Page 3 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)
A DELICATE MATTER
“ D arcy? Where have you been?”
Darcy startled, having not seen Fitzwilliam, pipe in hand, lingering outside of the servants’ entrance. “Um… I was… What are you doing out here?”
“The ladies withdrew, and I was left to the mercies of Mr Collins.” Fitzwilliam uttered a groaning chuckle.
“I tried to persuade our aunt that separation of the sexes was unnecessary, but she would hear nothing of it, so I resorted to persuading him that I needed to come out here with my pipe. I told him my physician required me to have at least three pipes a day but that he ought not to accompany me outside, for her ladyship abhors the scent of tobacco.”
“Yes, well, her ladyship also abhors the notion of her nephews being absent from the drawing room, so we had best present ourselves immediately.”
So saying, Darcy pushed past his cousin, making his way into the narrow, dark corridor that would lead, eventually, to the servants’ stair which would subsequently allow him to make his way into the drawing room.
He was not certain how exactly he felt returning from the parsonage.
Relieved, naturally, to have at last given voice to the hopes and wishes that had plagued him since last autumn, but vexed as well.
Mrs Collins had entered at the worst possible moment.
He had left Rosings towards the end of dinner, using the thinnest of excuses—an urgent matter of business that had only just recollected itself to him.
Mrs Collins had evidently come while the other ladies went through to the drawing room; had he known she might have done that, he would have altered his timing, but so be it.
If only Elizabeth had not seemed to wish to rush him out of there!
No doubt his darling bride was concerned for her reputation.
As well she should be. Until her father gives his consent, we would not want any whiff of scandal about this.
Tongues will wag enough. Still, no matter that he saw the sense in it, how he wished, fervently , to be back in that little parlour with her, celebrating their attachment with lovers’ talk and—dare he hope? —a kiss or two. Or ten.
He paused at the door to the drawing room and his cousin, who had been hard on his heels, nearly collided with him. “Have a care!”
“Forgive me,” he muttered over his shoulder.
“Well? Shall we enter?”
Briefly he considered returning to the parsonage, but Fitzwilliam was not likely to let him go alone.
We will speak more tomorrow morning , he decided, a smile touching his lips as he thought of the many mornings they had walked together, the mornings in which he came to recognise that his heart was irrevocably hers, no matter the challenges ahead.
Offering his cousin a conciliatory smile, he opened the drawing room door and entered .
“There he is,” said Lady Catherine. “Darcy, you left us very suddenly.”
“Was it sudden?” He took the chair farthest from her ladyship. “As I mentioned at the table, an urgent matter came to mind.”
“I do not see why—” Lady Catherine’s harangue was interrupted by another click of the drawing room door. Mrs Collins entered, her clear grey gaze sedate as she crossed the room and took a place beside her husband. She gave Darcy no particular notice, no look of curiosity, and for that he was glad.
“I have never known people to simply run off after a dinner,” Lady Catherine scolded. “For heaven’s sake, are we barbarians? Mrs Collins, where did you take yourself?”
“Mrs Smythe has reached her time,” said Mrs Collins with a significant look at Lady Catherine. “I knew you would not wish me to neglect my duty to the villagers, and so went to see if anything was needed—on your behalf, of course. They were very grateful to know you thought of her.”
Mrs Collins is a genius , thought Darcy.
Lady Catherine was instantly not only mollified but gratified, nodding in a manner that suggested she had thought of the entire thing herself.
Further, the small exchange prompted Collins to begin rattling away about the duties of a clergyman’s wife and how excellently Mrs Collins performed those duties.
Too soon this led into a conversation where he somehow managed to both boast and humble himself, and because of the latter, Lady Catherine appeared willing to hear him.
At the far end of the small group, Fitzwilliam edged his own chair closer to his cousin. In a low voice, he enquired, “So where was it that you went?”
With a half-smile, Darcy raised one finger from where his hand rested on his thigh and flicked it as if to say, ‘No matter’. Fitzwilliam would hear the joyful news soon enough.
In fact, they all should. Darcy allowed his gaze to travel about the room. Had Mrs Collins already learnt that he had proposed to her friend? Her countenance gave nothing away, but if she knew, and Lady Catherine found out from her , rather than himself, it would be nothing short of calamitous.
He waited until the Collinses departed, Lady Catherine having magnanimously offered the use of her carriage to convey them the half mile to their own abode.
Fitzwilliam, having stood to bid their guests farewell, gave Darcy a look that wordlessly invited him to hie off and do something more diverting—play cards with Fields and Robertson, their valets, perhaps.
Darcy forestalled him with a raised palm, and Fitzwilliam, his brow creased, sat again.
No time better than the present.
Darcy cleared his throat. “Before we retire, I hoped to speak to you all on a matter of some delicacy. I will require your discretion for a short time.” He re-took the seat he had occupied, a wingback chair in hues of ghastly brown.
Lady Catherine raised one brow imperiously, then shot a glance at Mrs Jenkinson, Anne’s nurse.
Mrs Jenkinson immediately rose and quit the room, murmuring something to Anne before she went.
Anne did not so much as glance at her, keeping her limpid grey eyes trained on Darcy himself.
She seemed to have straightened a little, and her lips were curved slightly upwards.
Even her skin looked slightly less pasty than usual, almost pinkish.
With a jolt, Darcy realised that Anne might think he was about to say something about her.
Surely not? He and Anne had never spoken of it, but he had always believed that she, like he, never had any designs for matrimony. He offered a tentative small smile, and unfortunately, she smiled back, tilting her head somewhat coquettishly. Blast!
“Well? What is it?” Lady Catherine asked impatiently. “Anne cannot sit here all night, you know.”
“My apologies for keeping all of you from your beds.” He took a deep breath.
“I have some news, good news, but it occurs to me that it might come as something of a surprise to you all. Firstly, I should like to apologise to both my cousin and my aunt. It is not my intention to cause pain to anyone, but I must state to you both outright that I do not intend to marry Anne.”
“Perhaps not now,” Lady Catherine interrupted. “But in a few?—”
Darcy shook his head firmly. “No, I am sorry, but it will not ever happen. I fear I have been remiss in allowing you to hold on to false hope. I respect and care for you both very much as my family, but for Anne and I, it will never be anything more than a bond of cousinship.”
He could not look at Anne, hating to imagine the smile—one of the few he had ever seen from her—dying away. It was much easier to look at his aunt who was calm despite a flush of angry humiliation creeping over her chest and countenance.
“This certainly is a surprise and a disappointment—a grievous disappointment at that. I would not have imagined you to be capable of shirking your duty and ignoring the wishes of your dead mother in such an egregious manner, yet I cannot deny the evidence before me which proves just that.”
“My mother never mentioned any such wish to me, and in any case, my parents both believed in marriages founded on affection. I cannot think she would want any less for me than she had with my father. ”
Lady Catherine laughed bitterly. “Is that what you think? That theirs was a love match?”
“I know what I saw,” he said flatly even as Fitzwilliam, from the other side of the room, offered his own quiet opinion supporting Darcy.
“Foolish boy,” his aunt all but spat at him.
“What do you think a love match is? Pounding hearts and trembling knees? That sort of thing is nothing but lust, and it wears away quickly, leaving you with nothing. You should do far better to marry someone who is your equal in consequence, giving you the necessary marital condolences as well as an excellent fortune and extensive property.”
“I am sorry, but it shall not be. I will not marry Anne, not now, not ever, and you would do best to leave the subject before it causes an irreparable break in our families.”
“You are a disgrace to the Fitzwilliam name. I should not be surprised if Lord Matlock disowns you.”
“Being that he does not own me, his lordship would find it difficult to disown me,” Darcy replied. “In any case, that is not the subject of interest to me this evening. What I wished to tell you is that I am, in fact, engaged.”
Both Fitzwilliam and Lady Catherine echoed ‘Engaged!’ but in vastly different accents. Darcy chanced to look at Anne who had not yet uttered a syllable. Her colour was high, but she betrayed no emotion beyond that. He offered an apologetic smile before continuing to speak.
“I am engaged to be married to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”