Page 89 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“My illustrious nephew,” Lady Catherine loomed over Elizabeth, her long arms raised in what she evidently believed was reptilian grandeur, “has obligations to his family. He is promised to my daughter Anne. That union has been understood since their cradles. Pemberley and Rosings were destined to be linked by ties far stronger than mere inclination. The dying wishes of his mother—my own sainted sister, Lady Anne Darcy—were absolute upon this point. You are standing in the path of a sacred family arrangement.”

“I was not aware that Mr. Darcy’s mother had left written instructions regarding her son’s affections,” Elizabeth said. “Has she? Because Mr. Darcy has not mentioned any such document, and he is generally meticulous about his papers.”

“It was the dearest wish of two devoted sisters⁠—”

“A wish, then, witnessed perhaps by a godmother with wings?” Elizabeth interrupted smoothly, her gaze drifting toward the window as if studying the weather. “Not a legal settlement, betrothal, or formal engagement. Merely a wish, whispered by two fond mothers over their embroidery frames concerning children who were entirely occupied with cutting their teeth at the time.” Elizabeth’s voice was steady, each word placed as deliberately as picking thorns from a hedge. “I honor Lady Anne’s memory, Lady Catherine, but I do not consider myself bound by the private hopes of women I never met, however fond.”

“You are an obstinate, headstrong girl.”

“Indeed. But you quite omit my more alarming attributes.” Elizabeth replied with an easy, untroubled smile. “I pride myself on knocking pompous gentlemen off their pedestals, honing my tongue on granite reserve, and racing stiff aristocrats over muddy stiles. Yet, by some strange perversity, these exact defects appear to have recommended me entirely to your nephew.”

Mr. Bennet’s study door swung open. Elizabeth did not turn, but she heard his step—unhurried, deliberate—and the creak of the doorframe as he leaned against it, arms folded, as he realized he was missing the most diverting Punch and Judy show north of the Thames.

“Let me be clear,” Lady Catherine said, and her voice had acquired the sharpened edge of a woman whose flank has just been turned. “If you persist in this engagement, you will bring disgrace upon the Darcy name. You will introduce connections into that family that will tarnish them beyond recovery. You will reduce Pemberley—Pemberley!—to a laughingstock.”

“Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said with studied innocence, “I appreciate your boundless concern for the Darcy name. It is clearly of immense importance to you.”

“It is of consequence to every civilized creature in the kingdom!”

“Then you will be gratified to learn that I, too, have grown deeply invested in the Darcy name. More deeply, perhaps, than you can presently imagine.”

Lady Catherine stared at her, momentarily disarmed by the unexpected direction. “What on earth is that supposed to signify?”

“I mean that Mr. Darcy and I have spent considerable time examining the history of his family—its origins, its connections and foundations. And I must confess, we have found them to be quite… illuminating.”

“The foundations of the Darcy family require no examination from the likes of you.”

“On that point, Lady Catherine, we must most decidedly beg to differ.”

Giggles and rustling came from the staircase. Elizabeth’s gaze flicked upward, and she saw, through the open parlor door, three faces pressed against the banisters—Kitty, Lydia, and Georgiana, shoulder to shoulder like a row of spectators in the cheap seats at Drury Lane. Georgiana’s face was white, her knuckles pale on the railing, and her dark eyes enormous.

Lady Catherine followed Elizabeth’s upward glance.

“Georgiana!” The name cracked across the room. “What are you doing skulking in this hutch? Come down at once. You are leaving with me.”

Georgiana flinched. Elizabeth saw it—the old reflex, the habitual obedience that a lifetime of Lady Catherine’s authority had stamped upon her. For one dreadful moment, Elizabeth thought she would comply. She watched the girl’s hands loosen on the railing, watched her shoulders begin to hunch toward compliance⁠—

And then Kitty, of all people, placed her hand over Georgiana’s. A small gesture, barely visible from below. Lydia leaned closer on the other side, forming a wall.

And Georgiana settled back.

“No, Lady Catherine.” Her voice was thin, unsteady, but it carried. “I choose to remain here.”

“You choose to—” Lady Catherine’s face was mottled with outrage. “You are a child, Georgiana, quite incapable of making decisions. Your brother has taken leave of his senses, and you are following him into ruin. Come with me to Rosings, and we shall sort this out in a manner befitting your station.”

“These people,” Georgiana said, and her voice found a thread that was not yet defiance but bore a strong family resemblance, “are my family, Aunt Catherine.”

“Your family.” Lady Catherine repeated the words as though they had arrived in a language she had not studied. “The Bennets are no family of yours, Georgiana. At absolute best, they are the unfortunate rustics your brother has decided to advise. Your family is the Fitzwilliams, the de Bourghs, the Darcys of Pemberley.”

Elizabeth felt a fierce, unexpected surge of pride at the way Georgiana stood up to her aunt.

Lady Catherine swung back to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet. I will say this once more. You are not worthy of the Darcy name. You are not worthy of Pemberley. And if you proceed with this engagement, you will discover⁠—”

“Lady Catherine.” Elizabeth rose smoothly. She was not tall, not at all. But she stood straight and proud and offered her ladyship an angelic but terrifying smile. “I appreciate your concerns, and I will offer you one piece of counsel in return.”

The fire crackled, and Cleo stretched and repositioned herself on the sill. Sir William surged, unable to decide whether to intervene or subside. Mrs. Bennet pressed her handkerchief to her mouth, and Charlotte wore the expression of a woman witnessing something historic and regretting only that she could not applaud. And Mr. Bennet tapped his pipe.

Elizabeth fixed her gaze on her friends and neighbors to ensure their attention, then on Lady Catherine.