“Dr. Morrison says whatever you instruct him to say. It is his principal talent.”
Lady Catherine absorbed this with the imperviousness of a fortress absorbing rain. “The point, Darcy, is that the arrangement between myself and your late mother—the dearest wish of two sisters—that their children should unite our two great families.”
“How curious.” Lady Sophia’s voice was mild, but timed for exactly this moment. “Forgive me, but your sister never mentioned such an arrangement to me. We were, as you know, intimate friends.”
The temperature at the table dropped to the snowline. Lady Catherine’s spoon paused, dripping onto the pristine tablecloth.
“My sister,” she said, with the careful emphasis of a woman selecting each word as one selects ammunition, “may not have discussed every aspect of our family’s arrangements with persons outside the family.”
“No, indeed. She was most discreet.” Lady Sophia accepted more wine from the footman without looking away from Lady Catherine. “But I feel quite certain that had she wished Fitzwilliam to marry Anne, she would have told me. She told me everything else.”
Lady Catherine flushed, and Anne dipped her bread roll into her soup.
“I do not believe,” she said, “that either my mother or my late aunt consulted me on the subject of my marriage. Nor, I suspect,was Fitzwilliam consulted. Mamma, I believe we are both old enough to form opinions of our own.”
Lady Catherine’s lips pressed thin. “Anne.”
“Mamma, I do not wish to play the pianoforte this evening. Nor do I wish to show Fitzwilliam my watercolors. He has seen them every visit since I was twelve, and he has never once expressed an opinion because he has none. I should rather we all acknowledged this than continue the performance.” She looked at Darcy. “Would you not agree, Cousin?”
“I—” The honest answer wasyes, entirely. The polite answer was everything else. “Your dedication to art is admirable.”
“Perhaps, but the results are mediocre. I paint because Mamma counts it as a worthwhile activity, not because I possess any aptitude. Georgiana plays because she loves music. There is a difference, and I think tonight is an excellent night to stop pretending otherwise.”
Georgiana looked up at Anne, startled. One overlooked young woman recognizing another across a table crowded with the ambitions of louder people.
“I believe,” Lady Sophia said, “that your daughter, Lady Catherine, is giving you a message. Whether you choose to hear it is, of course, entirely your affair.”
Lady Catherine rose from the table. “I will not sit here and be lectured on my family by a woman who has never married, never raised a child, and presumes to speak for a sister she has no right to claim.”
“I presume nothing,” Lady Sophia retorted. “I merely listen. It is an underrated skill.”
Lady Catherine departed with Anne in tow, the dining room door trembling in her wake. Georgiana excused herself shortly afterward, leaving Darcy and Lady Sophia alone.
“Well,” she said. “That went rather better than I expected. Your aunt usually takes a full three courses to reach the partwhere she storms out. We have gained at least one remove.” She tilted her wine glass toward him. “Your cousin Anne is more interesting than she appears. You might do well to remember that, Fitzwilliam. Interesting women have a way of appearing in one’s life without warning.”
Her eyes glinted as if she found this observation amusing, and again images of Miss Elizabeth Bennet invaded without warning.
“Now. Shall we have the pudding?” Lady Sophia concluded. “I find scenes of this nature make me rather hungry.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ELIZABETH TAKES POSSESSION
Elizabeth’s nerveswere usually of the stronger variety, but the sheer restlessness of the city was beginning to fray them. The streets were more crowded than she could have imagined, and the near collisions with other carriages and carts had her knuckles whitening on the door frame. Add the sounds—from their driver shouting at the pedestrians to the cries of street vendors, and the constant clip-clopping of riders rushing around their carriage, it seemed as if the entire world were running from a raging fire.
Beside her, Jane maintained an infuriating serenity, her gloved hands folded as if she were merely traveling to Meryton for ribbons. Mary, however, was pressed against the glass with the look of a girl discovering that the world was larger than anyone had bothered to tell her.
Nettle, too, had both forepaws braced on the windowsill, her torn ear swiveling with the quivering attention of a dog who had been raised in a ditch and finding out that the city street had more smells and sights than the entire universe of Hertfordshire ditches.
And then, as they closed in on the West side, the hedgerows transformed into houses, then rows of terraces, and finally intobroader streets where the buildings grew more magnificent with every mile.
Elizabeth should have been triumphant. Or vindicated and even appropriately grateful, but her fingernails went to her teeth, and only the touch of her glove kept her from biting down. Grosvenor Street meant Fitzwilliam Darcy arranging everything for her.
She could not forget the despair on his face when she had, unbelievably to him, refused his proposal. She had not relished injuring him, and indeed, she had been much kinder to Mr. Collins, but Darcy had a way of making her bristle. Her words had drawn blood, causing him to write the letter. Sometimes she wished she had not read it, as she found it hard to keep her justified anger unclouded by a modicum of undeserved guilt.
The grand carriage, arranged by said gentleman, turned onto the paved street with such a smooth motion that Elizabeth felt as if they were drifting on a riverboat down the Thames. The greenery surrounding the grand houses, with their pillars and stone facades, was ornamental and trimmed with the discipline befitting royalty.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, pinching herself. “Are we dreaming or are we merely lost?”
