"Jane Bennet. Will you save me from a life of boredom? Will you be my Viscountess? Will you marry me before my cousin proposes to your sister and steals my thunder?"
Jane stared at him. Then, she threw her head back and laughed—a sound of pure joy.
"Oh, Robert," she gasped. "You are ridiculous."
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes," she said, dropping to her knees in a rustle of silk to be level with him. She took his face in her hands. "Yes. I will marry you, silly man."
He kissed her. Quite thoroughly. It wasn't the chaste kiss on her knuckles of the conservatory. It was a kiss of possession, of relief, of absolute victory.
"I won," he whispered against her lips.
"Won what?"
"The race," he grinned, slipping the ring onto her finger. "Darcy is going to be so annoyed."
While Robert was claiming his victory in the library, Elizabeth Bennet was facing a different sort of challenge in the long gallery.
She had sought a moment of respite from the heat of the ballroom, intending to admire the Matlock art collection. Instead, she found herself standing before a living portrait of disapproval.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh sat on a velvet bench halfway down the gallery. She was alone, having presumably frightened off the Colonel, who was just a man, after all. She held a cane, though she didn't need it, using it to tap rhythmically against the floor.
"You are Miss Bennet. I can tell, though no one took pains to introduce us properly," Lady Catherine said. Her voice was not a shout tonight. It was a low, grinding rumble, like a millstone.
Elizabeth curtsied. She did not retreat. "I am, Lady Catherine."
"And how do you find the capital you conquered this evening?" the older woman asked, looking Elizabeth up and down.
"I find London agreeable, your Ladyship."
"Hmph. My nephew seems to findyouagreeable. He has been parading you about the floor as if youwere a prize mare."
"Mr Darcy has been very attentive," Elizabeth said calmly. "He is a gentleman."
"He is a fool," Lady Catherine snapped. "He thinks he can marry where he likes. He thinks duty is a suggestion." She stood up, moving towards Elizabeth. "I told him he was ruining himself. I told him the shades of Pemberley would be polluted."
"I heard," Elizabeth said. "I understand you have strong feelings on the matter."
"Feelings? I havestandards, girl!" Lady Catherine stopped a foot from Elizabeth. "But he defied me. To my face. He told me there was no engagement to Anne. He told me he would not be moved."
She peered at Elizabeth, her eyes narrowing. "He has never defied me before. Not truly. He was always a dutiful boy. Sullen, but dutiful. And now? He has a spine of steel. Because of you?"
"I cannot take credit for Mr Darcy's character," Elizabeth said. "But I believe he has realized that duty to one's lineage does not require the sacrifice of one's happiness."
Lady Catherine huffed. She walked past Elizabeth, staring at a portrait of an ancestor who looked particularly miserable.
"My daughter," she said abruptly, "does not wish to marry him. She told me so. She said he walks too loudly."
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "I have noticed he has a firm tread."
"If Anne will not have him... and if he will not have Anne..." Lady Catherine turned back. "Then I suppose the compact is void. And I am left with a beloved nephew who needs a wife."
She looked at Elizabeth again. This time, the look wasn't dismissive. It was assessing. It was the look of a stable master inspecting new horseflesh.
"You are not rich," Lady Catherine listed. "You have no connections. Your uncle sells rum."
"Excellent rum," Elizabeth murmured.
