Mr. Darcy's Diary

‘Have you noticed that her cough is always worse when her mother is by?’

‘No.’

‘And not only her cough, but her shyness. She is much more spirited when she is with me.’

‘She is never spirited with me,’ I said in surprise.

‘But then, she is in awe of you.’

‘Of me?’

‘You are quite a figure, Darcy, particularly when you are out of sorts. Let the weather be bad, and your boredom turns you into an ogre.’

I was about to tell him he was talking nonsense when I recalled Bingley saying something similar.

‘I am sorry for it. But Anne need suffer no further. I will visit Rosings and tell her that a marriage between us is out of the question.’

‘There is no need. Lady Catherine is in London, and Anne is with her. I saw them both this evening, before I came here. Lady Catherine means to call on you before she returns to Rosings.’

We finished our meal, and after sitting with me for an hour Colonel Fitzwilliam left. He is remaining in London for the next two weeks, and has promised to call on Georgiana every day to make sure she is well and happy.

Saturday 4th October

Lady Catherine called this morning, bringing Anne with her. I was about to enquire after their health, when my aunt began without preamble.

‘You must put an end to this nonsense at once, Darcy,’ she said, as soon as she had seated herself.

I did not know what she was talking about, but before I could say anything, she went on:

‘I heard from Mr Collins that you were about to propose to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Sit down, Anne.’

Anne promptly sat down.

‘Knowing such a report to be a grotesque falsehood, I visited Longbourn in order to have Miss Elizabeth Bennet deny it. The audacity of the girl! The perverseness! Though what else can one expect with such a mother and an uncle in Cheapside? She refused to give the lie to the report, though I knew it must be false. I have never met such an impudent girl in my life. She trifled with me in the most vulgar way. When I told her that she must contradict the report, she replied only that I had declared it to be impossible, so it needed no contradiction. Of course, it is impossible. You are too proud a man to be drawn in, whatever arts she employed. To ally yourself with such a family! And through them, to ally yourself with George Wickham, the son of your father’s steward. He, to call you brother! It is not to be thought of. To put an end to her schemes, I told her you were engaged to Anne, and do you know what she said to me?’

‘No,’ I said, not knowing what to make of Elizabeth’s speech, but hoping – for the first time having reason to hope – that she was not firmly set against me.

‘That if it was so, you could not possibly make an offer to her! She is lost to every feeling of propriety. Honour, decorum and modesty all forbid such a match! And yet she would not tell me the rumour was false. She thought nothing of the disgrace she would bring to a proud name, or the pollution she would inflict on the shades of Pemberley. Pemberley! When I think of such an ignorant girl at Pemberley! But of course it is impossible. You and Anne are formed for each other. You are descended from the same noble line. Your fortunes are splendid. And yet this upstart, without family, connections or fortune, would not give me an assurance that she would never marry you.’

My hopes soared. She had not decided against me! If she had, she would have told my aunt. Then there was still a chance for me.

‘Well?’ Lady Catherine demanded.

‘Mama – ’ began Anne timidly.

‘Be silent, Anne,’ commanded my aunt. ‘Well, Darcy?’ she demanded.

‘Well?’ I asked.

‘Will you assure me that you will never ask this woman to be your wife?’

‘No, Aunt, I will not.’

She glared at me.

‘Then you are betrothed?’

‘No, Aunt, we are not.’

‘Ah. I thought not. You could not be so lost to what is right and proper, and to all common sense.’

‘But if she will have me, I mean to make her my wife.’

Her silence was awful, and was followed by a torrent of words.

‘You need not think you will be welcome at Rosings, if you marry that upstart. You will not bring such shame and degradation on my own house, even if you are absurd enough to bring it on your own. Your sainted mother would be appalled to discover what woman is to succeed her at Pemberley.’

‘My mother would be glad I had chosen so well.’

‘You have a fever. It is the only explanation,’ she said.

‘If you marry that girl you will be cut off from family and friends. They will not visit you, nor invite you to visit them in turn. You will be ostracized, cast out. I will give you a week to come to your senses. If I do not hear from you in that time, saying that you have been wholly mistaken in this preposterous plan, and if you do not beg my forgiveness for sullying my ears with this objectionable nonsense, then I will be aunt to you no more.’

I made her a cold bow and she swept out of the room.

Anne hung back.