Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T he butler watched in horror as Darcy stormed through the halls of Rosings, flinging open the heavy curtains in every room, raising clouds of dust and revealing furniture that was unfaded, unused, and forty years out of date. "A mausoleum," he muttered. "A memorial to rot and neglect."

He found his aunt in her usual haunt, the garish gold parlour that had not seen full sun in a decade. There, too, without greeting her, he walked to the windows and drew back the draperies.

"Darcy! Stop!" Her shocked, angry voice carried across the room—across most of Rosings, he wagered. "What are you doing? Leave those be!"

Turning, he found Lady Catherine squinting, a hand held up to shield her eyes from the bright, dust-heavy light now pouring in. The heavy powder she wore could not conceal the deep creases in her face or the greyish tint of her skin. She looked as poorly as she had in December .

"No. It is time to let the light inside these walls, to cast off what has been hidden within."

"What do you mean—hidden?"

"The false belief that I will marry Anne, that my mother wished for it."

Her hand wavered. She sat back in her chair, shadowed from the sunbeams, glittering with dust, streaming in. "It is not false. She wished it. I wish it. It must be done."

"Must?" Darcy spied Richard entering the room, closing the doors behind him, and from his keen expression, clearly engaged in the tense exchange. Grateful for his witness, he nodded to him and looked back at his aunt. "Will you accomplish it in the same manner you attempted to marry off Miss Bennet? Will you pay me to marry Anne, and push her at me, when she least suspects it? I must say, fifty pounds is rather cheap of you. What is your price for Anne?"

Lady Catherine said nothing, merely waved her hand to dispel the dust.

"Do you deny it?" Darcy's voice rose with his temper. "Did you scheme with Collins to force a marriage between Miss Bennet and a tenant older than her father?"

"Is he? What would it matter—she is an impertinent schemer who needs a husband, and even her father has demanded she wed! They will be grateful to have it arranged and done," she concluded with a smug smile.

"Elizabeth Bennet, a schemer?" Pacing in front of her, Darcy won the struggle to contain his fury. With the cool hauteur his aunt was more accustomed to, he stepped closer. "Fortunately for her, and for you, your sordid attempt at bribery and forced marriage has failed. You will not be charged by the magistrate, nor, if I have any say, be forgiven by Miss Bennet."

"Forgiven? By a girl as lowly as she?" Lady Catherine rose from her seat and approached Darcy, shaking her fan as she did. "There was no crime! She was intent on capturing your affections through the basest means. You should be grateful! I have managed things quite well for the girl and her ridiculous family, and for you and Anne."

"Gratitude is owed? Are you mad?" Darcy could no longer restrain his anger. "You were intent on selling her—a gentleman's daughter —to one of your tenants! Have you no shame?"

The colonel now stood beside him, glaring at their aunt. "Badly done, Lady Catherine. Badly done, indeed."

Condemnation from both nephews appeared to at last alarm her. "It was done for the best, which only a mother or father could understand. A wanton such as she cannot be?—"

"Enough!" Darcy thundered, the fury he had once felt at Wickham scarcely comparing to what he now felt. "Did you not listen last evening when I warned you not to speak of Miss Bennet in such terms?"

Lady Catherine gave no acknowledgement that she had, nor cared.

"Miss Bennet is under my protection. You will not approach her nor have anyone else do so, here in Kent or in any other place she may dwell. I shall see to it that she and Miss Lucas reach London tomorrow safely in my carriage."

"Tomorrow? No, you will not leave here with her. "

"We both shall," Richard said, shaking his head in obvious disgust.

Darcy shot him an acknowledging look. "I will speak to Anne, to explain to her that we shall never marry and to ensure she knows she is welcome at Pemberley. You, Aunt, are not—not until I have your word that you will cease any interference into the lives of Miss Bennet, myself, or even the Collinses."

"And that much-needed apology to Miss Bennet," added Richard.

Lady Catherine sank back into her chair, her thunder gone but still intransigent. "You shall have neither."

"Then we say our farewells to you now, and will take our dinner at the inn."

Richard nodded his agreement and began to stroll towards the door. Darcy took a deep breath, hoping to quell his anger before seeing Anne or breaking his hand punching one of Rosings's hideous statues. Then, in a clear and urgent voice, he said to his aunt: "Remember what I said: Miss Bennet is under my protection, and your reputation is within my ability to ruin."

"Damnation! She did all of that?" Richard swore again and glanced around the mostly empty inn they had escaped to for some peace. "Our aunt's cruelty does not surprise me, but who knew that quivering toad of a vicar had such viciousness in him."

Darcy nodded tiredly. Revealing the depth of their aunt's malevolence had required two brandies before he even began speaking. Now he simply wished to eat his stew and find his bed.

"Collins reported to her what he had read in Miss Lucas's letters. His anger at Elizabeth's refusal of him was such that he felt the need for revenge. With Lady Catherine furious at him, myself and Elizabeth after last evening's revelations, as soon as Collins knew of Mr Bennet's ultimatum that she accept the hand of the next man who asked for it, he went to Lady Catherine, likely to appease her anger."

Richard leant his head back against the hard oak of his chair. His bland expression concealed his own disgust when he asked, bitterness in his voice, "The ultimatum which you knew of, and kept from me. Who were you protecting—me, Miss Bennet, or yourself?"

"All three of us," he admitted. "You, in case your quick but thoughtless tongue put you in a position you did not intend. Myself, from putting her in a position she did not want. And her, from all of it. She left Longbourn eager to escape scrutiny and pressure to wed, and enjoyed the friendship she found with you."

"And you?"

Darcy took a bite of his half-eaten stew; it was still warm and, suddenly ravenous, he ate silently while his cousin watched, his own bowl already scraped clean.

"The question stands. Why did you protect yourself? I thought you fancied her."

"I could not put her in a position of having to marry me."

"Yet you will protect her. As a friend."

"I have made my wishes known to her. I ensured she knew I would marry her—that I would like nothing more than to marry her—but would not offer for her." It was a miserable, powerless feeling, to be on the cusp of telling her he loved her and to have her beg him not to propose.

"Did you? You dog!" He peered more closely at Darcy. "Oh. She did not want your proposal."

"She thought it impulsive and short-sighted. Perhaps it was the former, my temper was high and I wished nothing more than to offer her every bit of comfort and protection I could." He leant forward, resting his chin on his fists. "I will ensure she arrives safely to her family in London, and in a fortnight, I will see her in Hertfordshire at her sister's wedding to Bingley. When enough time has passed and she has regained her steadiness and I am certain of her feelings, I will propose."

"How will you know?"

Darcy shrugged. "She will tell me." I hope.

The ride to London was excruciating. When he and Richard had called at the parsonage the previous evening to ensure Elizabeth was well and all was peaceful, he had only glimpsed her, standing near the stairs, smiling wanly at them. She appeared even more fatigued in the morning, accepting his hand to climb into the carriage with Miss Lucas. He liked to believe her disappointed that he rode alongside the carriage rather than inside, but with his restless desire warring with his honour, he could not bear to sit so near, gaze at her, and yet be unable to touch her. Listening to his cousin's laughter and capturing glimpses of Elizabeth's downcast face hardened his anger towards Lady Catherine and Collins.

His last view of her was on the steps at her uncle's house in Cheapside. He stood, silently watching a maid open the door and welcome Elizabeth and Miss Lucas inside. And that is the end of it, he thought. Not a sign of feeling nor affection.

He was alone in his study, thinking back over the events of the day and feeling increasingly morose, when his butler, Johnson, came to the door with a tray. "John Coachman found this letter in the carriage. He assumed it fell from the belongings of one of the ladies."

Darcy took it, trying not to reveal his eagerness. Had she written a letter to him, conveying some feeling she could not when in his company? He recalled Elizabeth's neat hand on the notes she sent to Longbourn while at Netherfield; yes, this was indeed her letter.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh, it began.

Disheartened it was not meant for him, he read on, smiling at the hostility within her appeal to his aunt and her request for kindness to her friend. And then, at the very bottom, he saw the words which took away his smile and set his heart wild with hope.

You must set aside your expectations for your nephew to marry your daughter. Mr Darcy deserves a wife who can challenge his pride and withstand mud on her boots. One who, perhaps, is impertinent enough to want him as much as he may want her.