Page 13 of A Prudent Engagement

“Apart from Richard. He strikes me as rather unsteady.”

Darcy rather did not know what to say. He thought that his aunt quite misunderstood the colonel’s manners, but it was hardly his place to argue upon the point.

“I shall see you when you come down for dinner, and I shall send a footman across to inform Miss Bennet that she must wait until Mr. Collins can convey her, and—”

“No, madam,” Darcy said firmly. “I am wholly determined to take Elizabeth this evening.” There was a pause as Darcy realised his mistake. “I mean Miss Bennet. As soon as my trunk and Fitzwilliam’s are on the carriage, we shall go round to the parsonage. There will be no delay. I apologise for any inconvenience that you will suffer, but I shall not be moved on this matter.”

The expression on Lady Catherine’s face was unpleasant. His use of Elizabeth’s Christian name must have excited her suspicions.

And then she frowned in a deeper way. “Darcy, I cannot believe such a notion, and I know it cannot be true, and that you would never do such a thing, and that your honour cannot be questioned, but young women can sometimes appear more…I know how easily young gentlemen, even of the best sort, can often be persuaded against their true interests by the arts and allurements of scheming females who are beneath them and unworthy of them and who can only depend on their pretty faces and seductive manners to move forward in life.”

Darcy pressed his lips together.

He very much wished that he did not need to have this conversation with his aunt.

When she paused expectantly, giving him an opportunity to speak, he only inclined his head.

“Darcy, you may give the girl the idea that you have intentions towards her that you cannot possibly fulfil. It is cruel to show her such pointed consideration and kindness. You have already given Miss Bennet far more attention than you ought. For her own sake, you must stop.”

“I promise you, madam,” Darcy replied coldly, bowing to his aunt, “that I have taken care to not give Miss Bennet any expectations that are impossible to be met. Now, I must see how the packing goes and—”

“Stop! Fitzwilliam. Swear to me that you have not entered into any engagement with that penniless sly piece. To think! I invited her to dine here five times. I favoured her with my conversation. And this whole time has she been scheming to destroy the happiness of my most beloved daughter forever? Well, Darcy, has that baggage entrapped you? What did she convince you to do with her wiles? You know that kind will do anything. You have no responsibility to—”

“Lady Catherine, I will not hear you say anything which speaks against the character of Miss Bennet. Do you understand? Your insinuations are false, disgusting, and vile. And to say all of this because I mean to be of service to a woman whose father has just died? I am astonished. I am glad that my mother is not alive to hear her beloved sister reveal herself as capable of saying such things when her temper is unsettled.”

“False? Will you then swear that you have not entered into an engagement of marriage with her?”

Darcy considered.

While he was in no disposition to humour his aunt—he was in fact in a mood where he would like to avoid her presence and burn any letters she sent him for at least six months—if he could not satisfy her, she would go directly to rant at Elizabeth, and Darcy would not subject the woman he loved to that treatment on such a day.

“I have not,” he said at last. “And I assure you that she has never engaged in any immodest behaviour that suggested she was seeking to entice me in any dishonourable manner. Lady Catherine, this conversation makes it clear to me that there is a matter that I should have spoken to you more clearly about before. I will not marry Anne. This is not due to Miss Bennet. This is not due to any woman but Anne herself. As much as I respect my cousin and wish her well, I do not have that sort of affection towards her which would warrant making her the companion of my future life. I do not consider myself as having ever been engaged to her, I do not consider myself honour bound to her, and I will not marry her. Do you understand?”

Lady Catherine stared at him. “No. No. You must. You must. Think—you would unite two of the greatest fortunes in England.”

“That would make the money most ecstatic.”

Darcy’s cutting reply silenced his aunt, but only for a short duration. “It is not about happiness. It is about what is sensible. You usually are so sensible—do you think you can marry a wealthier girl? There are not so many great heiresses—” Lady Catherine broke off, then suspiciously added, “Does this really have nothing to do with Miss Bennet?”

“I beg you not to speak further of her. You have delivered enough insults to my honour and to that of Miss Bennet, and—”

“Will you swear to me that you will never enter into any engagement with Miss Bennet?”

“I will swear to you that I will never enter into any engagement with your daughter,” Darcy replied. He knew he must give Lady Catherine something other than Elizabeth to sputter about so that the two of them would have a chance to make their escape. It would be a temporary escape—he would need to deal with his aunt once matters had been settled completely with Elizabeth—but an escape nonetheless. So he decided to say something that he had long thought but which he knew was very much the opposite of Lady Catherine’s own views, as not only did she wish for him to marry his cousin, but her own husband had been Lady Catherine’s cousin on her mother’s side. “If you must know, I strongly disapprove of marriages between cousins. The children are too frequently sickly. I would never marry Anne because I do not mean to overmix the blood.”

The puce shade of his aunt’s face was rather amusing.

Darcy decided he must tell this story someday to Elizabeth—when she was in a happier mood after there had been ample space for grieving.

With another bow to his aunt, who for once had been stuck dumb, he went from the room.

Chapter Four

Shortly after Mr. Darcy departed Hunsford Parsonage to make his preparations for rapid departure, Mr. Collins, the possessor of the aforementioned parsonage—and now likewise of Longbourn, the warm and spacious house that Elizabeth had until quite recently thought of as her home—returned once more.

While Elizabeth had been distracted by her own sobs—Mr. Collins was right in that it had been unseemly; she should have kept her excess of emotion under better regulation—Mr. Darcy had quietly ordered her cousin to inform Lady Catherine about the great improvement in his earthy fortunes. When he had protested that he already had done so, the gentleman had then demanded that he go to the church and light a candle for his dead cousin.

Elizabeth was aware that she was perhaps filled with bitterness towards him, and more than a touch of sick misery.