Page 73 of Fortuitous Encounters

In a panic, I may have actually recommended the silly sisters visit Rosings, so she had clearly rattled me beyond comprehension. She stared at me like a worm for a moment, then simply dropped me from her attention like removing a stone from her shoe, and asked Anne in quite a sincere tone if she had gone insane enough to invite Lydia Bennet to Rosings.

Anne’s reply sent me nearly into a panic. All five Bennet sisters at Pemberley? At once!

My cousin glanced over at me looking sweet and innocent. “Oh wait! That will never do! Five unmarried women in a bachelor’s home! The ton would burst into flames. No, that will never do at all!”

She said that with a mock look of consternation, but she was not fooling me in the least. She was working her way up to something most foul.

She turned back to Elizabeth. “You must bring your mother! That will make everything right!”

Her mother! Mrs Bennet! EGADS!

Anne turned to me and spoke sweetly, “Of course, with so many merry visitors at Pemberley, I imagine we would not want my mother to feel left out, so you must invite her as well.”

Like a runaway coach about to dispatch me to the Netherworld forever, she added, “Of course, that will make Pemberley very lady heavy. We will need our own time for our female pursuits, so of course you must invite Fitzwilliam and that Bingley fellow!”

What was this? Soooo… Elizabeth must have learned about Bingley and Miss Bennet from Anne. I wondered how she had found out. Probably my hubble-bubble cousin, who clearly needed to learn to keep his mouth shut; though I wondered how in the world such a subject could possibly have come up between him and Anne. They never talked about anything of substance, let alone other ladies.

That all made perfect sense! The colonel told Anne about Miss Bennet and Bingley. Anne, in a tither came over to tell Elizabeth about it straightaway. Elizabeth would have responded with some teasing, which would have flustered Anne, and the mad spiral went downhill until I interrupted them right as they were trying to decide whether to have me hanged or just transported. It all made perfect sense.

Somehow, unless I challenged Anne directly, I would have Pemberley full of Bennet women, including her mother.

Well, three could play at this game… though, a more careful examination found Elizabeth sitting there with her mouth hanging open, entirely bereft of speech. I had sat with her for a half hour without her speaking once in Netherfield, but that was more a contest of wills than anything else. Here, she was simply stunned into silence; and Anne was sitting there smiling like the cat, torn with indecision between the canary and the cream.

Anne turned to me and sweetly said, “Oh, I apologize, Darcy. I did not bother to ask if Pemberley can afford eight guests. Will it stretch your resources too thin?”

Now she was batting her eyes at me like Miss Lydia, just wanting me to say something stupid. What kind of a ridiculous question was that? She knew perfectly well Pemberley could afford to host anything from a dozen to a hundred. Why had she used those particular words? Was someone spreading rumours about Pemberley and she was silly enough to believe them?

“I assure you Anne, Pemberley can host all of those and more without the slightest strain,” I said emphatically enough to remove all doubt.

She raised an eyebrow in an expression I knew for certain she copied from Miss Elizabeth, while that selfsame lady sat there either stunned into silence or enjoying herself immensely. I imagined she was quickly moving from the former to the latter.

Anne asked, “Your habits of expense do not strain it too much?”

What a bizarre question, and what the blazes was a habit of expense?

“I assure you, I have no habits that Pemberley cannot afford.”

She sniggered. “It is all settled then! Saturday week?”

I had no idea how, when or, more importantly, why I had agreed; but then again, if Elizabeth came to Pemberley, I would accept any consequences that came with it. That would give me some time to see where the devil I had gone wrong, and if the problem was solvable.

Regrets (Col Fitzwilliam)

I sat listening to that parson drone on full of regrets. Of course, the primary regret was that I was at Rosings listening to that parson drone. Such a thing could make a man repine his entire life up to that point, and I was one such. That naturally led me to regret sitting there regretting I was listening to the parson instead of—wait a moment. Any more of those sorts of thoughts would be like a dog chasing its tail, only to eventually catch it and bite himself on the—well—best to stop that cascade of thought right there and then. I truly regretted that I could not come up with a better way to—

As you can see, listening to the parson could turn a sane man mad, and a man such as myself who was not all there in the first place, could probably be driven back to sanity, which when sitting in the parlour at Rosings was far-far worse. I was not a man made for deeper thoughts, and in fact, if deep thoughts needed to be thunk, I had Darcy, and come to think of it, where the devil was Darcy? While I was on the subject of life’s big mysteries, where in the dickens was Anne? Even more importantly though, where was the good brandy?

I was almost ready to fall asleep on the sofa when the parson said something that made me snap around to actually listen to him—yes, I know that sounds ridiculous (and dangerous), but such was the case.

‘…for it is incumbent upon those of higher station in life to avoid polluting the bloodlines of their ever more worthy ancestors and their noble lineage with any such personages as you might encounter in the classes of those of most assuredly lower birth. Such a thing would most assuredly be considered degradation, and to engage in such a reprehensible connection would be thoroughly insupportable. It is essential that each person stay within the sphere of which they are a natural part according to the natural order of things as bequeathed…’

The man could spread the balderdash with sufficient vigour even for Lady Catherine—an impressive feat all by itself—but that particular bit of nonsense had me thinking back to a conversation from earlier that morning. I had enjoyed a perfectly lovely walk with the ever-delightful Miss Bennet talking about acquaintances. I could see that Darcy favoured her, while she was completely indifferent or even hostile to him, so I exerted myself to talk him up a bit by telling her what a good friend he was to Bingley. I mean, who would not be impressed by his invaluable assistance in such a delicate matter? I was caught by surprise when she reacted peculiarly.

‘I do not see what right Mr Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend’s inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy…’

There was much more along the same lines, and I naturally replied with a quip to lighten the mood. ‘That is not an unnatural surmise, but it is a lessening of the honour of my cousin’s triumph very sadly.’

I did not quite connect the two, but she then had a sudden change of demeanour so painfully obvious that it would have been discernible even to a knucklehead like me. In fact, it was so abrupt I suspect even Darcy could have detected it. She developed a very sudden headache sufficient to cause her to depart my company instantly and subsequently miss tea at Rosings. At the time, I reckoned she had simply developed a bout of good sense and reasonableness, but then it struck me like a bolt of lightning! I am certain my exclamation of ‘Bloody Hell’ probably set my aunt to an alarmed and agitated state, but I cared not.