Now Catherine faced an adult Darcy, his own man for the pastfive years, by his stance and the set of his jaw a man prepared to do battle. The man was her dear sister’s only son—Catherine had no wish to be at odds with him. Suddenly she felt tired, as if she had aged ten years in only the past few minutes.
“Oh, sit down, Darcy,” said Catherine, waving to a nearby sofa. “This is not an inquisition, nor need you fear anything I might say.”
It was amusing the way Darcy started as if he had expected her to turn into a ravening beast and devour him. For a moment he peered at her, and then he acceded, sitting where she had gestured, though it was clear his senses were still alert.
“Darcy,” said she, opening the conversation, “there are a few matters about which I wish to ask you. As I said, I am not an executioner, nor do I mean to put you to the rack. There are matters I would understand, and to do so, I must ask.”
While Darcy continued to peer at her, he offered a slow nod. “That is acceptable. I shall answer as well as I can.”
It was several moments before Catherine asked her first question, for the simple fact that she could not decide what to ask first. Of what could she speak when cherished plans eddied like ashes in the wind beneath her feet? Perhaps the most profound question was the simplest to answer, such that she spoke without real thought once the notion came to her.
“Tell me, Darcy, was there ever any chance of you proposing to Anne?”
It appeared Darcy had expected this question, for he was ready with an answer in an instant. “No, Aunt, there was not.”
Catherine nodded, waiting to see if he would offer any explanation. When he did not, she felt her dander rise, though she tamped down on it and focused on getting the answers she wanted.
“Why?”
“Because I never wished to marry Anne,” said Darcy. “I regardher as a dear cousin, but I have no deeper feelings for her than that.”
“If she is dear to you,” muttered Catherine, “you have a strange way of showing it.”
“That, Lady Catherine, is due entirely to you.”
Catherine glared at him, demanding an answer, which Darcy supplied at once. “Do you deny that every time I so much as glanced at Anne across a room you were prepared to order her trousseau?”
Though she had not been certain she was capable of it, she felt a hint of mortification enter her heart at his barb, for it hit far too close to home.
“Perhaps Ihavebeen too zealous,” confessed Catherine after a moment of collecting herself. “Marriages in the higher sets put little stock in matters of the heart.”
“Many would agree with you. But if you recall, I had my parents’ example as a boy, and I never wished for any other union than one that emulated theirs.”
It was the truth, though Catherine had almost forgotten it. Anne had been enamored with Robert Darcy from almost the first moment she had laid eyes on him, and Darcy had pursued her from almost the same moment. Catherine, who was not nearly the romantic that Anne had been, had watched their courtship, amused by their desperate need to be in each other’s company, the calf eyes they had sent at each other every moment they had been together. Had she not been happy for her sister, Catherine might have viewed it all as more than a little silly.
Yet it hadnotbeen silly, not in any sense of the word. Robert and Anne had been meant to be together, or that was what it had seemed to anyone who saw them. Catherine, who had never understood that aspect of her sister, had never doubted the strength of the connection between them. In Catherine’s marriage, the most she could say was that she had been contentwith Lewis de Bourgh. Not an overly affectionate man, Sir Lewis had still been a decent man and a good father. The death of their eldest son and heir had been a blow to them both and her husband’s passing thereafter had also been devastating. Yet Catherine had never felt the physical pain that Robert Darcy had endured at the passing of his wife. In all honesty, Catherine could not say that her husband’s passing had been harder to endure than her sister’s. Quite the opposite.
“It will probably not come as a surprise to you,” said Catherine, her words halting as she tried to express her feelings, “but I never considered that you might wish to emulate your parents. If I am honest, I cannot but say this business of affection in a marriage is anything other than a detriment. The suffering occasioned by the loss of one’s partner is such that it seems better to avoid it altogether.”
“Many people would agree with you, Lady Catherine. But consider the joy that must occasion all the years of such a union.”
“What if it ends prematurely, such as when your mother passed away?”
Catherine could not help the hitch in her voice at the reminder of her sister’s loss. Darcy, by this time, looked on her with compassion, his previous pique forgotten—he too, remembered his mother well and mourned her loss.
“Even then,” said Darcy, “I suspect those who have endured the loss of their loves would say the time they spent together was far more precious than the loss of ten such partners would devastate them. My father made exactly that point on more than one occasion.”
“Then I suppose that is the way it must be,” said Lady Catherine. “Regardless, I will commend you for not bestowing your heart on a creature such as Miss Bingley. Even if you proclaimed your devotion to the heavens, I could not imagineacknowledging such a woman as she as a member of the family.”
Darcy grinned, which made him appear boyish. “Trust me, Lady Catherine—if I had developed such feelings for Miss Bingley, I would have questioned my sanity.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” Catherine peered at him with some interest. “Then is Miss Bingley correct about your fascination with Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
The boy did not wish to answer the question, but he did not hesitate, likely not wishing to appear defensive. “Miss Elizabeth is a woman of impeccable character, intelligent, witty, and beautiful, Lady Catherine. I will own to my partiality for her without disguise.”
Catherine nodded, having the truth confirmed. When she had called him into the room, she had not thought the conversation would take this turn. How it had all gone awry she could not say, but she also could not contend that it displeased her.
“Ihadheld out some hope of persuading you toward some stupendous match of society.
