These Three Remain by Pamela Aidan Page A

from me, that she cannot expect to excel, if she does not practice a great deal.” Irritated by the gratuitous counsel, Darcy replied that his sister stood in no need of such advice and that she was very constant in her practice.
    “So much the better. It cannot be done too much,” Her Ladyship persisted, “and when I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account.”
    And I shall lay down instructions that any such letters be intercepted,
Darcy resolved, his jaw tightening. Never had he allowed anyone who did not also command his own highest respect to interfere with Georgiana’s education or peace. Lady Catherine’s incessant advice he had always weighed judiciously and, save for matters of etiquette, usually found it wanting. In the past, he had marked this down to lack of occupation and, perhaps, excessive concern for family protocol. But the words that had fallen this morning from her clerical mouthpiece, today from her own lips, and during the course of this visit signaled to Darcy that she meant to insert herself into his life in a more direct manner. And that he would most certainly not allow.
    “I often tell young ladies, that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice,” Lady Catherine grandly informed her audience as she pointedly turned to Elizabeth, the tense silence of the room only serving to encourage Her Ladyship in her discourse. “I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well, unless she practices more.” Darcy’s eyes flew to Elizabeth’s, certain that whatever would follow was sure to be officious if not insulting. How would she countenance it? How respond? “And though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. She would be in nobody’s way, you know, in that part of the house.”
    Shame at his aunt’s show of discourtesy so mortified Darcy that Elizabeth’s reaction was lost in his confusion. Unable to look upon her or countenance his aunt’s words, he rose from his place on the settee and took himself to one of the great windows, which commanded a view of the carriageway. Such improper behavior! Such disregard of what was due one’s inferiors and guests! His jaw flexed harshly.
    Voices, pitched low but animated, gradually reached his ears, and he turned back to the room to see Richard on his feet offering his hand to a gently amused Elizabeth. Well then, it appeared that she, at least, had acted the gentlewoman and had not allowed Lady Catherine’s incivility to ruffle her. Nor, did it seem, was she daunted by her hostess’s criticism, for Richard was even now leading her to the grand but disused pianoforte that stood in state in the corner of the room. She was to play! Drawn by his anticipation, Darcy approached only as close as the settee and, not trusting himself, resumed his seat. He watched closely as she laid her fingers upon the ivory of the keys, and as the lashes of her eyes swept her cheeks and her bosom gently swelled with breath for her song, he knew pleasure once again. But it was short-lived, for after listening to no more than half of Elizabeth’s offering, Lady Catherine resumed her interview of all things pertaining to his recent activities and the welfare of Pemberley. He answered her vaguely, his replies terse, and looked pointedly away to the performer, but Lady Catherine was not to be deterred. If she did not cease, he told himself in growing vexation, he would miss Elizabeth’s song entirely, and that, he determined, he would not be denied!
    “You must excuse me, Ma’am.” Darcy stood abruptly, cutting off Her Ladyship in midsentence, and with deliberation turned on his heel and strode toward the pair at the pianoforte. Once in motion, he could scarcely stop in the middle of the room, and so there was nothing for it but to join them. Reaching the instrument, he