Page 55 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Elizabeth set down her teacup with a firmness that caused the china to clink sharply against its saucer.

“That is not an accurate representation of events, Mrs. Jenkinson,” she said, her voice cool but steady.

“The marquess’s interest was neither encouraged nor discouraged by us.

Anne was permitted to make her own assessment of his character and intentions, as is only proper for a lady of her age and station. ”

Mrs. Jenkinson’s lips pursed as though she had tasted something sour. “A young lady with Miss Anne’s sheltered upbringing cannot be expected to recognise the value of such an alliance without proper guidance.”

“The Marquess of Byerly?” Lady Catherine’s penetrating gaze shifted between Mrs. Jenkinson and Elizabeth. “An ancient title with excellent connections. What is this nonsense about Anne making her own assessment? She has never been required to form such judgments before.”

“Perhaps that is precisely the difficulty, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth replied, maintaining her composure despite her growing indignation.

“Anne is twenty-one years old, mistress of her own fortune, and perfectly capable of determining whether a gentleman’s character and temperament are suited to her own. ”

Lady Catherine dismissed this assertion with an imperious wave of her hand.

“Character? Temperament? These are secondary considerations at best. Position, connections, and the ability to maintain Anne’s accustomed style of living are what signify in a match.

The Marquess of Byerly possesses all three in abundance. ”

“Byerly possesses little beyond his title,” Elizabeth countered, perhaps more frankly than wisdom would dictate.

“Every unentailed inch of his estate is mortgaged to the hilt, his family connections, while impressive, bring no material advantage, and his interest in Anne was transparently focused on her fortune rather than her person.”

“You overstep, Mrs. Darcy,” Lady Catherine said, her voice lowering dangerously. “These assessments are not yours to make. I demand a complete account of this matter, immediately. Was a formal offer made?”

Elizabeth hesitated, glancing at Anne, whose face had grown increasingly pale during this exchange. She had no wish to discuss such private matters in front of Mrs. Jenkinson, whose avid expression suggested she was memorising every word for future reporting.

“Perhaps Anne might prefer to discuss this privately with you, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth suggested, hoping to spare her cousin further discomfort.

“I prefer to hear your account, Mrs. Darcy, as you seem to have appointed yourself the arbiter of my daughter’s marital prospects,” Lady Catherine insisted, her eyes hard as flint. “Did the Marquess of Byerly make a formal offer for Anne’s hand?”

Elizabeth felt herself caught in an impossible position. To reveal the details would be to betray Anne’s privacy, yet to refuse would only inflame Lady Catherine’s suspicions further. Before she could formulate a diplomatic response, Mrs. Jenkinson interjected with evident relish.

“The marquess called privately upon Mr. Darcy last week, my lady. I observed his arrival myself, though I was not privy to their conversation. He departed looking most displeased.”

Lady Catherine’s gaze bore into Elizabeth with renewed intensity. “Is this true? Did Byerly approach my nephew formally regarding Anne?”

Elizabeth drew a steadying breath, seeing no path forward but honesty. “The marquess did request an audience with my husband, yes. He sought permission to pay his addresses to Anne.”

“And?” Lady Catherine demanded when Elizabeth did not immediately continue.

“And my husband, recognising that Anne is of age and should have a voice in matters affecting her future happiness, informed her of the marquess’s intentions and inquired as to her wishes,” Elizabeth explained, choosing her words with care.

“Her wishes?” Lady Catherine repeated, as though the concept were entirely foreign. “What have her wishes to do with a matter of such importance? It was my nephew’s duty to encourage the match, not consult Anne as though she were some authority on her own best interests.”

“On the contrary,” Elizabeth replied, finding strength in her conviction despite Lady Catherine’s intimidating presence.

“It was precisely Darcy’s duty to consider Anne’s happiness above all other considerations.

The sanctity of marriage depends upon mutual regard and compatibility, not merely advantageous connections. ”

“Pretty sentiments for a novel, perhaps,” Lady Catherine dismissed, “but hardly practical guidance for those with estates and legacies to consider. What was the outcome of this consultation? Did Anne refuse to receive the marquess’s addresses?”

The directness of the question left no room for evasion. “Yes,” Elizabeth admitted reluctantly. “Anne did not wish to encourage attentions she could not welcome.”

A terrible silence followed Elizabeth’s revelation, broken only by the sharp tick of the ormolu clock upon the mantelpiece.

Lady Catherine sat unnaturally still, her teacup frozen halfway to her lips, her eyes fixed upon Elizabeth with an expression that might have turned lesser women to stone.

When she finally set the cup down, the precise, controlled movement was somehow more frightening than if she had dashed it to the floor in rage.

“Let me be certain I understand correctly,” Lady Catherine said, her voice dangerously quiet.

“The Marquess of Byerly, a gentleman of ancient lineage whose title dates back to the Norman Conquest, formally approached my nephew regarding my daughter’s hand in marriage.

And instead of immediately recognising the honour and advantage of such a connection, you and Darcy consulted Anne, as though her uninformed opinion on such matters carried equal weight to those who understand the complexities of suitable alliances? ”

Elizabeth met her gaze steadily. “We believe Anne’s happiness to be the primary consideration in her marriage, Lady Catherine. Not title or advantage.”

“Happiness?” Lady Catherine’s voice rose sharply, all pretence of calm abandoned.

“What does a sheltered child who has scarcely left her mother’s drawing room know of what will bring her happiness in marriage?

Anne has been protected all her life from precisely the sort of imprudent thinking that leads young women to mistake momentary attraction for lasting compatibility. ”

“I am not a child, Mother,” Anne interjected, her voice trembling but determined. “I am one and twenty, well-read, and capable of judging a gentleman’s character and intentions.”

Lady Catherine turned on her daughter with a withering glance.

“You are a fool, Anne. A stupid, wilful girl who does not recognise what is best for her own interests! Do you imagine your precious Mr. Hislop courts you for your lively conversation? For your expertise in horses? No. He, like every other fortune hunter in London, sees Rosings Park and your inheritance! At least the marquess offers title and connection in exchange!”

Elizabeth watched the colour drain from Anne’s face at this cruel assessment. Mrs. Jenkinson nodded her vehement agreement, adding her own barb to Lady Catherine’s attack.

“A gentleman like Mr. Hislop could hardly support you in the manner to which you are accustomed, Miss Anne.”

“Mr. Hislop’s finances are not the issue here,” Elizabeth intervened, unwilling to let Anne face this onslaught alone. “Nor is his interest in Anne based solely on her fortune. He values her knowledge and judgment in matters where they share a passion.”

“Passion!” Lady Catherine nearly spat the word. “What proper young lady concerns herself with passion in marriage? Mutual respect, compatible backgrounds, and complementary resources, these are the foundations of a successful union. Anne’s late father and I shared precisely such an arrangement.”

“And were you happy, Mother?” Anne asked quietly, the simple question carrying the weight of years of observation.

Lady Catherine appeared startled by this direct inquiry. “Happy? We were suitable. Content. We maintained Rosings together and produced an heir. These are the measures of a successful marriage, not some foolish notion of romantic happiness.”

Elizabeth saw Anne’s shoulders slump slightly at this cold assessment of her parents’ union. Yet when she spoke again, her voice carried a new resolve.

“I want more than suitability, Mother. I have lived all my life in perfect propriety and dutiful obedience. Is it so unreasonable that I might wish for regard in the man I marry?”

“It is entirely unreasonable,” Lady Catherine declared, rising to her feet in a rustle of expensive silk.

“And I see now that my absence has allowed this household’s permissive attitudes to corrupt your judgment beyond all recognition.

This situation must be remedied immediately.

” She began to pace, her steps sharp with purpose.

“The marquess is attending dinner this evening, of course?” She looked sharply at Elizabeth.

“Regrettably, Lord Byerly had other commitments,” Elizabeth said smoothly. The marquess had received an invitation before making his ill-fated approach to Darcy, and had declined it immediately afterward, she suspected out of pique.

Lady Catherine sniffed. “Well. In that case, I shall call upon the marquess myself tomorrow. A misunderstanding, easily clarified. He will understand that a young lady’s momentary hesitation should not be mistaken for refusal.”

“Mother, please,” Anne protested, her voice rising in alarm. “I do not wish to encourage Lord Byerly! My refusal was not momentary hesitation but considered judgment.”