Page 77 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"I shall send it tomorrow, my Lord, with Lord Keathley. Your sons and nephew are joining us for Christmas dinner."

Darcy was helping Miss Elizabeth with her cloak. Robert saw him lean in and whisper something that made her blush. It was disgusting. It was wonderful.

"Fitzwilliam," the Earl called out, his voice suddenly sharp. "A word. Before you go."

Robert paused. He sensed a shift in the atmosphere. The jovial host vanished. The grim patriarch returned.

Darcy stepped away from Miss Elizabeth. "Uncle?"

The Earl reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter. It was crumpled, as if it had been clenched in a fist.

"This arrived by express post an hour ago," the Earl said. His voice was low, but in the quiet hall, it carried to Robert's ears. "I did not want to spoil the dinner."

He handed it to Darcy. Darcy took it and looked at the seal. Robert saw the colour drain from his cousin's face, leaving him marble-pale.

"Lady Catherine?" Robert asked, stepping closer, his stomach dropping.

"She is at Rosings. The letter was sent yesterday morning," the Earl said.

Darcy opened it with a snap. He read the note quickly. His eyes grew hard—not with fear, but with a sudden, icy clarity.

"She is coming," Darcy said quietly. "She writes that she has waited long enough for me to 'honour the compact' between our mothers. She intends to secure the engagement between myself and Anne before the New Year."

"She is bringing Anne?" Robert asked.

"She is bringing Anne, her carriage, and presumably her entire arsenal of disapproval," Darcy replied, tapping the paper against his hand. "She will be in London on the twenty-seventh."

"She is coming to collect," the Earl warned grimly. "She thinks if she simply appears and demands it, you will fold. She relies on the fact that you have never told her 'no' to her face, Fitzwilliam."

Silence filled the hall. The Bennets were waiting by the door, chatting with Mrs Gardiner, unaware of the grenade that had just been lobbed into the festivities. Miss Elizabeth turned, catching Darcy's eye. She furrowed her brow, sensing the tension.

Robert watched his cousin. He held his breath. He expected the panic. He expected the 'Mouse' to retreat, to fret, to look for a diplomatic exit or a place to hide. He expected the Darcy of old, who bowed under the weight of duty and family expectation.

But Fitzwilliam Darcy folded the letter calmly. He placed it in his pocket with deliberate slowness. He looked at the Earl, and his jaw was set in a line of granite.

"Let her come." Darcy's voice was steady and cold like steel. "There is no compact. There never was. And I am done hiding, Uncle. I am done neglecting to deal with the fantasy she invented."

"She will not go quietly," the Earl warned, though there was a glint of approval in his eye.

"Then she shall go loudly," Darcy replied. "But she will go."

He turned back to Miss Elizabeth. He did not hesitate. He walked over to her, ignoring the footmen, ignoring the Gardiners, ignoring propriety. He took her hand in his.

"I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said clearly, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall.

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles with a reverence that was essentially a shout of defiance against anyone who would try to separate them.

Miss Elizabeth seemed surprised, not knowing what brought out that kind of resolve out of him, but she did not pull away. She squeezed his hand. "I shall look forward to it, Mr Darcy."

Robert let out a breath and looked at his father. The Earl was grinning—a ferocious, wolfish grin.

"Finally," the Earl muttered. "The boy has a spine."

Robert clapped his hands together, a burst of nervous, delighted energy. "Well then! Lady Catherine is coming! It will be a bloodbath. I cannot wait."

Chapter Ten: Truths in the Snow

The carriage ride back to Gracechurch Street had been filled with the excited chatter of the Gardiners recounting the unexpected warmth of the Earl and the elegance of the Countess, but Elizabeth had remained quiet. Her mind was a tangle of impressions: Darcy's hand on hers in the entrance, the grim look on his face when he read the letter, and the terrifyingly open adoration Lord Keathley had bestowed upon her sister.