A/N: Yes, really. The next, very short, chapter of Cordiality. Warnings: the parents are very melodramatic and badly behaved. Do not try this at home.

Sluggishly, Mr Bennet dismissed the servant and managed to seat himself before he succumbed to the sort of nerves that would make his wife stare. 'What an unexpected pleasure, your ladyship,' he said.

'Unexpected I daresay,' she replied. She had changed a great deal; there was no trace of the girlish prettiness that had first captivated him, nor of the sweet delicacy he remembered with an incomprehensible mix of resentment and fondness. But the blazing blue eyes were the same.

Whatever superficial resemblance had once existed between his wife and one-time lover was gone, however. His own eyes hardened.

'Whether it is truly a pleasure is yet to be determined.'

She flung her head back. 'Indeed. May I enquire after your daughter Elizabeth?'

So — battle, then. 'Elizabeth? Well, I had assumed that you did not come to seek forgiveness. It is always pleasant to be proved correct; this is a very promising beginning.'

'Forgiveness?' The fire in her eyes instantly froze. 'The events of thirty-five years ago have nothing to do with my present actions. I am not so mean as to resent the past. I am here only out of concern for my son, and your daughter.'

'Concern for my daughter? I suppose I should thank you for your gracious condescension in concerning yourself in my family's affairs.'

'Your daughter will be mine in a very short period of time,' Lady Anne said. 'Why should I not feel concern for her?'

Mr Bennet laughed. 'Do you really expect me to believe that you and yours will permit your son to marry my daughter? She is no better off than I was.'

'My son is his own master. He will marry whomever he chooses — and since he has irrevocably attached himself to a girl so far beneath him — '

'Beneath him? In what respect?' Perversely, he said, 'I am as much a gentleman as your son.'

'Oh, I rather think not. And though you are a gentleman, in name, at least, who is your wife? Who are her brothers and sisters? You cannot imagine me ignorant of their condition, so decidedly beneath my — my son's. Why should he take any pleasure in the prospect of a connection to them? Yet he has made your daughter an honourable offer of marriage, one that a man of half his consequence would not have lowered himself to.'

'I suppose I should express a sense of obligation that your son is so willing to lower himself — that my daughter wishes, at least, to connect herself to a family so full of pride and conceit — '

'You are hardly one to speak of conceit, Mr Bennet. You, who have unjustly and ungenerously been the means of dividing two young people, of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of my most beloved child — for no other reason than your arrogant gratification of useless and blameable distrust! What do you know of my son?'

'And what do you know of my daughter?'

Lady Anne lifted her chin. 'I know that she enjoys long walks — Shakespeare's comedies — dancing — whims and inconsistencies. I know that she is clever, and kind, and particularly devoted to Miss Bennet, and I know that she met my son over three months ago at Ramsgate, that they renewed their acquaintance when they met here, and that she told none of this to you, her own father.' She could not resist adding, 'It must be a great trial to have children with no confidence in you.'

Coldly, he said, 'I fail to see how any of these accusations are relevant to the subject at hand. I have no intentions of allowing this farce of a courtship to continue. Strange though it may seem to you, I would prefer that my daughter's honour be left intact, that she not be involved in misery of the acutest kind.'

'Farce of a courtship? I suppose you would know,' replied Lady Anne. 'A respectable gentleman's wish to marry a girl of intelligence and integrity must be quite beyond your understanding. I suppose I should have expected no better, after all that I know of you — of your vanity, your conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. I had thought that your affection for your daughter would tempt you to think beyond yourself — to allow them to try and prove their affection, even if you will not countenance a regular engagement — but then, I have been wrong before.'

'I see,' said Mr Bennet, 'that your son has not confided in you all of his interactions with my daughter, his intentions for her.'

Her blue eyes opened wide. 'My son has some sense of decorum and discretion,' she said coldly. 'Why, were it not for your youngest daughter's letter, I might only have known the bare bones of their acquaintance, of your daughter's virtues and your refusal of consent.'

Neither knew what might have been said next, though it might be reasonably assumed that the conversation could only decline from there. Instead, Mrs Bennet whirled into the room with a broad smile.

'It is such a pleasure, your ladyship,' she cried. 'You are dear Mr Darcy's mother, I understand? What an honour. I am sure you understand that this little inconvenience can be smoothed over in no time. Such a charming young man! So handsome! So tall! He is certainly a credit to you, madam.'

Lady Anne smiled at this. 'Thank you, Mrs Bennet.'

The other woman ploughed on, 'I cannot understand how there could be the slightest objection to his marrying our sweetest Lizzy. I am sure it is some great misunderstanding and they will be married very soon.'

'I was just telling your husband,' said Lady Anne, 'that if he has so little faith in their attachment, perhaps they might be permitted to prove themselves with a long engagement.'

'A long engagement?' Mrs Bennet wilted, then brightened. 'That would give us plenty of time in which to plan the wedding. It will be the finest thing Meryton has ever seen!'

'I am certain that it shall.'

Mr Bennet, considering for the first time the damage to Elizabeth's reputation if any of this came out, and, given the two mothers, the certainty that it would, cleared his throat. 'Not a day under a twelvemonth,' he said, comfortably assured that Darcy would never consent.

'A twelvemonth!'

'I should think six months more than adequate,' Lady Anne intervened, 'particularly since they may not be inclined to wait for very long beyond Miss Elizabeth's birthday. It is the first of May, is it not?'

'That is very sensible, your ladyship,' said Mrs Bennet, much relieved.

'Thank you, Mrs Bennet. I am only glad to see this dreadful affair settled so peaceably.'

Mrs Bennet nodded happily. 'As are we all, I am sure. Would you care to stay for dinner? My other girls would be simply delighted to meet you, and I know that my daughter Lydia is great friends with Miss Darcy.'

Lady Anne, who knew perfectly well that Lydia and Georgiana's acquaintance consisted of one very peculiar conversation and the former's gossipy letter, smiled and said, 'I would be honoured, Mrs Bennet.'

'Miss Elizabeth,' said Lady Anne, 'there seemed to be a pretty kind of wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favour me with your company.'

'Go, my dear,' cried her mother, 'and show her ladyship about the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage.'

Elizabeth, who had spent the last hour in an agony of curiosity and distraction, longing for intelligence of her betrothed, and certain that his mother would possess it, sprang up almost immediately. Thankfully, Lady Anne showed no interest whatsoever in the hermitage.

'Miss Bennet,' she began coldly, 'you may not comprehend what has brought me hither, and I must beg your leave for the liberty I take.' There was not the slightest trace of apology or uncertainty in her face. Elizabeth inclined her head, her fingers tightening slightly around the handle of her parasol.

'You are quite right, madam,' she said. 'I have not been at all able to account for the honour of seeing you here.'

Lady Anne walked a short distance, then turned to face her once more. 'I have heard a most remarkable report,' she announced. 'It seems that you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, are shortly to be united in marriage with my son.'

Elizabeth looked directly into the lady's face. Her expression was set, her dark blue eyes icy; and while Elizabeth had originally been struck by the resemblance to Mr Darcy, at this moment she could scarcely see any of it. The young man who had so frequently smiled and bantered with her was nothing like the severe autocratic woman staring fiercely down at her.

'Your son has made me an offer of marriage, which I have accepted,' she said, with all the dignity at her command.

'I see.' Lady Anne gazed at something over Elizabeth's left shoulder. 'Tell me, Miss Bennet, how could you have caused my son to so take leave of his senses? What remarkable qualities do you possess that could have so ensnared him?'

'I beg your pardon, ma'am,' cried Elizabeth, standing very erect, 'but I do not believe Mr Darcy has taken leave of his senses. Nor am I prepared to sing my own praises, even to you. I am very sincerely attached to him, I assure you.'

The lady studied her face for a moment far shorter than it seemed. Then her harsh features softened a little. 'I am delighted to hear it, Miss Bennet. I would hate to humble myself to your father.'

'You have seen my father?' Elizabeth's eyes darted upwards. 'What did he say? That is — I am sorry, I did not mean, but — '

'He has consented to a long engagement,' Lady Anne replied.

'He has?' A radiant smile lit up her face. 'Why, how— your ladyship, I scarcely know what to say. I do not know what you said, but it must have been — thank you. Thank you very much. Is Mr Dar — ' Elizabeth swallowed the desperate question.

'Fitzwilliam was not aware of my coming,' Lady Anne said, not without sympathy. 'I am sure he will be very angry when he discovers it.'

'Angry?'

'He was forming a plan to win your father's consent. It was very complex.'

Elizabeth burst out laughing. 'Forgive me — but that is so — yes, it would be, wouldn't it?—I am sorry, he is well?'

'As well as can be expected,' his mother said, 'and his health is excellent. It usually is. He has not been ill since he went to Eton.'

'Oh, really? I did not know where he went to school — he, he never said.'

And only then did Elizabeth realise that despite everything, however well-acquainted she might be with the essentials of his character, there seemed to be a great deal he never said.

harumscarum: Well, it isn't soon, exactly . . . thanks!

jmljasmine: No, it's not abandoned, and it's near a kind-of ending. There ought to be a sequel, which I will one day work myself around to. And I believe you could call this a dressing-down, of sorts.

Mari: Thank you.

Taletha: Thanks! That's a scene I thought would be easy-- and -- well, it took a year to write a measly two pages of adults screaming at each other. I'm glad you liked Ramsgate -- I've always thought that once the assorted misunderstandings are cleared up (misunderstandings which don't occur here), Elizabeth falls very hard and very fast. She doesn't see him as he is, exactly, but what she sees isn't completely wrong or completely superficial, either. I have very little patience for the Lydia/Wickham thing, so I was glad to skip that.

In the book, Jane is pretty stubborn. Nobody convinces her of anything without overwhelming evidence. The narrator says that she is 'firm where she felt herself to be right.' The thing is that Jane's idea of right is very social and dutiful. But she's the one who says 'do anything rather than marry without affection' -- not Elizabeth.

KoRnChildG: LOL, I hope not. And yes, I do update. Occasionally.

debbie-l-g: Yes, I know where I left off -- but thank you!

blissfulldarkness: I hope you do.

I don't know WHO I am: Er ...