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“Port? In this establishment?” She scoffed, turning her attention back to Elizabeth. “This will never do, Miss Elizabeth. It is unacceptable. The chairs are uneven. The air is foul. And I distinctly observed a stray dog lingering by the stables. You cannot possibly remain here.”

“The accommodation is quite adequate for our needs, madam,” Elizabeth replied, attempting to inject a note of firm finality into her tone. “We depart for the Lake District tomorrow morning.”

“You shall do no such thing.” Lady Catherine struck the floor with the tip of her walking stick. “You shall pack your trunks. You will remove to Pemberley.”

Elizabeth’s heart sank. The trap she had so carefully avoided since their arrival was snapping shut around her ankles.

“That is a generous offer, your ladyship.” Elizabeth forced her lips into a polite smile. “However, I cannot abandon my relatives. Our itinerary is set.”

Lady Catherine waved a dismissive, heavily ringed finger, ignoring the objection. “Then they shall accompany you. There are fifty empty bedchambers at Pemberley. Three additional guests will cause no disruption whatsoever. The matter is settled.”

“We could not possibly impose on Mr Darcy’s hospitality,” Elizabeth countered desperately, moving closer to her uncle in a silent plea for assistance. “My relatives are unacquainted with the gentleman.”

“Mr Darcy’s hospitality is not the matter at hand!” Lady Catherine puffed her chest out. “I am the future mother-in-law of that estate. My daughter will very soon be mistress of Pemberley. As the matriarch of the family, I possess full and absolute authority to invite whomever I please into those halls. Darcy will comply with my wishes.”

My daughter will very soon be mistress of Pemberley.

Had he agreed to marry his cousin after all? The long-standing engagement between Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss de Bourgh was proceeding, as it seemed. He had retreated to Derbyshire to fulfil his family duty, and Lady Catherine had followed to ensure the transaction was completed. The proposal to Elizabeth at Hunsford had been a momentary madness, a lapse in judgment he had likely repented the moment he returned to his sphere.

Uncle Edward cleared his throat. He looked at Lady Catherine’s flushed, demanding face, and then at the pale form of Miss de Bourgh huddled in the armchair, pity softening his features.

“It is a kind invitation, your ladyship.” Uncle Edward nodded politely, oblivious to his niece’s internal turmoil. “Provided Mr Darcy is agreeable, my wife and I would be honoured to accept.”

Elizabeth turned to her uncle, her eyes wide with warning.

Aunt Madeline, always perceptive, caught Elizabeth’s panicked gaze. She frowned, her gaze darting between the commanding lady and her distressed niece. “Edward, perhaps we should consider our schedule.”

Lady Catherine’s invitation had evidently extinguished any interest her husband retained in their itinerary.

“Nonsense, Madeline.” Uncle Edward patted his waistcoat. “The Lakes will remain precisely where they are. We can spare a few days for a grand estate. It will be a splendid adventure.”

“Excellent.” Lady Catherine turned on her heel, shouting over her shoulder. “Mrs Jenkinson! Instruct the innkeeper to send someone to assist with their packing and have their carriage prepared. I assume you do have one, Mr Gardiner?” At the affirmative nod of Elizabeth’s uncle, she grunted. “We depart in thirty minutes. I refuse to breathe this mutton-scented air a moment longer.”

Mrs Jenkinson scurried into the passage to obey the command.

Elizabeth was going to Pemberley. She was going to stay in his home, surrounded by his family, and watch him prepare to marry another woman.

She closed her eyes, seeking a brief moment of fortitude. She had faced his pride in Kent. She would face his indifference in Derbyshire. She was Elizabeth Bennet, and she would not allow any man, not even the master of Pemberley, to see her tremble.

Chapter Two: The Uninvited Guests

Darcy urged Orion into a punishing gallop across the eastern meadow of the Pemberley estate. The hot wind tore at his hat, making him sweat under the sun of late June, yet the physical exertion offered inadequate relief for his pounding temples.

He needed the exertion and the thundering rhythm of hooves on the turf to drown out the voice of his aunt.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh had the volume and persistence of a church bell rung at close proximity. She had arrived in Derbyshire one week prior, bringing her daughter, her daughter’s companion, and an astonishing quantity of unsolicited opinions. Since that day, peace had abandoned his home.

Darcy slowed Orion to a measured trot as they approached the edge of the woods, guiding the black stallion beneath the leafy canopy, seeking the cool shade of the ancient oaks.

Following the disastrous Easter sojourn in Kent, Darcy had withdrawn to London, collected his sister and Mrs Annesley, and removed to Pemberley. He had required the sanctuary of his ancestral home. The blistering rejection from Miss Elizabeth Bennet had left him raw and humbled. He had spent the ensuing two months immersing himself in the management of his estate, directing his energy to improving the lives of his tenants, and engaging in uncomfortable reflection.

He had always believed himself to be a gentleman of the highest honour. Miss Elizabeth had illuminated his failings with staggering clarity. He had separated his dearest friend from a lady of genuine affection. He had allowed his pride to render him callous and unfeeling.

Determined to correct his errors, Darcy had recently composed a lengthy, excruciatingly honest letter to Charles Bingley. He had confessed his own unwarranted interference in Hertfordshire, detailing the equally manipulative conduct of Bingley’s sisters. He had admitted his misjudgement of Miss Jane Bennet’s affections, laying the blame for the separation on his own arrogance. He had concluded the missive by stating he would understand if Bingley wished to sever their acquaintance forever, leaving the matter in his friend’s control. He wished Bingley well, whatever path he chose.

He had sealed it, dispatched it to London, and waited. Bingley had not replied.

The silence stung, yet Darcy accepted the consequence. He had done what honour demanded. He had settled into a quiet, restorative routine with Georgiana, believing he was finally making progress in overcoming his ardent affections for the lady from Longbourn. He had believed he was healing.