“Well, Miss Bennet,” said the colonel, as she and his cousin were left to themselves, “I never feel the loss of cognac so greatly as I do while at Rosings.” With Lady Catherine behind him, he made a face as though tasting something horrid.
She smiled widely, but checked her laugh. “It is a shame nothing can be had from France.”
“Nothing legally, in any event,” Mr Darcy added. At her confused glance, he said, “Kent’s proximity to Europe, and the war and high import taxes make Kent a main entry point for contraband.”
“What are you talking of?” her ladyship called sharply.
There was never a way to ignore Lady Catherine. “Smuggling, ma’am,” answered Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Her ladyship looked quite astonished. “Such business can be of no interest to Miss Bennet. Fitzwilliam, move that table for Mrs Collins so she can see how that would open up the room.”
The colonel was forced to do her bidding with many apologetic looks to his hostess, and until it was time to leave, Mr Darcy was his usual taciturn self. When Lady Catherine announced the call at an end, they all rose to part, and Mr Darcy said to Elizabeth in a low voice, “Pour it out the window.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The cherry brandy,” he muttered. “No good can come from drinking it.”
“I might do, although I fear for the lawn,” she whispered.
They exchanged a silent, knowing look with amused eyes, and then she felt a blush on her cheek and a rush of confusion pass over her. As handsome and astute as he was, there was no need to feel such a frenzy over a private joke and a smile. And certainly not with an arrogant man like Mr Darcy.
Lady Catherine and Colonel Fitzwilliam then came near to take leave, she with pronouncements on the future weather andhe with his usual friendly manner. Mr Darcy said nothing else as he bowed and left.
Elizabeth walked to the front room to watch Charlotte’s guests leave. How extraordinary to share a laugh with Mr Darcy. She had seen him smile on occasion, but she had thought he had too much pride to have a sense of humour. It was a pleasant moment, but she would ignore her racing heart. Attention, tolerance, comradeship with Mr Darcy was injury to Wickham, and if she was to be on friendly terms with one of them, Wickham was the better man.
When Darcy arrivedin the breakfast parlour the following morning, he held back a grimace when he saw only his aunt was at the table. As he greeted her and served himself, he wondered how many minutes would pass before Lady Catherine hinted at his marrying her daughter Anne.
Even if I did not admire Elizabeth Bennet, I could never attach myself to my cousin.
Not once in all of his twenty-eight years had Darcy considered his cousin to be worth esteeming. Anne had an unpleasant manner, was sullen if she did take the trouble to speak, asked others to do what she could easily do herself, and was cross and disagreeable, especially if she had not taken enough laudanum that day to make her soporific.
“My mind is full of servants’ wages and taxes,” Lady Catherine said by way of greeting as she pushed aside her letters. “Both are exorbitant costs. You do not know what outlays I have and the care I must take.”
He held her gaze for a breath, wondering if it would occur to her ladyship that, as master of an estate twice the size ofRosings, he had an excellent understanding of the responsibility and expense involved. Lady Catherine only looked as though she expected his assent. Darcy kept his forbearance as he said, “It must be a trial, madam. If you have need of my help or advice on Rosings’s management, you need only ask.”
His aunt drew back with a disdainful look. He ought to have known better; her ladyship gave advice, she did not accept it, despite having no business habits. As much as he felt an obligation to take care of his mother’s only sister—to take care of anyone who had need of him—Lady Catherine refused his help. She was drilled thoroughly in nothing while young, not even music or drawing, and his aunt had not grown up to decide to apply herself with a will to master any subject.
If only that stopped her from sharing her opinion about things of which she knows nothing.
“I am capable, Darcy, of managing my own affairs and accounts,” she said crossly, “and I can keep Rosings in fine repair.”
He had been thinking more about the land and the tenants. Rosings was a good house, but furnished with disregard for expense. For all the lavish expenditure, it showed not much taste. And Darcy had often thought that a widow who lived only with a grown-up daughter and her companion did not need so many servants. Still, he thought it unlikely that Lady Catherine must pinch many a year to pay for her expenses.
“Besides, once you recollect all that you owe to your family,” she added, “I will be more often at Pemberley and can shut up Rosings for months at a time.”
Darcy set down his fork. What he owed to his family, as far as his aunt was concerned, was to marry Anne and unite their fortunes. Darcy felt his temper rise. He did not love Anne—could scarcely even respect her—and would never marry her.To say so again would only leadto another quarrel, and for everyone’speace he had years ago decided to end any conversation on the topic.
With practised patience, he said in a tight, low voice, “I will not discuss it.”
Her ladyship was not used to having her judgment controverted, no matter how many times Darcy ended this line of enquiry. “It was the favourite wish of your dear mother, you know. The two of you are formed for?—”
“When I said I would not discuss it, I also meant that I would not listen to the subject, either.”
He held his aunt’s gaze until she finally dropped it. After a moment of silence, she said, “While we are alone, I have come across something that you must have.”
His aunt drew out a small jewellery box and handed it to him. He opened it to see a ring with a pear-shaped sapphire set next to a similarly shaped diamond. It was an odd pairing, but he supposed there was something pretty in its simplicity and how closely the two differently coloured stones fit together.
“Lady Anne had this made before she died. She had heard that the French emperor commissioned a ring of this style as an engagement gift to his empress. She thought it fitting that her son give such a ring to her niece.”
