“So, you are Mrs Elizabeth Fiennes. Mrs Collins neglected to mention herwidowedsister was the one visiting. You are young and handsome, though I dare say Mr Metcalfe will not object, provided you bring a sufficient fortune to make the match worth his while.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose higher with each word. “I beg your pardon, madam. I know not of what you speak,” she said politely, maintaining an even tone.
“Why, I have taken it upon myself to arrange a marriage for you,” Lady Catherine declared, her satisfaction plain. “It is most magnanimous of me. You need not thank me yet; I can see the shock has quite struck you dumb.” She smiled with satisfaction.
A prickle ran along Elizabeth’s neck at the calculating gleam in the woman’s eyes—one she had known before. The same chill of command, the same unyielding conviction of superiority; it stirred memories she would far rather keep buried.
“While your notice is appreciated, ma’am, I have no intention of marrying this Mr Metcalfe.” She maintained her composure despite her discomfort. “My daughter and I lack for nothing, and I see no reason to contemplate an alliance with a gentleman I have never met.”
Lady Catherine drew herself up. “You have a child, too? I had no notion. Mrs Collins, you failed to mention a niece!”
Pink tinged Mary’s cheeks, though she straightened with quiet dignity. “Your ladyship did not ask.” She smoothed an invisible crease in her gown, her voice calm. “I believe I said I had four sisters—”
Their hostess dismissed her with a wave. Conversation ceased until at last they were invited to sit, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to survey the rest of the party. Lady Catherine presented her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, and her companion, Mrs Jenkinson. The former appeared a genteel young lady, often looking heavenward in silent appeal as her mother spoke and exchanging commiserating glances with her companion. Mrs Jenkinson sat very near her charge, ever attentive to her comfort throughout the evening.
When dinner was announced, Lady Catherine led them in and took command of the conversation. Elizabeth spoke when directly addressed but otherwise remained silent. With each pronouncement, she discerned the same need to govern and to be obeyed that once ruled her husband’s temper—only gilded here with wealth and consequence instead of cruelty, though perhaps not devoid of it. The woman’s meddling disguised itself as kindness, her arrogance as duty. By the time the final course was served, Elizabeth’s stomach turned with distaste. She endured the remainder of the meal with all the civility she could muster, deeply relieved when at last they were permitted to withdraw.
In the carriage home, Mr Collins leant forwards, his brows knit.
“What do you think of my patroness?”
Elizabeth regarded him thoughtfully. “She is—remarkable.”
Mary gave a peal of laughter. “A delicate way of saying she is insufferable. ’Tis well my husband has other prospects beyond this parish. We may hire a curate and escape whenever her presence becomes too much. I have already written to Papa, asking when we might make my husband's future appointment to the Longbourn living official. It yields less than Hunsford, but the added income would render such a plan practicable. The paperwork is not yet prepared, and I long for the security signed contracts bring.”
Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. “Your dowry, joined to your husband’s income and inheritance, should secure you comfortably. If you are anxious for funds—”
Mary shook her head. “Not for ourselves, Elizabeth. But if we have only daughters, I would not have them unprovided for—I mean to profit by our parents’ example.”
Elizabeth gave a nod with sisterly approval. “That is wisely done.” The warmth faded as her thoughts returned to their hostess. “I cannot like Lady Catherine at all. Must we attend her often while I am here?”
Mr Collins sighed. “I fear so. She likes to entertain; before my marriage, I dined at Rosings weekly. Compliance has proved easier than her displeasure. She also takes a vexing interest in my parish affairs and seldom approves my decisions. ’Tis a most fatiguing distinction, I assure you.”
Elizabeth could see it now—Lady Catherine’s arrogance born not of deliberate malice but of long-indulged authority, protected by wealth and consequence. The resemblance to Fiennes struck her, nonetheless. His dominance had thrived in secrecy; hers flourished in the open, unchallenged by rank or restraint. Elizabeth’s sympathy for Mary and her husband deepened. It would not, she suspected, be long before they sought relief from Hunsford altogether.
When the carriage drew up at the parsonage, she bade her companions goodnight and withdrew at once. She felt unaccountably weary, likely born less of exertion than of endurance. Exposure to such a woman as Lady Catherine was enough to drain anyone’s spirits. She determined that a brisk walk in the morning would restore her strength and fortify her for whatever future interviews might await.
Elizabeth’s first week in Kent passed quickly. She was not required to spend time in Lady Catherine’s company save for tea one afternoon, and the respite suited her perfectly. Most days were devoted to her own amusements. Elinor accompanied her into the village of Hunsford, where they discovered a charming confectioner’s, a modiste, a haberdashery, and a lending library. They found other small shops of interest, and a tearoomwhere they enjoyed delicate cakes and pastries. Miss Lane accompanied them, treated by Elizabeth as a companion rather than an employee.
In the afternoons, while her daughter rested, Elizabeth walked out. She explored a new path each day, marking her favourites for further rambling. It was on one such shaded track that she met someone she had dared not hoped to see.
A familiar voice broke through the quiet. “Mrs Fiennes!”
Her heart leapt, and she turned to behold Mr Darcy striding towards her. The path she had chosen that morning ran in the direction of Rosings, sheltered by trees that opened to a small grove carpeted with early spring flowers.
Joy lit her countenance, and she hoped he could read her sentiment. “Mr Darcy! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you to Kent?”
He reached her side and bowed over her hand with courtly warmth. “My cousin and I are come for our yearly visit to my aunt, Lady Catherine. We shall go over her estate books and ensure all is in order.” Their eyes met, his intent and questioning. “May I join you?” he asked.
She inclined her head and accepted his offered arm, a flutter of shyness catching her unawares.This will not do,she told herself.You have overcome all that held you back—and you still love him.She resolved to leave him in no doubt of her feelings and drew a little nearer to him until their shoulders brushed. “’Tis tremendously pleasing to see you,” she ventured, her heart hammering as if she were a girl once more.
A warmth suffused his features. “And to encounter you brings me the same happiness. Visits to Lady Catherine seldom fail to vex; she must ever have her way, and she resents our attempts to improve what she deems beneath her notice. This is the last year before my cousin Anne inherits fully, however.Shehas already spoken with my uncle; she is the true mistress of Rosings and she wishes to manage her estate.”
He hesitated, then added with quiet candour, “My aunt wrote that Mr Collins had married. I was relieved to read on and learn it was notyouhe had taken to wife. I am truly glad for your sister and new brother.
A smile touched her lips. “As am I.”
He looked at her a moment, then looked down as they walked on. “Still, I must confess I meant to question Collins for news of you—but I find that unnecessary now. I have missed you more than I can say.”
