The words echoed in the sudden stillness, sharper than he had intended—and yet long overdue.
The entire table was silent. Georgiana, seated a little way down from Anne, gaped at her brother. Also at the table was Mr. Collins, his aunt’s new buffoon of a rector.
Mr. Collins shifted in his chair, his expression flickering between alarm and eagerness, as though sensing an opportunity to insert himself into importance.
“Mr. Darcy,” the man began, “as religious advisor to your aunt, I must implore you to reconsider your abrupt and disrespectful words. Lady Catherine is almost your nearest relation and therefore entitled to know all your dearest concerns. She has some say in the matter of who will be her niece—”
“No, sir, she does not. I have been my own master these last five years, and I have no intention of capitulating to my aunt’s whims. I have patiently attempted to convey as much for years, but my words have been brushed off and disregarded. It appears I shall be required to speak abruptly in order to be rightly understood.”
His voice was calm, but it carried steel beneath it. Darcy was keenly aware that this was no longer a family disagreement—it was a declaration.
His aunt sucked in a breath. “How dare you behave in such a manner at my table! Darcy, what has got into you? I have never heard such disrespectful drivel in all my life. You will marry Anne—immediately. I shall brook no disappointment.”
“You must, I fear, for I shall not go to the altar with my cousin.”If I must marry someone acceptable, it will be my choice. Perhaps I may find a lady I tolerate.Anne was too much like him—quiet, taciturn. If he married her, they would likely go for months without exchanging a handful of words.
The thought was not cruel—merely honest. And honesty, he was learning, was a dangerous thing at Rosings.
Lady Catherine’s face was a sickly sort of red. “Get out. Leave at once. You are no longer welcome here.”
“Mama, it is nearly dark—”
“Silence! I will not have him in my house another moment. Are the inhabitants of Rosings Park to be thus polluted with such…such blasphemy?”
Darcy stood and beckoned to his sister. There was an acceptable inn close at hand. They would depart immediately. “Anne, I hope you enjoy the rest of the festive season.”
His cousin nodded meekly. She did not look at him.
“Is that all the reply I am to expect? You mean to obey me instantly without begging for my forgiveness?” Lady Catherine slapped the table with her hand. “Is my condescension so easily forgotten? What say you, Darcy?”
He did not reply but held out his arm for his sister. They strode from the room together, both silent as they climbed the stairs to their chambers. Outside her door, Georgiana giggled.
“I am sorry,” she said timidly after clapping her hand over her mouth in shock. “I daresay our aunt has never been refused in her entire life.”
“She has not. It was quite the sight. Now, ask your maid to hurry. I wish to depart in half an hour.”
There was relief in his voice now, though it was tempered by the knowledge of what he had set in motion.
He likewise instructed Brisby, and within the allotted time, both he and Georgiana were in the carriage heading towards accommodations for the night. The moon was waning, making travel in the dark more precarious.
The road was quiet, the wheels crunching over frost-hardened gravel. Darcy drew his cloak tighter, breathing in the cold air as though it might scour the tension from his chest. He had not realized how stifling Rosings had become until it lay behind them.
They found accommodation at the King’s Head Inn, a reputable establishment where he had stayed once or twiceover the years. He and Georgiana were shown to delightful bedchambers, and the innkeeper was kind enough to bring up some tea and biscuits. He and Georgiana shared the repast before returning to their own rooms. There was not much conversation to be had between them—both were still reeling from their confrontation with Lady Catherine. They would likely speak about it at length on the journey to London.
The inn was warm, ordinary, and blissfully free of expectation.
As Darcy prepared for bed, he considered his firm refusal to marry Anne. She was everything he claimed Elizabeth was not—wealthy, an heiress, connected to the first circles—yet he could not bring himself to offer for her. He had always known affection was not the primary determination for whom he would marry, but now he wondered if it held more importance than he realized.
The thought unsettled him. He had prided himself on rationality, on weighing advantages and consequences.
I can find affection and still meet my family’s expectations,he reasoned. It would not be easy. Society ladies were trained from a young age to affect the personality of the man they wished to marry. Had not Miss Bingley agreed with him readily whenever he professed an opinion?
But agreement, he was beginning to realize, was not the same as understanding.
Bingley. Thoughts of his friend brought him some pain. After he and Bingley had gone to Town, the Hursts and Miss Bingley had followed soon after. Darcy had not remained long and had therefore only a letter from Bingley to describe the…intervention his sisters had instigated.
He reviewed everything again in his mind, each line weighted with regret.
Their words, along with your cautious advice, have convinced me that Miss Bennet did not hold me in trueaffection. I tried to elicit some show of affection from her during the Netherfield Ball and received only tepid replies. The thought of expressing my feelings only to be rebuffed—or worse, being accepted when she does not feel the same—is more than I can bear. I will not return to Hertfordshire.
