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“Wasted! It was worse than wasted. Instead of taking what was proper, you set about catching my nephew. Do not think I do not know how these things are done. A mother with five daughters and hardly a penny among them. An eldest sister who secured Mr Bingley and his fortune with clever cunning. And now you.” The feathers in her headdress shook. “You are fortune-hunters, the whole family of you, and I shall not pretend otherwise to spare your feelings.”

“Mama,” said Miss de Bourgh.

Her mother did not so much as turn her head.

Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. They were perfectly steady, and she was glad of it.

“Your ladyship may pretend whatever you like. My father is a gentleman, and I am a gentleman's daughter. Mr Darcy is a gentleman. So far, we are equal.”

“Equal! And who was your mother? Who are your uncles? Do you imagine I have not been told what they are?”

“Since your ladyship has brought my sister into it, I shall answer for her as well. Jane is a gentleman's daughter. There have been Bennets at Longbourn for longer than anyone can remember. Mr Bingley's father made his money in trade, and Mr Bingley will be a gentleman only because he is purchasing an estate. If anyone in that marriage has gone up in the world, ma'am, it is not Jane. She is every bit as good as her new sister, whatever Miss Bingley may choose to think.”

Lady Catherine stood up. Her face had gone a dark red, and she had to hold on to the back of her chair.

Miss de Bourgh stood up too, and put a hand on her mother's sleeve.

“Mama, please sit down. You will make yourself ill, and my cousin will hear you.”

“Be quiet, Anne.” Lady Catherine pulled her arm away without looking at her. “Sit down. This has nothing to do with you.”

Miss de Bourgh sat. Elizabeth thought it a strange thing for a mother to say. The quarrel was about the man Anne had been promised to since she was in her cradle, and yet it had nothing to do with her. Miss de Bourgh seemed to think it strange too, for her lips pressed together, but she said nothing more.

“You are impossible,” said Lady Catherine. “Obstinate, headstrong, and without the least idea of what is owed to the name you have taken. You do not deserve the honour of being mistress of Pemberley. You never will.”

“That is enough, madam.”

Mr Darcy was standing in the doorway. Elizabeth had not heard the door, and she could not tell how long he had been there. He came across the room and stopped beside her chair, so close that she might have touched his sleeve. She did not.

“You are in my house, ma'am. My wife is mistress here, and I will not have her spoken to like that under this roof, by you or by anyone else. She is one of this family now. You will treat her with the respect she is owed. If you find you cannot, I shall send for your carriage, and you may go back to Rosings tonight.”

“You would turn me out? Your own mother's sister?”

“I would ask you to go, ma'am. Whether it comes to that is up to you.”

For a while nobody moved. A log broke in the grate and sent up a little shower of sparks. Lady Catherine lowered herself into her chair with enormous dignity and stared at the opposite wall.

Mr Darcy turned to his cousin, and his whole manner changed.

“Anne, whatever your mother decides, you will always be welcome in this house. I hope you know that.”

“I do, Fitzwilliam.” Her voice was hoarse, as though she did not use it much, but it was perfectly clear. “Thank you.”

He offered Elizabeth his arm.

“Georgiana is ready for us. Will you come up, Mrs Darcy?”

She stood and laid her hand on his arm. Under the cloth of his coat she could feel how tightly he was holding himself, and he did not loosen until they were halfway up the stairs.

The music room had far more candles lit than it needed. Georgiana had dragged the pianoforte well out into the room, away from the window. She was shuffling her music about with small, nervous movements when they came in. She looked at her brother's face, and then at Elizabeth's, and asked no questions.

Lady Catherine came up after all. She took the best chair and sat through a sonata by Clementi with both hands folded on top of her stick. At the end she said it was very pretty, and that Georgiana must practise two hours every day without fail. Then she remembered how tiring her journey had been and went to bed. The room was a good deal more comfortable without her.

Georgiana played on. She was shy at the start of every piece, as if she was not sure the instrument would do as it was told. After a page or two she forgot anyone was listening and played beautifully. Elizabeth had sat through a great deal of indifferent music in Meryton drawing rooms, and she listened now with real pleasure.

“Will you not play our duet?” Georgiana turned round on the bench. “Please, Elizabeth. We have practised it three mornings together, and you know the first part almost perfectly.”

Elizabeth sat down at the lower end of the bench. They began well enough. At the turn of the second page she lost her place entirely, and Georgiana stopped, laughing too hard to go on.