Page 17 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

"Elizabeth—"

Her eyes flashed at the use of her name. "I hope that, should we meet again, we may manage the civility expected of acquaintances," she continued. "But at present, Mr Darcy, I cannot bear the sight of you." She turned and walked away, leaving him standing at the edge of the ballroom with every fibre of his being itching to follow her.

Before he could decide whether pursuing her would only make things worse, a sharp voice came from behind him, sharp enough to cause his teeth to clench. "Darcy. What is the meaning of this?"

He closed his eyes briefly before turning. Lady Catherine stood a few feet away, her cane planted firmly against the floor and her face rigid with displeasure. "You allowed Anne to withdraw from the opening dance on account of the slightest discomfort, then made no effort to resume your proper place beside her when she recovered. Now Fitzwilliam has monopolised her for the entire set and she has quite forgotten herself."

Darcy leaned to look past his aunt. Elizabeth had already disappeared through the doors, leaving no glimpse of amber silk among the crowd. "Anne appeared perfectly content," he said vaguely, wondering where Elizabeth could be. Surely she would not return to the parsonage alone?

"That is not the point and you are not attending. Fitzwilliam has encouraged her to exert herself beyond what is prudent. You will dance the next set with her and restore some order to the evening."

"I cannot," he said, his gaze snapping back to his formidable aunt.

Lady Catherine drew herself up. "Cannot?"

"I have another matter requiring my attention."

"What matter could possibly be more pressing than your duty to your cousin?"

Darcy glanced again towards the doorway. Every second he remained trapped in conversation put more distance between himself and Elizabeth "One that will not wait."

He stepped around his aunt, but Lady Catherine caught his arm with the curved handle of her cane. "Darcy, you will not walk away while I am speaking to you. Anne has been left to the attentions of a younger son who has neither the fortune nor the consequence to make such marked behaviour appropriate."

Darcy’s temper, already strained by the evening, finally gave way. "Anne is not a doll to be manoeuvred into whichever position best suits you, Aunt."

Lady Catherine drew herself up, affronted. "I have directed Anne’s interests all her life, and she has never had cause to question my judgement."

"No, but you speak of her as though she has no wishes of her own. She chose to dance with Fitzwilliam, and judging by her expression, she is enjoying herself more than any time she has stood up with me."

"Fitzwilliam is making a spectacle of her," Lady Catherine said firmly. "He always did delight in drawing attention to himself. You will take his place before people begin to talk."

"No."

Lady Catherine’s eyes widened.

"What did you say?"

"I said no. Anne does not require me to rescue her from an evening she is plainly enjoying." He turned and strode towards the doors.

"Darcy! Come back here at once."

Several guests looked towards them. He ignored their curious stares and passed into the corridor, searching for any sign of Elizabeth. The passage was quieter than the ballroom, though the music still followed him through the open doors. Alcoves lined one wall, each containing a marble bust or small upholstered seat, but he could see no movement within them.

Behind him came the sharp tap of Lady Catherine’s cane. "Darcy, this behaviour is intolerable. I insist that you return and partner Anne immediately."

He quickened his pace. He had no clear idea what he would say if he found Elizabeth. He knew that he must express himself less awkwardly. He would apologise for speaking so carelessly of Jane’s attachment and promise to take whatever action he could to make things right. Whether Elizabeth accepted the apology was beyond his control, but she would hear it.

At the end of the corridor, he glanced back and saw his aunt bearing down upon him with surprising speed, the plumes in her headdress trembling with every step. There were two doors ahead. One opened into the main corridor, while the other was narrower and set back within the panelling, easy to overlook unless one knew it was there. Darcy chose the less obvious door.

It led into a servants’ passage which he remembered connected with the back stairs and the lower rooms of the house. He had used it once before, many years ago, when he and Fitzwilliam had stolen a plate of biscuits intended for tea with some illustrious visitor. Lady Catherine had pursued them through the house with one slipper in her hand, brandishing it like a club while Fitzwilliam scattered crumbs in their wake.

Darcy almost laughed as he hurried along the narrow passage. Nearly twenty years had passed, and once again he was fleeing his aunt through the servants’ quarters after behaving in a manner she considered entirely unacceptable.

At the far end, a steep flight of stone steps descended towards the kitchens, storerooms and cellars below.

He heard his aunt's voice, "Fitzwilliam Darcy! Stop this nonsense!"

He moved farther down the steps, though the absurdity of hiding from his aunt in her own house was not lost upon him.