“Come, you indolent fellow,” Fitzwilliam called, as they rode through the morning mist. “Let us have a race!”
They spent a pleasant day, and Darcy found himself, for a time, able to relax and enjoy it. The shooting, and the masculine spirit of the occasion—which he had always relished—restored something of his former ease.
They dined at a cottage and drank a rustic wine, made by a local farmer from the grapes of a nearby vineyard. This, atleast, belonged to his life and might continue unchanged after marriage. The thought afforded him some relief.
He had resolved to marry, but his life need not be altered. A wife would be no more than a pleasing presence at Pemberley or in town whenever he returned home. He would not renounce his pleasures, his friends, or those pursuits which had always suited him.
With this persuasion, he spoke after dinner, with an air of confidence, in the large parlour of the house.
“I have requested you all to be here because I have an important announcement to make.”
As Lady Catherine was about to speak, he prevented her. “In fact, we have something to announce.” Only then did his aunt appear satisfied.
A general curiosity spread through the room, but no one was prepared for what followed.
“I have asked my cousin Anne to marry me, and she has accepted.”
A profound silence succeeded his words. No one knew how to respond. Lord Matlock appeared astonished, though not displeased, while the colonel coloured so deeply that Darcy feared he might lose his composure altogether.
Georgiana looked uneasy, though her brother had already informed her that afternoon. Whatever her confusion or distress, she did not speak; Darcy would not have allowed her to oppose him.
The only person who seemed truly pleased was Lady Catherine, who smiled in a manner none of them had seen for some time. She nodded repeatedly, while Anne herself, unexpectedly, regarded Darcy with perfect composure.
It was a shock to all. Lady Eleanor attempted a word of congratulation, but her husband interrupted her, unaware that she had begun to speak.
“I must speak with you. At once,” he said, addressing Darcy alone. As Lady Catherine rose also, he fixed her with a look. “Remain seated, Catherine. We shall withdraw for a glass of wine.”
And before another word could be uttered, all the gentlemen had left the room.
Scarcely had the door closed behind them when Lord Matlock demanded, in a tone of grave authority, “What is the meaning of this, young man?”
As Darcy did not immediately reply, he continued, “It is not that I oppose the match, but I cannot understand why you did not come to London and consult me before announcing it in this manner.”
“It is absurd!” the colonel exclaimed, still incapable of accepting his cousin’s marriage, concluded in such haste and at so difficult a moment, when Miss Elizabeth had surely not faded from his memory.
“Be silent, Richard!” Lord Matlock said sharply; but his son would not be restrained.
“No, sir, I will not be silent. It is madness. Not that he should wish to marry—that I approve—but London is full of beautiful women—”
“I cannot deny it,” Lord Matlock returned. “Why Anne?”
“Richard is aware that I had resolved to marry, and that my search has proved unsuccessful.”
“But you have all the time in the world,” the colonel insisted.
Darcy drank nearly half his glass of brandy. “I have determined not to pursue it further. I might spend my life seeking and never find a woman suited to me. Gentlemen, my decision is made. I have proposed to Anne, and she has accepted.”
“She has accepted?” The colonel gave a short, incredulous laugh, which filled the room with uneasiness. “She cannot even dine without looking to her mother for approval.”
“Enough, Richard!” Lord Matlock said sternly. “Let him speak.”
There was little more to be said, yet Darcy had prepared his explanation.
“The time we spent together during the presentation at court was essential, I began to consider the possibility. I have sought a wife in vain, when perhaps the best choice was within my own family. When I saw her again last week, I perceived how much she had changed.”
“You may be right,” his uncle said, thoughtfully. “Separated from her mother, she might become a very tolerable woman.”
“Yes—that was…is…precisely my view. After my proposal, I informed Lady Catherine that my only condition for the marriage was that Anne should live independently.”
