“Does not your cousin look in health?” Lady Catherine’s question demanded their agreement, and neither of her nephews disappointed her. “We have engaged in a new regimen recommended me by one of the Regent’s own doctors; therefore, it cannot but be beneficial. Within a year, I expect, Anne will be entirely able to take her rightful place.” She turned a knowing smile upon Darcy. “An eventuality for which we have all waited with anticipation.”

Only his careful reserve prevented Darcy from giving evidence of the contumacy that unexpectedly gripped him. Lady Catherine alluded, of course, to her expectation of nuptials between his cousin and himself. He flicked a glance at Anne, confirming his opinion that she believed in its “eventuality” no more than he did, and then looked away. It was an old theme, the tune of which he had long since learned to ignore without incurring open antagonism with Her Ladyship. But this time her insinuations had conjured up in him an exceedingly visceral response. Of a certainty, he wished his cousin any increase in vitality and health. Who would not? But no increase in those qualities would make her a fit wife for him. This, too, he had long known. Why, then, this tumbling of his equanimity? You well know why, his conscience intruded, but he pushed it away and concentrated on his next words to his aunt.

“All her relations will, indeed, rejoice, Ma’am.”

Lady Catherine’s smile hesitated at his response, but she did not press him, choosing instead to direct them to seat themselves and partake of some refreshment to relieve the depredations of their journey.

“You are inexcusably late, Nephews.” She returned to her original subject when they had settled back into their chairs with their tea. “I expected you some hours ago and had prepared myself to hear of a serious accident. Since you are both in health, it must have been a problem with a horse or the coach.”

“No, Ma’am,” Darcy volunteered, deciding to spare Fitzwilliam his aunt’s inevitable lecture. “We were late setting out.”

“Late setting out! What could have prevented your leaving, I wonder. Surely that man of yours knows the clock!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Darcy replied carefully, “Fletcher is in nowise to blame.”

Lady Catherine’s piercing regard shifted to his cousin. Knowing he was about to be called to account, Fitzwilliam launched a flanking maneuver. “An old friend of Darcy’s, the Earl of Westmarch, came by for a visit, Ma’am, and practically settled in for the night. We could not very well chuck him into the street —”

“The Earl of Westmarch?” Her Ladyship turned back to Darcy. “I am astonished that you should keep company with him, Darcy! I knew his father, you know; and what a disappointment his son would be to him if he were still alive. Now there was perfection in a gentleman. Twice I danced with him during my Season, and I do not deceive myself when I say that I would have been Lady Westmarch had not the scandal, which I am certain that woman started apurpose, forced him into marriage prematurely. I have heard only the most shocking things about the son and advise you to cut the connection or at least refuse to receive him at Erewile House when Georgiana is at home. You cannot be too circumspect in the care of young ladies. Their heads may be turned with the least attention by a practiced flirt. Her new governess keeps a close watch on her, I trust?”

Lady Catherine’s trust was confirmed with a clipped “Yes, Ma’am” as Darcy rose from his seat and stalked to the tea table. His aunt’s persistence in her delusion that he would take Anne to wife had sent him into a rebellious mood that was acerbated by the underlying truth that, if it were not Anne, it would be some other female equally equipped to defraud him of true companionship of heart and mind. His aunt’s libel of Brougham and directions concerning his private conduct were not without years of precedent, but today they were fuel for the fire of Darcy’s discontent. Perhaps it was wise that this year’s visit be cut short.

“That is well, then,” Lady Catherine called to him. “Although, if you had engaged the woman I advised, you would be sure to have nothing to worry about on that score!” His back still turned, Darcy gritted his teeth, set his cup down on the table, and reached for the teapot. “You may apply to Lady Metcalf on my eye for the proper governess. She declares Miss Pope ‘a treasure,’ which, I have not a doubt, she is. Steady and regular instruction is what young ladies require or there will be trouble, mark my words. I have only recently become acquainted with just such a situation and expect to hear of calamity any day. Five daughters and never a governess!”

Everything around Darcy seemed to still as his aunt’s words echoed in his brain. Five daughters! His hand trembled slightly as he gripped the teapot’s handle and poured another cup, causing the steaming brew to splash over the rim and into the saucer. Was it possible that Collins had apprised Her Ladyship of events in Hertfordshire?

“No governess, Ma’am? Extraordinary!” Fitzwilliam commented, as if such things were his daily concern. Darcy knew it to be a ploy, designed to keep their aunt’s attention from once more focusing upon himself; but this time he was as desirous for more of the particulars as his aunt was to reveal them.

“Indeed!” replied Lady Catherine, nodding at Fitzwilliam approvingly, “and so I said. But, Nephew, that does not constitute the height of this family’s folly. No, indeed!” Her Ladyship vigorously tapped her silver-handled walking stick on the floor. “Not only have they not had the benefit of a governess’s discipline but they are all out before the elder ones are married! From the oldest to the youngest, who is a mere fifteen years of age! I have never heard of such foolishness, and so I informed Mrs. Collins’s friend.”

Darcy’s cup rattled on its saucer so badly he was forced to stay it with his other hand. Mrs. Collins’s friend? There had been no Mrs. Collins when he had taken his leave of Netherfield. Who was she, and who was her friend that Her Ladyship would hold forth upon Collins’s relations? He took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to his relatives.

“Mrs. Collins?” Fitzwilliam queried. Darcy almost blessed him aloud.

“A modest, steady young woman my new rector recently took to wife, having met her during a visit I encouraged him to make to an estranged relative on his father’s side. ‘Come back with a wife, Mr. Collins,’ I told him, ‘and you come back with all you will need for a useful life.’ I cannot say how often he has thanked me for that advice. She is exactly what I would have chosen for him. Not above herself, quiet, but with agreeable manners, as is her father, Sir William Lucas, who was lately here to visit them. I am informed that you have already made their acquaintance, Darcy.”

Lucas! Darcy searched his memory for a name. Charlotte…Miss Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s close friend and confidante! How many times had he observed them tête-à-tête? Miss Lucas had married Collins? That could only mean…! His fingers crept to the pocket of his waistcoat, but they found nothing. Where? Of course, he had left them upon the road! Looking up, he caught Richard regarding him curiously, his brow crooked at the disposition of his hand. Self-consciously, he smoothed down the waistcoat and essayed a response. “Yes, Ma’am. Last November in Hertfordshire. I…I had accompanied a friend who was in search of property in that neighborhood. In the course of that search, I met Sir William and his family.”

Was fate to bring back into his life the reality of which those threads had been merely the shadow? He strained to know, to be certain who this friend could be, and yet, if it was Elizabeth, what should be his course?

“I am informed that you have also met Mrs. Collins’s friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. It is quite annoying, Darcy, that I shall not have the pleasure of making a first introduction.”

Elizabeth! It was Elizabeth! Darcy’s heart began to pound, and his hands went cold as ice. How should he meet her? As indifferent acquaintances? As familiar antagonists? Had she completed her sketch of his character, or had she refrained as he had asked? And Wickham! With what other falsehoods had he plied her after Darcy had abandoned the field?

“Darcy?” Lady Catherine’s voice brought him back to the present. “I was saying, I am much put out that I will not have the pleasure of making a first introduction, for Miss Bennet assured me that you were well acquainted. I find that she is rather close to impertinent on occasion, which might lead her to overstating the situation. Is this true that you are acquainted?”

“Quite true, Ma’am. The society in Hertfordshire was small, and we were thrown in each other’s way rather often,” he confessed.

“Is that so?” Richard pursed his lips, a wicked gleam lighting his eye. “Then perhaps we should pay Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Collins’s friend a visit tomorrow. What do you say, Darcy?”

A shiver of alarm passed through Darcy. Tomorrow? He gathered himself to discourage the project when a thought struck him. Would it not be better to have their first meeting away from the eyes of Lady Catherine? Although he would need to exercise caution where Richard was concerned, it was the perfect opportunity to test his own composure and discover how Elizabeth meant to go on.

“An excellent notion, Cousin,” Darcy answered him. “I could not, in good conscience, deny you the felicity of becoming the object of Mr. Collins’s admiration a moment longer than tomorrow.”


Darcy gave the bell pull a quick, impatient tug. Finally permitted to excuse himself to prepare for dinner, he had almost fled his aunt’s and cousins’ company for the sanctuary of his bedchamber. Fletcher had not been there ready for him, a singular circumstance in and of itself and, at this juncture, a disconcerting one as well. Where was he? If he was dallying with…Darcy strode back across the great high-ceilinged bedchamber, his back stiff in agitated aggrievement with his valet’s absence, but then stopped short. No, that could not be! Fletcher was now a man betrothed. Knowing his valet as he did, Darcy discounted his first, ungenerous impulse. Fletcher held his simple sense of honor too close to trifle with his beloved’s affection and trust. Perhaps a few more minutes of solitude would not be amiss if he was leaping to such unwarranted conclusions. Darcy strolled slowly to one of the great windows and stared out onto the green, rolling grounds that were Rosings Park. He must come to terms with himself and stop this ridiculous beating of his heart.