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Darcy recalled Mr Gardiner’s advice and stripped all emotion from his posture, projecting the calm of a merchant finalising a ledger.

“I have come to clarify a matter of business, Aunt,” he stated, his enunciation crisp and precise. “A matter concerning the longstanding, theoretical arrangement regarding a union between myself and Anne.”

Lady Catherine puffed her chest out. “Theoretical! It is not theoretical, Fitzwilliam. It is your duty! It is a pact I made with your late mother, a binding obligation designed to unite the estates of Rosings Park and Pemberley into an unstoppable force of consequence!”

Darcy did not raise his volume to match hers, merely waiting for the echo of her shout to fade.

“It is a kind of transaction,” Darcy corrected. “A contract of marriage. However, a contract is only valid if the primary parties consent to the terms and provide their willing signatures.”

Lady Catherine stared at him, her brow furrowing in confusion at the mercantile terminology. “Transaction? Signatures? What absurd language are you employing? You are a gentleman, not a shopkeeper!”

“I am the master of this estate, and I am one of the required parties to this contract,” Darcy continued, unbothered by her insults. “I have examined the terms and I find them unsuitable. I have no inclination to merge our estates and no desire to marry Anne. I formally and unequivocally decline the arrangement. My signature will not be provided.”

Lady Catherine’s complexion turned red, the walking stick trembling in her grip.

“You decline!” she shrieked. “You dare to defy the wishes of your ancestors! You dare to insult your family! I will not permit it! You will marry her, Fitzwilliam! I demand it!”

Darcy did not defend his ancestors, nor did he argue about his mother’s true wishes. He turned his head, directing his gaze to the young woman standing steadfastly by his side.

Anne released Darcy’s arm and closed the distance between herself and her mother.

“The matter does not rest solely on Fitzwilliam’s signature, Mother,” Anne said, her words heavy stones dropped into a still pond. “Because I also formally and unequivocally decline the contract.”

Lady Catherine’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. She stared at her daughter as though Anne had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“I will not marry him,” Anne continued, her gaze locked firmly with her mother’s. “I have no desire to manage Pemberley and to be a wife. If you attempt to force this issue, I will refuse to say the vows. The clergyman will be forced to dismiss the congregation, and the resulting scandal will provide gossip for the entire country.”

The certainty in Anne’s tone shattered the matriarch’s defences.

Darcy knew his aunt understood the mechanics of power. She could attempt to force her nephew and she could scream until her throat grew hoarse, but she could not physically force her adult daughter to speak the words of consent in a church. A public refusal before the assembled congregation would result in the utter humiliation of the de Bourgh name. He could not imagine her accepting such an outcome.

The silence stretched for ten long seconds.

Darcy watched his aunt’s expression change as she searched for an answer to a refusal she could not overrule.

Then, the miraculous pivot occurred.

Lady Catherine lowered her walking stick and smoothed the front of her gown, her chin elevating to an angle of condescending superiority. The flush left her cheeks, replaced by imperious logic.

“Say the vows?” Lady Catherine scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Do not be absurd, Anne. I would never permit you to say the vows in a draughty church in this abominable county.”

Darcy blinked, stunned by the speed of the reversal.

“I have spent more than a week closely observing the climate of Derbyshire,” Lady Catherine explained. “The air is damp and the soil is heavy. The mornings are too crisp for a delicate constitution, even in June. I have concluded that residing at Pemberley would be disastrous for your health, Anne. It would ruin your lungs within a year.”

Georgiana pressed her lips tightly together, her shoulders shaking with shock at the blatant fabrication.

“Therefore,” Lady Catherine continued, turning her gaze to Darcy, “on careful reflection, I have decided to dissolve the arrangement. I will not sacrifice my only child to these northern winters. You are far too stubborn, Fitzwilliam, and your estate is unsuitable for my daughter. The connection is dropped. By my command.”

Darcy looked at her, incredulous. She had claimed the victory, rewriting the history of the morning, transforming a crushing defeat into a calculated decision born of maternal wisdom. He wanted to applaud. Mr Gardiner could make great use of her should he ever need a negotiator. Darcy bowed deeply to his aunt, without caring who claimed the victory, so long as the contract was destroyed.

“Your wisdom is unmatched, Aunt Catherine,” he said, keeping his countenance perfectly solemn. “I accept your decision. The arrangement is dissolved.”

“See that you remember it,” Lady Catherine snapped, turning back to the globe and spinning it.

“There is another thing I must bring to your attention, Aunt.” Darcy braced himself for the final revelation. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet has granted me permission to court her. I intend to do so openly.”

Lady Catherine halted the globe with her palm once more. She took a deep breath, her chest expanding.