First impressions

The Gorgon’s Gaze

Lady Catherine de Bourgh did not enter the drawing-room; she occupied it. She stood on the threshold, a monument of indignant grandeur, her gaze sweeping over the assembled company with the dismissive authority of a general surveying a captured town. Her eyes, sharp and flinty, passed over Bingley’s startled face, Jane’s pale one, and Georgiana’s terrified countenance before coming to rest, with the force of a physical blow, upon Elizabeth. Then, they shifted to her nephew, who had risen to his feet, his body tensed like a wolf scenting danger.

“Darcy,” she said, her voice a low, resonant boom that required no volume to command attention. “You will attend me. Immediately. We have matters of grave import to discuss.”

Darcy did not flinch. He gave a slight, formal bow. “Aunt. This is an unexpected… pleasure. You find us in the midst of company. May I offer you some refreshment?”

“I did not travel fifty miles in the dead of night for ratafia and polite conversation!” she snapped, her patience, never robust, already exhausted. Her gaze returned to Elizabeth, lingering on her simple gown, her unadorned hair, as if inspecting a peculiar and mildly offensive insect. “I am here to squash a most ridiculous and pernicious rumor that has reached my ears. A rumor so laughable, so inherently preposterous, that I initially refused it credence. But the source, while vulgar, was most insistent.”

Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. Miss Bingley. She had not just retreated to her rooms; she had sent a express, a poisoned arrow, to Rosings.

“And what rumor is that, Aunt?” Darcy’s voice was dangerously calm.

“Do not play the fool with me, Nephew! It does not become you.” Lady Catherine took a step further into the room, her imposing figure casting a long shadow in the firelight. “I have heard that you… that you have somehow become entangled with this…” she waved a hand towards Elizabeth, “…this young person. That you are, against all reason, honor, and familial duty, intending to make her your wife.”

The silence in the room was absolute. Georgiana looked as if she might faint. Bingley had taken a protective step closer to Jane.

Darcy’s expression was carved from granite. “The report, though prematurely and maliciously delivered, is correct. Miss Elizabeth Bennet has consented to be my wife, and I am the happiest of men.”

A sound, something between a growl and a choke, erupted from Lady Catherine. Her face, already severe, purpled with outrage. “You will put a stop to this madness at once! Have you lost your senses? Look at her! No family, no connections, no fortune! Her own sister is said to be living in sin with a wastrel officer! Is this the future mistress of Pemberley? The mother of your heirs? It is an obscenity!”

Elizabeth rose to her feet. She was trembling, but it was not with fear. It was with a cold, clear fury that straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “You have insulted me, my family, and the man I love in a single breath, your Ladyship. I believe that is quite enough.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes bulged. No one, least of all a ‘young person’ of no consequence, had ever spoken to her in such a manner. “You forget yourself, girl! I am not here to bandy words with you. I am here to speak to my nephew. Darcy, you know your duty. You are promised to my Anne. It was the favorite wish of your dear mother, and mine. From their cradles, we planned their union!”

“I was never a party to such plans, nor did I ever give my consent, implicit or otherwise,” Darcy replied, his voice like chilled steel. “The notion of a marriage between myself and my cousin is a fantasy you and my aunt have nurtured. It holds no weight with me. My heart, my honor, and my future are pledged to Miss Bennet.”

“Your heart!” Lady Catherine scoffed, the word a profanity on her lips. “What does a man of your standing know of heart? You have a duty to your name, to your lineage! You are betraying the memory of your own mother! This… this infatuation will pass, and you will be left with a sullied name and a wife who is a permanent reminder of your folly!”

Elizabeth could bear no more. She took a step forward, her eyes blazing. “You speak of folly, your Ladyship? Is it not the height of folly to believe you can command a heart? To think you can dictate love as you would a menu for a dinner party? Mr. Darcy is a man, not a pawn in your dynastic games. He has chosen me. And I have chosen him. Your disapproval, though loudly voiced, is irrelevant.”

The gasp that rippled through the room was audible. Even Darcy looked momentarily stunned by her ferocity.

Lady Catherine was apoplectic. She pointed a trembling, be-ringed finger at Elizabeth. “You are a selfish, headstrong girl! And you,” she whirled on Darcy, “if you persist in this idiocy, need not think I shall ever acknowledge this… this mesalliance. You will be dead to me! Do you hear? Dead! And do not think that my influence is negligible. I will ensure you are shunned by every family of consequence in England!”

Darcy moved to stand beside Elizabeth, his shoulder brushing hers, a solid, unyielding wall of support. “Then we shall have to make do with the company of those who value happiness over consequence, and integrity over influence,” he said, his voice quiet but ringing with finality. “Your threats are empty, Aunt. My mind is made up. My life is with Elizabeth. If you cannot accept that, then the loss is yours.”

He offered his arm to Elizabeth. She took it, her fingers curling around the solid muscle of his forearm, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

Lady Catherine looked from one resolute face to the other. She saw no hesitation, no doubt. She saw a united front, a bond she could not break. The realization of her utter and complete defeat was a physical blow. The fight drained from her, leaving only a bitter, cold shell.

“You have made your choice,” she said, her voice suddenly old and weary, yet still dripping with venom. “Do not come crawling to me when you find the weight of your disgrace too heavy to bear.” She turned, her skirts swirling around her like a thundercloud. “My carriage! I will not spend another moment under this polluted roof!”

She swept from the room as dramatically as she had entered. The front door slammed shut with a crash that seemed to shake the very foundations of Netherfield.

In the echoing silence that followed, Georgiana began to cry softly. Bingley let out a long, low whistle. Jane rushed to Elizabeth’s side.

But Elizabeth only had eyes for Darcy. He turned to her, his gaze searching her face. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice thick with concern.

She looked up at him, her fear and fury melting away, replaced by a love so vast it felt like the ocean. “I am now,” she whispered. “She has no power here.”

He raised her hand to his lips, his eyes promising a lifetime of such defenses. The Gorgon’s gaze had turned them not to stone, but to diamond—hard, brilliant, and unbreakable.