Succession

Prologue

February 1812

T he girl has been waiting for you to come to the point for years now!” Lady Anne Darcy said, heatedly.

“I know you and Aunt Catherine have discussed it…” her son began.

His mother interrupted him. “Discussed it?! We promised one another when Anne was born, and your aunt quite rightly says it is long past time.”

“Surely your discussions and promises do not obligate me, Mother. I might very well have met someone in London and formed an attachment,” he argued.

“But you did not do so. You have no attachments and Pemberley needs an heir.” Seeing her son apparently unaffected, she took out her ever-present handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Fitzwilliam, it would make me so happy. Now that your father is gone…” Her voice trailed off.

Mr. Darcy looked away. He loved his mother dearly and would do almost anything to make her happy. But marrying Anne de Bourgh? Was he willing to do that ? He sighed. He was a dutiful son; if he knew nothing else, he knew his duty. “Very well, Mother. At your insistence, I will marry Anne.”

“Oh! Oh! That is everything wonderful!” The handkerchief disappeared as if by magic. “I will write to my sister immediately.”

“Richard will be on leave next month; I will stop in London so that he may travel with me.” Richard’s company would provide some intelligent conversation; God knew there would be little enough of that to be had at his aunt’s house. “Tell Aunt Catherine to expect us around Easter.”

Lady Anne Darcy clapped her hands, her face alight with joy. What a difference a marriage could make!