“This is a very pretty chapel,” he said, glancing around.
“It is not as large as the one in Meryton,” Elizabeth said.
“It is older, though.”
“Yes. Longbourn, and thus the village, have been here for nearly three hundred years. Meryton is perhaps a century younger.”
“Lizzy,” Jane said from her seat on Mary’s left side, “Kitty and Lydia have forgotten their prayer books. I have lent them mine to share, and as you know, Mary prefers to have her own. Would you lend me yours?” She smiled, and Elizabeth was certain she detected a certain sort of smugness in it, not that she minded. “Mr. Darcy has brought his, you see. Perhaps he would be so good as to share with you?”
For once, Mary had nothing to say, for her nose was already buried in the psalms. Mr. Darcy, however, smiled widely and muttered something about a side-saddle. Elizabeth handed her book over to Jane and attempted not to blush in church.
“I like your sister very much,” Mr. Darcy whispered to her as Mr. Stanton began the service.
Elizabeth nodded. “You should. She has been quite your champion.”
He had the good grace to look a bit chagrined before they both turned their attention to the service. Or at least, she tried to listen closely. Mr. Stanton was an excellent speaker, and she had never had trouble before, but Mr. Darcy was so close as they huddled over his prayerbook. Was it normal that the heat from his body both warmed her and caused her to shiver?
“The sermon today,” Mr. Stanton said in his sonorous voice, “is the proverb ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’”
Mr. Darcy started a bit and took an anxious look about him, but Mr. Stanton was not the sort of pastor to single out a parishioner in such a way. It was one reason he was so beloved. Even so, her betrothed appeared discomfited as Mr. Stanton began to recount the sorts of temptations to pride that faced each of them every day. Elizabeth thought it spoke well of Mr. Darcy, that he could recognize such a fault in himself. She too, had to accept that pride and prejudice were both flaws in her character.
There was a commotion at the back of the chapel. All heads turned towards the sound, and even Mr. Stanton stopped speaking.
A woman’s voice, harsh and bitter, rang out over the peace of the gathering. “Where is he? Where is my nephew?”
“Good God,” Mr. Darcy said in a sort of strangled mumble.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked.
The door was thrown wide. “Fitzwilliam Darcy!” a woman exclaimed. “You will come with me at once!”
“That,” Mr. Darcy said with a groan, covering his eyes with one hand, “is my aunt, Lady Catherine.”
Elizabeth took a good look at the woman who was, even now, vigorously striking the bottom of her walking stick against the stones of the church floor as she strode forward. She was tall and broad with severe grey hair and a vigorous sort of energy. A green velvet hat leaned at a precarious angle from one side of her head. Dragon indeed. Elizabeth could almost see smoke escaping from the older woman’s nostrils.
Lady Catherine stopped next to their pew and fixed her eyes upon Elizabeth.
Well, Mr. Darcyhadwarned them.
He had already extricated himself from the pew to face Lady Catherine, taking his aunt’s arm and attempting to escort her back the way she had come. But the older woman yanked her arm away from his and would not be silent.
“Have you any notion of what is being said about you and that ridiculous daughter of a backwater farmer?” She glared at Elizabeth again. “Is that her?”
“We will discuss this outside,” Mr. Darcy hissed.
Papa, the backwater farmer of Lady Catherine’s imagination, only smirked. “It appears that you shall not be the only one with silly relatives when you marry, eh, Lizzy?” Unfortunately, he was required to speak loudly as he was standing all the way at the other end of the pew.
Half the crowd turned to look at her.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, but it was not enough. For though she could not see the curious stares or Lady Catherine’s expression twisted in anger, she could still hear it all—Lady Catherine’s indignant shouts, Mamma’s crowing, her intended’s vain attempts to quiet his aunt, and the whispers that buzzed like bees as the village reacted to the unprecedented event taking place before them. Lady Catherine, and no doubt she and Mr. Darcy, would be the topic of discussion at every dinner table in the village tonight.
Well, there was nothing for it. She offered Mr. Stanton a look of apology. His expression cleared as he glanced from her to Mr. Darcy, and then to Lady Catherine.
“Madam!” the pastor commanded. “You will sit and be quiet, or you will exit this sanctuary at once.”
“Do you know who I am?” Lady Catherine thundered.
Mr. Stanton smiled. “We all do, madam. You are Mr. Darcy’s aunt and a living example for my sermon today.”