Page 7 of Mr. Darcy’s Victorious Bride

Then she had ranked it above Mrs. Phillips's. Darcy saw both blows land. Of course her ladyship sang better than a country attorney's wife with an ague. That she should be measured against one at all was the insult. And yet, she had not treated Lady Catherine as an invalid. There had been no pity, only challenge. And his aunt had never turned away from a challenge.

Jane began the third verse. Halfway through the first line, a second voice came in under hers. It was rough and dragging, and louder than before. Her ladyship would not be condescended to by Mrs. Bennet of Longbourn. She would sooner sing.

Did Mrs. Bennet have the smallest notion of what she had just done? Likely not. She would go to her grave not knowing.

Darcy went down to the stables carrying the thought with him. His aunt was in there, furious, ashamed and battering at her own ruined speech. Jane Bennet had coaxed her to the edge with a hymn. Mrs. Bennet had pushed her over it with a crow. With no strategy whatever, they had drawn her further out than any physician had managed in a month.

In the yard, the traveling coach stood ready, and Mr. Henson was tightening harness with the unhurried thoroughness Henson always showed when matters went badly. Above the eaves the escaped doves kept up their cooing, absurd and domestic and entirely wrong for the day.

Alban appeared at Darcy's elbow with his broom propped on his shoulder, bristles up. "Mornin', sir. Miss Maisie's in a temper. Bit Tom."

"Only Tom?"

"So far." The boy squinted up at him. "The Colonel rode out like the devil was after 'im. Is it Lord Bee's men?"

"No," Darcy said, and gave the boy the truth he could have. "The Colonel is on family business. Lord Bee is in chains, and he will stay there."

Alban considered this gravely. "If anyone comes round here, I got my broom!"

"I know it. There is no better-defended stable in England."

"How long to London, sir?" Henson asked, buckling the last strap.

"You tell me."

"Four hours if the roads hold. Five if not. Last night's rain will have softened the stretch past Barnet." He glanced toward the house. "Will Mrs. Darcy be traveling with you, sir?"

"She will."

Henson nodded without surprise and added a second blanket to the coach without being asked.

Elizabeth came out with Jane beside her. Dark traveling dress, short curls pinned back, boots laced. Her face said she meant to turn London over until it surrendered her sister. The sisters exchanged a look that carried a whole conversation, and Jane went in, and Elizabeth crossed the yard.

She reached up and straightened his collar, a small automatic gesture that undid him more than weeping would have. "Longbourn first," she said. "The box."

"The coach is ready now."

"Kitty knew." Elizabeth's mouth tightened. "Jane got it out of her this morning. Not the elopement. She knew Lydia was writing to someone, and she held her tongue because Lydia made her swear. She made me swear, Jane. She said it was just letters." She let out a breath. "I cannot even be angry. I kept secrets for the same reason."

"We will speak with her at Longbourn."

"Gently, Fitzwilliam."

"Gently."

She nodded, then paused with one hand on the coach door. "Richard?"

"Gone twenty minutes. North."

"Good." She climbed in. Darcy followed, and the door shut, and the coach swung out into two miles of autumn mud and bare hedgerows.

Elizabeth watched the gray country slide past. Darcy watched Elizabeth and tried to think of logistics.

He failed. "I told Bingley," he said.

She turned. "How did he take it?"

"He informed me that he intends to marry Jane regardless, and that he found my question insulting."