Page 3 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Chapter three
M r George Darcy abandoned the morning meal quickly the next day and had been shut away with his parents in the salon for more than an hour. Catherine would have to forgo seeing him until dinner if he followed the same schedule as the day before.
The weather was very fine that day, and so the ladies expected a few morning callers; however, the room and its inhabitants had lost their warmth—especially Mrs Darcy who was subdued and less encouraging to Catherine than she had been throughout the visit. She and the countess held a quiet conversation through most of the morning, sharing varying levels of pitying expressions. Twice Mrs Darcy’s lady’s maid entered to whisper to the gentlewoman. Each time, the lady simply nodded in response. The gentlemen were nowhere to be seen.
Her mother eyed her from head to toe more than once. Eventually, she felt so on display that she could hardly keep her own expressions under regulation. What was amiss? She mulled over the events of the previous day but could not find it in her to ask the countess about her sour expressions in company.
Naught but kindness could be found in Mrs Darcy’s countenance, but Catherine’s uncertainty continued to grow. As the minutes went on, the flinty looks from the countess and the pitying glances from Mrs Darcy became almost too much to bear.
When Mrs Darcy departed early, Catherine feigned a reason to excuse herself as well and decided to spend some time alone in her chambers.
The potent mix of anticipation and concern was finally fraying Catherine’s even temper. She knew her mother would have words with her about leaving before the afternoon was complete, but she could not find it in herself to care.
To escape the notice of anyone else, she slipped quietly down a few of the servants’ passageways to arrive at the back staircase more quickly. After returning to the primary corridor, she heard what might have been voices coming from the library and stopped to test her accuracy. Oftentimes, her hearing was untrustworthy.
She was pleased to see that she was correct. Mr George Darcy and Lady Anne were in the library. Curiouser and curiouser—she had not realized the gentleman enjoyed reading. That could be a lovely addition to their conversation that evening, for she was exceedingly well read.
Not wanting to be seen, she continued quickly to the private rear staircase that would bring her directly to the family wing on the upper floors. Finding her lady’s maid in her chambers, Catherine released a sigh to finally be away from all the tension.
Catherine’s personal chambers were her favourite rooms at Oakley. While the rest of the estate was comfortable and stately, her rooms were simply divine. Decorated in sumptuous fabrics and beautifully ornamented with items to her specific taste, they were a haven for her peace of mind. She ran her fingers across the new shelving recently added to feature her most beloved books and small embroidered pieces gifted to her from friends at school.
She may not have the talent to thread a needle into charming patterns like many of her acquaintances, but she congratulated herself on identifying the aptitude in others. She encouraged all her friends to do their best work and was often the recipient of their finest efforts.
One’s chambers should express their personal preferences, she thought. Alterations were necessary to remain fashionable and current. Her parents were kind enough to allow renovations at her leisure. She also saved all her pin money for such necessities.
One summer, the housekeeper assisted as she perused the attics for articles of past inhabitants of Oakley. It was there that she had found tapestries, small sculptures, and an elegant bronze candelabra. Some of the items in her rooms were far superior to those gracing the shelves and tables around the estate. Catherine had a keen eye for style, indeed. The rest of the house was relatively modest, representing without ostentation or extravagance, their importance and position in the world.
Just as she was directing Jones to swap a vase for a lovely painting she had recently found in Derby, her mother appeared.
Jones must have also noticed the irritation in the countess’s expression, for she bowed and departed quickly without a word.
Based on her mother’s pursed lips, this morning’s performance had been a disappointment as she had expected—even though she had followed her mother’s directions impeccably.
It was not until attending seminary that Catherine had begun longing for a closer relationship with her mother. Most of the other girls at school knew their mothers well. Lady Barringer, on the other hand, had been away from home more than she had been present for most of Catherine’s childhood. All she had ever wanted was to feel some little affection or approval from the countess.
“Mother,” Lady Catherine acknowledged Lady Barringer with a nod of her head and stood from the deep violet, overstuffed chair in the corner of her room.
“Catherine.” Lady Barringer was a woman of few words today, it seemed.
The countess rubbed her gloved fingers across the mantlepiece that hung over the warm, stocked fire burning brightly in her daughter’s room. “Mrs Darcy has expressed her continued approval of your marriage to her son.”
Catherine’s cheeks heated. When had that been in question?
“However, I do think the boy requires additional attention from you. He is showing too much interest in your sister. Anne has found no trouble displaying her good qualities and seeking to find commonality with your suitor. Gentlemen like to feel wanted. He must not leave Oakley without comprehending that you desire him to be your husband.”
Feeling disgracefully vain, Catherine could not even bear to imagine that her sister had made a better impression upon her suitor. Nor could she fathom that Mr George Darcy could possibly prefer Anne’s particular flavour of casual defiance. It was unpardonable.
“Have I not agreed to the arrangement? I have shown interest in his conversational topics.” Navigating her mother’s sentiments was not always easy for Catherine.
“Men expect more than a simple inquiry, my dear. You were educated by the best tutors and then attended the most excellent seminary in all of England. You are a Fitzwilliam. You are the daughter of the Earl of Barringer.”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
Her flinty expression lingered a little too long on Catherine’s waist. She turned her daughter towards the mirror set in the corner of the room and stood beside her. The countess’s hair was teased to unhuman proportions, lightened with white powder, and bolstered by large, rolled pieces of wool padding to create the illusion of curls stacked upon her head. She was the height of fashion—and of cruelty, if she so desired.
She was angry, and Catherine felt her stomach drop at the expression on her mother’s face. She had disappointed her somehow, and yet, she had no idea what she had done wrong. Was it not Anne who was behaving inappropriately if it was her attentiveness that was swaying Mr. Darcy’s attentions? She was not even out—she was not an option for him.
Lady Barringer continued, “Young Darcy has been taking the time to show you that he will be an affectionate and attentive brother to Anne and Ashby, and you should be thankful for his kindness, but we must ensure that while we acknowledge that goodwill, we do not forget the purpose of this visit. He is here for you, and you must remind him of that.”
“Yes, of course.”
“A good marriage is owed to one’s family.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Good breeding and excellent connections are imperative.”
Catherine nodded.
“You are the prime example of a true English rose. Your skin is flawless, your dress impeccable. Mr Darcy is a lucky man.”
It was not clear whether her mother was trying to convince herself or Catherine, but she nodded along with her mother’s diatribe.
“Mr Darcy and Anne have similar temperaments. You can use that to your advantage. You understand how to speak to your sister.”
Catherine nodded once again. That was not necessarily true. Anne was a puzzling creature. And yet, Catherine had no desire to answer in anything but the affirmative.
“Good.” Lady Barringer seemed quite finished but then began again. “I will leave you to reflect on the morning and think of engaging topics of conversation you might leverage in your next encounter with Mr Darcy.”
Parroting her mother’s behaviour had not succeeded in finding Catherine engaged—and now she had been reprimanded, no less! Were not her manners impeccable? Did she not ask questions of her suitor as suggested? Did not she lower herself to speak of pursuits that mattered woefully little to her?
A soft knock at the door interrupted Catherine’s line of thought. Lady Barringer admitted the viscountess into the room and excused herself.
Lady Ashby’s cold acknowledgement of the countess fell away as soon as Lady Barringer disappeared out into the corridor. The viscountess displayed warmth to few people, and her immediate sympathetic expression once they were alone confirmed that Catherine should be worried. Catherine surely did have something to atone for.
“Your mother thought it best that I come speak to you.”
Lady Ashby rarely did as she was told unless a directive came from her mother by marriage.
“Your mother is concerned that Darcy has not yet proposed. I do not see what all the fuss is about. It is Darcy who will benefit from a marriage into this family, and it is his wandering eyes that are currently standing in the way of your future happiness. While I do believe that Darcy will come to the point, I will caution you to beware your sister’s intentions during Mr Darcy’s visit.”
Warmth poured through Catherine’s cheeks. Elinor’s mention of wandering eyes felt like a blow to her spirit. So, Anne was not the only one showing interest.
“I do not mean to injure you in any way—nor do I wish to speak ill of your sister,” Lady Ashby continued. “You know I have a penchant towards telling the truth, and I want to ensure you have all the information necessary. If your sister continues to pursue Mr Darcy—”
“Pursue?” Catherine cried out in disbelief. It was one thing to hear of her sister having some infatuation but completely another to imagine she should try to take Catherine’s place. “Lady Ashby, surely you do not suggest that Anne is trying to usurp my role as the future Mrs Darcy!”
“I do not blame your sister for her interest. Mr Darcy is a kind and handsome man. His family has the means to give her a comfortable life.”
“A life! What life?” Catherine was exasperated. “You mean the one that is intended for me?”
“And it shall be yours. I only mean to caution you.”
“I am sure you are wrong!”
Lady Ashby’s pitying look was enough to compel a shine to Catherine’s eyes. “No. Surely not.” She repeated, more for herself than the viscountess.
“I only mean to protect you. You have little experience with gentlemen.”
“Little experience? I have had a Season in town. Albeit some time has passed since then. But Anne has no experience at all! I am sure you are wrong. She is only happy to have guests at Oakley. I am certain that is all. Perchance Mr Darcy is only making my way easier. He is making my sister comfortable as she will likely play a large role in our lives. Until such a time as he is more comfortable with my manner, he is simply gravitating to those in our family with whom he shares particular inclinations.”
She began parroting her mother’s impression, “Mr Darcy and Anne are both early risers who enjoy outdoor pursuits. They are both soft spoken. He is merely attempting to impress our family through brotherly affection to our rather quiet sister.”
The more she spoke, the less she believed it. Catherine felt overcome with concern. It was all too much. She covered her face in embarrassment. She would surely drown in self-deprecation when this interview ended.
Lady Ashby removed Catherine’s hands from her face. Her stern but confident expression stared back at Catherine. “You are a Fitzwilliam. We do not cower behind our hands. And no matter what your mother has instructed you to do, we certainly do not beg gentlemen to marry us.”
Catherine sighed and moved across the room to look out the window. She had not been directed to beg the younger Mr Darcy to marry her, but if that is what Lady Ashby perceived, then there was clearly an awful lot of talk happening at Oakley that she was not yet privy to.
Across the field, Catherine could see her brother, the earl, and both Mr Darcys riding in from some time in the hills. He did ride quite a lot.
“I certainly did not have to force your brother into marriage,” Lady Ashby continued. “He saw an alliance with me as advantageous. It was favoured by both families. And I gave him some reason to expect I would be a dutiful wife.”
At that, she laughed—a sly smile on her face.
Catherine beamed at her sister by marriage. It was not often that she shed light into the history of her marriage.
Lady Ashby continued, “No one would be demanding Eloise drop to her knees and beg Mr Darcy to marry her!”
At that, Catherine shuddered. Was everyone truly so worried? Why had she twice alluded to begging? Everyone had expected he would have proposed by now, but there had been no promise of when only that he would . And he would, Catherine was certain of that. Why else would he travel to Oakley with his parents?
And Lady Ashby was correct. No one would ask Eloise to beseech a man to take her as a bride. It was more likely that the younger Mr Darcy would have come pleading on his knees to have even the slightest bit of attention from Eloise. Catherine knew this to be true, for she had watched gentlemen flock to Eloise during her first Season.
But no man had ever sincerely courted Eloise’s attention because her understanding with Mr George Darcy had been long-standing. And the ton knew it.
Catherine had been happy to simply watch from the sidelines. She had had no interest in gentlemen or marriage arrangements—she simply loved to dance and socialize and sup at the best tables in Mayfair. She ought to have made some attempts to befriend a few young gentlemen, for now she found herself very much in over her head. The prospect of ensuring her suitor proposed now loomed over her like a guillotine.
She was terrified.
Desperate to avoid humiliation in front of Lady Ashby, Catherine crossed the room to discreetly wipe a lone tear from her eye. She had never had such pressure on her. Her mother had promised the engagement was settled. What more did this gentleman need to know about her to be sure of this alliance between their families? Was not their mothers’ close friendship proof enough of her worthiness?
Considerate and sensible, Lady Ashby turned Catherine to look in her eyes.
“Darcy will come to his senses. Everyone who is anyone knows that he is promised to you. Your mother is instigating dramatics for no reason. If she is concerned for his interest in Anne , the countess should have instructed me to speak to Anne and not you. If he is as sensible as I believe him to be, he will not want to court judgment from society by walking out of Oakley without proposing. It is in his best interest to continue with the scheme as planned and come to the point. He could not walk into London this Season unattached and not garner questions from the rest of the ton —I assure you.”
“What is he waiting for? Have I not shown myself to be a capable bride? I have done all that my mother has asked.”
“Of course you have, my dear.”
“Eloise would not be blundering this as I am. She was so elegant and accomplished.”
Lady Ashby smiled warmly. “Yes, Eloise was lovely. And so, too, are you. And yet, that is beside the point,” she said with a chuckle. “Marriage is not about who is lovely and who is not—it is about securing a future for yourself and your children. Darcy perceives this as do his parents. There is no room for personal feelings when it comes to marriage. You shall soon be Lady Catherine Darcy, and that is all there is to it. Be sensible, my dear, as you always are.”
It would be easy to talk of loveliness being unimportant if you were Lady Ashby. She was just as stunning and elegant now as she was during her first Season. During the viscountess’s first and only Season, she was the talk of the ton . Even now, after giving birth to her second son less than three months prior, she was as captivating in her looks as always. Her hair was always woven into the perfect design. She had no need for wires and wool padding to add to its height like the countess. A halo of auburn curls surrounded her face, with one small hank of longer hair curled into a smooth ringlet that hung low on her back or over her shoulder, flirting with the bodice of her gown.
Lady Ashby interrupted her thoughts. “And perhaps take less of your mother’s excellent advice. I do believe that it is time Mr Darcy began to worry about his own standings in this arrangement.” Her sly gaze emboldened Catherine to laughter.
“Worry! I shall not make that gentleman anxious. The matter is settled, and so you know it.”
“Of course I do,” Lady Ashby said with a clever smile, “but Darcy does not. Make him work for it, just as I advised before. It should be his turn to be overlooked, and then he shall finally come to the point. It is impolite to make a lady uneasy in this way.”
A very unladylike snort erupted from Catherine that surprised even her, and she immediately looked away from Lady Ashby in shock. This entire marriage business was putting the worst of her manners on display! Eloise would never do such a thing as snort.
And in that moment, Lady Catherine wondered if it could be that the younger Mr Darcy was missing Eloise as much as she. That thought garnered some sympathy from her, knowing how dear her elder sister had been to all who loved her.
“Could it be that Mr Darcy was in love with Eloise?”
As soon as the question left her mouth, Catherine knew deep down that she did not really want to hear the answer. If she were to spend the rest of her life worrying that her husband loved only Eloise, it would cause great discomfort.
“No, my dear. Were you not in London just as I was for Eloise’s second Season? There is no need to be apprehensive about an undisclosed romance between your sister and your future husband, for that is fiction. They were not in love. If they had been, I am sure one of them would have insisted on marrying sooner. You and I both know a date was never set. It was imminent, but it was never settled.”
The answer calmed Catherine more than she would care to admit. To compare herself to Eloise for the rest of her days would be torture.
Timely as always, Jones entered the room quietly and acknowledged the two ladies with a quick nod.
“Yes, Jones?”
“You mother requires your presence downstairs to help see off Mr and Mrs Darcy.”
“Is all well?” Catherine inquired, confused by the request.
“They are for Pemberley, my lady.” Jones looked apologetic.
They were leaving. As planned. Before their son proposed.
Lady Catherine felt a sudden shudder of anxiety thrum through her body. She nearly reached for the back of the nearby settee to steady her fast-beating heart.
“And the younger Mr Darcy?” She held her breath, waiting for Jones’s response.
“Remaining at Oakley, my lady.”
The breath released, but not her trepidation.
Shortly thereafter, Catherine found herself side by side with her family to say goodbye to the elder Mr Darcy and Mrs Darcy. She observed her mother’s gentle hug to one of her dearest friends and watched them share a private, sad smile. Could it be that Mrs Darcy was as confused by the delay as Catherine?
When Mrs Darcy reached out and squeezed Catherine’s shoulder in goodbye, she felt a sense of disappointment—not in Mr George Darcy, but in herself. She must have done wrong.
Her mother and Lady Ashby’s persistence that she make herself more desirable to the younger Mr Darcy was confounding. Why must she convince him to follow through with a settled agreement? She had been raised to meet this moment with compliance, and her future husband's indifference was the puzzling aspect.
Perhaps she should overlook him so he might know the insidious stab of anxiousness that had been wounding her since his arrival.
Or perhaps not. Maybe it was just as Lady Ashby had said—all was well and as it should be. Could it be that they were departing because it was all settled? The younger Mr Darcy must have told his parents that the deal was done—the alliance was set. Catherine would only permit that unwavering confidence she was often praised for to carry her through the rest of her evening.