Page 54 of A Mismatched Compromise

“You cannot simply decree the truth of a matter, Matlock, just because it suits you—”

“I can, and I have, and you would do well to remember that I have done rather more difficult things in this family than that.” The earl’s jaw tightened, hinting at a deeper feeling behind his outward calm. “At any rate, I hardly think that you are one to accuse others of proclaiming their opinions as truth. If you recall, you told me thirty years ago that Beatrix was unsuitable to be my countess for a number of reasons that all turned out to be incorrect, and you assured me that she had nothing to recommend her but a pretty face. I believe that those were your very words, sister — nothing to recommend her.”

“There is no comparison between that situation and this, Matlock, and —”

“I do not believe that is correct, Catherine. You insisted that my choice for my wife was unsuitable and reflected poorly on the family, and I was nearly persuaded. I have had thirty years to be grateful that our sister Anne had rather better sense than either of us, and that I chose to follow her advice instead of yours.” His eyes did not leave her face. “You were wrong then, Catherine, though I know that you have never once in your life considered that you could possibly be anything less than correct. I was saved from your folly by Anne, and I will not allow you to inflict the same error on your family again. Not when it could cost Anne’s son his chance at happiness.”

It took Lady Catherine a moment to recover, but she rallied and turned on her brother with the full force of her righteous indignation. “That was thirty years ago, as I have said, and though Beatrix’s family had some difficulties, there was no hint of impropriety on her behalf. And I will not allow Anne’s son to suffer because you have become foolishly sentimental in your old age. He is my nephew as well, whom I have loved as my own, and he is ruining his future and his reputation by proposing marriage to a woman of no fortune, with no connections, with a family entirely without shame, all while he stands promised to his own cousin. Anne and Darcy have been intended for one another since they were children in the nursery, intended to unite our blood and fortunes as they ought to be, and it astonishes me, Matlock, that you would sanction his breaking such an understanding and humiliating and devastating Anne to propose to another woman, particularly one who was engaged to another man entirely when he hatched this foolish plan!”

Fitzwilliam, who was leaning against the chair in which Anne sat, looked down and spoke to her as though they were in private, rather than surrounded by an absurdly large audience. “Are you devastated, Anne?” he asked curiously. “Are you despairing over your not-exactly-affianced husband-to-be playing swain to another woman? You are holding up quite stoutly if so.”

Anne looked up, seemingly startled that anyone had thought to ask her opinion at all. “I am not distraught,” she assured him in her quiet, sweet voice. “Darcy has never seemed to consider himself my future bridegroom, and I never saw him as such.” She hesitated. “He’s not even my favourite cousin, if I am to be honest,” she said with a small smile to Fitzwilliam, and another to Darcy.

“Anne!” Lady Catherine’s outrage transferred swiftly to her daughter, who cringed backwards in her chair until she looked up and caught Fitzwilliam’s eye.

“I only mean to say, Mama, that no one has ever troubled to ask either of us our thoughts on the matter. For my part, I never thought we would suit. We are both too serious,” she said, smiling at Darcy with something like amusement on her pale face. “There would be no one to tease either of us out of the doldrums.” Her voice was small, but it did not waver, and there was something in it Darcy had never before heard from his cousin, something that was, for once, entirely unmoved by the threat of her mother’s temper.

Fitzwilliam looked considerably more pleased with this answer than might be strictly warranted, but he had the good sense to push it no further.

Lady Catherine’s mouth had gone very thin, and her bosom heaved with the effort of her barely restrained outrage as her own daughter robbed her of one of her key objections, but she recovered herself with the speed of long practice. “Regardless of that matter, it does not alter the impropriety of Darcy proposing marriage willy-nilly, without consulting his family, and to a woman already engaged to another man!”

“She is no longer engaged to that man, so that point is hardly relevant anymore,” the earl pointed out. “As far as consulting with his family, Darcy and I first spoke of Miss Elizabeth Bennet at Matlock House in December, and I have known of the proposal since the day it was proffered. It is true that I have had rather longer than you to grow accustomed to the idea, but I have never approached it with the degree of alarm that you demonstrate. I find myself, in fact, rather in favour of the idea. I believe that approaching Christmas dinner with my good friend Mr Bennet at the table would only improve my holiday appetite.”

This time, the amused chuckle came from Mr Bennet. Darcy closed his eyes. His uncle was clearly baiting his aunt, and he suspected that what he was witnessing was a behaviour that stretched back into their childhoods. But as the earl’s current strategy to irritate his sister involved his disastrous proposal, he found it rather less amusing than he might have in other circumstances.

“You knew?” Lady Catherine’s composure, which she had managed to more-or-less maintain through every other blow that had befallen her that afternoon, evaporated at once. “You are telling me, Matlock, that you knew of this, and for months? You knew of this catastrophic proposal, and you said nothing to me? I am his aunt and have as much claim on his welfare as you, and you kept me in ignorance of this developing disorder for months. I was left to learn of the whole debacle second-hand, like a stranger to my own family!”

“You were kept in ignorance,” the earl said, “because it was not your concern to manage. Darcy is a grown man, and has always shown himself to be reasonable and thoughtful in his decisions, if not always in his wording,” he added, with a sidelong glance at his nephew. “More importantly, I did not inform you because I judged, correctly as it turns out, that you would react to the news precisely as you have done and your behaviour would be exactly what we are all unfortunately witnessing today. I concealed nothing from you, Catherine, but I declined to hand you a weapon that I knew you would wield without care or purpose.”

“How dare you —”

“I dare a good deal when it concerns my own nephew’s happiness, and I find I am fast losing patience with being told I do not have the right to make decisions regarding this family without consulting you first.” His tone had not risen, but it suddenly carried a tone of finality, as though a door had closed that he would not be opening again. “I will say this once, and I do not intend to repeat it. Any account of this affair other than the one established by witness, by evidence, by the word of everyone in this room — and yes, Catherine, by my order — will not have the support of this family. No other account will be shared by anyone who wishes to remain in my good graces.” His gaze moved briefly to Caroline Bingley, who looked considerably less triumphant than she had some minutes ago, then back to his sister. “I trust I need not say it twice.”

No one mistook his meaning. Miss Bingley sat back in her chair, her expression flat, staring at the floor. Whatever tale she’d been building, to share with her sister and her friends and anyone who would listen, had just been permanently dissolved, and she knew better than to test whether her word would stand in society against that of the Earl of Matlock.

Lady Catherine drew a breath, powering what would doubtless be a considerable objection. The earl did not allow her to voice it.

“It is time for us to go, Catherine, and take our family squabbles out of poor Mrs Bennet’s drawing room. She must think us most ill-bred.” He took her arm, not roughly, but with a finality that admitted no argument, and led her toward the door. He nodded to Mr Bennet on his way, his sister radiating outrage from every line of her form.

Fitzwilliam grinned at Darcy, before reaching down to offer their cousin his assistance in rising, and then his arm. “There is a tea shop in Meryton, Anne, that I believe has not yet witnessed a scandal or family tempest today. Shall we?”

Mr Collins hurried after his patroness, exclaiming sympathies and assurances that she did not seem to want. Charlotte Collins smiled at Elizabeth and gently squeezed her arm before following at a more measured pace, a small smile on her lips.

Jane Bennet said something softly to Bingley that Darcy did not catch, but he nodded in response and turned to his sister with a firmness Darcy had rarely seen him summon, especially in her direction.

“Caroline. We are leaving.”

She opened her mouth as though to protest, reconsidered, and allowed her brother to take her arm and lead her out of the room.

Mr Bennet, for his part, looked at Wickham and nodded to the door, the command obvious. Jane Bennet gathered her mother and sisters with the gentle efficiency developed over long practice, and in remarkably little time, the room that had held over a dozen highly wrought people had emptied almost entirely.

Only two remained.

Darcy looked at Elizabeth, sitting alone in the drawing room that still held the heat of their families’ outrage and history and complicated affection, and found that everything he had meant to say abandoned him. All that was left was the thing nearest to his heart and most gratifying to his spirit.

“You are vindicated,” he said. “Your reputation is quite restored, by decree of my Uncle Matlock, no less.” He allowed himself a relieved smile as he realised that, at last, the thing he had sought for so many months had been accomplished. “You are free. Thank God for that, at least.”

Chapter 28