Page 83 of Courting Elizabeth

“He claims he had a responsibility because of Wickham,” my uncle said. “That’s true to some extent. But no man searches for five days without sleep over an abstract responsibility.”

My aunt smiled gently.

“He did it for you.”

I closed my eyes.

“I know.”

“Then tell him,” she advised.

“He doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Men often say that when they’re afraid of hearing exactly what they hope for.”

I returned to the small parlor with the firm intention of speaking.

I learned later that Lady Catherine had been staying with relations in London. Mr Collins, informed by my mother with a speed that surprised no one, had relayed to her the account of the scandal, Fitzwilliam’s intervention, and the hasty marriage.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh was waiting for me there.

She stood near the fireplace with the ease of a proprietor. Her cane rested against her chair. Two servants had no doubt tried to explain that we were not receiving visitors; they had failed, as had many before them.

“Mrs Darcy,” she said.

Her gaze traveled over my simple black dress, then my face, with methodical disapproval.

“Lady Catherine.”

“Where is my nephew?”

“With his man of business.”

“Settling the consequences of your sister’s transgressions, no doubt.”

I took a seat without inviting her to do so.

“Lydia is married. There will be no public scandal.”

“So you believe a hasty ceremony erases the nature of a family?”

“No. No more than a title erases rudeness.”

Her eyes hardened.

“You still have that insolence Darcy mistook for wit.”

“And you still have that bluntness you mistake for a privilege.”

She gripped the handle of her cane.

“My nephew has sacrificed his rank, his sister’s peace, and now a fortune for an unworthy alliance. Your mother parades her triumph. Your youngest sister behaves like an adventuress. Your father abandons his responsibilities. And you settle yourself at Pemberley convinced that a pair of bright eyes is enough to make you worthy of being its mistress.”

Each accusation held a grain of truth. Once, I would have answered with irony. This time, I thought of Fitzwilliam asleep in my lap, of his hands tying the belt of my dressing gown to protect me from his own impatience, of his face when he had promised to find Lydia.

“I have never claimed my family was beyond reproach.”

“Yet you allowed Darcy to bind it to his own.”