Page 6 of Rosings Park (Happily Ever Afterlife #2)
CHAPTER SIX
W hile Collins droned on about the minute details of Anne’s funeral, Lady Catherine observed her nephew as he fawned over that upstart he had married. Look at them over there, speaking only to one another in intimate whispers. And his countenance! I dare say he would kneel down and kiss her slippers should she ask it of him. Shameless.
They were on a sofa with their fingers tangled together between them and likely thought they were being discreet, but anyone could see what they were about. And in a public room too!
Seeing Darcy so slavishly besotted with that girl was an insult to Anne’s memory. Had the chit any regard for the wishes of his friends or his closest kin, she would never have quit the sphere in which she had been brought up. Instead, Lady Catherine was forced to endure her as a niece and pretend to accept this horrid farce for the sake of her brother, who would brook no opposition on the matter of a family schism. Men and their politics! What of our dignity?
She could not conceive of what arts and allurements Miss Bennet—she would never acknowledge that unrepentant strumpet as Mrs Darcy—had used upon Darcy to achieve her ends, but no doubt they were disgustingly wanton to turn her most sensible nephew’s head. If only Anne had followed her example and ensnared him before it was too late. It would have been nothing to sneak into his bedchamber whilst he stayed with them, as he did every Easter, and cement her position as his partner in life. But no, Anne had not wished to resort to such ‘extreme measures’, as she called them, and Lady Catherine had been forced to punish her daughter for such wilful disobedience. And then to keep her quiet.
Perhaps she had been a touch heavy-handed, but how was she to know that beforehand? It had been Mrs Jenkinson’s job to oversee Anne’s care. Regrettably, there had been no choice but to dismiss that slanderous, ungrateful witch— Who is she to question the commands of her betters? —leading to unfortunate results.
In the end, Lady Catherine laid the greatest portion of the blame at the feet of the scandalous Miss Bennet. It was her fault for snatching Darcy away from Anne. Had it not been for her interference in Catherine’s best laid plans, everything might have turned out differently.
When the mantel clock chimed nine times, Lady Catherine glanced at its face, narrowing her gaze as she read the time. It was not even half past eight! She would task a servant with seeing it repaired.
“What do I care? Darcy’s bit o’ muslin will hear worse in London. ”
Lady Catherine, as well as everyone else in the room, diverted her attention to Marbury, who sat sprawled in his chair like a common labourer at a tavern. Loathsome boy! This disgraceful behaviour was one of the many reasons she had pursued Darcy as Anne’s husband rather than her brother’s heir. On top of being far wealthier, Darcy never appeared slovenly or ridiculous as Marbury was prone to be.
Fitzwilliam hushed his brother harshly. “Do you want Darcy to call you out after all?”
Darcy, from where he sat, glowered at his elder cousin from across the circle. “Were you not in your cups, I should insist we meet outside this moment.”
Miss Bennet clutched at his arm. “Mr Darcy, no!”
How tragic it would be for her to lose her dupe so soon after ensnaring him. She is unlikely to meet with such success a second time.
“Marbury,” broke in Matlock, his voice a stern lash. His son sat up as if struck by it. “Go to bed.”
Although still grumbling belligerently under his breath, Marbury struggled to his feet and moved towards the door on unsteady legs. On his way, he stopped before Darcy and his lowborn wife and executed a deep, mocking bow. Catherine smiled in dark amusement. “I have yet to offer you my congratulations, Mrs Darcy, on both trapping my cousin and begetting his whelp so quickly. You have my undying admiration for your wiles, madam—the ladies of the ton could learn much from you.”
Darcy was on his feet the next instant and grabbing Marbury by the lapels of his coat. Only the intervention of Fitzwilliam, who had wisely followed closely upon his brother’s heels, prevented violence from breaking out.
While the men brawled and Collins expressed his long-winded concerns, the meaning of Marbury’s verbal attack sank into Lady Catherine’s brain. ‘Whelp’? Does that mean…
Her eyes immediately found Miss Bennet’s midsection, which the girl cradled defensively with one hand while utilising the other to reach for her enraged husband. Although it was difficult to tell through the volume of her skirts, one could see a slight protrusion beneath her palm if one looked closely enough.
If it were not bad enough that Darcy had married a common country chit behind her back, destroying all her grand plans of uniting Rosings with Pemberley, now his wench carried the Darcy heir within her womb? This girl, this nobody, had taken everything from her—from Anne—and now flaunted her success in their faces? This was not to be borne! What had happened to Anne had been unfortunate, but what would befall her usurper would be nothing less than justice.
Lady Catherine was startled from her plotting by a loud rattling, a cold splash on her arm, and a shout. Whipping her head in the direction of the disturbance, she found Collins grasping at the urn of daffodils that had nearly toppled into her lap, congratulating himself on rescuing her gown. “Did you see that? It began tilting over, all by itself. Thank goodness I was here to catch it or else?—”
“Had you not been standing so close, it never would have fallen over in the first place,” Lady Catherine barked, darkly pleased when her parson flinched. “Get a maid to clean this up. Now!”
Collins scuttled off to do as bid, and Lady Catherine’s viper gaze reaffixed itself to Miss Bennet. She was coaxing Darcy to sit as Marbury was hustled out of the room—and nearly overset by Collins rushing past him, calling for a servant—still cradling her belly. She whispered softly in her husband’s ear as the red flush drained slowly from his face, and within minutes, they were back to fondling on the sofa as if nothing had ever happened.
Despicable, abominable girl. I shall rest easier once the world is rid of you.