He rolled his eyes. She had been sending him increasingly demanding letters, so Darcy knew the subject must be addressed. “Need I tell you again that I will not marry Anne? She has no desire to marry me, and I have no desire to marry her.”
“You would rub along just fine. Why, I could barely stand my husband when we wed, but after many years of marriage, we settled into a sort of placid distaste.” She took another sip of tea. “Just think about what magnificent property you would then own! Rosings Park and Pemberley combined. You would be one of the largest landowners in England!”
Darcy drained his teacup. A quick escape was warranted when the subject of their “engagement” was raised. “Pemberley is quite sufficient for me.”
His aunt slammed her hand on the arm of her chair. “You are not engaged to anyone else, are you, William?” He shook his head reluctantly. “Nor courting another young lady?” He shook his head again; he certainly was not courting Elizabeth officially.
“You are not growing any younger. Pemberley needs an heir. You might as well marry Anne.” From Aunt Catherine’s perspective, Darcy was unencumbered, but his heart could not have been more engaged if he and Elizabeth had exchanged vows. “I insist you at least speak with her on the subject. You have been derelict too long; you owe this to your family!”
Her agitation surprised Darcy. “Why has the matter assumed such urgency?”
She shifted uneasily in her chair. For a moment he imagined she might not answer the question, but finally she spoke reluctantly, as if the words were dragged from her. “Anne has formed an…undesirable attachment.”
Darcy was very pleased for his cousin. “Who is the man?”
“The younger son of Sir Randolph Landon.” His aunt spat out the name as though the man was an undergardener.
Darcy vaguely remembered Landon, one of his aunt’s neighbors, a jovial local squire. “What is so objectionable about the young man? Is he at death’s door? Or perhaps he already has a wife?”
Aunt Catherine scowled. “No! It should be self-evident. He is a younger son! His father is only a sir! They might as well be peasants.” She flicked her hands as if ridding herself of the whole family.
“I agree that his connections are not ideal, but if she truly loves the man, his birth can be no obstacle. Anne has sufficient fortune for both of them, and a retiring country squire might be the ideal match for her.”
“One of his grandfathers was a-a banker!” she spat out. “Can you imagine that blood polluting our family tree? No. I will not allow it.”
Darcy rose, having reached the limit of what he could tolerate in one visit. “You should give the match due consideration,” he said. “Anne is nearly my age, and her health is fragile.”
His aunt rose as well. “I will not see her wed to the wrong man!”
“Surely that is up to her to decide.”
“These matters are too important to be left up to one’s children!”
Darcy managed not to roll his eyes.
She wagged a finger at him. “You should speak with Anne and explain that such an alliance is unsuitable.”
Darcy massaged his forehead. A few months ago he might have been tempted to comply, but he was not enough of a hypocrite to condemn another person for falling in love. Although…
A sudden thought struck him. “I would be quite pleased to visit with my cousin before I depart.”
“Oh, well, that is very good of you.” His aunt smiled, obviously hoping such a conversation would alter his mind about the engagement. “I shall have her
summoned.”
Darcy shook his head. “I would prefer a private conference with her. Is she in the yellow drawing room?” It was his cousin’s favorite room in the house.
“Yes, I believe so.” Aunt Catherine rang a little bell by her chair to summon a footman. “Naturally, you wish to see your cousin alone. I will have tea sent for you. Take as much time as you require.”
Perhaps she truly did not understand how transparent her maneuvers were. Darcy turned toward the door as a footman entered. “Of course. I bid you good day, madam.”
***
Darcy stayed at Darcy House in London rather than spend the night at Rosings Park. He planned to return to Hertfordshire the next day, but upon arriving at Darcy House, he discovered a message from his lawyer. Timson had located Lydia Bennet. Accordingly, the next morning Darcy found himself knocking on the door of a room in a tawdry inn in a part of London he would not customarily frequent. Ordinarily, he would hesitate to meet an unmarried woman in private, but he guessed that this inn was accustomed to its unaccompanied female guests receiving male visitors.
The face that greeted him when the door was opened was indeed Lydia Bennet’s. Her mouth formed a perfect “o” of surprise when she recognized him. “Mr. Darcy?”
“May I speak with you for a minute, Miss Lydia?”