Chapter 3

Three

As they walked on, Darcy fervently prayed no ill tidings from Longbourn awaited Elizabeth, and he contemplated other possibilities for the summons.

Could his aunt have learnt of his proposal? And if so, might she hold another person accountable? The weight of Atlas's celestial sphere shifted from his shoulders, only to settle upon his chest.

He would not allow Elizabeth to suffer ill consequences from what could only be called his own foolhardiness. By her side he would stand, defending the young lady against any and all of Lady Catherine's accusations. Taking root in his brain, those imminent and unfair charges bloomed in vivid, mortifying detail—his aunt pointing the finger of blame at Elizabeth, insisting her arts and allurements, in an instant of passion, had drawn him in, making him forget himself and everything he owed his family, namely Miss Anne de Bourgh. What a heap of absurdities.

But not all of it was absurd. Elizabeth's allurements had drawn him like metal filings to a mighty magnet. Not only powerfully attractive, she utterly fascinated him. And he would wager his last guinea that she wielded no artful wiles. Honest to a fault, she had had no qualms about pointing out his faults.

Frowning, Darcy nearly stopped in his tracks.

My faults. They may be heavy, indeed. Had Elizabeth the right of it? Was he arrogant, conceited, and selfish? Was he disdainful of others' feelings? He wished he had voiced his concerns to Fitzwilliam while he had the chance. Whether he welcomed it or not, his cousin would have delivered both the unvarnished truth and invaluable counsel.

All acrimony he had directed towards Elizabeth gradually turned his own way. My proposal was an abomination.

Falling in love was a novel and utterly painful experience, and as he passed the prickly hedges stretching up and down the lane, he gave a passing thought to the belief that hawthorn was purported to heal a broken heart. But as a man of education and intelligence, Darcy put faith in science, not myths, superstitions, or false hopes. The woman with whom he had wanted to spend the rest of his life had rejected him, and that was the end of it.

Unbidden, his father's voice intruded upon his thoughts. ‘A gentleman does not offend a lady's sensibilities.' That lesson had been inculcated in him, and Darcy felt duly ashamed. The previous evening, by detailing feelings other than those of the heart, he had offended and insulted an exemplary lady, the woman he purported to love. Why had he spoken of her inferiority and of family obstacles?

I even might have uttered the word degradation and something about my scruples. Damn. What scruples? At the rate his heavy heart kept sinking, it would soon be in his boots.

Within minutes in a most abrupt and precipitate manner, his relations' palatial residence loomed ahead of him. So preoccupied had he been, brooding the entire time it took to reach the manor, that he had not spoken a word to the precious creature by his side. Ungallant swine! It mattered not. She obviously took greater delight in their surroundings than in his company.

"Well," he said, climbing the front steps, "here we are." What a talent I possess for enlightening conversation!

A loud rumble erupted beside him, and a dainty gloved palm quickly covered the lady's obviously empty stomach. "I beg your pardon, sir. By now, I have missed breakfast at the parsonage. I told Mrs Collins I would take only a short walk in the grove." In a manner arousing Darcy's sympathy, she added, "As was my wont."

His heart landed in his boots, leaving his chest hollow. Around the lump in his throat, he said, "As was your wont. This morning, to avoid me, you took to the woods and?—"

The front door opened, and a footman collected their coats. Before relinquishing her pelisse, Elizabeth surreptitiously slipped Darcy's letter from that pocket into one in the folds of her gown. That she was so protective of it and of her reputation gave him a sense of relief and not inconsiderable guilt.

Informed that Lady Catherine and Anne awaited Elizabeth in the morning room, Darcy offered his arm, and they followed the footman through an ante-chamber to where his aunt, cousin, and Mrs Jenkinson sat.

A good blaze sizzled in the white marble fireplace, making the east-facing parlour comfortably warm. With its tasteful paper-hangings, tapestries, and Brussels-weave carpets, it was less extravagantly showy than the more formal drawing room.

When Darcy did not immediately move away, Elizabeth looked out of the corner of her eye at him. "Until I know my aunt's business with you," he whispered, "I shall not leave your side." At that assertion, she appeared at once all perplexity and vexation.

"Darcy, you may leave us." Heavy with rings, Lady Catherine's fingers waggled at him in dismissal.

No, he would not be flicked away like a gnat. After greeting the others, seating their guest, and requesting tea and toasted muffins, Darcy sank into the matching Gillows tub chair nearest Elizabeth and gave his aunt a defiant look.

Pretending to have taken no notice of his open resistance, Lady Catherine turned to her visitor. "Now then, Miss Bennet, I was seriously displeased to learn that you?—"

Prepared to jump to the young lady's defence, Darcy shifted to the edge of his seat and leant forwards, twisting his signet ring.

Her ladyship's narrowed eyes locked on him. "If you insist on remaining here, you will cease fidgeting at once, Darcy! Come over here, and sit on the sofa beside Anne, where you belong."

Belong? Because the better part of valour is discretion, Darcy reluctantly moved across the room and sat as directed. From that vantage point, he noticed that the four pastoral de Bourgh tapestries—one for each season—seemed duller than he remembered. He was about to ask his cousin's opinion of them when her ladyship spoke again.

"As I was saying, Miss Bennet, I was seriously displeased to learn you would leave before my daughter's ball. It is a pity Miss Lucas became inconveniently homesick after only a se'nnight and departed with Sir William, but I knew you could not possibly care to leave us so soon. To that end, I took it upon myself to write to your mother, insisting you be permitted to remain a while longer. Mrs Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure."

Darcy's head snapped to Elizabeth's flushed face and widened eyes as she said, "I am much obliged to your ladyship, but with all due respect, I really must leave on the eighteenth. My uncle is to send his manservant for me on that date, and my sister and relations will be awaiting my arrival in town."

"You seem quite out of humour this morning, but it is within my means to occasion a most delightful reanimation of such downcast spirits." Holding up a sheet of paper, Lady Catherine employed a lorgnette to peruse it. "Your mother replied saying she has no objection to your staying and that Mr Bennet will certainly agree once she advises him to do so. Of course, daughters never are of much consequence to a father. Indeed, all your family and relations can spare you until after Anne's celebration."

"You are all kindness, madam." Elizabeth's over-bright eyes darted towards Darcy. "But I must abide by my original plan."

Because of me, she will not accede. Blast. I know how much she enjoys dancing.

"Not so hasty, if you please." Her ladyship's bejewelled fingers reached for something on a silver salver. "Your mother's reply included correspondence addressed to yourself. Nephew, make yourself useful and pass this to Miss Bennet."

Darcy did so, and standing before the young lady, he made two observations. She cringed while accepting a second letter from his hand, and one of her bootlaces was untied. Without a second thought, he dropped to a knee. "Please," he said, pointing to Elizabeth's boot, "allow me."

"What are you about now? Get up off the floor at once, Darcy! Heaven and earth! You resemble a sentimental noddy on bended knee like that. Such respect should be reserved for dear Anne."

I did not hear that. Once the bootlace was retied and secured with a tight double knot, Darcy stood and studied Elizabeth's mien. Perceiving the mortification in her eyes, he whispered, "I am so very sorry." Returning to his cousin's side, he wondered for what exactly he had just apologised.

A maid arrived with the requested tea tray, and the serving and partaking of refreshments occupied everyone until Lady Catherine indicated Elizabeth should attend to her mother's reply.

What seemed to be a single sheet of paper was then opened, read, slowly refolded, and added to the other letter in her pocket. Lifting her eyes to gaze longingly towards the door, she softly said, "It is as you say, Lady Catherine. My family can spare me until after the ball, and my uncle is being informed of the change in plans." Her chin lifted, and she spoke with determination. "However, I cannot possibly impose upon Mr and Mrs Collins."

"What nonsense! With my approbation, neither you nor the Collinses can have any objection whatsoever."

Another voice, a gentler one, spoke up. "And if the rector and his wife are unable to accommodate you, you are welcome to be my guest here at Rosings." With varying degrees of surprise, Lady Catherine, Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mrs Jenkinson turned to look upon Anne. "What? We have adequate room for one more houseguest, and as my mother said, there can be no reason for your going so soon. Please, Miss Bennet, say you will stay for my celebratory ball. We shall have a grand time, I assure you."

In such close proximity to his cousin, Darcy heard her next words, though she spoke under her breath. "If you enjoy surprises, that is."

The look of dread on Elizabeth's face rent Darcy's heart. To have coerced her into such a position! The poor dear has no choice but to accept the invitation, yet neither of us wishes to be forced into one another's company.