Page 26 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

For several seconds his aunt merely stared at him. Then she seemed to find a fresh reserve of energy. "Elizabeth Bennet! That impertinent girl from Hertfordshire? The daughter of a country gentleman with four sisters—all out mind— and connections in trade? You mean to tell me that you intend to marry her?"

"I do."

Lady Catherine made a sound somewhere between outrage and disbelief. "After everything that has been intended for you? After everything your mother expected? You would pollute the shades of Pemberley with someone so far below you?"

Darcy's temper, already sorely tried, finally gave way. "I would be very proud to make Elizabeth mistress of Pemberley. She is above me in every way that matters."

He closed his eyes expecting another wave of her rage, but when he opened them Lady Catherine was staring at him, her mouth opening and closing with no sound escaping. She sank heavily into her chair and suddenly looked much smaller and much older. Her elaborate gown seemed to deflate around her.

Anne released Fitzwilliam's arm and went to her mother. For all the firmness she had shown, there was nothing triumphant in her manner as she sat beside her. "Mama, Rosings is not being taken from you, nor from me. Richard and I shall make our home here, and one day our children will inherit it. Fitzwilliam children," she added softly. "Your family. Your blood. Rosings will remain with the Fitzwilliams for another generation and, God willing, for many more after that."

That appeared to give Lady Catherine pause. Darcy watched the argument find its mark. She had been a Fitzwilliam before she was ever Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and family pride was a language she understood. Rosings preserved, Anne still mistress of it, and grandchildren who would carry the Fitzwilliam name forward. It was the first thing said that morning which seemed to reach her.

Fitzwilliam seemed to recognise the opportunity. He crossed to Anne's side and said, with more gravity than Darcy was accustomed to hearing from him, "I know I am not the husband you chose for her, Aunt, but I love Anne. I will take care of her, and I will take care of Rosings. You have my word."

Darcy decided that this was the moment to make his exit. More importantly, Elizabeth was at the parsonage and he had no intention of allowing Lady Catherine's vitriol to occupy any more of his morning. He began edging towards the door while Anne spoke quietly to her mother about Rosings and the advantages of having a husband who already knew the estate. Fitzwilliam noticed him go, lifted his brows and gave the smallest shake of his head, but made no attempt to stop him.

✽✽✽

Darcy sat in the parsonage parlour and tried not to grind his teeth. Elizabeth occupied the chair furthest from him, alternately staring sullenly into her lap and fixing him with an irritated look. Mrs Collins served tea and behaved as though everything were perfectly ordinary, while Mr Collins provided a minute-by-minute account of Lady Catherine's ball, complete with sycophantic commentary upon every moment. The man appeared not to have drawn breath for a full ten minutes.

Eventually, Mrs Collins said gently, "Husband, will you not have a currant cake? I know they are your favourites."

Mr Collins licked his oily lips and reached for one. In the brief respite provided by his noisy chewing, Darcy looked towards Elizabeth, hoping his expression conveyed the urgency of his request. "Would you care for some air, Miss Elizabeth?" he said gently. "I would be pleased to walk with you."

Elizabeth looked at him for several seconds without answering. Darcy had the uncomfortable impression that she had no intention of replying.

Thankfully, Mrs Collins intervened. "Lizzy, I think a little air would do you good."

Elizabeth gave her a narrow look. "You are very eager for me to take a walk, Charlotte."

"I think we would all benefit from it," Mrs Collins said, as Mr Collins reached for another currant cake.

Elizabeth looked at him for several seconds before setting down her cup. "Very well."

Darcy rose at once. He waited while she crossed the room, then followed her outside, where the cool air was welcome after the closeness of the parlour. Elizabeth set off along the lane without waiting for him. Darcy caught up after a few steps and offered his arm.

She looked at his arm and then up at him, her eyes bright with defiance. A loose curl had escaped near her temple and moved lightly in the breeze, brushing against the flush high on her cheek. Darcy had the sudden urge to reach out and smooth it back.

"I am quite capable of walking unaided, Mr Darcy."

He lowered his arm. "I wish you would call me William. Or Darcy, if you prefer. Surely we are beyond such formalities now."

She let out a huff of air and set off at a brisk pace, leaving Darcy to fall into step beside her. For a little while he said nothing, trying to find some way into the conversation that would not make matters worse.

In the end, he settled upon the truth. "I have written to your father."

That brought her to an abrupt halt. She turned towards him, disbelief plain on her face. "You have what?"

"You know what happened last night. We must marry, Elizabeth. We must."

He took both her hands, halting her steps. The contact affected him at once. Her fingers were small and delicate, her gloves thin enough that he could feel the shape of them beneath his own. Touching her brought back a rush of memory: Elizabeth pressed against him in the darkness. The pull to draw her closer now was almost overwhelming. He tried his best to ignore it.

He released one of her hands but kept the other for a moment longer, reluctant to surrender the connection. "I have handled this badly. I should not have written to your father before speaking to you."

"No, you should not."

"I thought only of preventing gossip from reaching him first. Someone will have seen something, Elizabeth, some servant, a guest who saw me follow you from the room. I will not take a risk with your reputation."