Page 127 of Colour My World
Elizabeth whipped towards him. “Papa.”
He batted his eyes. “Lizzy?”
She glared.
He lifted his hands, palms up. “Not a word. I would never interrupt such an enthralling debate.”
The carriage rolled to a stop. The footman opened the door. Her father stepped out. Then, her mother. Then Jane. Elizabeth accepted her father’s hand as he said, “Have you finished arguing with yourself?”
Elizabeth bit her tongue. Mary linked arms with her. She lifted her chin, ignored his smirk, and strode towards Netherfield’s entrance with her sister. Her father chuckled behind her.
Chapter 45
Darcy studied the landscape above the escritoire. Greens and browns.Elizabeth.Still, he stared. Voices pressed in and then faded.Elizabeth.How could he shield her from his aunt’s inevitable vitriol without appearing heavy-handed? Any overt defence would wound her pride. Yet, standing idly by while Lady Catherine shredded her to pieces––unthinkable.
A gentleman’s first duty is to those he loves.He had chosen her. With that choice came responsibility.
Mr Howard opened the drawing room doors. “Mr Bennet, Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and Miss Mary Bennet.”
The Bennet ladies approached, composed and dignified.Striking.Their richly coloured yet modest gowns shimmered in the day’s light. Miss Bennet, serene in ivory, glowed with quiet beauty. Miss Mary, in navy silk, carried herself with poise.
Elizabeth glided in, regal in deep green, and Darcy stilled. She entered not as a vision but as a reckoning. He worked his tongue as if he had sucked a lemon. His mouth had gone very, very dry.
Lady Catherine snapped her fan shut. Teeth bared, she turned upon Collins. “These are the Bennets?”
Collins turned white.
“Theseare the Bennets?”
Lady Catherine’s eyes swept the group, her lips moving as she counted beneath her breath. “You claimed there were five daughters.”
“Y-yes, your L-ladyship.”
Mrs Bennet curtsied. “If I may. Our two youngest are at home with their governess. They are not yet out.”
Lady Catherine’s fan stilled. She turned back to Collins. “You said nothing of a governess.”
Then, to Mrs Bennet. “And who, pray, oversees their education?”
“Mrs Ecclestone. Mrs Ophelia Ecclestone.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes widened. “Ecclestone? Of Canterbury?”
Mr Bennet smiled thinly. “Indeed. I daresay she is.”
Lady Catherine looked as if she would gag. “The Bishop of Rochester’s relations. Those Ecclestones?”
Mrs Bennet turned to her husband. “Did Mrs Ecclestone ever speak of a relation that was a bishop, Mr Bennet?”
He glanced at the ceiling. “She once spoke of a bishop in passing.” He then smiled at Mrs Bennet. “But at the time, I was engaged in a rather spirited chess match with Lizzy. I assumed she referred to our daughter’s most excellent move.”
“Of course. A correct assumption,” said Mrs Bennet.
They both turned back to Lady Catherine.
“The very same,” Mr Bennet replied in a most solemn manner.
Lady Catherine looked incredulous. Her gaze flicked between Mr and Mrs Bennet as if replaying their exchange in her mind. Slowly, suspicion crept into her countenance. “You jest.”
