Lady Catherine broke the seal herself. “Yes, let us.”
“I beg your pardon, but that note is addressed to me.”
“I beg no one’s pardon. It is from my daughter. She can have nothing to say to you that I may not read. I am privy to all her communications.”
Elizabeth extended her hand. “You are not privy to mine.”
Lady Catherine ignored her and unfolded the letter. In the interest of finding Anne, Elizabeth allowed her to continue rather than descend into argument. Darcy’s aunt kept them all in suspense as she read the lines silently, but the rapid transformation of her expression from one of self-righteousness to one of fury revealed that the letter held news of some import.
Lady Catherine turned to Elizabeth. Her complexion mottled, she crushed the edge of the paper in her hand as she held it to Elizabeth’s face. “What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning of this?”
“How can I possibly answer you while I remain ignorant of the letter’s content?”
“Ignorant! That you are, without doubt! In countless subjects. But apparently you are perfectly well informed of the news this letter contains.”
Dear Mrs. Darcy,
Forgive my burdening you with the responsibility of imparting news to my mother which it will distress her to hear, but you alone understand the decision I now make. I have taken your counsel: Tonight I leave for Gretna Green with Mr. Crawford. You advised me to accept his offer if it would make me happy, and it does. Though the grief that I am conscious of causing others, particularly a parent who has been ever mindful of my welfare, burdens my heart, it is lightened by hope that my transgression may in time be forgiven, and that my mother will come to accept the gentleman I have chosen as my husband.
I am indebted to you for the courage to act in the manner that will constitute my own happiness, and repent the difficult position in which I leave you. Consider me ever—
Your most grateful and obliged servant,
Anne de Bourgh
Colonel Fitzwilliam regarded Elizabeth with shock. Even Darcy beheld her with astonishment. But the most bewildered person in the room was Elizabeth herself. When had she encouraged Miss de Bourgh to run off to Scotland with a man she just met?
“Who on earth is this Mr. Crawford?” Lady Catherine demanded.
Elizabeth could scarcely order her thoughts enough to speak. “A gentleman we met tonight — a friend of Admiral Davidson.”
“And you urged her to elope with him?”
“No! He invited her to dance and I—”
“You stupid, common baggage! How dare you presume to offer my daughter advice on any matter, let alone one so critical? Do you think because of your sister’s elopement that this is an acceptable way for a young lady of Miss de Bourgh’s station to wed? Do you think at all? Are you capable of intelligent thought?”
The force of Lady Catherine’s rage struck Elizabeth almost as a physical blow. She was not one to cower in the face of conflict, and had stood up to Darcy’s aunt on previous occasions, but she had never in her life been the object of such wrath.
“I did not encourage Miss de Bourgh to elope with Mr. Crawford or anyone else. Indeed, I cannot imagine what led her to believe I had, nor the circumstances which brought the opportunity about. When last I saw her, Colonel Fitzwilliam was escorting her out of the ballroom, while Mr. Crawford remained behind with me—”
“Plotting this caper?”
“No! We exchanged a few pleasantries and then parted.”
“Whereupon with your blessing he abducted my daughter. You have ruined her future, utterly ruined it! Do you so much as begin to comprehend the damage you have wrought with your heedless counsel? How, on the eve of a betrothal that would have merged the de Bourgh line with an ancient, worthy family, you have jeopardized the union I labored hard to achieve? Or was that your goal? You were not satisfied with usurping Anne’s intended place as Darcy’s wife, so you sabotaged her chance at a superior match?”
“The marriage may yet be prevented,” Darcy said. “Surely they travel the Great North Road. If I leave directly and pursue them on horseback, perhaps I can overtake them before they reach Scotland.”
“I will accompany you,” Colonel Fitzwilliam offered.
Darcy nodded. “Let us find Mr. Crawford’s uncle and Admiral Davidson, if they are still here at Riveton. If we can confirm what time the couple departed and their means of conveyance, we can seek them more effectively.”
“The two admirals have already gone home,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I saw them leave as we searched for Anne. Should we stop at Admiral Davidson’s house on our way?”
Darcy glanced toward the window. Black had shifted to dark grey. “I hesitate to take the time. Dawn will break soon, and with the daylight their carriage can increase its pace. You are familiar with Mr. Crawford’s appearance, and so can provide a description when we enquire after him along the road?”
“I can.”
“Then let us not lose another minute. Tell a servant to ready our horses. I will meet you in the stables, so that our own departure will be less apparent to the other guests.” He turned to Lady Catherine. “What would you have me do when I find them?”
“Wed or unwed, bring them both back here directly. I will deal with Mr. Crawford myself.”
“I answer no such irrelevant and insidious questions.”
— Henry Crawford, Mansfield Park
Darcy rapped on the battered chamber door. The wood appeared to have suffered a great deal of abuse over time, forced open by countless outraged fathers and others who, like Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, had pursued eloping couples to this inn and arrived too late. The border village of Gretna Green, with its lax Scottish marriage laws, did such a considerable business in hasty weddings that several local inns offered one-stop convenience to expedite the process. Within minutes of their arrival, English couples could wed and bed at a single location, heading straight from the marriage room to an adjacent bedroom, thus thwarting the efforts of anyone who might arrive too late to insist upon a more prudent approach to matrimony.
Whatever had his cousin been thinking, to consent to such vulgar nuptials? Anne had not even been wed by a proper clergyman, but the innkeeper himself — unfortunately, a perfectly legal union under Scottish law. Darcy dreaded having to report to Lady Catherine that her daughter had been married by one of the village’s infamous “anvil priests,” with the innkeeper’s wife and an ostler as witnesses. At least the couple had not wed at the blacksmith’s shop itself; the cottage at the village’s main crossroads was the first building travelers encountered, and as such, Gretna Green’s most notorious wedding venue.
A second knock elicited sounds of movement from within the chamber.
“Who calls?” asked a male voice.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
His answer received no immediate response, making Darcy grateful that Colonel Fitzwilliam stood sentinel outside the window, ready to detain Mr. Crawford if the scoundrel attempted to avoid them. Darcy was glad his cousin had accompanied him — not only for the companionship on what had been a long, hard ride, but also for his impressive regimental uniform that had elicited ready cooperation from all they questioned as they traced the couple’s route. If Mr. Crawford tried anything underhanded, Colonel Fitzwilliam could manage him.
A minute later the door opened, and a short, dark gentleman greeted him with a smile far too self-assured for the circumstances.
“Mr. Darcy! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. We have been expecting you, or some emissary of Anne’s family, since the wedding.”
“Is Miss de Bourgh within?”
“No, but Mrs. Crawford is.”
“I would speak with her.”
“By all means.”
Mr. Crawford opened the door wider and stepped aside. Anne sat perched on the edge of the bed, but upon Darcy’s entrance stood and drew her dressing gown more closely around her. Darcy noted the self-conscious gesture and averted his gaze, which, as there was little else to behold in the tiny room, landed first on the rumpled coverings of the hastily made bed and then bounced back to Mr. Crawford, whose own limited attire comprised breeches and an untucked shirt. When he looked at Anne once more, her face was scarlet.
Any hope he had harbored of having reached Anne before the couple consummated their marriage evaporated. There was no undoing the union now; all that remained was repairing as much damage as possible.