“I shall not trouble myself with preliminaries,” she said. “I believe you are perfectly aware of the reason for my visit.”
“I can have no doubt of it.”
A pause followed – brief, but not insignificant.
Lady Catherine turned again to Darcy. “I have been informed,” she said, “of an understanding – improper, ill-advised, and wholly unsuitable – which I can scarcely credit, even now, as true.”
Darcy did not answer immediately. “Pray be explicit, madam,” he said at last. “It will save us both time.”
Her eyes flashed. “Very well. It was reported to me that you intend to marry this young woman.” She did not look at Elizabeth again.
The question – though delivered as an accusation – hung in the room.
Darcy answered without hesitation. “It is my intention.”
Elizabeth’s lips parted in involuntary relief; she lowered her gaze almost immediately, mastering the expression before it could be observed.
Darcy saw.
Lady Catherine drew herself up. “I am astonished.”
“I expected as much.”
“You expected it – and yet you persist?”
“I do.”
She took a step toward him.
“And upon what grounds,” she demanded, “do you justify such a decision? Do you imagine that inclination alone is sufficient to determine a connection of this magnitude?”
“No,” said Darcy calmly. “But I consider it essential.”
“Essential?” she repeated. “Essential?” Her tone sharpened. “You speak as though you were at liberty to indulge your preferences without regard to consequence. You are not. You never have been.”
“I am aware of my responsibilities.”
“Are you?” she returned quickly. “Then you must also be aware that you are acting in direct opposition to them.”
“I do not admit that.”
“You do not admit it?” Her voice rose slightly – not uncontrolled, but emphatic. “You, who were brought up to understand the consequence of your position – you, whose family expectations have always been clear – will now pretend ignorance?”
“I pretend nothing,” Darcy said, his tone still even, though no longer mild. “But I do not accept that those expectations require me to form a marriage devoid of respect or regard.”
Lady Catherine stared at him. “You speak as though these were matters of sentiment. They are not. They are matters of propriety, of connection, of consequence.”
“And I do not consider them incompatible.”
“You must,” she said sharply. “You must – unless you mean to place yourself, willingly and deliberately, in a situation beneath you.”
At this, Elizabeth’s colour rose, but she did not speak.
Darcy did. “There is nothing in Miss Bennet’s character, understanding, or conduct that can justify such a description.”
Lady Catherine’s gaze turned at last to Elizabeth.
“No,” she said coolly. “Only in her connections. Her relations are not such as could be overlooked. People in trade.”
