In some ways Catherine is the mother she always wanted.

It feels a little cruel to think that, but it's true, and even if Caroline's relationship with truth is so complex it rivals the one she has with her actual mother—well. It is true. There's a calculating ambition about the woman that Caroline admires. Which isn't to say that Catherine is without vexations or eccentricities, but she certainly doesn't deserve the derision various upstart nobodies are eager to assign her. There are plenty of people who, at best, consider Catherine a micromanaging busybody and at worst disparage her as a ruthless bitch.

Of course by all accounts Lewis de Bourgh practiced a similar management style and had only ever been hailed as a titan of industry.

Caroline chooses not to dissect the sexual politics behind that inconsistency. Catherine knows business—knows the ambiguity of it, the messy blend of personal and political. She knows money. Caroline always stands a little taller in her high heels when Catherine is around. They've sympathized with each other beyond Darcy for years now.

Catherine summons her to dinner (because invitations suggest a degree of choice in the matter) not long after the fallout of Lizzie's videos. She's livid. Between Darcy leaving his duties at Pemberley to ineffectually wander around Southern California for a few weeks, non-evasive explanations to the board of directors be damned, and then abruptly starting up a serious relationship with a woman he mentioned only as an acquaintance, Catherine's ire towards her nephew has never been greater. Over dinner she barely pauses for breath, the words 'disrespect' and 'most seriously displeased' and 'impertinent' leaving her mouth with impressive efficiency. Her lips are pinched more tightly than the severe bun of graying hair on her head.

It's only after dessert that she fixes Caroline with an unusually appraising stare and demands her opinion on the matter. Caroline studies her nail color as she considers her response. The anger that was so fever-hot and fresh and foolish is long gone. She mostly feels like someone switched out her blood for lead; she has no more energy to spare for men who make inexplicable life decisions.

"You're devastated, of course," Catherine says the next moment, and while Caroline disputes the accuracy of that particular term, it's close enough to the truth to be uncomfortable.

Has literally everyone except Darcy known about her feelings all this time? Well, that's nice and humiliating; so much for priding herself on her reserve. She glances away to avoid replying.

In a rare instance of neglect, Anniekins is sitting unattended in the corner, groaning quietly. Fitz had once joked that Catherine loved her dogs more than all her husbands, former and present, combined. Possibly true, but when it comes to the rest of her family, Catherine's attachment seems as unassailable as a bulwark. There's something pathetically painful about that story; the loss of a sister and a succession of increasingly smaller, sicker show-quality dogs all named "Anne".

"He's a fool," is Catherine's next remark. She sounds almost gentle—well, as close as Catherine can sound to gentle, anyway. "I suppose he'll do as he pleases."

Caroline pulls herself together and discreetly changes the subject.


Notes: Both in P&P and LBD, Darcy's mother-Catherine's sister-is named Anne, and in what I assume is an homage, P&P Catherine names her daughter Anne too. Not sure if "Anniekins" is after Anne Darcy's death, but. Catherine de Bourgh feels, anyone? No? Just me? All right then.