Still, he meant to use the coming months to know her better. He could not yet say what would make a good wife, nor whether he and Miss Bennet might truly be happy together; but he was resolved on one point—he would not again allow himself to be led where he ought instead to choose.
Twenty-Eight
Tuesday, 18 August 1812
Lady Catherine was most displeased with her journey north and was reminded, at every turn, of why it had been so long since she had travelled from Rosings. None of the inns were to her exacting standards; the food was beneath what she expected, the beds intolerably hard, the sheets coarse to the touch, and the long hours spent in the carriage were not only tedious but afforded her far too much time with her own thoughts. When she had left Rosings, she had departed in such haste that no maid had been able to accompany her, and her daughter had insisted her companion remain behind. She had therefore been obliged to travel with only the footmen and coachman, all of whom rode outside.
Worse still, the night before she had arrived at Pemberley only to be denied entry. She had been obliged to take rooms at the inn in Lambton, having travelled late into the evening to reach her nephew’s estate just as darkness fell.
“Have rooms prepared for me at once,” she had said at Pemberley’s door, attempting to sweep past as soon as the door was finallyopened, but the man was blocking her way. She had already been kept waiting far longer than was acceptable, and the servant’s hesitation only confirmed her intention to dismiss him—whoever he was—when, a moment later, she perceived Mrs Reynolds standing behind him.
Seeing that lady, she drew herself up. “Mrs Reynolds, this man refuses me entry,” she declared imperiously. “You will dismiss him at once, and then prepare rooms for me in the family wing. I wish to see my nephew immediately—send him to me directly.”
“I beg your pardon, madam,” Mrs Reynolds had replied, stepping forward just enough to bar her way, “but Mr Darcy is not at home, and I have no authority to admit visitors in his absence. Indeed, he was most particular that none should gain entry without his express permission.”
Lady Catherine stared at her in astonishment. “You mean to refuse me in my nephew’s own house? Have you forgotten who I am? My daughter will soon be mistress here.”
“I must abide by my master’s instructions,” the housekeeper returned, without moving aside or directing the other servants to do so. “Besides, your daughter cannot be mistress here since the master is already married to another.”
That housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds—who had been in service when Lady Catherine’s sister died and had remained even after George Darcy’s passing—had, Lady Catherine reflected, never liked her. It had been made abundantly clear at the funerals of both Lady Anne and George Darcy. Each time, when Lady Catherine had attempted to take charge, she soon found her directions quietly disregarded at every turn. She was certain the woman had been secretly pleased to turn her away now.
Nor had Mrs Reynolds attended to anything Lady Catherine said then or any time since. She had the audacity to speak of the new Mrs Darcy with unmistakable approval, insisting that the Darcys had no intention of returning to Pemberley at present.
“Mr and Mrs Darcy are travelling on their wedding journey,” Mrs Reynolds had said, with infuriating composure. “I cannot say where they have gone, only that they are not expected here soon.”
It seemed the woman had somehow met that chit who had entrapped her nephew and, worse still, admired her. “The new Mrs Darcy is everything we could have wished for, and I know the master is pleased to have wed her at last.”
Lady Catherine had been certain the woman was lying to her; yet, having been denied entry, she had no means of discovering the truth. Tomorrow, she would go to Matlock and demand her brother return to Pemberley with her. The servants would not dare refuse the earl entry.
“She will be the first to go when my daughter is mistress here,” Lady Catherine said now into the empty carriage. “How dare she refuse entry to the mother of her soon-to-be mistress.”
When she rose that morning, she set out at once for Matlock. The twenty miles from her nephew’s estate to her brother’s had never felt so long, and Lady Catherine—after spending almost a se’nnight upon the road—felt every bump and sway of the carriage as a personal affront. Each jolt jarred her bones, each rut in the road seemed deeper than the last, and with every mile her temper climbed higher. That she should be forced to endure such discomfort at all, and for such a purpose, was intolerable.
By the time she arrived at the estate, she was not only angry, but fatigued and sore in every limb. She scarcely waited for the step to be properly placed and brushed aside the servant’s attempt to assist her, unwilling to endure even a moment more delay.
Stalking up to the front door, she struck it sharply with her cane, the sound echoing with sufficient force to announce both her presence and her displeasure. When the butler opened the door, she did not wait to be invited to enter, but swept past him without acknowledgement, loudly demanding to see her brother.
“What isthe meaning of this, Catherine?” the earl’s voice boomed through the hall. “Have you been so long at Rosings thatyou have forgotten your manners—or that you cannot force your way into the homes of others, even if they are family?”
Standing just behind his father, Richard had to hide a grin at the look on his aunt’s face as the rebuke landed. It was not often that Lady Catherine was so thoroughly checked—and never, in his experience, by anyone but his father.
“What is he doing here?” Lady Catherine demanded, her gaze snapping towards Richard as though she had only just noticed him.
“My son?” the earl answered, his voice incredulous. Richard suspected it was exaggerated, since they had only been speaking of their guest a short time before. “Why would he not be here?”
“I encountered him last week at the estate of that country chit who has contrived to make Darcy marry her,” Lady Catherine bit out. “Do you know that he stood up next to my nephew when he made a mockery of our family by marrying that—that nobody? By doing so, he has given the tacit approval of the family to his marriage. You must join me in condemning our nephew, and go with me to Pemberley so we might force him to annul the marriage so he might finally marry Anne. They refused to answer if he were there, and denied me admittance to my sister’s home.”
Richard felt his amusement cool at that. If anything were likely to harden Darcy’s resolve, it would be precisely such interference.
“Darcy was never going to marry Anne,” the earl told his sister. “And the fact that you have come all this way to argue the point is as senseless as the notion that you or I could force our nephew to do anything. He is his own man, and has been for many years. Nor should another man’s servants allow you into his home without the master’s express permission.”
“My sister and I agreed that our children would marry,” Lady Catherine nearly screeched. “Pemberley ought to have been mine.”
Richard looked at his father and saw the look of resignation cross his face. He and Darcy had often suspected that their aunt’s desire to haveAnne and Darcy marry had something to do with her ambition, but she had never said anything so direct as this.
“No one save you believed that folderol you spouted for years, Catherine,” the earl declared after a moment had passed during which some message seemed to have passed between brother and sister. “We have all told you on more than one occasion that the match would never take place.”
Richard watched as his aunt stiffened at his father’s words, her countenance colouring as she prepared to respond. The signs were familiar—outrage, disbelief, and the absolute certainty that she must, somehow, still prevail.
