“Are you?” she demanded after the briefest pause, scarcely troubling herself to look at him. “Did not one of your children marry in Hertfordshire?”
“My daughter.”
That caused her eyes to snap to his face. “You had an estate or some property there, did you not?”
“I did.”
Matlock remained silent throughout the exchange. Granfield suspected—without looking—that the corners of his mouth betrayed a trace of amusement.
“Then you may be acquainted,” Lady Catherine continued, her voice assuming a tone of calculated superiority, “with this Miss Grant—or Bennet, or whatever the chit’s name may be—who is attempting to entrap my nephew.”
Without waiting for his answer, she pressed on.
“Did this creature somehow contrive to involve you in her manipulative scheme? You were a friend to George Darcy; surely you are aware of the arrangement my sister and I established for our children. Indeed, I am relieved you are here, for you may assist in preventing that—” she waved a dismissive hand “—adventuress from securing my daughter’s intended.”
Granfield regarded her steadily. The faint expression that touched his features was almost courteous; it yielded nothing. He allowed a measured silence to intervene, long enough for the force of her accusation to settle.
When he spoke, his tone was calm—almost reflective.
“I am here, Lady Catherine, because the young woman you describe in such imaginative terms is my granddaughter.”
He did not raise his voice.
“It is she who is engaged to your nephew. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is the daughter of my late daughter and her husband. Her son will one day inherit the earldom.”
“What the blazes do you mean?” The words burst from her in a most unladylike fashion.
“It is precisely as I have said.” Granfield rested his hands upon the arms of his chair, his posture erect and his composure unshaken. “Elizabeth Bennet is my granddaughter.”
She opened her mouth again, but he did not permit her to reclaim the floor.
“As for your claims of an engagement between Fitzwilliam Darcy and Anne de Bourgh,” he continued, his tone hardening only slightly, “I believe we have all heard—and seen—more than enough of that fiction.”
Lady Catherine’s cry rang sharply through the room, but Granfield remained unmoved.
“Before his death, George Darcy spoke to me of your insistence upon a supposed cradle betrothal between your daughter and his son. He denied its existence outright, and he charged me—most explicitly—that should I ever learn you were attempting to coerce his son into such a marriage, I was to take whatever steps were necessary to prevent it.”
He held her gaze.
“George Darcy understood you very well. He understood the lengths to which you might go in pursuit of what you desire, and he knew it had little to do with your daughter’s happiness, despite your protestations. What you seek is influence—over Pemberley above all.”
He saw her lips tremble with fury and offered no concession.
“Even had you prevailed upon Fitzwilliam Darcy to marry your daughter, you would never have gained control of Pemberley. I know Fitzwilliam Darcy well enough to be certain of this: he would not have permitted you to govern Rosings either, whatever expectations you may have entertained.”
“You think I seek influence and control over Pemberley?” Lady Catherine’s voice sharpened, the colour rising high in her cheeks. “You presume a great deal, my lord. I seek only what was long understood between our families. Anne was raised with the expectation?—”
“With the expectation you supplied,” Granfield returned quietly, “despite no one else in your family supporting it, and only spoken of openly after the death of George Darcy.”
She ignored his interruption, but he saw her expression tighten further.
“Fitzwilliam’s duty is not a matter for speculation. My sister and I spoke of it often. The connexion was proper—equal in rank, equal in consequence. This—this provincial contrivance—” she broke off, breath quickening, “cannot be permitted to supplant it.”
Granfield did not answer.
“An earldom,” she continued, seizing upon his earlier revelation with visible irritation, “does not alter breeding. Nor does it erase the circumstances of a girl raised in obscurity. You cannot expect society to accept?—”
“That will suffice, Catherine.”
