“Indeed,” Fitzwilliam agreed. “Though I must say, watching you fidget with that ring was becoming painful. I am relieved you finally worked up the courage to actually present it.”
The observation was delivered with such good humour that Darcy could not take offence, though he felt heat rise in his face.
“You must be very happy,” Fitzwilliam continued, glancing sideways at Darcy. “Miss Elizabeth is a remarkable woman. Intelligent, spirited, entirely unimpressed by rank or consequence. Precisely the sort of wife who will keep you from becoming insufferably pompous in your old age.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, and the word emerged more heavily than he intended. “I am very fortunate.”
Fitzwilliam’s expression shifted slightly, some of the teasing humour fading as he studied Darcy’s face. “You do not sound particularly fortunate. One might almost think you were uncertain about the engagement you just secured.”
Darcy forced his features into a more appropriate configuration. “I am simply thinking ahead to the next task. We must inform Aunt Catherine of my engagement, and that conversation will not be pleasant.”
“Ah,” Fitzwilliam said. “Yes, facing down the dragon. Well, you have my support in that endeavour, cousin. Though I suspect my presence will do little to soften her response.”
“I am aware,” Darcy replied, his tone carrying more bite than he had intended. “But I am not a boy to be directed in such matters. My aunt will have to accept that I have chosen my own wife.”
“Indeed she will,” Fitzwilliam agreed cheerfully. “Though the accepting may involve considerable volume and dramatics first. I suggest we get it over with quickly. The anticipation is often worse than the actual confrontation.”
They walked the remaining distance in silence, Darcy’s mind turning over the strange quality of Elizabeth’s acceptance despite his best efforts to dismiss his concerns. She had been so eager, so immediately willing. Had not questioned or teased or challenged him in any way. Had simply agreed with that bright smile.
Perhaps it was natural. Perhaps he had simply become so accustomed to Elizabeth’s opposition that her compliance felt wrong by contrast. Perhaps this was what happened when a woman who had initially disliked him came to return his affections.
Darcy told himself this firmly as they approached Rosings’ entrance. He was engaged to Elizabeth Bennet. That was what mattered. Everything else would sort itself out in time.
The entrance hall felt cooler than the morning air outside. Marble floors gleamed with recent polishing. A servant informed them that Lady Catherine awaited in her usual domain, and Darcy felt his shoulders tighten.
The drawing room assaulted Darcy’s senses with its usual oppressive formality. Heavy velvet curtains in deep burgundy hung from floor to ceiling, blocking most of the natural light. The air carried the cloying scent of lavender, mixing with beeswax polish and the scents of wood and coal from the fire, blazing despite the warm day outside.
Lady Catherine occupied her customary chair. Anne sat near the fire, gazing pensively into the flames. Mrs. Jenkinson occupied her usual position nearby, her hands busy with some mending.
“Darcy,” Lady Catherine pronounced, her voice carrying that particular edge of displeasure. “You have been absent all morning. I trust you have a suitable explanation.”
Darcy moved further into the room, Fitzwilliam following close behind. The words he needed to say gathered behindhis teeth, simple and straightforward, yet somehow difficult to speak aloud.
“Aunt Catherine,” Darcy began, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I have news that I hope will bring you joy. I have this morning become engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. We are to be married.”
The silence lasted perhaps three heartbeats. Then Lady Catherine rose from her chair with enough force to make the furniture creak. Her face had gone red, mottled with fury.
“Engaged!” Lady Catherine spat the word as though it tasted foul. “You dare to come into my house and announce that you have engaged yourself to that impertinent, presumptuous girl. That woman of no consequence, no connexions, no fortune worthy of the name. Have you lost your senses entirely?”
“Aunt Catherine,” Darcy attempted, but she spoke over him without pause.
“Your duty,” Lady Catherine continued, her voice rising until she was nearly shouting. “Your obligation to this family, to your mother’s memory, to the plan that has existed almost since your birth. You were destined to marry Anne. Destined to unite our estates, to keep the family connexions strong. And you throw all of that aside for what? A pair of fine eyes and an impertinent manner?”
She glared at him, her eyes blazing. “Anne has waited for you her entire life. Has maintained her health as best she could despite her delicate constitution, has prepared herself to be mistress of Pemberley. Andthisis how you repay her devotion?”
“My engagement to Miss Bennet has nothing to do with Anne,” Darcy said, finding his voice. “I hold my cousin in great affection, but I have never had any intention to offer her marriage. There has never been an understanding between us.”
“There has been an understanding since you were children,” Lady Catherine insisted, her hand coming down on a nearby sidetable with enough force to make the ornaments rattle. A small porcelain figure toppled over. “An understanding between your mother and myself. You spit on your mother’s memory with this choice.”
The accusation struck Darcy like a physical blow, but he forced himself to remain composed. “My mother never spoke to me of any such understanding, and she would have wanted me to marry for affection, not duty. She would have approved of Elizabeth.”
“She would have been horrified,” Lady Catherine countered. “Horrified that her son would lower himself to marry the daughter of a country gentleman with barely two thousand a year and connexions to trade. What will people say? What will society think?”
“I care nothing for what society thinks,” Darcy said, and meant it with every fibre of his being. “Elizabeth Bennet is worth ten of any fashionable society lady I have ever met.”
Lady Catherine’s face twisted with such rage that for a moment Darcy thought she might actually strike him. Instead, she turned sharply and strode toward the door. She wrenched it open with enough force that it struck the wall behind it.
“You are a fool,” Lady Catherine pronounced from the doorway, her voice cold. “And you will regret this choice for the rest of your days. Mark my words, Darcy. This marriage will bring you nothing but misery.”
