale, followed by an impromptu journey out of town to where the horses were being prepared for the first race of the season.
Ale and brandy were consumed in quantity and money was wagered and lost even more liberally, and by the time Wickham returned to his rooms in London three days later, his purse empty and his head full and pounding, the immediate ado over Darcy’s engagement had subsided, to be replaced by some scandal from the palace and a rather cryptic article about the Duke of S’s wife and the Earl of P and some unusual event at the recent races.
It was two days after this that Wickham’s head and stomach had settled sufficiently for him to contemplate a visit to his usual drinking spot, and at last, he finally the news.
“D’ye hear the news, Georgie boy? Yer old pal, Darly or sompin’ like dat, he’s gettin’ hisself leg-shackled!” Wickham knew the man only as Higgins; he was some ten years Wickham’s senior, a retired petty naval officer on half-pay, and a regular denizen of the tavern. Although often somewhat in his cups, the man was usually clean and well-enough dressed that he was not to be thought of as a complete reprobate. Mrs. Higgins, whoever she might be, took some care of her wastrel husband, it was clear. Wickham had spent many an evening relating his tale of woe to all who would listen, and Higgins, a good-seeming soul behind his drunkenness, was happy to listen. In turn, he had told his own story, dwelling on the battles he had seen and the final assault on his ship that had left him with his injury, but Wickham had not bothered to pay more attention than was needed to nod, frown, or comment suitably. This was one of Wickham’s most valuable skills, he considered: the ability to listen only to what he felt was important, whilst leaving the appreciation of the details and specifics to those whose smaller intellects might need them. A smart man such as he could always supply the details from his imaginings, if ever they were needed.
Taking his flagon over to the table where Higgins sat, Wickham grabbed a chair and placed himself upon it. The man’s news intrigued him. “Darcy, you say?”
“Aye,” came the affirmation.
“Getting married! Well, this is news indeed! Tell me what you know. I have been out of… town for some days, and had missed this item!” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the low wooden table, bracing himself above his ale, encouraging his companion to speak.
Always happy to relate gossip, Higgins grinned, belched, and threw back a large gulp of his own ale, before relating all of his meagre information. “‘Twas in the newspapers some days back—yesterday, day b’fore, p’rhaps. I didn’ read it none meself, but I done hear the nobs talking.” The tavern was a fairly respectable spot, as often frequented by gentlemen on their way to some slightly unsavoury entertainment or gaming house as by the more presentable of the underclasses, such as Higgins. Its location, just off the streets that housed more acceptable establishments, with its not-quite-reputable character, allowed these ‘nobs’ the conceit of feeling they were bashing at the walls of society, living rough, and taking wild risks, all the while never really leaving the safety of their fashionable part of town. It was, in short, a marvellous place to hear gossip.
“So, as I was sayin’” Higgins continued, “these nobs was talkin’ ‘bout yer man, Darcy, being engaged for a shackling, and how the other one’s sister had best start lookin’ elsewhere, as should everyone else’s.”
Wickham suppressed a snicker. Caroline had said nothing at all about this, the little minx! Had she known he would ask when they last met? Or had it been so inconsequential to her, in the light of being with him, George Wickham, that she had not thought to comment? Oh, how Darcy would suffer! “What do you know of the girl?” Wickham asked, feeling he should make the appropriate inquiries, all the while celebrating his triumph.
“Some little thing from the country, they was sayin’. Father or brother or someone has an estate out not too far from Town. She must be sompin’ mighty pretty to catch his eye like that, and mighty wealthy too! From all ye’s said of the man, he wouldn’t let hisself go for less than his sister’s dowry.”
“Then let us raise a glass to him, Higgins,” Wickham proclaimed with all good cheer. This was certainly Caroline. His Caroline, the woman he had tumbled only short days before, and whom he would have again, and again, before her wedding… and if he had his luck, even after! Ah, yes, at last things were going his way!
Plans for the ball which would introduce Elizabeth into London society as the future wife of Fitzwilliam Darcy were, by necessity, delayed due to the requirement for the lady to attend her sister’s wedding. Mary was, at long last, to wed her cousin, Mr. Collins, after which she would remove to his home at Hunsford in Kent. By a great coincidence, the sort of which was most often expected in novels, but which occur in actual life with a frightening regularity, the living which Mr. Collins held was under the patronage of none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, aunt to Darcy, Richard and Freddy, sister to the Earl of Malton. It was Lady Catherine’s daughter whom Darcy most specifically did not desire to marry, hence his scheme with Elizabeth.
Therefore, it was not considered unusual or unexpected for Darcy to accompany his betrothed to her home in Hertfordshire, where he would reside at Bingley’s still-abandoned estate. For the sake of propriety, the couple were accompanied on their journey by Mrs. Pearce and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had made several pointed comments about looking ever-so-forward to revisiting some former acquaintances in Hertfordshire. Lizzy pretended that she did not realise he was talking about Charlotte Lucas, but she also knew, by off-hand comments and questions about her childhood, that he had not stopped thinking about her friend during the last months in London.
The journey from London to Longbourn was not long: a mere half day in Professor Darcy’s large and comfortable carriage saw the party sitting comfortably in the Bennets’ sunny front parlour, awaiting tea and biscuits. The professor had insisted upon requesting permission of Lizzy’s father concerning their engagement, even though the older gentleman had reluctantly agreed when the plan was first conceived, and even though the announcement had gone out in the newspapers the week before. Afterwards, Darcy related to her in whispered tones the essence of the interview. “Your father seemed quite perplexed at my request,” he stated with maddening equanimity. “He granted his second permission easily enough and was almost friendly, offering me brandy, but then he reiterated his threat, namely that I should never sleep easily again were I to hurt you in any way.” He sipped at his tea, his eyes fixed on some distant and invisible point. “Why on earth should he think that of me?”
The Bennets were all agog at the transformed Elizabeth. Jane, who was by now accustomed to Lizzy’s new speech and manners, was not able to attend the wedding, citing some minor ailment that had all the ladies whispering and tittering in corners; thus there was no one to deflect attention from the phenomenon of the New Elizabeth Bennet. Mary exclaimed at her tales of visiting the museums and the libraries and asked what services were like at Professor Darcy’s church. Lydia, echoed by Kitty, gushed and cooed over her gown and bonnet. “Oh, Lizzy, is that silk? Not just the bodice, but the skirt too? Do you wear any muslin at all? How many yards of ribbon are there on the skirt? Look at those tiny satin flowers. Each one would take me a day to make. Is there any lace left at all in the shops after what’s gone into this dress? Does everyone wear yellow in Town?”
Mrs. Bennet looked pleased to have her daughter back with her, but perhaps more to triumph over her that it was Mary, two years younger, who was being married, and not Lizzy herself. The matron cast an envious eye at the beautiful frock her daughter wore, and at her finely made pelisse and bonnet, but commented only on her daughter’s deportment. “Well, aren’t you the high and mighty one now, Lizzy, sounding like a fine lady and acting too good for the rest of us with your society manners? I’m sure we aren’t nearly good enough for the likes of you anymore, are we?” It was only much later that she offered her begrudging congratulations to Lizzy and Darcy, well after the latter’s interview with Mr. Bennet, when the engagement was announced. “I’m sure you’ll be happy in his large estates. Think of the pin money you’ll have, and the fine carriages! Do you think Lady Grant will now sponsor Kitty and Lydia for a season instead of you, for you hardly need one now!”
Surprisingly, it was Mr. Collins himself who broke the tension building in the room with a suggestion for a walk. “The weather is fine, most fine today. Even my noble patroness, the honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would declare that this is as fine a day as ever she has seen, and I would not be ashamed to be seen with my bride and her three beautiful sisters.”
Indeed, it seemed to Lizzy that she was not the only one to have changed over the past few months. Now that he had found a lady well suited to him and equal to him, Mr. Collins had improved noticeably. He still scattered carefully constructed compliments before him like breadcrumbs before a flock of pretty birds, but they were strewn out of habit and not out of a need to ingratiate himself before everyone. His silly and pompous tone was somewhat more sedate and considered, and more than once, Lizzy saw her sister murmur something into his ear, immediately after which he would blush a furious red and then correct whatever behaviour it had been that had drawn her ire. He would never be a clever or a well-considered man, but under Mary’s quiet tutelage, he might be a tolerable one, and he would be, by all appearances, good for her and good to her. It was a most satisfactory alliance!
The day was, in fact, quite lovely, and the stroll under the blue and cloudless sky soon drew the small gathering down the lane towards Meryton. Lydia and Kitty hurried on ahead, hoping to see some of the officers in their red coats about town. The two girls had been most unhappy to have been kept to the house in preparation for the weddings whilst the militia officers were still arriving in town and before their serious training had begun. Although they had been unable to meet any of the dashing young men, they might still look and enjoy the sights. Mary and her future husband walked sedately after them, and Lizzy could hear Mr. Collins as he commented ceaselessly over the blossoms, the height of the corn, the straightness of the hedgerows or the particularly precise flight of the birds in the area as she walked behind him, with Richard on one side of her and Fitz Darcy on the other.
Unsurprisingly, Charlotte was waiting as they walked into town. She must have been alerted by the noisy arrival of the two youngest Bennet sisters, for she had donned her own bonnet and walking boots before leaving her home. She greeted Lizzy with a great embrace, then turned to the gentlemen and curtseyed.
“Professor Darcy,” she greeted him with civil politeness, although her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Then she turned to the colonel and her face began to glow. Her cheeks blushed a becoming pink and her eyes sparkled as they echoed the pleased and shy grin that took control of her mouth. Lizzy thought she looked almost pretty. “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she dropped a slightly lower curtsey, and rose to find Richard beaming back at her. Lizzy fought valiantly to suppress her own grin at this silent conversation.
Charlotte pulled her attention away from the colonel and focused it once more upon her friend. “How fine you look, Lizzy! How elegant. Oh, do let me hear you speak! I long to hear what the professor has taught you!” With a laugh, Lizzy obliged as they wandered slowly down the high street, and some minutes were spent in amazement and delight at the transformation. When Lizzy mentioned her engagement to Darcy, the delight was even greater, and the conversation was moved to the small drawing room at Lucas House.
They sat for a short time before Mary suggested it was time to return for dinner, a comment repeated in the most elaborate terms by Mr. Collins.
As they stood to depart, Richard whispered a request to Lizzy, and she nodded. “Charlotte,” Lizzy turned to her friend, “we would be honoured if you would accompany us back to Longbourn and dine with us this evening. I fear poor Colonel Fitzwilliam will find no sensible conversation amongst any other member of our present company.” She glanced at the colonel, who in turn winked teasingly at Darcy.
Charlotte accepted immediately and ran up to dress. Lizzy smiled at her friend’s fortune, but wondered how the countess would accept her son’s choice. As an officer in the regulars, Richard drew a respectable salary—not one that would suffice for a lady of his rank, but more than enough for the comfort of a sensible woman like Charlotte, accustomed as she was to her father’s modest income. However, should he wish to sell his commission, as he might well do upon taking a wife, he would then be reliant upon his family’s charity or his wife’s own fortune. There was no purpose to be gained in finding trouble, however, and Lizzy was determined that her friend enjoy whatever friendship Richard might offer her. Taking a moment when they were left in some privacy, Lizzy whispered into Darcy’s ear, “You may have a new student before long.” He frowned at her and said nothing.
Dinner was pleasant. The Bennets cooed at Lizzy’s new manners and speech, and even Professor Darcy proved himself to possess the social graces that he so proudly taught to his students. When, at last, he and his companions from Netherfield departed, taking Charlotte in the carriage to drive her home, the family at Longbourn at last sat together to talk over the evening.
“He is improved, I believe.” Mr. Bennet pursed his lips in grudging approval. “He has mellowed these past several weeks. He was always a decent sort underneath it all, but did I detect less arrogance than before?” He sipped from a small glass of sherry and sat back to observe how his family would take his pronouncement.
“La! I believe you are right, Papa,” Lydia exclaimed. “I had not noticed particularly, but he did not scowl at me more than once or twice this entire evening!”
“And he entered into pleasant conversation,” added Kitty. “I did not think him at all interested in bonnets, but he knows rather a lot about them. He even told me he wished to purchase one for his sister and asked for my advice! Can you believe it?”
“It is vexing to have the trouble of so much company,” Mrs. Bennet yawned from her chair, “but it is satisfying when they are such pleasant people. The colonel is such a friendly man, quite unexpected of one with his breeding. You would think him too good for the likes of us, but he is not at all proud. And as for Mr. Darcy…” She ignored Lizzy’s whispered correction to “Professor,” “Well, he behaved tolerably, I suppose.” She smiled at her little joke and murmured something about heading up to her rooms.
Something about their approval made Lizzy smile. She had enjoyed Darcy’s company these last few days, and her family’s approbation meant more to her than she would have expected. Also unexpected was her reaction to his departure this evening. For so long, she had been with the man from dawn till dark, that now she felt his absence quite keenly. It was only three miles from Longbourn to Netherfield, equal to the distance between Cheapside and Mayfair, but it felt an endless chasm. She had grown so accustomed to his constant presence that without him there, prodding and correcting her, she felt a part of her was missing. With a shock, Lizzy realised that she missed the annoying man! Perhaps, she joked to herself, she ought to consider his proposal more seriously after all!
Mary’s wedding, one week later, was a lovely event. If the weather was not quite up to Lady Catherine’s standards, it was merely because the grand lady herself were not there to so command it. Nevertheless, the sky was passably blue, with enough wind to rustle the blossoms that had begun to adorn the trees, and with the threatening rain kindly holding off until much later in the day, after everybody had returned to the safety and warmth of his or her abode.
The ceremony was followed by a spectacular breakfast that even Professor Darcy complimented, leaving Mrs. Bennet beaming, after which the newlywed couple were waved off on the first part of their journey. Tonight they would stop in London; on the morrow they would continue on to their home at Hunsford in Kent.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were fortunate enough to be able to attend their niece’s wedding and had arrived at Longbourn the day previous. Their plan, as agreed to by Mr. Bennet, was to depart the following afternoon, bearing with them Elizabeth, to continue her preparations for her life in London, and presumably, to become suitably established in society to become Mrs. Darcy.
Darcy’s party had also arranged to depart the following afternoon, all the travellers hoping to reach London long before nightfall. As the day progressed, Lizzy observed Charlotte’s face growing longer as the hours passed, moving them closer and closer to Richard’s departure.
“’Tis a pity they must part so soon,” she commented to her aunt as they walked through the small rose garden. “They have become good friends.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes followed the two as they, too, wandered through the gardens. “They might wish to become more than that, I believe.”
“It cannot be, for the colonel has no income of his own, and Charlotte no fortune.”
Her aunt gave a chuckle and smiled with her eyes. “Stranger things have been known to happen, Lizzy!”
It was to Lizzy’s delight, then, that Aunt Gardiner extended an invitation to Charlotte to accompany the party back to London for a short visit. Richard was at her side when the offer was extended, and his smile was almost wider than Charlotte’s. Within moments, a note was written and a message sent to Lucas Lodge, with the hopes that permission would be granted and that Charlotte’s trunks would be ready for her by the time the carriages were set to depart.
The final arrangements were made to everybody’s satisfaction. In one carriage—the finer of the two, drawn by a matched set of fine horses—sat Darcy, Richard, Lizzy and Charlotte; in the other—sturdy and serviceable, with unmatched but still strong and fine horses—sat the Gardiners and Mrs. Pearce, as well as Darcy’s valet. The ladies had become friendly over the weeks of Lizzy’s tutoring, and if the men had objections, they were not voiced.
Plans to arrange and host a ball were further delayed by the news that Darcy was needed, as he seemed to be more and more each passing year, by his aunt Catherine to assist in the planning of estate business for the coming year. Whether Lady Catherine was increasingly unable to manage her estate herself, or whether she would grab at any excuse to get Darcy within close enough proximity to her daughter to offer for her at last, no one knew. The summons, however, was quite unambiguous: Lady Catherine required Darcy’s assistance, and only Darcy would do.
“She is being ridiculous!” the professor sneered at dinner the day he received the summons. He was dining with his noble aunt and uncle, having been dragged there most unceremoniously by Richard after the latter heard the explosion of oaths and curses that the letter had occasioned. He swallowed far too large a mouthful of wine, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then sheepishly, reached for his napkin to repeat the action in a more polite manner. “Every year I am ordered hence to Rosings, and every year I arrive to discover that her steward had already performed the task more than adequately. There is always one more thing requiring my attention, thereby preventing my return home, and not a single one of these matters is actually important at all. She only wishes to command my time. I shan’t go!”
The earl looked over at his nephew and delicately sipped from his own crystal glass, demonstrating how the action ought to be performed. “Now, Fitz, she is your aunt, your own mother’s dear sister…”
“And yours, sir, unless my grandparents deceived me.” He earned a disapproving glare for that comment, but continued blithely. “And yet, I do not see you rushing out to Kent to help convince the old lady of her mistaken ways.”
“Darcy…” his aunt warned. “Have some respect!”
“Aunt Patricia, were I not to have respect, these walls would melt for the brimstone my words would evoke from the netherworld. She cannot force me to attend her; even less can she force me to attend to Anne. My cousin is not my choice for a bride, nor will she ever be, but Aunt Catherine sees only as far as her desire for Pemberley takes her.”
Lord Malton raised his eyebrows and rolled his blue eyes heavenward, then conducted an intense but completely silent conversation with his wife, who sat across the table from him. At length, having received her tacit advice and permission to speak his decision, he turned back to his nephew. “Darcy,” he sighed, “you shall accommodate her one last time. I shall send her word that after this year, I personally shall endeavour to send my own most trustworthy man of business to oversee her affairs. This will relieve you of the obligation into the future. However, we have not time to set this course of action into being so close to the date, and so you must go. You may also tell your aunt that she is to give up hopes of a union between you and Anne. Surely she must have read the announcement of your engagement. Wave Miss Bennet’s success under her nose if you will. I know my sister, and nothing less than a fait accompli will convince her to look elsewhere for poor Anne.”
“If it is a fait accompli she desires, nothing short of ten years wedded bliss and a nursery full of heirs will set her to rights,” he grumbled to himself, but accepted his fate this one last time with more mumbled epithets and curses. Then, suddenly brightening, he turned to his cousin and purred, “And Richard shall join me! Think, Richard—a few weeks in the country! ‘Twould be charming, and the air would be fresh!”
“A few weeks in the country? With that woman?”
“In the flesh.” Darcy’s mouth turned down at the notion, but quickly he returned to his initial glee. “Think, Richard: perhaps Eliza can be induced to visit her sister at the parsonage there, and if Eliza goes, she may wish for her friend’s companionship. Yes, by gum, it just might do!”
Consequently, a week later, just before Easter, the fine Darcy carriage was once again on the road, transporting Elizabeth, Charlotte, Richard and Darcy through the greening hills south of London towards Rosings, Lady Catherine’s grand estate in Kent. The distance was not long, and a half a day’s journey saw the travellers delivered to their destination.
It was deemed unreasonable to expect the newlywed Mary Collins to host two guests in her home, which she had just now begun to set up with her new husband whilst adjusting to her role as the parson’s wife in the community. Darcy had, therefore, informed his aunt that Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas would require rooms in the manor house. He brushed off all the lady’s shocked suggestions that such a thing would bring disaster upon the family and ruin the young women’s reputations forever, reminding her that he was a gentleman and that gentlemen are naturally assumed to hold better control over their base instincts than she supposed. Further , he wrote, Miss Lucas and Miss Bennet might share a suite, thereby each serving as chaperone for the other at all times . It was only when presented with the alternative—Darcy refusing to come—that she relented.
The suite offered to Lizzy and Charlotte was a small set of simply furnished connecting rooms on the distant side of the house to the guest suites, which Lady Catherine might have supposed was a just set-down to their ambitions and a refusal to accept their presence with grace; to the young women themselves, however, the distance from the excessive and ostentatious ornamentation the lady preferred, and from the parts of the house Lady Catherine considered her small duchy, was looked upon much more favourably. Since the lady did not deem that wing of the house —so near the kitchens and storage rooms, so far from the grand entrance—suitable for her own exalted presence, she was also never to be found there, which in turn gave the young women much more freedom and privacy than Lady Catherine might have considered appropriate.
In short, the accommodations were deemed most suitable by all, albeit for very different reasons.
The days at Rosings were spent mostly pleasurably. Each morning Darcy and Richard would take themselves to exercise their administrative duties, which mostly entailed listening to the steward explain his plans for a certain aspect of the estate’s management, then nodding and congratulating the man on his wisdom and forethought, followed by the taking of coffee or touring the grounds with the man. Mr. Cromley, the steward, had long since become accustomed to Her Ladyship’s insistence on her nephew having nominal authority over the professional manager and he took no insult, enjoying Darcy’s rudeness as a welcome change from the stifling politeness of Lady Catherine’s company. “I can swear in front of you, sir,” he had said once with a wink, “and no one tells me to bugger off for it! Bloody hell, but it’s good to be able to cuss every once in a while when dealing with some of these matters!” Darcy had laughed heartily at this, and the men had found a sort of friendship ever since.
Whilst the men were pretending to guide the management of the estate, Lizzy and Charlotte would walk over, or be driven, were the weather to be inclement, to the parsonage, there to visit with Mary. She seemed most content with her lot and proudly showed her sister and friend around her house. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and everything was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency of which Elizabeth gave Mary all the credit. When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, when he was out tending his garden or his flock, there was really a great air of comfort throughout, and by Mary’s evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be often forgotten.
After their activities each morning, the four visitors would gather for their tea and then would take themselves out to the woods to walk when the air was clear, or to the library, which Lady Catherine never visited, when the skies threatened rain. There, Cousin Anne would sometimes join the gathering of young people. She was small and sickly, with a constant cough and an unnatural pallor, but her pinched face seemed to be more a result of poor health than of poor disposition. Anne was closer to Darcy’s age than Lizzy’s, but she seemed to possess the worldliness of a child, despite a reasonable intellect and understanding. How long had she been closeted in this house, Lizzy wondered, instead of being allowed to befriend others in the village or at some respectable lady’s school? Anne was of a quiet nature; she had little conversation, but attended the others with enthusiasm, and Lizzy again pondered whether the heir to Rosings was in desperate need of the companionship of her peers.
Surprisingly, it was Charlotte and not Lizzy who truly befriended Anne. Lizzy did not dislike Miss de Bourgh, but did not take to her, preferring a more open disposition, or at least, one inclined to some amiability. Charlotte, however, was always sensible and pragmatic, if sometimes too plainly spoken for some people’s tastes, and she decided that if Anne would not open her heart to Charlotte, Charlotte must open hers to Anne. In short time, they had established a rapport, and soon afterwards, a nascent friendship. Richard commented once to Lizzy of his wonder as his sickly cousin seemed to develop a personality whilst he watched. Darcy said little, but stood back looking bemused at the actions of both of his cousins.
It was only at dinner on the fifth night of the visit to Rosings that Lizzy realised Lady Catherine was not aware of the engagement. Had Darcy not told her? Or was the grand lady willfully ignorant of what had been on the lips of everyone in London for the past weeks? Anne had certainly known, and the warmth with which she had congratulated the pair—some of the few words she had uttered unprompted—had been genuine. She had as little wish to marry her cousin as he had to marry her.
Regardless, as Lady Catherine stared down the table at her guests as they politely sipped their soup, she announced, “I have had my legal man draw up the paperwork, Darcy, so you may announce your betrothal to Anne at the first ball of the coming season, as I had previously discussed with you. The documents will be ready by your departure, so you may take all the time you require to read them over. I shall be pleased to have this finally settled.”
Five sets of eyes darted upwards from their plates to stare at the speaker. Only Anne’s companion, Mrs. Jenkins, looked unaffected by this proclamation.
“Mother…” Anne began, echoed by Richard’s snort. Half-spoken oaths were interrupted by Darcy.
“Aunt Catherine, call off your man. It shall not happen.”
“Nonsense, Darcy, of course it shall. We have been planning this for years. It was your mother’s dearest wish.”
“Aunt Catherine, my mother’s dearest wish for me was to find my own happiness. I love Anne, but not as a wife. I shall not marry her.”
“Of course you will. After all, somebody has to take your poor sister in hand. What did happen last summer? You never informed me what became of your trip to Ramsgate, as you ought to have done. As head of the family, I am owed this duty. Now, about Anne…”
“I repeat, Aunt, I shall not marry her.” He enunciated each word distinctly and with the precision of an expert marksman.
“Nonsense!” the lady scoffed, flicking her hand as she spoke. “We had decided, had we not, that were you not to have selected your bride by now, you would wed Anne. There is nothing else to it.”
“You had decided, Aunt, not I. And you are mistaken in one most important matter: I have selected my bride.”
“Yes, of course, Darcy. Anne. It is only natural.”
“Aunt Catherine!” Richard bellowed. His voice, normally so refined and pleasant, now took on the tenor of the battlefield, calling hundreds of men to action over the din of battle and artillery fire. “Listen to Darcy. For once!”
The older lady looked askance at her military nephew. “There is no need to shout, Richard, and most certainly not at dinner. I always listen. It is one of my most admired qualities, although there are so many from which to choose.” Her expression suggested she had no notion of the unintended irony in her statement.
“Aunt,” Darcy continued very quietly, so quietly that all were forced to stop whatever else they were doing to listen. The tight and restrained nature of his voice, normally so careless of convention, brought a frisson of fear into his listeners. “I have chosen my bride, and she is not Anne. Had you read the papers, or the letter I sent to you upon the occasion, you would know that I am engaged to Miss Bennet.” His eyes dared her to object.
Instead, Lady Catherine began to laugh. “I had not taken you for a jokester, Darcy! This is most amusing. Most amusing indeed.”
The rest of the diners stared at each other around the table, uncertain of what might convince Lady Catherine that Darcy was serious. Then, with a smirk, the gentleman rose from his seat with all the polish and grace of his station, folded his napkin on his chair with exquisite precision, and walked around the table until he was at Lizzy’s chair. He helped her to her feet with the utmost decorum, and then, with a wink and a whispered “Forgive me” that only she could hear, he kissed her most passionately. For the first moment, she thought to struggle, then to acquiesce to help Darcy make his point, and then she lost all sense of their audience as she succumbed to the kiss. This was not the gentle flutter of lips that barely touched her own, but a deep and ardent kiss, the kiss of lovers. His arms were around her body, pulling her into his embrace, and her arms, moving without her knowledge, wound themselves about his strong shoulders. It was only the sound of a crystal goblet shattering on the wooden table, having been dropped in shock by the lady of the house, which brought them back to the dining room.
Anne looked on with a hand half covering her gaping mouth, her eyebrows raised in shock, but her eyes wide with delight. Mrs. Jenkins had rushed over to where Lady Catherine pretended to lie in a deep faint, and Richard looked most amused, his eyes constantly flickering towards Charlotte, who feigned not noticing his wistful gaze.
“Aunt,” said Darcy at last, “this was no joke.” Then he broke into one of his rare, but no less delightful, smiles.