Page 95 of Attempted Compromises
Elizabeth adjusted the folds of her gown as she stood by the window of the parlor, sunlight casting a soft glow on her features. Across from her, Jane sat near the hearth, her delicate embroidery hoop balanced on her lap, while Georgiana, seated on the chaise, gently plucked at a few notes on her lap harp. The younger girl was content in their company, though her reserved nature kept her quiet as she listened. The atmosphere was tranquil, a rare moment of quiet amid the flurry of Christmas guests and preparations.
The newly-minted Mrs. Darcy’s thoughts were miles away, rehearsing what she would say to Darcy that evening. had spent the past few days wavering between determination and trepidation. The realization that she loved Darcy had taken root in her heart, and she resolved to share her feelings with him, no matter the risk.
Once having finally resolved to speak her heart, to confess her love and face whatever might follow, she knew she needed to do it quickly or become too afraid to do so. She had already decidedto wear her wedding dress for the occasion, a symbolic gesture that made her heart race with both nerves and hope. The mere thought sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through her.
She turned toward Jane, drawing a steadying breath. “Jane, would you mind terribly if Fitzwilliam and I dined in our rooms tonight?” Elizabeth asked, trying to sound casual. “The guests have been wonderful, of course, but I find myself quite exhausted.”
Jane’s cheeks flushed, her shy smile brightening the room. “Not at all, Lizzy. I think it’s a splendid idea. You ought to have some time alone. I’ll have Mrs. Nicholls send up some trays.”
Her thoughts were interrupted as the door creaked open. The butler entered, his expression unusually tight. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of all three women.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Mr. Collins have arrived,” he announced.
The air in the room shifted instantly. Georgiana’s face turned ghostly pale, her hands clutching the harp with white-knuckled intensity. “I… I cannot stay,” she stammered, rising abruptly.
Elizabeth reached out, alarmed by the young woman’s reaction. “Georgiana, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“My aunt is… terrifying,” Georgiana whispered. “I cannot face her.” Without another word, she slipped out a side door, her retreat swift and silent.
Elizabeth exchanged a concerned glance with Jane but had no time to pursue the girl as the parlor doors swung open again, this time with dramatic force. An older woman— Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Elizabeth presumed— swept into the room, her imposing figure radiating fury. Mr. Collins trailed behind her, his expression equal parts obsequious and bewildered.
“You!” Lady Catherine barked, her voice echoing through the room. She froze as she saw two women sitting in the room and looked back and forth between the pair of them. “Which one of you is Elizabeth Bennet?”
Jane’s face was pale, and she looked to Elizabeth for support, but Elizabeth herself was in too much shock to respond to the imperious woman.
“Well?” Lady Catherine demanded, her lips curled into a sneer. “I asked a question! Where is Elizabeth Bennet?” she repeated, her cane tapping sharply against the floor.
Elizabeth rose to her feet, her chin lifting with calm defiance. “There is no woman by that name here.”
Mr. Collins gasped, clutching his hands to his chest. “No, Lady Catherine, forgive her insolence! That is Miss Elizabeth Bennet—she is right there!”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed as she turned her piercing gaze on Elizabeth. “You dare to lie to me?”
Elizabeth’s composure remained steady. “I did not lie, madam. My name is Elizabeth Darcy.”
The air thickened with tension as Lady Catherine’s face contorted with rage. “Darcy?” she hissed. “You presume to call yourself Darcy? Do not play games with me, girl!” she thundered.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, prompting Lady Catherine’s eyes to bulge from her head. “Youarethe upstart Elizabeth Bennet! How dare you presume to enter my family, to take the place that rightfully belongs to my daughter and sister? The mistress of Pemberley! You are nothing but a scheming, impertinent nobody!”
Elizabeth met the onslaught with an unshaken demeanor. “I have taken no one’s place, Lady Catherine. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy’s wife, his chosen partner. That is the only claim I need.”
Lady Catherine’s cane slammed against the floor, her grip trembling. “You dare to defy me? To usurp the position once held by my beloved sister and my equally-beloved daughter?” Her voice rose to a near shriek, the unrestrained fury echoing through the room.
“I am very sorry for your loss,” Elizabeth replied calmly. “That role did indeed belong to both women, but as they are no longer living, Mr. Darcy was free to choose another wife. And he has chosenme.”
Lady Catherine’s composure cracked further. he slammed her cane against the floor, her voice trembling with rage. “You will seek an annulment at once!” she demanded, her voice trembling with manic intensity.
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed, her calm exterior breaking slightly. “I will do no such thing. My husband has done nothing but honor his commitments, love his family, and care for those in his charge. You have no right to demand such a thing.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes blazed. “Do you have no regard for your husband’s status? Have you no shame in dragging him down to the scorn of the world?”
Elizabeth’s lips curved in a faint, confident smile. “The world is intelligent enough to see this marriage for what it is— the union of a single gentleman to a single lady. And for those who cannot see that, their opinions hold no weight in my mind.”
“You insolent girl!” Lady Catherine snarled. “You think you can speak so lightly of status and decorum? You know nothing of either!”
“And neither, it appears, do you,” Elizabeth retorted, her hold on her manners beginning to slip. “I am amazed you would come all this way to berate me when there is nothing you can do about the happy situation of our marriage.”
“I am the daughter of an earl; do not dare to speak thusly to me! Bah, happiness— Darcy does not merit such a thing. He deserves to suffer, to live in penance for what he has done. He killed my daughter— his wife— and he should mourn her for the rest of his miserable existence.”
