Page 10 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy
“That is enough, Kitty,” Elizabeth said firmly. “We are not in this situation because of Mr Bingley. We must focus on what we can do, not rail against what others have or have not done.”
“Oh, it is easy for you to say,” Kitty snapped. “But if Mr Bingley—”
“Kitty, stop.” Jane’s voice, soft but determined, silenced her. Jane turned her gaze to her younger sister, and for a moment her own quiet heartbreak was apparent in her eyes. “You cannot speak of him that way. Whatever happened was his own decision, and we must accept it for what it is.” Her voice faltered slightly, but she continued. “We cannot begrudge him his freedom to choose his path, even if it meant diverging from ours.”
Kitty slumped back onto the sofa, arms folded tight against her chest, her lower lip quivering.
Mary, pragmatic as ever, added her opinion. “This only proves what I have said all along—that love is entirely unreliable, driven more by whim than reason. One cannot depend upon it for stability or security. Far better to trust in one’s own rational mind than in such fleeting fancies.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Her sister often read romance novels but she’d never expressed much desire for a romance of her own, but this assessment was rather more surprising than Elizabeth had expected. “That is a rather bleak perspective, Mary, even for you.”
“It is not bleak, it is practical.” Mary adjusted her spectacles, her tone as dispassionate as always. “Had we placed our confidence in something more steadfast, we might not find ourselves so precariously balanced between hope and despair. We might, for instance, already have skills we could use to gain employment. As it is, we have accomplishments meant for wives. I doubt anyone will want to take us on for our skills in watercolouring and embroidery.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway. The door flew open, and Lydia burst in, her face glowing with her usual air of mischief and disregard for decorum.
“Wait until you hear!” she exclaimed, waving a crumpled newspaper in the air. “It is all the talk inThe Post! Mr Darcy is engaged!”
Elizabeth’s heart gave an unaccountable lurch. Surely Lydia had misunderstood. “Engaged?”
“To whom?” Jane asked, her voice filled more with polite interest than genuine curiosity. The entire family was unaware of the proposal, and Elizabeth preferred it that way.
“Who else but that sickly little mouse he calls his cousin? Anne de Bourgh!” Lydia settled herself on the sofa beside Kitty and dropped the paper onto the table. “Did you not tell us she was dreadfully boring, Kitty?”
“She was rather dull, with all the charm of a wet blanket,” Kitty said with a giggle.
“Kitty,” Jane chastised her. “Do not speak so unkindly about someone.”
“Well, she is correct,” Lydia added. “I don’t see why Lady Catherine thinks it is such a triumph. What a boring couple they’ll make—though they deserve each other, I suppose.”
“A triumph, what do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.
“Well, the announcement reads as though it is the grandest thing to ever have happened.”
Elizabeth reached for the newspaper, her pulse thrumming in her ears as her eyes scanned the page. When she found the announcement, the words seemed to leap off the page.
It is with great pleasure that we announce the forthcoming union of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, to Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park, Kent. The nuptials are….
The room seemed to tilt slightly, the text blurring for a moment before coming back into focus. Elizabeth read the words again, then again, as if she could somehow make them say something different. However the stark proclamation remained, Mr Darcy was to be wed. Why did this news unsettle her so?
“Well, that will be a grand affair,” Jane said and shook her head. “I am surprised, Mr Bingley told me Lady Catherine wished for such a match, but I did not think Mr Darcy had designs on his cousin.”
“I suppose he never was someone who enjoyed being personable and sharing his thoughts. I always assumed he was a stick in the mud. And this proves that Mr Darcy is every bit as stiff and dreadful as I thought. Can you imagine marrying him?” Lydia shuddered theatrically. “I can still remember how grouchy he was at the Netherfield ball.”
“No one asked for your opinion, Lydia,” Elizabeth said tersely, folding the newspaper and setting it back on the table.
“Oh, Lizzy, don’t scowl so,” Lydia retorted, unbothered. “I’m sure you agree with me. Isn’t he just the most dreadful bore? You should know better than us, you had to endure his company at Rosings as well. Pray, did you observe any affection between them or is it just a match of convenience?”
Elizabeth felt the attention of her sisters upon her, and she forced her lips into a tight smile. “I am neither here nor there on the subject of Mr Darcy and while I saw him on occasion at Rosings, I have no insight into the arrangement,” she said, her voice deliberately light. “And in any case, his engagement matters not to us.”
“Of course it doesn’t matter,” Lydia said breezily, getting to her feet. “Still, I’m right, aren’t I? He is a bore. It is such a shame Jane and Mr Bingley did not end up married, for I dare say it would have been a marvellous wedding. The pair of them might be dreadfully dull but I am certain the food would have been otherworldly. And the number of titled gentlemen there—I would have found a rich husband with ease.”
“You only ever think of yourself,” Mary said and Lydia rounded on her.
“Someone must. Especially given the current situation,” she said and then flounced out of the room, leaving behind an oppressive quiet.
Elizabeth smoothed her gown over her knees, staring down at the fabric. Mr Darcy, engaged. Her breath felt tight in her chest, her thoughts cascading into a disordered whirl. Whattroubled her most wasn’t that he was promised to Anne—it was the sharp sting she felt at that knowledge.
Only weeks ago, she had turned him down, and with great certainty. She had convinced herself that he deserved her rejection, both for his pride and his role in Jane’s heartbreak. Not to mention his actions against poor Mr Wickham. But that certainty seemed to waver now, unsettled by the memory of his impassioned words and the intensity in his eyes.
