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Darcy shook his head impatiently. “Even so, her connections are not what one would wish. Her family situation is…” He thought of Mrs Bennet and Lydia. Then there was Mr Bennet, and that strange note that accepted an invitation on behalf of his daughters without mentioning his daughters. Then he thought, unhelpfully, of Elizabeth walking calmly through rooms of gossips with her head up and her expression calm. “Her situation is not such as I would consider to be…”

“Of course not,” the earl agreed, while somehow also indicating that he was not convinced.

“She is entirely unsuitable,” Darcy said, though even to his own ears he did not sound confident in this assessment.

“I expect she is,” said the earl mildly. “Fortunately, the whole matter is hypothetical, as you are simply helping your friend, to whom she is engaged, making the whole question moot.”

“Precisely,” Darcy said.

“Quite so,” his uncle nodded. He set his cup down on the small table to his side. “I hope your plan succeeds, Will. It sounds like a sensible approach.”

“Thank you.”

“I wonder,” the earl continued, as if it were of no importance, “whether you might object to my coming to Pemberley as well, once your party has settled in. Perhaps Richard might accompany me, if he can get leave.”

Darcy looked at him, surprised. His uncle was not a man given to visiting about with no reason; he was too busy, as his estate and his seat in the Lords demanded a good deal of his time. “Of course you are always welcome,” he said sincerely. “But I did not think you had any particular —”

“The farms at Pemberley are impressive, as I recall,” his uncle said, “and I find that I have developed a strong interest in botany of late.”

Darcy stared at him, and his uncle returned the look with perfect composure.

“You have…that is, of course,” Darcy said, rather at a loss. “You are very welcome.”

“Excellent,” the earl said, standing smoothly just as his name was called from across the room. “Here is Beatrix calling us to heel. She will have something that she wants to sing and requires a proper audience.”

“Georgiana is going to play,” Darcy said, standing as well.

“Even better.” His uncle reached out and touched his arm briefly. “I am glad that you told me, Will.”

Darcy blinked. He was unsure of what he had told his uncle beyond the bare facts of what had occurred, yet he was uncomfortably suspicious that his uncle had clearly understood whatever message Darcy had communicated, whether or not he had meant to communicate it at all.

They crossed the room to where the Countess of Matlock was directing the party toward the pianoforte with the calm, cheerful air of someone who knows that she will be obeyed. She took her husband’s arm when he reached her side, and he pressed her hand against his coat with the ease of a gesture that had long since become habitual, and smiled down at her. She said something to him that gentled the smile into one that the Earl of Matlock would not have given to another living soul.

Darcy looked away, focusing his attention on Georgiana, who was settling onto the bench with Mrs Annesley beside her to turn the pages.

What was this Christmas like for Elizabeth? Was she merry, perhaps singing carols or making jokes? Could she forget, if only for a little while, the situation in which she was trapped? Was she thinking about the plans she had made to free Bingley and herself? Was she unhappy that she had decided to forgo them and trust in his plan instead?

What would it be like to have someone beside him for thirty years, until he reached for her hand without thinking whenever she approached?

The music started, which helped him to stop himself from wondering foolish, irrelevant, impossible things.

Though even with the distraction, it was more difficult to do so than Darcy would have liked.

Chapter 12

…I now pronounce you husband and wife.

The words reverberated through the cold air of the church, and Elizabeth told herself firmly that she was happy for Charlotte. It was not a lie, exactly — it was what Charlotte wanted, and so Elizabeth was happy for her. She knew that she was, or that she would be, but she could not quite feel the happiness yet.

Charlotte received her new husband’s kiss on her cheek with the same calm, unruffled air with which she took in everything, for all the world as though she had agreed to a cup of tea rather than a lifetime commitment. Mr Collins beamed, clearly as pleased as though he had achieved something entirely magnificent.

Which, watching Charlotte walk down the aisle at his side, Elizabeth rather thought that he had.

As the couple passed by her row, Elizabeth’s gaze moved around the little church, from the Lucases, where Lady Lucas dabbed at her eyes as she watched her daughter progress down the aisle, to the gathering of neighbours, none of whom could resist the excitement of a wedding, and then, most incongruously, to an older woman of short stature but regal bearing in the third row whose expression suggested she was there in judgement rather than in celebration. Mr Collins had breathlessly presented them to Lady Catherine before the ceremony, as though introduction with his patroness was of far greater importance than the marriage to come. A single meeting, and a brief one at that, could hardly lead to any real insight into Lady Catherine’s character, but so far, the woman was lining up rather nicely with the image she’d created based on Mr Collins’ breathless descriptions.

Then Lady Catherine made as though to rise, and Elizabeth looked quickly away.

In truth, she was surprised that Lady Catherine had attended at all. Local weddings like these were quiet affairs, and to travel here from Kent was no small jaunt. And yet here she was, in the third pew of the modest Meryton church, watching the proceedings with the suspicious eye of a magistrate. Elizabeth supposed that if one’s intention was to have a finger in every pie, one must be prepared to travel.