Strong objections to the.., p.1
Strong Objections to the Lady, page 1
Strong Objections to the Lady
Jayne Bamber
Strong Objections to the Lady
Copyright 2019 by Jayne Bamber
Cover design by Jayne Bamber
Cover artwork by Louise Elisabeth Vigée and Nicolas Poussin
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This book is a work of fiction. Any person or place appearing herein is fictitious or is used fictitiously.
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Acknowledgements
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To my beautiful mother, who has given me a love of reading, and with whom I have enjoyed sharing my love of Jane Austen. To my sisters, who have put up with a great deal of Austen-ramblings as this tale rattles around in my brain.
To my amazing beta readers, Leah, Cheryl, Rose, Allison, and “Grandma” Christa – I could not have done this without you!
Jayne
Prologue
Saturday, April 11, 1813
Lady Catherine de Bourgh awoke discontented beyond the usual degree. Sleep had evaded her; she had lain awake all night, most seriously displeased by her nephew. Darcy had announced just before retiring that he and Richard would depart Rosings Park and return to London this morning. He would brook no refusal, and had rather worked himself into a state as he defied her authority and insisted he would go – an insupportable display of defiance! He had forgotten what he owed her, and Anne, and all the family.
She would not have it, and this morning he would hear her mind about the matter. He had come all this way, and yet he would go away again without finally settling on a date to wed Anne? It was not to be borne! Though he had been first intended for her sister, it was a natural thing that he ought to marry Anne instead, even if she had not the same affable disposition.
And after all, who would marry Anne if he did not? Taking Anne to London for a season was out of the question, for even if there had not been health concerns to prohibit them, Anne’s temper would never be suited to the haute ton. Certainly she could not wed any of her grasping, artful de Bourgh cousins, who were out for all they could get.
No, it must be Darcy, and she would not let him get away this time without a solemn promise. Lady Catherine began rehearsing her speech in her mind, perfecting those arguments that would remind him of his duty.
After hastily dressing for breakfast, a meal she usually took an hour later, Lady Catherine began her descent downstairs when a sudden pain overtook her. She halted on the stairs, rubbing her hand against her chest to soothe the ache. The unpleasant sensation had begun some weeks ago, though fortunately she had been able to conceal it from her family. She would not be daunted, particularly when the Bennet chit was all to blame. Even now she heard Elizabeth Bennet’s name spoken, for there were voices in the corridor below.
“I think you should leave it, Darcy,” Richard said. “Miss Bennet refused you in no uncertain terms, and you had better not put yourself through any further torment.”
“I bloody well know that,” Darcy spat back at his cousin. Lady Catherine clenched the railing of the stairs until her knuckles were white, drawing in a deep breath as her heart pounded in her chest. This cannot be.
“I am quite determined, Richard,” Darcy continued. “I shall not linger, but I should at least like to give her the letter, and hope that she may in time think better of me. If I cannot have Elizabeth, so be it, but I cannot bear her being alive in the world and thinking ill of me.”
Lady Catherine’s nostrils flared at the shocking notion – Elizabeth Bennet, thinking ill of Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley? It was insupportable. That Miss Bennet had the cheek to show her face at Rosings at all had been beyond the pale, but now this? Poor Darcy, to have been so taken in by that pretty face!
Richard’s reply was muffled as Lady Catherine schooled her labored breathing, and then she heard Darcy say, “I shall walk down with you. Miss Bennet is likely on another of her morning walks – I know which areas she frequents. I shall give her the letter, and then meet you at the parsonage to take leave of the Collinses. With any luck we might be on the road to London in an hour.”
Feeling her strength returning, Lady Catherine steadied herself and resumed her slow descent as she heard her nephews moving away. She briefly considered ordering some sabotage to Darcy’s carriage, but thought the better of it – she had another plan. She collected her heavy green cloak and set off at once to follow them. She would seek out Miss Elizabeth, confiscate this scandalous letter, which ought never to have been written, and make her own sentiments known.
1
After a restless night spent thinking over Mr. Darcy’s insulting proposal and various offenses against her, Elizabeth awoke resolved to take her morning walk, that she might indulge in further reflection, for it was impossible not to dwell on the events of the previous evening. She had several times encountered Mr. Darcy in the parts of the park she frequented, and though she took care to walk elsewhere this morning, still their paths crossed. Her first reaction was to retreat as soon as she noticed him at some remove, but he called out to her and curiosity, if nothing else, drove her to await his approach.
“I have been walking the grove for some time, in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading this letter?”
Elizabeth had not the chance to reply as she took the letter from him, before he bowed and began to move away, and she tore her gaze from his departing figure to look down at the missive with trepidation. It was thick – two full pages, and she applied herself to it at once.
With considerable interest, amazement, and eventually contempt, Elizabeth read through the letter, and after feeling no satisfaction from his haughty justification of separating Mr. Bingley from Jane, she expected the same paltry excuses for his dealings with Mr. Wickham as she began the second page. Here, however, she was interrupted by another unexpected interloper in the grove – it was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, making her way towards Elizabeth in great haste.
Elizabeth quickly folded her letter when it became apparent that the dowager was coming to speak with her, but Lady Catherine took notice, and her countenance darkened as she approached Elizabeth. “There you are, Miss Bennet. You can be at no loss to understand the reason I have sought you out this morning.”
Elizabeth did have her suspicions, but kept them to herself in the slim hope that she was mistaken, for she truly wished to return to reading her letter, and was fervently hoping Lady Catherine would make no mention of seeing her with it. “Indeed you are mistaken, Madam,” she replied with cheerful affectation.
Lady Catherine sneered back at her, moving within a few steps of where Elizabeth stood. “You ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and I shall certainly not depart from it at such a moment. I have become aware of a most alarming circumstance, which I could scarcely believe – that my nephew has written you certain correspondence –” here she glanced down at the letter in Elizabeth’s hand before glaring back up at her, “That he has actually made you an offer of marriage – it is quite impossible!”
“If you believe this to be impossible, I cannot imagine what you would expect me to say on the subject,” Elizabeth quipped with disdain.
Lady Catherine’s nostrils flared as she sputtered with rage. “Well, has my nephew made you an offer of marriage?”
“Your Ladyship has declared it to be impossible.”
“It ought to be so, but your arts and allurements have drawn him in, and made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family.”
Though Elizabeth could not in good conscience tell a direct lie to the dowager, neither could she abide the indignity of such a line of questioning, and she only retorted, “If this were the case, I should be the last person to confess it.”
Lady Catherine drew back in a dramatic display of shock, and Elizabeth likewise began to inch away from the imposing woman. “Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and I am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.” Again Lady Catherine’s eyes flicked down to the letter in Elizabeth’s hands, which she instinctively drew nearer to her body.
“But you are not entitled to know mine, nor will such behavior as this ever induce me to be explicit.”
Fairly fuming, the dowager pressed forward. “Let me be rightly understood – this match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. Never. Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter! Now what have you to say?”
A great many things, in fact, were on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue. She might have easily put all of Lady Catherine’s fears to rest in an instant by telling her ladyship precisely how she felt about Mr. Darcy, and yet she could not will herself to show the dowager this mercy. Instead she replied, “Only that if I did wish to
Lady Catherine’s face turned red with anger and again she stepped closer to Elizabeth as she railed at her. “Obstinate, headstrong girl, I am ashamed of you! Even now you hold some secret communication from him in your hand, though you would try to hide it. I insist that you hand it over to me at once, and cease all communication with him from this instant.”
As Lady Catherine reached for the letter, Elizabeth drew back, her grasp tightening on the thick paper even as the dowager began to wrap her own fingers around it. Elizabeth tugged it free and, boiling over with rage, she tore it to shreds, letting the pieces of it fall around her.
Lady Catherine had recoiled from the force of Elizabeth snatching the letter from her grasp, in what had first seemed a dramatic gesture. However, Lady Catherine made no reply to Elizabeth’s display of insolence, beyond a strangled groan, and then she began to clutch at her chest. Elizabeth’s ire instantly gave way to alarm, and in the next moment Lady Catherine collapsed before her.
Elizabeth was struck with a sudden sense of panic at having reduced her opponent to such a state, and dropped down to her knees beside the dowager, who swatted Elizabeth away with a wild look in her eyes as she gasped and heaved. “Good God! Lady Catherine, what is the matter?” Again Elizabeth reached out, hoping to assist the dowager, but she was once more repulsed by the feeble flailing of the woman who, even now, despised her too deeply to accept her support.
With a sense of dread twisting in her stomach, Elizabeth rose to her feet, hesitant to leave Lady Catherine in such a state, though she knew she must seek assistance of some kind, if the dowager would permit no aid from Elizabeth. She ran back toward the lane, careful not to go out of sight from where she had left Lady Catherine, and began to cry for help, hoping that someone from the parsonage would hear her.
Her silent prayers were soon answered as Colonel Fitzwilliam emerged from the parsonage a moment later, seemingly of his own accord, rather than in response to her shouting, for she was still too far away. She cast a dubious glance back at Lady Catherine before advancing toward the parsonage as fast as her legs could carry her, and had just abandoned all sense of decorum, waving her arms in the air as she shouted for his attention, when Mr. Darcy exited the house behind his cousin. The Colonel was the first to perceive her, and he broke into a sprint as he perceived her distress.
Tears of anguish began to spring unbidden from Elizabeth’s eyes, but she was scarcely sensible of them as she called out to him. “Help, please! Your aunt has had a fall!” The Colonel came running, and Mr. Darcy was close behind, his longer stride soon overtaking his cousin, and now Charlotte and Mr. Collins were peering out the doorway, wide-eyed and timorous.
All this Elizabeth perceived in the space of an instant before she turned back, unwilling to leave Lady Catherine alone for longer than necessary. Hearing the heavy footfalls of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy close on her heels, Elizabeth returned to the place where Lady Catherine lay in the grove, and she dropped to her knees beside the woman, eager to ascertain whether she still lived.
Lady Catherine’s breathing was labored, and she seemed entirely unaware of Elizabeth’s presence – not wishing to agitate her any further, Elizabeth hung back as the Colonel and Mr. Darcy approached; she discreetly began to gather the torn fragments of her letter from the ground, and she had just tucked them into the sleeve of her spencer when the gentlemen made their way to her side.
Colonel Fitzwilliam extended his hand to help Elizabeth to her feet. “Good God, Miss Bennet! What has happened? Are you well?”
Mr. Darcy had already knelt beside his aunt, and gave his cousin with a bewildered look, carefully avoiding Elizabeth’s eye.
“I am well,” Elizabeth replied. “I was walking – Lady Catherine and I were speaking, and then suddenly she began to clutch at her heart, and she fell….” Elizabeth averted her gaze, too overcome with guilt to admit the full truth.
Mr. Darcy picked up one of the fragments of his letter which had escaped Elizabeth’s notice, his eyes flickered with recognition before he reached his hand up to offer it to her. “You quarreled?”
Elizabeth hesitated before taking the scrap of parchment from him and tucking it away with the others. Blinking back tears of shame, she could only nod and let out a shaky breath. The Colonel gave her another look of reassurance before addressing his cousin. “We had better get her inside, and fetch a doctor at once. Can you carry her, Darcy?”
By way of answer, Mr. Darcy quickly divested himself of his snugly tailored coat and handed it off to his cousin before he began to gently lift his prostrate aunt. Once he was upright, he was obliged to reposition himself, and though the Colonel moved to assist Mr. Darcy, he appeared determined to bear her back to the parsonage himself.
For a moment Elizabeth feared he might drop the dowager, who had never before seemed so very frail. And yet, as she dared a glance up, she could see that Mr. Darcy, clad only in his shirtsleeves now, was certainly muscular enough to manage; she shivered with some strange sensation as she watched him adjust his hold on his aunt before taking his first tentative step back toward the lane. Colonel Fitzwilliam, upon perceiving Elizabeth’s shudder, turned and addressed her with gentle solicitude. “My dear Miss Bennet, we had better get back to the parsonage.” He wrapped Mr. Darcy’s coat about her shoulders, and offered her his arm. “I know you too well, I think, to have any fear of your swooning, but all the same….”
Elizabeth tried not to flinch as the thick, expensive wool of the coat settled around her, the pleasant smell of the cloth strangely upsetting her already tumultuous equilibrium. She took the Colonel’s proffered arm, her free hand fidgeting with the torn pieces of Mr. Darcy’s letter as they threatened to spill from her sleeve.
There was a steep incline as they left the grove and made their way back to the lane, and Mr. Darcy led the way, his breathing ragged as he carried his aunt. The Colonel guided them closely behind his cousin, appearing ready to assist at any moment should Mr. Darcy’s grasp begin to falter, and yet he was likewise attentive to Elizabeth as they returned to the lane. Here Mr. Collins hastened, as best his portly stature would allow, to meet them halfway, though he made himself useful only in fluttering about Mr. Darcy and declaring it such a great shock to see his noble patroness thus afflicted.
Once inside the parsonage, Charlotte was able to deflect much of her husband’s misplaced solicitude, for after she ordered Maria to return to her bedchamber, she directed Mr. Darcy to lay his aunt on the largest chaise in the front parlor, and suggested that Mr. Collins ought to fetch the local physician at once.
Eager as he was to comply, he could not resist a moment of extolling on his ardent desire for her ladyship’s recovery, in his usual style of eloquence, and in the interval Lady Catherine was momentarily roused from her stupor – her speech slurred, she began to clamor with confusion, clasping still at her chest. “Fitzwilliam, is that you?”
Mr. Darcy had not left her side, and he crouched down beside her now, that she might better regard him. “I am here, Aunt. You are unwell – you must rest.”
Her face contorted with pain, Lady Catherine was nonetheless undaunted by her present calamity, and after scanning the room for a moment, she singled out Elizabeth. Pointing a shaky finger in her direction, Lady Catherine gave a sneer that was nearer a wince, and cried, “This adventuress would try to kill me! Harlot, I shall not be laid low so easily – I shall see you brought low for your upstart pretensions!” There was more, but her words grew too muddled to make out, and in the end she seized up once more as the same weakness in her heart overtook her.
The room seemed to spin as chaos erupted around Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy and his cousin at once exchanged a glance that betrayed the conclusions they had likely drawn about Elizabeth’s confrontation with the dowager, and Elizabeth felt an unbearable burning in her tear-stained cheeks. Charlotte attempted to calm Lady Catherine, who had slumped backward in a distorted pose of agony, but cast a querulous look in Elizabeth’s direction. Mr. Collins, who had lingered in the doorway, still conferring on his intention of seeking out the doctor rather than actually setting about it, now hesitated, and after the requisite time had passed for him to process his patroness’ accusations, he rounded on Elizabeth with fatuous fury.
