Mr.Darcy remained unmoved for a long moment. Then, as if emerging from a trance, he allowed his cousin to lead him out of the room. Elizabeth, standing closest to the door, was able to discern his quiet voice as he uttered words not intended for her ears.
“I could have strangled her right there, Fitzwilliam—with my bare hands.”
“You were not the only one, believe me.”
Startled from her stupor, Elizabeth turned when Miss de Bourgh approached her. “Miss Bennet, you are soaking wet. Forgive me for my earlier inhospitable manner. Pray accompany me. I shall provide you with dry clothes.”
***
Rain fell over Rosings for several hours, battering stone and glass with relentless fury. Inside the mansion, darkness reigned. Even the numerous candles and torches lighting the halls and rooms failed to brighten the oppressive atmosphere. Long shadows stretched across the floors and crept up the walls, and the few lit hearths could not dispel the cold from a storm that seemed born in hell.
The Hunsford party had been invited to remain at the mansion until the storm eased—a proposal met with a mixture of relief and dismay, for staying meant enduring Lady Catherine’s domineering tactics for at least another day.
Despite the storm’s implacability and the day’s earlier misfortunes, Lady Catherine’s guests were assembled at the dining table. The Collinses, Miss Lucas, Elizabeth, and Lady Catherine’s nephews and daughter sat before half-eaten plates, their expressions betraying their distaste at being forced to share the meal with her ladyship. No one spoke, despite Lady Catherine’s persistent attempts to initiate conversation. Miss de Bourgh was especially silent, hunched on her seat, her face flushed and eyes swollen, wiping away an occasional tear.
A hollowness gripped Elizabeth’s chest, not from the silence itself, but from the burden of so many dark looks and troubled faces. She could spare some sympathy for her friends, and perhaps a little for Miss de Bourgh, yet the rest were, to her mind, people wholly unconnected with her. Why should she be made to sit here, sharingin their discomfort, as though their discontent were hers to bear? Her Welsh adventure had taken a most disagreeable turn, far from the cheerful visit she had once envisioned. If only she could leave this wretched island and return home!
“You are dreadfully dull this evening, Miss Bennet. Do not tell me you are so easily frightened by a thunderstorm.” Lady Catherine regarded Elizabeth with a disdainful smirk.
“No, madam. I was merely concerned about the injured servant. Is he faring any better?”
“What happens to him is none of my concern, Miss Bennet. Nor is it yours. A lady of good breeding should not trouble herself with such matters.”
“He has not yet regained consciousness, though he appears to be resting peacefully,” said Mr. Darcy. “We all hope that he improves soon.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With a clear disinterest in the subject, Lady Catherine waved her hand and turned to her daughter.
“Anne, why are you not eating?”
“I am not hungry, Mother.”
“Cry all you want; you know your duty. I shall not change my mind. Now eat! Food should not be wasted.”
The “duty” to which Lady Catherine alluded needed no explanation. No one at the table could plead ignorance of an altercation before dinner in Lady Catherine’s private room; their voices had carried for all the others to hear as they dressed for dinner. Pretending not to listen had been both impossible and mortifying. Miss de Bourgh’s shrill protests ofYou cannot make me! I shall never marry him!left little to guess at. When she burst out moments later, shouting,I hate you, Mother! I would rather die than marry him!before fleeing to her chamber, the truth was unmistakable: Lady Catherine had issued an ultimatum. Miss de Bourgh was to marry her cousin, Mr. Darcy, whether she wished it or not.
Sympathy tightened in Elizabeth’s bosom for the young lady who was denied any choice in the matter and, reluctantly, for Mr. Darcy as well. However little she esteemed him, no one deserved to be made the object of such a public scene. Yet he bore the disruption without protest, as if humiliation was a price he had long since resigned himself to pay. What power did Lady Catherine wield overa gentleman of such fortune and consequence that would make him bend to her will so meekly? At least her own father had allowed her to refuse Mr. Collins—he had never sought to force her into a match, nor exerted such dominion over her future. Mr. Darcy, however, did not even attempt to stand his ground.
Another course was served—one that no one save Lady Catherine actually tasted. Shortly thereafter, the party moved to the drawing room, where coffee and tea was offered. Yet the evening was far from over.
The gathering proved dull and uninviting. Conversation languished; no card tables had been set to provide even the smallest diversion. Although coffee circulated, Lady Catherine, as was her custom, indulged in her favourite beverage—a bottle of well-aged Spanish sherry.
After three full glasses, her ladyship rose with a sudden purpose. “Come, Darcy, we must speak in private.”
The gentleman stood, tugging at his tailcoat and following her with a sour expression. Elizabeth’s gaze lingered on him, baffled that a man so plainly displeased would yield so readily to his aunt’s summons.
The others remained quietly dispersed around the room. Elizabeth sat by a spray of candles, her book forgotten on her lap; Charlotte and her husband reclined on a sofa across from her. Maria had joined Miss de Bourgh on a loveseat, and the two young ladies conversed in hushed tones. Only the colonel stood by the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantel as he gazed pensively into the fire.
“Anne, dearest,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said to his cousin a moment later, gesturing towards the small clavichord. “Would you play something for us? I am sure it will cheer you up. I shall turn the pages for you.”
“I do not have my music with me—I left the books in the music room.”
“Surely there is some song you remember.”
“I do not, but I can retrieve my music if you wish.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Miss de Bourgh. I shall go fetch them,” Elizabeth rose from her chair, eager for a brief respite from the room.
