Chapter 16

Sixteen

On the morning of the eighteenth, Darcy thanked God that Elizabeth had not departed for London as originally planned. This past week would have been interminable without her.

With cheerful eagerness, he greeted David, the footman stationed by the front door. Then he consulted his pocket watch and immediately regretted it. Deuce take it! Not yet one o'clock. He thought it rather vexatious that a gentleman was expected to adhere to proper morning call hours while visiting the lady he fully intends to marry and wake up with every morning.

Standing about like a statue and looking out the window, he thought he might write to his sister. Then he recalled that her most recent response had indicated her difficulty in keeping up with all the correspondence he had already sent.

So, it was either go for a brief ride, stay and play a solitary game of billiards, or give a few chapters of St Irvyne a second reading. He wondered why he had not thought to bring more books from his own extensive library. Because I had not intended to remain here for such a duration, that is why.

"Nephew!"

In the serenity of his own homes, Darcy was imperturbable. However, at Rosings, his aunt had an unsettling ability to startle him and disturb his peace.

"Where are you bound at this hour? You cannot be going for a ride attired like that, and it is too early for calls. No. You must remain within doors today. Anne and I shall need you on hand to help receive our houseguests. And of course, you will sit at the foot of the table as host."

But I do not want to be host. Strictly in his own mind, Darcy reverted for an instant to the spoilt little boy he had been before maturity, respect, and gallantry asserted itself. "But of course, Lady Catherine."

Later, having fetched St Irvyne , he ventured to the sitting room once preferred by Sir Lewis. Taking a seat by the window overlooking the kitchen gardens and berry bushes, he sat awhile, wondering why there were no cushions strewn about. Must I report another incident to her ladyship?

Just then, through the glass, his eye was caught by a familiar figure heading towards the servants' entrance. He bolted from the chair. Gilchrist!

Dashing down several staircases, he made his way through the maze of passages used by household servants.

Before Darcy could reach it, the door was flung open by a kitchen maid who said, "Oh my, Gilchrist." Twirling a curl round her finger, the young woman provocatively leant against the door jamb. "I thought you were dismissed."

Whatever the gardener said in return was missed as Darcy cleared his throat.

Turning at the sound, the blushing maid curtseyed and stammered. "Oh Mr Dar— Sir! I— Gilchrist here is asking for Miss de Bourgh."

Over my dead body! "I shall see to this. Thank you."

The gardener's eyes grew wide when Darcy appeared in the doorway. "What do you want, Gilchrist? And, no, you may not see Miss de Bourgh." It took an effort for him to remain civil.

In his Scottish burr, Gilchrist explained he was returning the gloves Miss de Bourgh had left at his bothy. He had found them, he said, while removing his belongings.

Accepting the proffered items, Darcy scoffed. "Oh really? Strange. Anne has not been out of the house for days. And the last time I was at your cottage, her herbarium was there, but her gloves were not. I gifted her these and would have noticed them there. So, are you Brinton's messenger now? I assume that is where my cousin left them. She was at Rara Avis five days ago and was not wearing her riding gloves when she left. No matter. I shall see that she gets them. Good day."

He closed the door and turned. The maid was still there, still red-cheeked, gaping at him.

"Return to your duties."

Why do members of the fairer sex blush in my presence? Darcy was neither stupid nor blind. He knew he was not ill-favoured.

His thoughts then flew to Elizabeth Bennet and her pretty blushes, and he prayed she would not suppose he was voluntarily absenting himself from her society. For his part, being deprived of her company was most wretchedly felt.

"Darcy!"

Does Lady Catherine lie in wait ready to pounce when I walk by?

Her ladyship had accosted him on his way from the billiards room to his cousin's apartments. Darcy had needed some form of physical release after his confrontation with Gilchrist.

"Why on earth are you carrying Anne's riding gloves about with you like that? Are you a mooncalf? Ah! I see." Her ladyship gave him a crisp nod. "I shall have Dubois cut a lock of my daughter's hair, though it would be more fitting if the request came from you."

That never will happen. "I was just about to have these gloves returned to Anne. She left them…somewhere."

"Where on earth is some where?" His aunt clutched her throat. "Were they found at Gilchrist's cottage?"

"They were not."

For but a moment, Lady Catherine's eyes closed in relief. "You must not disturb Anne at present. She is indisposed. The noble blood flowing through my daughter's veins means she is not as robust as those of the lower classes. Your poor cousin is so very fragile." She made a sad little sniff. "The dear girl needs a husband to look after her."

Why had I never before noticed the similarities between Mrs Bennet and Lady Catherine?

Faster than Wickham disappeared when there was work to be done, her tone shifted from compassion to authority. "Therefore, you will make your offer on Monday, and I shall announce the engagement at Anne's ball later that night." Lady Catherine gave a nod of supreme confidence. "Yes, that is how it must be done, and…"

Darcy let her prattle on. And prattle she did, without intermission, until her housekeeper came and requested clarification on which direction her ladyship wanted the folds in the table napkins to face.

His head throbbed, and Darcy realised he had not consumed nearly enough coffee to face the day.

After assisting the butler with the choosing of wines to serve during the celebratory supper, Darcy decided to station himself in the library. As requested by his aunt, he was to be readily available to cheerfully greet arriving houseguests. An obligation I shall perform merrily and enthusiastically when pigs fly.

He would, of course, be most welcoming and polite.

With a steaming cup of coffee at hand, he had just settled in a comfortable armchair and cracked open his book when a carriage was heard, followed by a rap of the knocker. He checked his watch. By Jove! Where has the morning gone? It was half past three o'clock.

The rest of Darcy's day was spent welcoming and conversing with various members of Kent's gentry and what seemed like a quarter of London's fashionable society. He prayed none of them had packed treasures to tempt the pilferer, whoever he or she might be. Images of all the trunks, portmanteaux, and valises being unloaded and sent to the guest wing made him cringe.

Because her ladyship wished to keep the distinction of her own rank preserved, excluded from the guest list were those of the aristocracy, the one exception having been the inclusion of the Earl and Countess of Matlock and their sons, the viscount and the colonel. Lady Catherine remained put out that none of those relations were available to attend.

Darcy regretted not only his male cousins' absence but also his own sister's. Georgiana would not participate in the ball, but she could have met Elizabeth Bennet, her future sister.

During that evening's dinner and afterwards in the drawing room, while Darcy's thoughts were half a mile distant, he fended off flirtations from Miss Harriet Roche, conducted under the watchful eye of her marriage-minded mother.