“I have seen nothing to suggest otherwise,” said Lady Catherine, with a gracious nod. “And Miss Darcy—”
“My lady,” Mr. Dashwood said then, interrupting her gently, “I beg your pardon. But I must—before this goes further—speak plainly, if you will allow me.”
Lady Catherine fixed him with a look of sharp astonishment, as though the young gentleman had momentarily forgotten both his place and his senses.
Mr. Dashwood turned first to Miss Darcy and then to Mr. Darcy himself, his countenance sincere but composed. “Your sister has my utmost respect, Mr. Darcy. Her refinement and dignity have been evident to all this evening. I hope she will not think me discourteous if I say that, had I been unencumbered,I should have counted it an honour to pursue her acquaintance further.”
Darcy gave a slow nod, his lips pressed into a line, but he waited for the gentleman to finish.
“It is of the utmost importance to declare, however,” Mr. Dashwood continued, “that I am already engaged to be married. As you may expect, the understanding is at present private, though soon to be made public, for I am to be married next month.”
Lady Catherine made a sound that could not, in honesty, be described as graceful. “Married?” she echoed. “I was not aware—Sir Henry?”
The baronet’s face remained composed, though there was the faintest tightening at the corners of his mouth. “It is true, your ladyship. The engagement was not widely announced, as the lady’s health had recently suffered and the arrangements required delicacy. But George is to be married on the eighth of September, to Miss Marianne Sarah Rowley, eldest daughter of Sir William Rowley.”
“A very suitable match,” Mr. Dashwood added with calm finality. “It is my regret that this information has not been made public sooner, but we could not properly do so without the consent of my fiancée’s family.”
There was a silence then—a silence deeper than mere pause, as though the room itself had absorbed the weight of Lady Catherine’s wounded certainty.
Georgiana had not moved, beyond a faint flush rising in her cheeks. She glanced at her brother, whose expression had not altered in the least. But the slow blink with which he now turned toward Lady Catherine was eloquent enough.
“I see,” Lady Catherine said at last, and her voice—though perfectly steady—had lost something of its earlier authority. “Well. These things… these decisions are sometimes made in haste.”
“I assure you,” Sir Henry replied promptly, “this was not.”
“No,” murmured Mr. Dashwood, “nor with indifference.”
“Then allow me to say only this,” Lady Catherine said, rising, recovering height if not command, “that Miss Darcy is not so poorly situated as to suffer for lack of offers. If your path lies elsewhere, I shall not press what would now be… untimely.”
“To be thought of,” Mr. Dashwood replied, standing also, “was an honour, Lady Catherine. Mr. Darcy, you have my respects. Miss Darcy—dancing with you made the evening a pleasure I shall long remember.”
“And,” Sir Henry added, “I am confident that Miss Darcy will never lack for admirers more free to declare their intentions.”
Mr. Darcy inclined his head coolly. “My sister requires no assurances. Her value is not determined by convenience. Sir Henry, I thank you for your courtesy. Mr. Dashwood, allow me to congratulate you on your choice and to wish you every happiness in your approaching marriage.”
There was, after that, no more to be said.
Lady Catherine offered a curt nod. “I believe supper is about to be served. Shall we?”
Mr. Darcy conducted Sir Henry and his son to the door with every attention due to their rank and to the courtesy with which they had, in truth, spared the household a far greater awkwardness than Lady Catherine deserved. He spoke to them with the measured civility of a man who understood thatresentment is never made more dignified by haste, and that gratitude may be offered without softness.
“Sir Henry—Mr. Dashwood—your frankness has obliged me,” he said, pausing at the threshold. “I regret the discomfort of the conversation; yet I am sensible that you could not have acted otherwise.”
The Baronet’s bow was unhurried, his manner as practised as it was kind. “You do me too much honour, Mr. Darcy. A misunderstanding is best ended at once, before it becomes a rumour.”
Mr. Dashwood inclined his head toward Georgiana—who remained within sight of the doorway, silent and composed, as though still refusing to be made the subject of anyone’s embarrassment. “I am only sorry that my duty must appear discourteous,” he said. “It was never my intention to distress any lady, least of all Miss Darcy.”
Georgiana answered him with the very steadiness Lady Catherine so admired, and so often attempted to claim as her own achievement. “You have been perfectly correct, sir,” she said quietly. “There is nothing to pardon.”
Mr. Darcy acknowledged the words with a brief inclination, then looked again to Sir Henry. “I wish you both every satisfaction,” he said, “and shall be happy to renew acquaintance upon any occasion more agreeably contrived.”
They exited, and the footman waiting in the hall closed the door behind them and led them to the dining room. The sound of their steps receded down the corridor, and with it went the last remnants of any pretence that Lady Catherine’s scheme had been merely well meant.
With the Dashwoods’ departure, the room remained suspended in a state of uneasy restraint, the confidence that hadanimated it moments earlier no longer quite intact. Authority, once contradicted, does not immediately regain its footing, and Lady Catherine’s presence, though unchanged, no longer dictated the air with the same unquestioned ease.
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Author’s Note
