Page 22 of Mr Darcy Bets on Love

"I will not sit down, and I do not want tea. I will speak to you alone. You have a garden, I suppose, of a kind?"

"Of a kind," said Elizabeth pleasantly. "This way."

They went out into the frozen shrubbery. Lady Catherine stumped ahead with an ebony cane she plainly did not need, and did not speak until they were well out of earshot of the house. Then she turned, planted the cane on the gravel, and fixed Elizabeth with a pair of cold grey eyes.

"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand why I am here."

"I think I can guess, ma'am."

"A report of the most alarming nature reached me a fortnight ago. That you have contrived to entangle my nephew. That he has been so far lost to his duty and his name as to offer you his hand."

"He has offered it," said Elizabeth. "And I have accepted."

"Then you will unaccept it. Today. I have come fifty miles on purpose."

"That is a very long way to come for nothing, Lady Catherine."

The grey eyes narrowed. "Do you know who I am? Do you know who he is? The Darcys have held Pemberley since the Conquest. His mother was my sister, the daughter of an earl. From their cradles he has been intended for my daughter Anne. It was his mother's dearest wish, and mine. And now, when the union is to be accomplished, it is to be prevented by a young woman of no family, no fortune, no connections, a woman whose mother—" She stopped, with an expressive glance towards the house, where Mrs Bennet's voice could be faintly heard lamenting the napkins. "I need say no more."

Elizabeth felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She let it. She had lived with her mother for twenty years; she was not going to be ashamed of her now, in front of this woman, in her own garden.

"If Mr Darcy had been engaged to your daughter," she said, "he would not have asked me. He is a man of honour. You know it better than I do. And if he was not engaged to her, then there is no union to prevent." She paused. "Forgive me, ma'am. Has Miss de Bourgh ever expressed a wish to marry him?"

For the first time, Lady Catherine hesitated. It was only for a heartbeat. But Elizabeth saw it.

"My daughter's wishes are my own," said Lady Catherine.

"Then I am sorry for her."

"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you. Is this your gratitude for my attentions? Do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody? You will be censured, slighted, and despised by every person of consequence in London. Your name will never be mentioned by any of us."

"Those are heavy misfortunes," said Elizabeth. "But I shall be his wife. And I think that will be enough to make up for them."

"You are resolved, then, to have him."

"I am resolved to make him happy, ma'am. For as long as I live. That is all."

They looked at each other across the gravel. A robin landed on the frosted wall and looked at them both, and flew off again. Lady Catherine's knuckles were white on the head of her cane.

"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet," she said at last, very coldly. "I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased."

She turned and stalked back to the house. A minute later Elizabeth heard the carriage door slam and the four horses clatter off down the drive, and she stood alone in the frozen garden and found that she was shaking from head to foot, and could not tell whether it was fury or cold or laughter.

It was laughter, in the end. She sat down on the bench by the sundial and laughed until she cried, and then went indoors and told Jane all of it, and they laughed together until Mrs Bennet came to find out what was the matter and had to be told a heavily edited version, involving a great deal about the beauty of the four horses and nothing whatever about the napkins.

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She wrote to him that night, and made it as funny as she could: the outriders, the footman on the box, the nose like a ship, the napkins. She did not write the part about shaking in the garden. She did not want him to worry.

His answer came by express two days later, which cost a small fortune and made her mother nearly faint with pride. It was the shortest letter he had written her, and the only one without any weather.

Darcy House. 21st December

Elizabeth,

You made it very amusing. You always do. But I know my aunt, and I know you, and I know you have left out the part where it hurt. You need not do that with me. Not ever. Whatever you feel, I would rather have it, the painful parts with the rest.

I am so proud of you I can hardly hold the pen.