“But, sir…er, ah, my lord, sir, please permit me to announce you.”
Clomping feet heralded the appearance of a man and woman in the drawing room doorway. Both tall, both with matching expressions of obstinance, and both very, very finely garbed, they were too similar to be aught but siblings.
Elizabeth came to her feet alongside Miss Bingley, casting a look her way, but the other woman appeared equally confused.
“May I help you?” Miss Bingley asked.
The woman looked down her nose. “I seek Miss Caroline Bingley.”
“I am Miss Bingley.” She exchanged another confused look with Elizabeth.
“And you are?” the woman snapped, turning her attention on Elizabeth as well. “For if you are secretly Miss Bingley, do not think I will be fooled. You have a look about you I daresay would beguile my fool of a nephew.”
Why she would be Miss Bingley, Elizabeth did not know, but the woman’s entire demeanor conveyed disdain. “I am Elizabeth Bennet, and stand in awe of such fine manners.”
Two nearly identical sets of eyes narrowed.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” the man repeated with anger. “We should have known we would find the two succubae together, Catherine.”
“Catherine?” Suspicion welled in Elizabeth. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”
“Ah, so you have heard of me. Do not think that will save you from our wrath.”
“And you are, sir?” Miss Bingley asked, her voice coming out a touch strangled.
“I am the Earl of Matlock, and you will address me as ‘my lord,’ seductress.”
Elizabeth’s throat went dry. Fitzwilliam’s father. What had Mr. Collins claimed? That Fitzwilliam would never be permitted to marry someone as low as Elizabeth. She drew her shoulders back. “We are pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord, Lady Catherine, but it behooves me to ask why you have barged into Mr. Bingley’s drawing room.”
“As if you do not know.” Though Elizabeth had spoken, Lady Catherine barreled up to Miss Bingley, thrusting a finger in her face. “Whatever game you are playing, trying to come between Darcy and my Anne, you will desist immediately. Do you believe that even in this remote corner of nowhere, word does not reach me of any and everything to do with the nephew engaged to my daughter?”
Elizabeth readily recalled Mr. Collins claiming such an understanding, but she hadn’t believed him. Not with the marked attention Mr. Darcy showed Miss Bingley. How unfeeling of him to encourage her where there was no hope, and how typical, thinking only of his amusement and not her heart.
“Your nephew and I have spoken quite frankly on such matters,” Miss Bingley said, finding her usual hauteur. “I can saywith some certainty that I have captured his affection, and that he has no intention of wedding Miss de Bourgh.”
“Yes, your efforts have been reported to me,” Lady Catherine muttered darkly. “But captured or not, you will set him free again.”
Reported? Elizabeth could guess by whom. Anger bloomed within her. Mr. Collins was the worst sort of snitch and sycophant. It embarrassed Elizabeth to call him cousin.
Miss Bingley matched Lady Catherine’s glare. “I will not.”
Ponderous jowls turned downward. “Fifty pounds should change your mind.”
Miss Bingley laughed, sending a flush of anger through her ladyship’s face. “Fifty pounds? When my dowry is twenty thousand?”
Elizabeth tried not to show her surprise at that. Maybe rumor of Mr. Bingley’s wealth wasn’t exaggerated.
“At least Darcy’s strumpet has a dowry,” the earl muttered. “The one attempting to entrap Richard is penniless, according to your informant.” He eyed Elizabeth with disdain.
“Entrap?” Elizabeth exclaimed, thoroughly offended.
“Very well, a hundred.” Lady Catherine’s words were clipped.
Miss Bingley cocked her chin. “Do you not comprehend the sum of twenty thousand?”
“Do you not comprehend that Darcy is already engaged?”
“Your nephew assures me he is free to do as he likes in that regard.”
