Page 8 of Courting Elizabeth

Chapter 3

DARCY

Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at me as though he expected me to announce I had purchased Rosings or challenged the Prince Regent to a duel.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

“Yes.”

“The young woman who mocks you every time you open your mouth?”

“She doesn’t mock me every time.”

“Only when you deserve it, then.”

I turned away from him to adjust my coat sleeve. My valet should have seen to it, but I had dismissed him after making him change my cravat twice. I had never paid much attention to my appearance. That morning, every detail seemed capable of affecting the happiness of the woman who had consented to marry me.

Subject to her father’s approval.

That caveat did nothing to diminish the effect of the word.

My fiancée.

“You look happy,” Fitzwilliam observed.

“I am.”

“It almost suits you.”

I gave him a look that only amused him more.

“Lady Catherine will not share your enthusiasm.”

“Lady Catherine was not consulted.”

“That is precisely what will offend her most.”

He was right.

My aunt learned of my decision before luncheon, because I thought it better to tell her myself than to let her hear it from Mr Collins. I did not speak of a definite engagement, which still depended on Mr Bennet’s consent. That distinction did nothing to temper her anger.

She listened with a stillness that would have deceived a man less accustomed to her rages.

“You have asked Miss Bennet to marry you,” she repeated.

“Yesterday.”

“Without speaking to me.”

“My marriage does not require your consent.”

Her fingers tightened on the handle of her cane.

“You were destined for Anne.”

Anne, seated by the window, lowered her gaze to her embroidery. She had never expressed the slightest desire to marry me. My aunt had taken her silence for agreement, just as she took any absence of rebellion as proof that she was right.

“No engagement has ever existed between us,” I replied.