Papa half laughed, half grunted. Elizabeth snuck a glance at him—her father was nodding most assiduously in agreement, arms crossed over his chest with a sardonic grin as he observed the scene.
The pastor pointed at Lady Catherine, who gasped at the shock of Mr. Stanton’s rudeness. “There is none among us without sin, but it is our duty to always labour towards a blameless life.” He turned to his entire flock. “Has this woman handled her anger wisely?” he asked, referring to the proverb.
“No!” the crowd crowed gleefully, for never was a sermon relished more than when someone else was the object of it. The fact that their pastor had before always refused to do so made this a wonderful moment for them all.
“Psalms 14:3,” Mr. Stanton stated. “‘In the mouth of the foolish is a rod of pride.’ Isaiah says, ‘Woe to the crown of pride,’ and finally, Proverbs again: ‘A man’s pride shall bring him low.’ I might add awoman’spride is every bit as dangerous. This woman is so proud that she disdains not to travel on the Sabbath in order to break up a holy meeting in a house of God!”
The congregation offered a series of satisfied gasps.
Elizabeth was of the mind that God had a rather well-developed sense of humour. He must. If she was correct, He would be enjoying himself a great deal just now.
“Lady Catherine,” she heard Mr. Darcy say grimly as Mr. Stanton continued to speak, “either you remove yourself willingly from this chapel at once, or I shall toss you over my shoulder and carry you out with no more dignity than a sack of onions. Do you understand me?”
“You would never,” the older lady hissed, but whatever she saw in her nephew’s countenance made her whirl away and finally, finally, exit the building. Mr. Darcy tugged the hem of his waistcoat and followed her out.
“I shall never miss church again!” Lydia exclaimed happily.
The incident had kindled a fire in Mr. Stanton, and it was another half an hour before the flames died down. Stomachs were rumbling throughout the sanctuary, and Elizabeth was certain their hunger would be blamed upon Lady Catherine’s dramatic entrance. She only hoped they would not extend that blame to Mr. Darcy, and while she was terribly curious to hear what he was saying, Elizabeth did not dare walk out of doors to find out.
Eventually, there was the light rumble of carriage wheels rolling away, and Mr. Stanton ended his sermon. When the pastor had completed the ending prayers, everyone rushed to the churchyard to see whether they might glean any additional gossip from the confrontation between staid Mr. Darcy and his sacrilegious aunt.
Elizabeth and Jane held back for a moment. “Well,” Elizabeth said, “you did once say you would like to see Lady Catherine and me in a room together.”
Jane gave her a sidelong glance. “I did not mean for it to be a church.”
“Do you think he felt obligated to return her to Kent?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “She could work on him at length once she had him there, and she has separated couples before.”
“Elizabeth,” Jane remonstrated. “Have a little faith.”
Elizabeth plucked up her courage and peered outside. Alas, there was no sign of either of them. She felt her heart sink a little before she felt a tapping on her shoulder.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Stanton said, “might I have a word?”
Her shoulders drooped, but she turned to follow Mr. Stanton. Her curiosity rose as he led her through the church and into the back where there were several small rooms. Mr. Stanton opened the door that led to a study of sorts.
Inside stood Mr. Darcy, the very picture of dejection with his eyes cast down to the brim of the hat he was worrying with both hands.
She could breathe again. “There you are,” she said with no little relief, stepping past Mr. Stanton and into the room. “I thought you must have been forced to escort your aunt home.”
“No, of course not,” he said, confused, but still not looking at her. “I put her in her carriage and sent her away, then came around the back to offer my profuse apologies to Mr. Stanton. Even I would never have guessed my aunt could be so lost to propriety that she would break up a Sunday service.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said gently.
He drew a deep breath and lifted his dark gaze to hers. He had been holding himself rigidly, but now his posture relaxed. As much as his posture ever relaxed, of course. “My Christian name is Fitzwilliam,” he said gently. “Would you use it when we are alone?”
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth ventured to say, and he thought his name had never sounded so sweet as it did on her lips. “It is a bit unwieldly, but I will learn to love it. Just as I have learned to love you.”
He did not smile, but he reached for her hand, and she gave it to him. “Do not think that this is what awaits you when we wed, Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam said firmly. “The only good to come out of this mad demonstration is that my uncle will never dare even to broach the topic once he hears from me.”
“I should hope our betrothal will not cut you off from your family,” Elizabeth said.
Fitzwilliam laughed. “I am not an earl, dearest, but I am wealthy enough that no one but my aunt will cut me off, and that, I do not mind.”
“Amen,” Mr. Stanton said from the hall.
Between having Sunday dinner with the Bennets and Bingley’s inability to leave Longbourn without repeated expressions of gratitude to nearly everyone, it was already late when they arrived back at Netherfield.
The house felt strangely empty and quiet. Too quiet. Just as Darcy knew Pemberley would be without Elizabeth in it.