Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “If he is truly so, why would your ladyship fear that he would engage himself to me? We have already established that heisa man of honour.”
Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes. “Their arrangement has existed since their infancy! Darcy has yet to formalize it, but the united voices of their families have long desired it. I will not see nearly three decades of planning thrown over for a greedy pretender!”
“It must be very tragic to all of your ladyship’s sensibilities,” Elizabeth shook her head in sympathy, then brightened deliberately. “However, it is quite impossible for one of my paltry status to alleviate my lady’s hardship. Lowly as I am, I am determined to act in a manner to ensure my own happiness, as I must. If Mr Darcy had desired to marry Miss de Bourgh, surely he would already have done so long before I made his acquaintance.”
“Unfeeling, selfish girl!” the lady roared, stalking another stride closer and waving her cane threateningly. “You would ruin him in the eyes of the world! You are a brazen trollop! How is it you imposed upon him? I insist that you must confess all immediately! I am almost the nearest relation he has and entitled to know all of his concerns!”
Elizabeth dropped her voice to a hushed, flinty tone as if she were speaking to a rebellious child. “Your ladyship is not, however, entitled to know mine, nor is such behaviour as this likely to procure my cooperation.”
Lady Catherine screwed her mouth shut, flaring her nostrils. “Harlot!Youwilltell me once and for all,are you engaged to him?”
Elizabeth offered a glowing smile and dipped Her Ladyship a deep, respectful curtsey. “I am, your ladyship, and I am most pleased to make the acquaintance of my future family.” As she gathered her skirts, she strategically flicked her fingers, so the stunning emerald from Mr Darcy rotated to the fore, catching a ray of light.
Lady Catherine would have to have been blind not to notice it. As Elizabeth had expected, she was not so. The lady glared in abject loathing at her departed sister’s ring, curling her upper lip in abhorrence. “Very well! I shall know how to act!” She brushed past Elizabeth in a great huff, marching toward the door and pausing as if she expected someone to open it for her.
Abruptly she whirled back to face Elizabeth once more. Her tones sweetened with a sickening twist to her mouth. “I understand you have a particular fondness for my niece, Miss Georgiana Darcy.”
This Elizabeth refused to deny. “I have,” she responded levelly. “She is one of the most delightful people I have ever met.” She arched a brow meaningfully, wordlessly emphasizing the contrast between the engaging niece and the rather less-than-genial aunt.
“Just so.” Lady Catherine’s voice dropped menacingly as she shot another icy glare at her, then opened the door herself.
“Collins! We are leaving this disgraceful house! I take no leave; I offer no compliments to the hostess. They deserve no such regard!” The black skirts swished as the lady marched to the front door and hovered expectantly for Collins to perform his toadly obeisance.
Elizabeth emerged from the library just as Caroline Bingley rounded the corner into the entryway. Their eyes met briefly, Elizabeth holding the other’s gaze with cheerful archness. It was Caroline who backed down first, but not before Elizabeth caught the faintest glimmer of grudging respect in her eyes. Her gaze slid away, but she threw back her shoulders and flowed gracefully out the door after Lady Catherine.
Elizabeth released a pent-up breath and looked to her uncle, who had followed after Caroline. He furnished her with a commiserating half-smile. “I suppose you want to know why she called,” she offered unwillingly.
“No,” he answered, eyes twinkling. “Everyone heard it all. She has rather strident tones.”
“She does, that!” Elizabeth chuckled. What else was there to do but laugh? She was too spirited to cry, when she did truly have the assurances of the man she cared for. His aunt was a harassment. That was all. A most vexing one, to be sure! She dropped her gaze to her hands but glanced back up to her uncle when he placed a hand upon her shoulder.
“You would have enjoyed watching Mr Collins and Miss Bingley’s faces,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Your father would be very proud of you, Lizzy. I do wonder, however, why Mr Collins turned such a brilliant shade of red when Lady Catherine mentioned the time he stayed in this house.” He accompanied that comment with a sly wink.
A genuine smile, at last, broke through, and she drew a long breath of fresh air. “I imagine he would prefer not to have that known! Thank you for your support, Uncle. We must send word of this to Colonel Fitzwilliam at Netherfield.”
He nodded. “I will take care of it, Lizzy. Go to your mother. I fear she is near hysterics.”
RichardFitzwilliamswungoffhis horse—or, rather, Bingley’s horse—at Colonel Forster’s residence, tossing the reins to a young officer. He dusted his hat as he removed it, then passed cold fingers through his hair. A maid showed him to the colonel’s study, where he found his old comrade in the process of raising a glass to his lips.
“Fitzwilliam!” he rose to greet his guest. “I was not expecting you!”
“As I see. Drinking on duty, Forster?” Fitzwilliam’s mouth curved in a wry grin.
“Commanding officer’s prerogative. I have granted myself temporary leave,” Forster winked, then poured another glass. “I expect you’ve come about Wickham.”
“Either to pound him senseless if you have caught him or to sniff out his trail if you have not,” Richard confirmed.
“I am sorry to say I cannot help with the former, but I may have some little information on the latter. We thought at first he had gone to London, but the coach we were tracking did not yield his miserable carcass.”
“Miss King’s coach?”
“I see Darcy has filled you in. Yes, an interesting case, that. The young lady arrived in London but then disappeared again almost immediately. We questioned the coaching inn, but Wickham was not seen, and we have no idea where the young lady has gone to. It seems she slipped away unnoticed, which I can hardly credit. Fancy that, a young lady of means travelling alone and not attracting enough attention for one to gather where she has gone off to!”
Richard sat back against the cushions, his dark eyebrows working as he scrutinized his glass. “I wish to heaven Darcy had allowed me to accompany him. I know Wickham’s usual haunts better than he.”
“He may not have even gone to London,” Forster maintained. “We cannot find any trace of the scoundrel in that direction.”
“Hah! Wickham not attaching himself by the ribbons to an unprotected young heiress? Of course, he did. He must know you would have the dogs after him and is using a little extra caution, but I would wager my best horse he’ll be safely married to the poor thing and have her tucked securely somewhere out of the way.”
