"But," Lady Catherine continued, ignoring the interruption, "you are not afraid of me. And you are not afraid of him. Fitzwilliam needs a firm hand. He needs a woman who will not swoon when he broods. He needs management."
"I am fairly adept at management, your Ladyship."
"I suspect you are." Lady Catherine sighed, a sound of supreme resignation. "Very well. If my daughter cannot have him... you will do. You have good teeth. And you stand up straight."
Elizabeth felt a strange warmth. It wasn't affection, exactly, but it was respect.
"Thank you, Lady Catherine."
"Do not thank me yet. Being mistress of Pemberley is not a game. It is a burden. The tenants, the accounts, the social obligations... do you think you can manage it? A gentle girl from the country?"
Elizabeth met the older woman's gaze. "I do not know everything, your Ladyship. But I am willing to learn." She took a step forward. "In fact, you are the daughter of an Earl. You have managed a great estate alone for years. You know what is required." She paused, then offered the olive branch. "Will you teach me? Will you show me how to be the mistressPemberley deserves?"
Lady Catherine blinked, stunned. No one ever asked her for advice. She usually imposed it.
"Teach you?" she puffed up her chest. "Well. Well, of course I can teach you. Someone must. We cannot have you shaming the family with improper menu planning."
"I would be grateful for your guidance," Elizabeth said demurely.
Lady Catherine tapped her cane. A small, terrifying smile appeared on her face. "Very well. We shall start tomorrow. Your posture is adequate, but your curtsy is rustic. We shall fix it."
"I look forward to it."
"Go on then," Lady Catherine shooed her away. "Go find him. He is probably brooding in a corner somewhere wondering where you are. Men are useless without direction."
Elizabeth curtsied—rustically—and retreated. She had survived. More than that, she had tamed the gorgon. She practically ran once she was out of Lady Catherine's sight, of course, her heart beating arrhythmically.
The supper dance was the centrepiece of the evening, and Darcy claimed it with a determined glee in his eye.
"You look triumphant," he observed as he led her onto the floor. "Did you win a wager?"
"I won an ally," Elizabeth smiled, taking her place opposite him in the set. "I have just come from the gallery. I spoke with Lady Catherine."
Darcy nearly tripped. "You spoke to her? And you lived to tell the tale?"
"Very much alive and thriving. We have reached an accord. She has agreed to teach me how to be a proper mistress of a great estate, and I have agreed to let her criticize my curtsy."
Darcy stared at her as the music began. "You asked her to teach you?"
"I appealed to her vanity. It was very effective. She actually smiled, Fitzwilliam. It gave me goosebumps."
Darcy laughed. It was a free, open sound that drew eyes from the surrounding couples. "You are brilliant. You have tamed the Leviathan."
"I simply reminded her that we are on the same side. We both want you to be managed properly."
"Is that what I am to expect? Management?"
"Constantly," she teased as they circled each other. "I intend to manage your brooding, your reading habits, and your tendency to stare."
"I only stare at you," he murmured, his hand tightening on hers as the figure brought them together. "And I have no intention of stopping."
The dance was a blur of motion and light, but for Elizabeth, the world had narrowed to the man in front of her. She saw the way his eyes tracked her. She saw the tension in his jaw, a nervousness that belied his confident movements.
"You seem anxious," she noted during a promenade. "Is the truce holding?"
"The truce is holding," he assured her. "But the clock is ticking."
"The clock?"
