They had argued. They had reconciled. They had nearly been caught again. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, between the anger and the desire and the raw confession of fear, something had shifted irrevocably.
They were no longer two people navigating an unwanted engagement. They were two people who wanted each other so badly it was rewriting the rules of their lives, and the only question left was not whether they would surrender, but when.
Chapter 9: Lady Catherine's Assault
The carriage arrived at Longbourn at half past ten on a Thursday morning, and it was the kind of carriage that made statements: gleaming black lacquer, a matched team of greys, a coachman in livery so crisp it could have cut bread. Mrs. Bennet, who had been discussing napkin arrangements with Hill in the hallway, flew to the window with the instinct of a woman who could identify social rank by the quality of horse furniture.
"A fine carriage! Oh, who can it be? Jane, come to the window! Mr. Bennet, there is a carriage!"
Mr. Bennet did not come to the window. He turned a page of his book and observed, "It is likely someone wishing to visit. This tends to be the purpose of carriages."
The woman who descended from that carriage walked into the Longbourn drawing room the way a general walks into enemy territory: with total confidence, thorough disdain, and the expectation that resistance was merely a formality.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh was tall, thin, sharp-featured, and expensively unpleasant. She wore authority the way other women wore perfume, and her gaze, as it swept the Longbourn drawing room, catalogued every modest ornament, every worn carpet edge, every evidence of a family living within -- but not above -- their means, and found all of it wanting.
"You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet," she said. It was not a question.
"I am." Elizabeth rose from her chair and did not curtsy. The omission was deliberate, and Lady Catherine registered it the way a duelist registers a blade drawn.
"You know who I am."
"I know your reputation. I believe you are Lady Catherine de Bourgh, aunt to Mr. Darcy."
"I am. And I am here on a matter of great urgency regarding my nephew. A matter that I trust you will resolve with more sense than you have so far demonstrated."
Mrs. Bennet, who had been hovering in the doorway with the breathless anticipation of a woman witnessing actual aristocracy in her drawing room, attempted an introduction. "Lady Catherine, how delightful! May I offer you tea? I must say, what a beautiful carriage --"
"I have not come for tea, Mrs. Bennet. I have come to speak with your daughter. Privately."
"Oh! Oh, of course, how --"
"Mama." Elizabeth's voice was quiet but firm. "Would you give us the room, please?"
Mrs. Bennet retreated with visible reluctance, leaving the door cracked behind her in a manner that suggested the entire household would know every word spoken within the next five minutes. Elizabeth did not bother closing it. Whatever Lady Catherine had come to say, she suspected the truth of it was already known to everyone in Hertfordshire.
"You know why I am here," Lady Catherine said.
"I can hazard a guess. You have come to express your disapproval of my engagement to your nephew."
"I have come to demand that you end it."
The word demand landed in the room with the weight of a gavel. Elizabeth folded her hands and looked at Lady Catherine with the particular steadiness she reserved for bullies: calm, direct, unyielding.
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds of propriety, decency, and the duty you owe to a family whose name you are unfit to bear. The engagement is a farce. The entire county knows how it came about. You were caught in a compromising position with my nephew at a public ball, and he, being a man of honor, was compelled to offer for you. It was not a proposal born of affection. It was a rescue. A condescension of the highest order, and you, Miss Bennet, should have had the grace to refuse it."
Elizabeth's face did not change. Inside, something cold settled in her stomach and began to burn.
"You are remarkably well-informed about the circumstances, Lady Catherine. I wonder who provided your intelligence."
"That is immaterial."
"I think not. I think you have been invited here by Miss Caroline Bingley, who has taken a particular interest in my engagement and an even more particular interest in seeing it dissolved. Is that correct?"
Lady Catherine's nostrils flared. "My sources are my own concern."
"They are my concern when they feed you partial truths designed to serve their own ambitions. Miss Bingley wishes to marry your nephew herself. I suspect you know this. I suspect you encouraged it. And I suspect that when she wrote to you describing the compromise at Netherfield, she neglected to mention that your nephew's feelings for me predate the incident by some weeks."
