“Would you mind if I did not come after all?” she asked Darcy before even looking at it properly. He readily agreed and went on his way, leaving her to read her letter in peace and quiet.
She regretted her decision intensely upon inspecting it more closely. She had hoped it might be from her aunt Wallis or Jane. To the former, she had sent an express, begging for an explanation of her connexion to Mrs Reynolds. Of the latter, she had begged for words of solace, for despite Darcy’s insistence that she was the panacea to all his woes, Elizabeth had never felt so helpless in all her days.
Alas, the distinctively careless hand marked it very clearly as having been sent by Lydia. She did not need to open it to know what it said, for it was the third such plea she had received; but open it she did. When she passed the saloon door and heard someone call her name, she could not decide which was worse—continuing to read Mr and Mrs Wickham’s appeal for money or stopping to hear whatever it was Lady Catherine wished to say.
Ultimately, it was the modesty of her ladyship’s request that induced Elizabeth to slip her letter into her pocket and agree to spare a moment of her time. Apart from coming downstairs to greet the colonel when he arrived the day before, Darcy’s aunt had kept herself to herself since the wall collapsed, even eating all her meals in her room. It had been useful, for there had been much else to occupy their time, but Elizabeth felt a little guilty now for having ignored her so thoroughly.
“I shall not prevaricate,” her ladyship began. “I wish to apologise. As you know, I came here to see how you were conducting yourself as mistress. You will also know that nothing escapes my notice, and that I have therefore observed all the ways in which you have erred in your duties, not to mention your failure to court the esteem of any of the ladies of eminent neighbouring families. Until two days ago, the best I could have said of you was that you displayed a willingness, perhaps even a capacity to improve.”
Elizabeth said nothing. She had already admitted to Darcy that she was relying on other people’s wisdom to pass herself off as competent. That somebody as determined to find fault as Lady Catherine had also noticed was no great surprise.
“But that was before this tragedy occurred,” her ladyship continued. “Darcy asked me, two days ago, whether I thought Anne would have had the strength to support him in the way you have. It offended me, of course, but I must answer now that no, I do not believe she would. My daughter has a delicate temperament. She would have struggled with such adversity as you faced two nights ago. For so young a woman, you betrayed a remarkable presence of mind and a pleasing degree of good sense.”
Elizabeth had not gathered her wits enough to reply before Lady Catherine continued. “Events of such significance as this often induce periods of reflection. I have spent the last day asking myself what my sister would have made of the situation. She was a fine lady, and excessively proud of her children and her position as mistress of this house. She was also fair, and I find that I have not been.
“You have made some mistakes, yes, but you will learn from them. I see now what my nephew has been attempting to tell me—that you have other talents which far surpass those I came here to judge. Courage, compassion, and intelligence. The respect of your household. Most importantly, you have demonstrated in the most incontestable way that you will always put my nephew’s interests first. My sister would have said that these are the things that truly matter.”
Of all the praise Lady Catherine could have given, this was the least expected and most valuable, and Elizabeth found herself feeling unexpectedly tearful—and that diverted her no end. She had been so dearly hoping for the comfort of a letter from Jane, and it seemed she would have to make do with the dubious consolation of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s approbation. It made her cry and laugh at the same time.
“Forgive me.” She swiped away a tear and sniffed. “I am not generally given to sentimentality. Only it is all rather daunting.”
Lady Catherine replied with surprising gentleness. “It is, but I shall not abandon you or Darcy to it. None of us will. My nephew is by no means friendless. And neither are you, Mrs Darcy.”
On reflection, Elizabeth decided that reading Lydia’s letter had definitely been worth postponing. “Thank you. Will you tell him that?”
“Tell me what?”
Elizabeth turned around at Darcy’s voice, and regretted not wiping her tears before she did, for when he saw them, his countenance darkened alarmingly.
“What is happening here?” he demanded of her ladyship.
“You aunt has been very kind,” Elizabeth said hastily.
“I was apologising to your wife, Darcy, and now I apologise to you. I judged you both unfairly—and incorrectly. Your mother and father would have been exceedingly proud of the way you have responded to this disaster. I am exceedingly proud of you. I would have you know that you may rely on all your family to help restore Pemberley to what it was.”
Darcy’s transition from furious to dumbfounded was so abrupt and so complete, it made Elizabeth laugh again. Lady Catherine was less forbearing this time and gave her a withering glare as she informed them that she would make arrangements to leave that week, then left the room.
Darcy sat, somewhat dazedly, next to Elizabeth. “What prompted that?”
“She said she had been thinking about what your mother would have made of it all.”
Darcy smiled a small, far-away smile that disappeared with his next question. “Why were you crying?”
“It has been a week of surprises. I think it must have been one too many.”
He laughed lightly, and it was on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue to tell him about Mrs Reynolds and her aunt Wallis, but he forestalled her.
“Who was your letter from?”
“Oh! It…it does not matter.”
“It clearly does.”
Elizabeth sighed heavily. “Very well. It was from Lydia, asking for money—but you are to ignore it, as I mean to do. I would not have troubled you with it at all if you had not asked.”
“Good Lord, the Wickhams are the least of my concerns. How much do they want?”
“You are not giving them a penny!”
