Page 32 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy

Darcy

“T his is highly improper Mr Collins is the rightful heir. Surely, the Bennet family can reside someplace else?” Lady Catherine said as she glared at him from her seat. She sat upright, as though her back was fixed to the chair, her chin pushed forward and her expression stern.

Darcy took a deep breath, but before he could respond, his uncle stepped forward.

“My dearest sister, be reasonable. It would be unseemly for Darcy’s wife’s family to be thrown out of their home because of an entailment. Besides, by all accounts Mr Bennet will soon be hale and hearty once more.”

“Are not your own lands entailed?” Lady Catherine challenged him, choosing to ignore his statement about Mr Bennet’s improving health.

His uncle, never one to be easily bested, shrugged. Then, he glanced at his wife who served mostly as a spectator during the negotiations. However, Darcy noted the way Lady Matlock nodded her head at her husband and he knew what was coming next.

“In fact, they are not. They were, but we ended the entailment two years ago. Gregory, Richard, and I were in full agreement that it would not be fair for Gregory to inherit both the title and all of the lands, while Richard received nothing but a cottage in which to live. Therefore, we broke the entail and divided the lands.”

At this, Lady Catherine stood abruptly. “You tell me that Richard will inherit part of Matlock?”

Darcy smiled. He had known this was his uncle’s trump card, and they had discussed the matter in advance just after he arrived. Richard had never shared this news with him, though not out of deception, but purely because Lord Matlock had wanted to keep the matter between their immediate family.

Now that his aunt had begrudgingly agreed to the marriage between Richard and Anne, she could not argue against the breaking of an entailment—especially when it directly benefited her own daughter.

“Why did you not tell me this sooner?” she demanded.

“And lose out on several hours of spirited debate with you regarding whether my son is worthy of your daughter? I think not,” Lord Matlock said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Darcy closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he met Richard’s gaze. He knew that both of them would have gladly foregone the lengthy debate that had erupted over the union between Anne and Richard. Lady Catherine had fought it for some time before realising she was far outnumbered—the entire family, including Richard’s elder brother Gregory, heir to the Matlock title, as well as their mother, Lady Matlock, had stood in favour of the match.

She had eventually given in, but it appeared that, in exchange, she had dug in her heels when it came to the breaking of the entail. Until now, of course.

Lady Catherine exhaled sharply, her fingers drumming against the armrest of her chair.

“I suppose there is no point in arguing now,” she said at last, though her tone was far from gracious.

“It would seem not,” his uncle agreed, amusement still evident in his tone. “Now, as for the entailment on Longbourn, I would appreciate your assistance in the matter. Mr Collins, as I understand, is well settled at Hunsford.”

“He is, and I would be loath to lose his company,” she said, lips pursed. “I shall think on the matter. I think the way you have all acted is quite atrocious, and unseemly for a family of such high regard. To summon me here only to ambush me, it is—”

A quiet cough at the doorway drew their attention. The butler had entered, his posture impeccable as always, his expression betraying nothing of the nature of his errand. In his gloved hands, he carried a silver salver, upon which rested a letter.

“This has just arrived for you, sir,” he announced, inclining his head as he extended the tray towards Darcy.

Darcy took the missive, noting at once the unfamiliar handwriting. A sense of unease coiled within him as he broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper. His eyes skimmed the lines, and almost instantly, the words struck like daggers to his chest.

His breath hitched.

For a moment, he did not move, did not speak. The room seemed to shrink around him, the distant murmur of voices fading into nothing. He read the letter again, as if sheer disbelief might alter its contents. It did not.

Slowly, he exhaled, his fingers tightening around the paper.

“Richard,” he said at last, his voice measured but taut. “Uncle.” He lifted his gaze, schooling his features into composure. “I must speak with you both. Now.”

Lord Matlock straightened, instantly alert. Richard, too, was watching him closely, no trace of his earlier amusement remaining.

Lady Catherine arched a brow. “What is the meaning of this? Surely, whatever is written there can be shared in present company?”

Darcy slid her a glance. “I fear it cannot.”

Lady Catherine scoffed, tilting her chin upwards. “What possible matter could warrant such secrecy? This is most improper.”

“We should leave the gentlemen to it, Catherine. Why not join me for a sherry?” Lady Matlock said then.

For a long moment, Lady Catherine seemed poised to argue, but something in Lady Matlock’s expression stilled her.

With an exasperated sigh, she waved a hand. “Very well. Go. But I expect to be informed should it concern this family.”

Darcy gave a curt nod but wasted no time in further pleasantries. With a final glance at Richard and Lord Matlock, he strode from the room, the letter still clutched tightly in his grasp.

***

In the dimly lit hall, Darcy turned to face his uncle and cousin, his grip on the letter tightening as though by sheer force he could will its words away.

“It is Mary,” he said at last, his voice measured but heavy. “Mary Bennet has gone missing. She has—” He exhaled sharply, the very notion an absurdity, yet the ink before him did not lie. “She has run away with Wickham.”

A tense silence followed.

Richard let out a low curse, running a hand through his hair. “Of all the damned fools,” he muttered.

“I never would have guessed,” his uncle said. “She struck me as sensible in the short time she was here. Although they do say it is the quiet ones that one must look out for.

Richard shook his head. “I had hoped no other lady would fall prey to that man, but he has always been charming.”

His uncle gave Darcy a measured look. “I cannot see what your father ever saw in him.”

Darcy stiffened. It was not the first time his father’s judgement had been questioned regarding Wickham, but coming from his uncle, the remark settled uneasily in his chest.

Before he could respond, a voice sounded behind them, sharp and imperious.

“The late Mr Darcy never had very good judgement. The only time he judged well was when he married our sister,” Lady Catherine declared as she stepped into the hall, her eyes gleaming with unmasked satisfaction. “Any fool could see through that scoundrel Wickham, anyone, but your father.”

Darcy turned, genuinely startled by her words. His aunt had never been one to speak ill of his father, at least not so openly.

Richard exhaled in exasperation. “Must you always appear at the most inopportune moments, Aunt?”

Lady Catherine ignored him, her gaze fixed on Darcy. “It is no secret that your father was a man of fine breeding and fortune, but discerning? I think not.” She gestured towards the letter still clutched in his hand. “Had he been, we would not be standing here now, discussing yet another innocent girl ensnared by that rogue.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. He should have known that their aunt would follow them out. She was, of course, correct, in this regard. His father had been many things—kind, honourable, generous to a fault—but had he been blind where Wickham was concerned? The evidence, painful as it was, had long since spoken for itself.

Lady Catherine sniffed. “Your father let sentiment guide his decisions. A dangerous failing in a man of his position.” She tilted her head, as if in consideration. “You, at least, seem to have inherited a modicum of sense.”

It was, perhaps, the closest thing to a compliment she had ever bestowed upon him.

Darcy inclined his head slightly but said nothing. His mind was already racing ahead, trying to think what he could do to stop this. There was no time for old wounds, no time to lose.

“They must be found at once,” his aunt said, saying what they were all thinking.

Lord Matlock let out a short, dry chuckle, shaking his head in weary amusement. “I must say, Catherine, I am astonished to see you so invested in Miss Bennet’s fate.”

She turned to him with a look of disdain, her expression unmoved by his subtle mockery. “Do not be ridiculous, Henry. I care little for the girl. I have never even met her.” Her tone was clipped, dismissive, as though the very notion were beneath her. “The entire Bennet family is beneath our notice, and I still think so.”

Darcy stiffened, his jaw tightening as anger flared within him. His aunt’s arrogance had always been insufferable, but to speak so when Elizabeth’s sister was in danger—when Elizabeth herself would be devastated—was intolerable. He fixed her with a glare.

Lady Catherine, unbothered as ever, returned his look evenly before continuing, “However, if this foolish girl is not stopped, the consequences will be far-reaching. It will not merely be her own ruin, but that of her entire family. Which means it will affect our family. We will be talked about like common peasants, our good name sullied.” She exhaled sharply, as if the very idea was offensive. “And nobody wants that.”

Darcy forced himself to release a slow, steady breath. Regarding the present situation, she was entirely correct. A scandal of this magnitude would taint not only Mary Bennet but her sisters as well—including Elizabeth. The thought was unbearable.

Richard, who had been watching the exchange with a frown, finally spoke. “I will make enquiries within the militia. If Wickham has taken Mary, someone will have heard something. He was never particularly discreet.” He glanced at Darcy. “If I can track his movements, we may not have to go far.”

Lady Catherine nodded approvingly. “That is well. But it may not be enough. If they mean to marry, they will go to Gretna Green.” She turned to Lord Matlock, her sharp eyes narrowing. “We must send someone there immediately.”

Lord Matlock let out a sigh, rubbing his temple as though he already regretted what he was about to say. “I will send Gregory.”

Richard let out a low chuckle. “I am sure he will be delighted.”

His father shot him a warning glance, but there was no real censure in it. Gregory, as the eldest son and heir to Matlock, rarely concerned himself with family affairs unless absolutely necessary. This would hardly be an assignment to his liking. Still, Darcy knew he could be trusted and would do it if asked.

Darcy, still gripping the letter, felt his focus narrowing. The conversation continued around him, but his thoughts had already begun shifting towards action. He had no time for further debate.

“I will return to Pemberley,” he declared. His voice was steady, decisive. “Someone there may know something—perhaps a servant, perhaps someone in the village. If Wickham had any previous communication with Mary, there will be traces of it.”

Lady Catherine studied him for a moment before inclining her head. “And I will do what I can to suppress the gossip before it spreads too widely. If we act quickly, we may yet prevent complete disgrace.”

The weight of their task settled upon them. Each had their part to play. The sense of urgency was thick in the air as they prepared to depart, their paths set.

As Darcy turned, already anticipating the long journey ahead, a voice halted him.

“Fitzwilliam.”

He turned back, surprised to see Lady Catherine watching him intently. There was something different in her expression—not quite regret, but something less imperious than before.

“I never meant to harm you,” she said, her voice softer than he had ever heard it. “Though I still think it would have been best had you and Anne wed as intended.”

Darcy stared at her, his body rigid. The memory of her cruel words to Elizabeth, the way she had tried to tear them apart, still burned in his mind.

“Then we will always disagree,” he said evenly, his voice devoid of anger but firm, nonetheless.

Lady Catherine regarded him for a moment, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “I suppose we shall. I only hope that this will not mean we shall never see one another again.”

Darcy hesitated. It was not quite an apology—Lady Catherine de Bourgh did not apologise—but it was, in its own way, an overture of peace. He had not expected it, and though he was still too raw to consider it deeply, he could not deny that it moved something within him.

He gave her a slight bow. “In time, we shall find a way to accept our difference in opinion but now I must tend to this matter. Good evening, Aunt.”

She nodded once before turning away, as composed as ever.

Darcy exhaled and turned on his heel. There was no time to dwell on family discord, no time to consider what Lady Catherine’s words might mean for the future.

There was only one thought in his mind now.

He must return to Pemberley.

He must return to Elizabeth.