Darcy looked at his aunt, the woman who dared to use his dead mother's name as a bludgeon.
"You say it was a compact?" he asked.
"A sacred compact! Written in... well, in our hearts! We agreed. The shades of Pemberley and Rosings are to be united."
"And yet," he said, his voice level, "my mother never mentioned it to me. Not once. In her letters, in her journals, on her deathbed. She spoke of my happiness. She spoke of duty to the tenants. She never spoke of Anne."
"She assumed you knew!" Lady Catherine snapped. "It was understood!"
"It was not understood by me," Darcy said. "Nor, I suspect, by Anne."
He looked at his cousin. Anne blinked slowly. "I mostly just want to stay in my room and read," she said flatly. "Mother says I must marry you to secure the line. I think you are very loud when you walk, Fitzwilliam. It would be annoying."
"Thank you, Anne," Darcy said genuinely.
"You see?" Lady Catherine waved a hand. "She is shy. She relies on you. Now, fetch me some paper. We must draft the announcement."
"No," Darcy said.
It was a small word. It hung in the air, vibrating.
Lady Catherine froze. Her hand, reaching for another tart, stopped mid-air. "I beg your pardon?"
"No," Darcy repeated and stood up. He felt a rush of adrenaline, a clarity that was sharper than the winter air. "There will be no announcement. There will be no wedding at Easter. There is no compact, Aunt.There never was."
"How dare you!" Lady Catherine surged to her feet, her face turning a mottled purple. "You defy me? You defy your mother's wishes?"
"I defy your wishes," Darcy corrected. "My mother wished for me to marry for affection. She wished for me to be happy. And marrying Anne—who finds my walking annoying and whom I view as a sister—would make neither of us happy."
"Happiness!" Lady Catherine spat the word as if it were a profanity. "Happiness is for ploughmen! You are a gentleman! You have a lineage to protect! You cannot break an engagement of honour!"
"There is no engagement," Darcy's voice rose, filling the room. "Not formal, not informal. And since my mother is unavailable to testify, there is no dispute. I am a free man, Aunt. And as a free man, I have made my choice."
Lady Catherine stared at him, her mouth agape. "Choice? What choice?"
Darcy took another breath.
"I am courting a lady," he announced. "A lady of beauty, wit, and worth. And you should expect the happy news shortly. But it will not be with Anne."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the clock on the mantel seemed to stop ticking out of respect for the sheer magnitude of the explosion that was about to occur.
Anne de Bourgh sat up. She looked at Darcy. And then, silently, she mouthed:Thank you.
Lady Catherine, however, was not silent. She inhaled. It was a long, rattling intake of breath that presaged a hurricane.
"A lady?" she whispered. "Who is she?"
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Darcy said. "She is the daughter of a gentleman."
"Bennet? My vicar's relation? She is a fortune hunter! A polluted little upstart with no connections and uncles in trade! You would throw away Rosings forthat?"
"I would throw away the world for her," Darcy said.
"You are mad! You are bewitched! I shall not allow it! I shall go to her. I shall tell her she is unfit to polish your boots! I shall—"
The door to the morning room banged open.
"Good heavens," a new voice cut through the tirade. "Is there a ritualistic slaughter of a pig in here? I could hear the screeching from the square."
