Also, there had been no possibility at all of Lady Catherine being quickly convinced to look on the match with favor.
His aunt gaped at him. “You cannot! You cannot marry that woman.”
Feeling guilt at having made a joke of it, Darcy said softly, “Aunt, I apologize for having treated this as a matter of jest. But I will marry Mrs. Wickham, and she will be shown every respect due to Mrs. Darcy.”
“You cannot! What about Anne! What about the prior engagement existing between you two.”
“You know that we are not engaged. I have never made an offer of my hand to her, and I never would. My feelings towards her were never of that sort.”
“Your family duty! Your lineage! We planned your engagement while you were in your cradles! How can you despise the efforts, wishes, and desires of both your mother and myself?”
“Dear Lady Catherine,” Darcy looked at her. She looked older than she ever had before. Her hands were fluttering, her hair was ruffled, and the tone of her voice had risen with every word. And she was his mother’s dear and beloved sister, and he did not like to see her unhappy. “I am truly sorry if you ever believed that I meant to marry Anne. But I have never considered myself bound by the fond thoughts that you and my mother expressed on the subject.”
“You can unite two of the greatest fortunes in England! And you mean to throw that away for this immoral, scheming hussy.”
And then suddenly something switched in Darcy.
Coldness. Detachment from emotion. Knowing his duty, and what he must do. It was like when he’d challenged Wickham to the duel. Perhaps having once found himself in this state, it was easier to be thrown into it again.
Lady Catherine had continued speaking; she jabbed her cane at Elizabeth, saying, “I am not ignorant of your circumstances! I know how you fled your father’s house in the company of the man who ruined my niece! I know how you have been forced to sell everything you own, how you have worked as a servant! I know these things! You cannot hide them from me. And you dare to presume to—”
“Madam.” Darcy’s chest vibrated. A part of him worried that he might reopen the wound. “Madam. Silence. You will apologize to my fiancée and swear to never speak to her in such a manner, or you shall never be permitted to enter any of my houses again.”
Elizabeth came to him. She took his arm and pressed him to sit. Her face had an oddly concerned look to it.
Lady Catherine opened and closed her mouth rhythmically. “I will not be silent. I will not apologize! Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted! Has she lured you with her feminine wiles? What moral sins has she committed to cause you to forget your—”
Darcy had pulled away from Elizabeth and he stalked closer to Lady Catherine, glaring at her. Only the sense that it was his duty to send her off in the manner of a gentleman, rather than a brute, kept him from shoving his aunt to the floor, and then dragging her by her hair out of the house. “You. Have said. Enough. Begone.”
Lady Catherine began to speak again.
“Now!” Darcy shouted over her. He breathed heavily. His chest hurt terribly. He added in an ordinary calm voice. “I will call the footmen, and they will drag you from the house. Go.”
The two of them stared at each other for what seemed to be a long time. Then she turned and left.
As soon as she passed out the door Darcy felt completely overcome by weakness. Now when Elizabeth took his arm and pulled him back to sit on the sofa he let her. He closed his eyes and felt unable to move.
Georgiana exclaimed, “No! I never thought I would see someone face down Lady Catherine in such a way—brother, are you well?”
“I do not believe he is,” Elizabeth said. “Does it hurt, Darcy?”
“A little,” he whispered. “But I think I will be well in half a minute. It is the ribs that hurt more than the wound.”
“You tensed every muscle,” Elizabeth said. “I was frightened to see it. I wish I had thought of something to say to calm you both.”
Little George climbed onto the sofa and sat next to Darcy. The boy put his arms around him. “You scared off the scary lady.”
Elizabeth laughed, and that made Darcy laugh, which made his ribs hurt again, even though he now could mostly laugh without pain.
He opened his eyes, and Elizabeth thrust a glass of wine into his hand. He took it and took a deep long swallow. When he put it aside, he said, “Isn’t that rich enough that it will make me grow more blood than I ought?”
Elizabeth smiled at him, but there was something different about the way that she looked at him. He could not decipher it. “Nonsense. Doctors worry. And they pretend they know more than they do. In any case one glass, at such an advanced state of recovery, cannot harm you. I may even let you have a sliver of the roast beef this evening.”
A wide smile slowly spread across Darcy’s face. “Then you are satisfied with how I defended your honor?”
She looked at him in such a manner as to make Darcy feel as though she were on the verge of taking his head in her hands and savagely kissing him.
Georgiana said, “It was terrifying. I thought you might hurt her. You looked like you did when…when you challenged Mr. Wickham.”
