Page 28

Maggie gasped, her eyes widening. “The hounds won’t eat no guests, miss! At least, I’ve never heard of it happening.”

“Do not be absurd, Lizzy,” Aunt Madeline scolded gently, rising from the armchair. “You hold a promise from the master of the estate. You are a guest and you have every right to eat your breakfast. We shall face the matriarch together, and we shall do so with perfect propriety. Come along.”

Elizabeth rose from the mattress and finished tying her sash. She gathered her courage, and linked her arm through her uncle’s, anchoring herself to his stability, and they descended the staircase.

The breakfast parlour was silent like a tomb.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh sat at the head of the long table, her dark brown morning gown absorbing the sunlight. She held a knife in her right hand, brutally dismantling a baked scone, separating the pastry into precise, uniform fragments.

Miss de Bourgh and Miss Darcy were notably absent and Mr Darcy was nowhere to be seen.

Elizabeth approached the table, executing a polite curtsy. “Good morning, your ladyship.”

Lady Catherine halted her destruction of the scone and placed the knife on the plate with a sharp clatter. She elevated her chin, her eyes fixing on Elizabeth with the intensity of a winter frost.

“Miss Elizabeth,” she intoned, her speech devoid of any warmth whatsoever. “Take your seat. Your aunt and uncle may sit as well.”

The Gardiners claimed their chairs without a shred of intimidation. Uncle Edward reached for the tongs to secure a large slice of ham. Elizabeth sat opposite him, her spine straight, striving for serenity despite the frantic beating of her heart.

“I shall inform you of certain alterations,” Lady Catherine announced to the room at large. “I have decided that my daughter, possessing a delicate constitution, cannot claim her rightful place as the future mistress of this estate. The dampness of Derbyshire is to blame. She requires the superior air of Kent.”

“A prudent decision for Miss de Bourgh’s health,” Aunt Madeline murmured, pouring a cup of tea.

“Indeed,” Lady Catherine snapped and turned her piercing gaze back to Elizabeth. “Consequently, my nephew is free from his obligations. He has expressed a desire to bestow his attentions on you, Miss Elizabeth, and I no longer care about the shades of Pemberley.”

“I am certain the shades of Pemberley will be distressed, your ladyship.”

Lady Catherine was frustrated by the lack of a dramatic reaction. She struck the table lightly with her knuckles.

“Do not assume you have the freedom to manage this yourselves, young lady,” Lady Catherine warned. “My nephew is unaccustomed to the nuances of a proper courtship. He would undoubtedly bungle the affair and create a spectacle. Therefore, I shall take charge of the proceedings.”

Elizabeth blinked, her composure slipping. “You intend to take charge of the courtship, madam?”

“I intend to govern it,” Lady Catherine said, her tone brooking no argument. “If this absurdity must occur, it will occur with decorum, with propriety, and with speed. I depart for Rosings Park in two weeks, and I refuse to leave until the matter is settled and my nephew is tethered. You will follow my instructions.”

Before Elizabeth could formulate a response to the prospect of a courtship dictated by Lady Catherine, Mr Darcy strode into the room, followed by his sister and his cousin.

He halted next to Elizabeth’s chair, catching the final echoes of his aunt’s declaration. He observed Elizabeth’s face, seeking any sign of distress.

She offered him a smile; the absurdity of his aunt serving as their chaperone was too magnificent to resist.

“I am grateful for your guidance, your ladyship,” Elizabeth declared, ensuring Mr Darcy heard every syllable. “I rely on your superior wisdom. What are your plans for our mutual entertainment today? Though, I must confess, I need a measure of sustenance before I can embark on any romantic endeavours.”

Mr Darcy stared at her, his eyes widening in utter bewilderment.

“Sustenance is necessary,” Lady Catherine agreed, waving a palm to the sideboard. “Fitzwilliam! You are courting this young woman. You will not stand there staring at the wainscoting. Pour her tea. Serve her a plate of eggs. Anticipate her needs.”

Mr Darcy’s jaw dropped. He shifted his gaze from his aunt to Elizabeth, seeking clarification for the surreal commands.

“Her ladyship is in charge of your affections, sir,” Uncle Edward offered, chewing a piece of ham. “I suggest you secure the teapot.”

Darcy moved instantly, the bewilderment dissolving into eager compliance. He grasped the teapot, moving close to Elizabeth’s shoulder. He poured the steaming liquid into her cup, his proximity sending a delightful flutter through her chest. He returned the teapot to the table.

“Perhaps you should butter her toast as well, Mr Darcy,” Aunt Madeline suggested, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “A gentleman must demonstrate a willingness to provide.”

“I am willing,” Darcy agreed, his tone serious. He reached for the toast rack and the small dish of churned butter, applying the spread with unnecessary precision.

Miss Darcy had claimed a chair beside Anne. “You must blow the steam from her tea, Fitzwilliam. I frequently burn my tongue on the morning brew. A suitor must ensure his lady is protected from scalding hazards.”