Anne is prepared. She has always been prepared. The arrangements require only your concurrence to proceed as they ought. But do not delay, for every moment of your indecision causes suffering and blight. It is an historic fact, and entirely within your power to set right.
I would remind you that destiny is not a thing to be avoided, Darcy. It is fulfilled or it is resisted, to the detriment of all concerned. The cost of refusal is rarely borne by the one who refuses. Would you be so self-serving? I think not.
That last line, he could not read smoothly.
It sounded very much like what his father had once dismissed as fancy, half-remembered, and laughed away—that some duties ended not in service, but in loss, and that she had already chosenwhoshould bear it.
Why, she could hardly… it truly sounded as if shebelievedall this rot! Not as a tool by which to make him act according to her bidding, but as part of some greater crisis, with herself as the benevolent tyrant orchestrating the demise of some sacrificial lamb.
I trust I may expect you at Rosings without delay.
Your affectionate aunt,
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Darcy lowered the letter slowly. For a moment, he did nothing at all.
Then he folded it—slowly, deliberately—and set it aside on the table, not atop the books, but apart from them, as one sets aside a blade.
One thing, he could understand. She had observed the same irregularities as he had this season.
Not understood it—he refused to grant her that—but noticed enough to mistake recognition for mastery. She reached at once for lineage and inevitability, for conclusions that required no examination, as though order were something that could be restored simply by placing the right person in the right position.
And she spoke of an end she believed acceptable. Someone or somethingelse’send, naturally. Certainly not something that might inconvenience her.
Darcy drew a quaking breath and reached at last for the second letter. Indeed, he had need of a bit of Bingley’s ease and cheer.
Bingley’s hand ran a little uphill across the page—a little crowded, a little uneven, as though written in haste and reconsidered twice before being sent.
My dear Darcy,
I must begin with an apology, for the enclosed letter from Lady Catherine de Bourgh arrived for you several days ago, and I ought to have forwarded it at once. A brief but determined snowstorm intervened, however, and the roads were impassable for two days and a half. I trust you will forgive the delay, as I assure you it was not occasioned by neglect.
I hope London agrees with you, though I cannot pretend not to wish you back in Hertfordshire. Netherfield has felt rather empty of late, and I find myself missing our walks and discussions more than I should have expected. My sisters send their regards, though Caroline insists she has already written to you herself.
Darcy’s mouth tightened faintly.Insistswas precisely the word.
Before the snow fell, we had the pleasure of dining at Longbourn, which was—as always—lively in the extreme. Mrs Bennet was in excellent spirits, and I need hardly say how very glad I was to see Miss Jane again. She was all kindness and good cheer, and I continue to admire her exceedingly, though I fear I do not alwaysdo justice to my admiration when I attempt to express it.
Darcy paused there, letter lowering a fraction.
Admire her exceedingly.
Well. That, at least, was no surprise.
He read on.
You will scarcely believe it, but a most unexpected announcement was made during the evening—one which took us all quite by surprise. Mr Collins declared himself engaged to one of the Bennet girls, and not a soul present had suspected his intentions beforehand.
Darcy straightened sharply.
Engaged?
His eyes jumped ahead, skimming, hunting for the name that mattered—
Elizabeth
The words blurred for a moment before he forced himself to slow, to read.
