Page 17 of The Fee Entail

I was becoming more confused by the minute. Perhaps she was a serpent, not a shrew. I thought I might slap her impertinence right back where it belonged. “Of course, my nephew is descended from a respectable, honourable, and ancient—though untitled—family, and it would, I suppose, be proper for him to show condescension to those within my purview.”

She nearly bounced on her toes. “I would expect no less from a nephew of yours. Your approval means very much to me.”

I still felt a little bit put out by the whole affair. “Naturally! Though I must say, you give your opinions most decidedly for such a young wife.”

She became all contrition. “My apologies, Lady Catherine… perhaps I overstate the case. I would never wish for my humble self to come between you and your esteemed nephew. Family relations are so very important, but easy to disrupt, and I could not bear the thought.”

The gall of the woman! To think one such as she could possibly come between my nephew and me! Such a thought! I put her to rights straightaway. “That is not possible!”

Having been set in her place, she paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. It must be taxing for someone so young to keep up with me. “I am happy to hear that.”

Then she took a bit of a breath and asked the oddest question. “Perhaps you could clarify one point for me?”

This was behaviour I could approve of, so I replied as is proper, “Yes, of course! I am celebrated for my frankness. Ask as you will.”

“Who exactly is this wayward nephew? I must assume you have several, and I am not at all certain I know any of them. As you well know, my society is limited and rarely includes the first circles.”

What was this? How was it possible for a young woman to be so ignorant of my family? But then I realised she did not visit Rosings more than a handful of times, so she would not necessarily know of all my family dealings. That was more normally the purview of her husband, such as he was.

Naturally, I answered with fortitude, “Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy! He has been staying at Rosings this past week. He visits every year, though usually at Easter. You, of course, have not been introduced, so you could not know.”

She looked a little bit put out by my answer, as if it were even possible, and gave the oddest reply of the evening. “Ah, Mr Darcy. I knew him slightly when he visited Hertfordshire last winter. I believe I may even have danced with him once before I was married, but it is difficult to remember.”

I went from shocked to scandalised! How was it possible that she actually knew my nephew but claimed she could not even remember a dance with him! Impossible! She must be prevaricating. I did not know which I thought worse. Firstly, that my esteemed nephew might dance with some country nobody when he was engaged to my daughter, or that anyone whose station in life was so decidedly below his could possibly forget a dance with such an august personage. It would have been the highlight of her life.

I was thoroughly put out. “How could you possibly forget a dance with my nephew?”

Her answer was even odder. “Oh, that! We did not get on particularly well, so I have mostly forgotten him. I believe he found our society somewhat savage and made his opinion clear. I did by chance have a thought about him this morning, but only to reflect on the unlikelihood of ever seeing him again, and to be frank, my satisfaction with that state of affairs.”

Now I was even more confused and somewhat alarmed. First, she could barely remember him, and now she as much as professed to dislike him. How was it possible that a country miss of no importance seemed to disapprove of my noble nephew; and how was it conceivably her place to do so? It was not to be borne.

“So, you say he considered your society—what was the word you used?—somewhat savage?”

“Yes, your ladyship, I believe he did, or at least I must assume so from his manner.”

The conversation just kept getting worse and worse. Now she was to criticise my nephew’s manners? Or perhaps she was simply commenting that he was holding himself in the reserve proper for a man of his station, which anyone would approve of.

The whole conversation, odd as it was, left me insatiably curious. “And yet he danced with the ladies.”

She shrugged, a most unladylike gesture if I ever saw one, but at last answered, “Oh, no. He did not dance with the ladies in general. Only me, and only the once.”

Now we were getting somewhere, and I was getting fatigued with her evasiveness. “Do not dissemble; it does not suit. You remember the dance well, do you not?”

As shocking as the revelation was, at least we were getting to the bottom of things. I saw her stumble in her speech a bit, probably reflecting on how confusing she was.

She finally answered with a wistful look. “You are correct. That was the very last time I danced.”

That seemed to take all the wind out of her sails, but it would certainly give me something to think about over the next day. I could not tell if she was sad because she had not danced again; because her attempts to trap my nephew failed; or if—the thought was impossible to countenance but my frankness demanded no less—perhaps she actually did not like my nephew.

Something very odd had transpired between them, and I was determined to find out every detail. Fitzwilliam was obviously taken, and Mrs Collins was obviously married—at least for the moment—but I could not stand the idea of a person in my sphere thinking badly of my nephew, particularly when it seemed remotely possible that he earned her disapprobation.

She seemed to be just about worn out, but she quietly spoke with the greatest humility. “My offer stands. You are welcome to dine, but I will not be offended if you decline. Not everyone is hardy enough for the simple fare we partake of here.”

The nerve of the woman, to imply I could not easily handle the worst of foods and direst of conditions. It was intolerable! I come from the hardiest of stocks. Was she regretting stepping so far above herself? Trying to follow her was getting confusing, so I simply took charge of the affair as I should have from the beginning.

“We will be here at six o’clock on Friday. I will bring Anne and Darcy both. I mean to get to the truth of this matter.”

“You need not trouble Mr Darcy. The company of you and your daughter will be sufficient.”