Page 91 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

Fitzwilliam Darcy was pacing. He had worn a groove in the carpet of the morning room that was becoming quite distinct. Every time he turned near the window, he checked the street. Every time he turned near the fireplace, he checked the clock.

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana said from the doorway. She was holding a book, but she was not reading it. She was clutching it like a shield.

"I am fine." Darcy pivoted on his heel. "I am perfectly calm."

"You are vibrating," she observed. "Mrs Crauford says the silver is rattling in the pantry."

"Mrs Crauford exaggerates."

"She does not. She is currently hiding the good china." Georgiana took a step into the room, then stopped. "Is she truly coming?"

"She is." Darcy stopped pacing to hold briefly his sister's hands. "You do not have to be here, Georgiana. You can go to your room. Or to the Gardiners. I am sure Mrs Gardiner would welcome you."

"And leave you alone?" Georgiana straightened her spine. It was a brave gesture, though her voice wobbled. "No. I shall stay. I shall support you."

"Thank you."

"However," she added, eyeing the heavy velvet drapes, "if the shouting reaches a certain volume, I intend to hide inside thelinen cupboard. It is spacious, smells of lavender, and has a lock."

"A sound strategy," Darcy agreed. "I may join you."

"You cannot. You are the patriarch. You must stand and fight."

Before Darcy could argue the merits of hiding in cupboards versus facing his aunt, the sound of a carriage thundered outside. It was not a polite town carriage. It sounded like a war chariot.

Heavy wheels ground against the cobblestones. Horses stamped. And then, a voice that could shatter glass at fifty paces, boomed from the street.

"Careful with the step, you imbecile! Do you want me to break an ankle? Anne, stop dawdling! Look at this house! The windows are filthy!"

Darcy closed his eyes. "She is here."

"Cupboard," Georgiana squeaked, and vanished into the hallway.

Darcy straightened his coat. He checked his reflection. He was pale, but determined. He thought of Elizabeth and her hand in his. He took a deep breath.

The front door opened. Mostyn, looking as if he had just swallowed a lemon whole, announced: "Lady Catherine de Bourgh. And Miss de Bourgh."

Lady Catherine swept into the room. She was a small woman, but she occupied space like an expanding gas. She wore a travelling habit of severe black, a hat with an aggressive feather, and an expression of supreme dissatisfaction.

Behind her trailed Anne. Darcy had not seen his cousin in a year. She was bored. She was pale, yes, and thin, wrapped in three shawls, but her eyes were not the eyes of an invalid. They were the eyes of a woman who had heard the same lecture four thousand times and had simply stopped listening.

"Fitzwilliam," Lady Catherine barked, presenting her cheek.

"Aunt Catherine," Darcy bowed, avoiding the cheek and kissing her hand airily. "Welcome to London. Anne."

"Cousin," Anne murmured, drifting to the nearest sofa and collapsing onto it like a discarded marionette.

"Well," Lady Catherine said, stripping off her gloves and tossing them at Mostyn, who caught them with impressive reflexes. "We are here. It was a dreadful journey. The roads were abominable, the inns were flea-ridden, and the tea was tepid. I require refreshment immediately. Cherry tarts. And tea. Strong tea. Not that London swill."

"I shall ring for Mrs Crauford," Darcy said.

"Do. And tell her to be quick about it. We have much to discuss, and I do not intend to waste time on pleasantries." She sat down in his favourite armchair, claiming it as a throne. "Sit, Fitzwilliam. Stop hovering. You look like a nervous groom."

Darcy sat. He kept his back straight.

"Now," Lady Catherine declared, fixing him with a stare that could cower a hippopotamus. "Let us settle this business."

For the next ten minutes, Darcy sat in silence while his aunt consumed three cherry tarts and outlined the rest of his life. It was a fascinating experience, in a horrified sort of way. Lady Catherine did not negotiate. She dictated.