Page 83 of Shipwrecked with Mr Darcy

Elizabeth's reply remained measured and devastatingly polite.

A sudden pause followed. Lady Catherine was uncharacteristically silenced for a moment, clearly shocked by a woman who refused to be intimidated.

Elizabeth's voice rang clearly through the open window.

“I chose your nephew, Lady Catherine. I chose him on a deserted island where no one could judge us. I was not compromised, and I was not rescued out of pity. I fell deeply in love with a good, honourable man, and I chose him with my eyes open. I will not apologise to you, or to anyone, for my marriage.”

The drawing room fell silent.

“Your nephew loves me,” Elizabeth continued fiercely. “Our trials have made us both better than we were before. This marriage is not a scandal; it is a blessing. I say this with full respect for your position, Lady Catherine, which is far more courtesy than you have shown me this morning.”

There was no further argument. The truth of her words hung in the air.

Lady Catherine left shortly thereafter. The grand carriage departed, but the great lady's fury had been extinguished by a woman who refused to yield.

Elizabeth appeared in the garden a moment later. Her face was flushed and her dark eyes were brilliantly bright.

“Well?” she asked, catching her breath.

Darcy looked at his wife. She had just faced down Lady Catherine de Bourgh with courage, requiring no protection or assistance. He was prouder of her in that moment than of anything he possessed in the world.

“You are magnificent,” he said softly.

She smiled, stepping into his arms. “Take me home to Pemberley, Fitzwilliam.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Darcy was in the library when the carriage was heard. Mr Bennet had gruffly told him he could seek refuge there if he wished, which Darcy recognised as a gesture of goodwill. He had eagerly accepted; the library was quiet, whereas the rest of Longbourn was consumed by Mrs Bennet and her daughters fiercely debating the relative merits of silk versus muslin for a journey to Derbyshire. The discussion had raged for three days with no sign of concluding.

The sound of the carriage was distinct. It was not a farmer's cart or a hired post-chaise, but a private, well-sprung carriage driven at a reckless speed. Darcy and Mr Bennet exchanged a loaded glance.

“That will be Mr Bingley,” Mr Bennet noted quietly.

“Yes.”

“You wrote to him?”

“Twice,” Darcy confirmed. “The second letter included a comprehensive account of my dreadful interference, and my unqualified admission of fault.”

“A difficult admission for a proud man.”

“It was necessary,” Darcy said firmly. “I am attempting to correct my mistakes, sir.”

The carriage stopped, and the front door opened. Mrs Bennet's voice instantly achieved a piercing pitch, greeting the immensely eligible visitor with her characteristic, overwhelming enthusiasm.

Darcy remained in the library. He had wrongfully managed Bingley's departure; he would not interfere with his return.

He heard Bingley's voice, pitched slightly higher than usual. The words tumbled over each other with eager, breathless joy. Darcy had once viewed his friend's open, unguarded heart as a vulnerability; he now recognised it as courage he himself had lacked.

He heard Jane's quiet voice in reply. He could not make out the words, nor did he need to.

Mr Bennet turned a page of his book with theatrical slowness, making it obvious he was listening rather than reading.

“He sounds terrified,” Mr Bennet observed.

“He is,” Darcy agreed.

“Should he be?”