April 20, 1812
They had stopped. It had been several days of exhaustion, sleepless night after sleepless night with little rest, if any.
Yet finally, the dreams had ceased. Mother attributed it to Darcy’s health.
Playing the part of the dutiful betrothed…
“Who is neither betrothed nor dutiful.” Anne de Bourgh grimaced, then tightened the reins of her phaeton and took the lane around the bend behind the garden.
The gentle plodding of her ponies’ hooves on the gravel quickened once beyond Rosings, and she continued up the rise before cutting across the paddock.
Rosings’ gamekeeper had mentioned a possible poacher in his meeting with Lady Catherine earlier in the day, but her mother had not declared an edict yet, so Anne escaped before it was too late.
She had fled to the grounds of Old Rosings, where she hoped she could find the answers to the dreams which had plagued her.
“I would not say they plagued me,” she muttered under her breath. They have just been so constant, unyielding. It is as if I had no escape from them.
But they had been refreshing. The dreams had pushed her to the very edge of control. What was had been replaced by what could be. She whipped the reins, knowing she had very little time for solitude. Any moment a footman could be dispatched to find her, and her freedom would come to an end.
She pulled up to the ruins of her family’s ancestral home. Broken and forbidden.
She turned to find Miss Bennet walking from the woods.
“Good day, Miss de Bourgh.”
“Miss Bennet. What do you do here?”
“I often walk in the mornings.”
“And you come here?”
Elizabeth shook her head and looked around. “No. Until four days ago, I did not…know of its existence. It was only in conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam that I became aware of it.”
Anne took Elizabeth’s measure before answering in a light tone. “Curious, how my family’s ruined estate would come up in a conversation.” Elizabeth did not reply immediately, and Anne indicated the seat next to her. “Would you care to ride with me, and I will give you a tour of what once was?”
Elizabeth nodded and stepped up into the phaeton. The two women then commenced through the property of Old Rosings. Anne saw Elizabeth glance at the woods, and a strange feeling began to overtake her, but she pushed it aside.
“According to my father, this was once a grand home, one to rival the current Rosings Park. But I believe that was only in his imagination. It would not be considered stylish in today’s society.”
“What happened?”
“A curse.”
“A curse?” Elizabeth asked, eyes wide. “Do you believe in curses?”
“No, I do not.”
Casting her a crooked grin, Elizabeth asked, “Then what truly happened?”
“My father’s great-great grandfather accused a gypsy boy of poaching. The child was hanged, and his mother put a curse on our family. Two days later, Rosings burned to the ground.”
“And do you believe it?”
“No.” Anne de Bourgh laughed. “I believe a servant knocked a lantern over in the kitchen.”
“Oh.”
“But a gypsy curse sounds so much more thrilling, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Elizabeth said. She turned around at the footprint of the ruin. “It seems to have been of a substantial size.”
“It was. I rarely come here…not encouraged to do so.”
“I am certain the love of a mother can manifest in many forms,” Elizabeth said. “Still, I believe at times that love for us can also…repress our natural inclinations and make us…more reticent than is our want.”
Anne laughed. “Miss Bennet, I cannot imagine you having ever been reticent in your life.”
Elizabeth smiled at the compliment. “You, Miss de Bourgh, have never met my mother.”
The women laughed in solidarity, not having realized they shared something deeper than they could explain.
“There is a strength in having such a formidable woman as an example…”
“But,” Elizabeth said, “it can also be quite…exhausting.”
“True.” Anne straightened her bonnet. “Yet, as you have four sisters, the attention is not as…constant.”
Elizabeth exhaled a low breath. “Unlike yourself.” Their path took them around an abandoned well and past the ruins of the stables. “I fear, although my mother’s attentions are not concentrated on me, when she does take notice, I do not always perform to her expectations.”
Anne gave a half-hearted smile. “And I fear my mother always takes notice, so I perform for her more than I wish.”
They rode for a quarter of an hour exchanging pleasantries until Elizabeth spoke. “Miss de Bourgh, thank you for a most informative afternoon. I must get back to the parsonage, and am certain you will soon be missed from Rosings.”
“You are wrong, Miss Bennet. I am most assuredly already missed. It is only luck which has delayed a groomsman from finding me for some ‘pressing’ matter. But,” she said, raising her chin, “I will return when I am ready. And at present, I am not.” She whipped the reins as her pony started off.
“I believe I will return you to the parsonage to save you a walk, although I know how much you enjoy it.”
“I thank you, but do not wish to be the cause of any contention between you and Lady Catherine.”
“I understand your concern, but my mother’s wrath is something I have lived with my entire life. Yet what she does not realize, and I most recently have been reminded of…she will not be the mistress of Rosings forever. It is I who will take up that mantle before too long.”
Anne heard Elizabeth’s intake of breath and smiled while whipping the reins again. A change is coming, and I am no longer the mouse my mother controls…nor do I wish to be!
He heard her in the other room. Her laughter sounded like the tinkling crystal at his mother’s dinner parties of his childhood.
Elizabeth had given him such strength in the world of his dreams that to have her so close yet so far was almost more than he could bear.
He had to leave. Leave and lick his wounds.
I cannot fathom another rejection in this life.
Because that is what it would be. His heart felt raw, so wounded, by the reality of all he had believed to be true was only a dream.
“Briggs? Briggs?”
His trusted valet opened his eyes from his restless slumber and stood from the chair. “Forgive me, sir.” It had taken his man longer than usual to dress him, and he was not quite steady on his feet, and when he sat down to rest again, poor Briggs must have fallen asleep as well.
“I wish to summon the doctor to determine when we can leave Kent.”
“Leave Kent?” Darcy watched the controlled concern pass quickly over his servant’s face. At his silence, his valet said, “Yes, sir,” before bowing and exiting the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The master of Pemberley had not been alone for the last week. There was a freedom he craved and demanded, all in the same thought. He looked up at a light knock at the door.
“Come.”
The door was gently pushed open to reveal Elizabeth, her presence stunting his thoughts.
“I do not wish to intrude, but only came to see if you are well.”
She had a warm smile, one he had only seen in his dreams, with another name attached to his person. He allowed himself to savor the sensation. “Yes, thank you.”
Her eyes darted about the room, only settling on him for a second before pursing her lips with a slight shake of her head. The room remained silent but for the sound of servants moving throughout the house.
“How do you fare, Miss Bennet? You seem ill at ease.”
“Forgive me,” Elizabeth said, fiddling at the hem of her long sleeve. “It is only that I spent so many hours anxious for your well-being. At times, I am uncertain of my next occupation now that you are improving.”
“I see.” What could he say to hold her interest? “I would like to leave.” Fool! Not that.
“Oh. Yes, of course. I suppose my company…after our…disagreement last week…” She stood.
“That did not come out as I wished.” He attempted to stand as well, before swaying slightly. “I meant to say I wish to go out of doors.”
She reached her hand out to steady him before pulling it back. “Mr. Darcy, I do not believe––”
“El…Miss Bennet,” he said, his eyes imploring her. “You of all people must understand what being trapped in this room is doing to me? I need to get out of this house, even if only for a brief time.”
“I do understand. I could not imagine being away from the sun on my skin. But I see you are still unsteady on your feet. Shall I send to Rosings for the colonel?”
“I do not wish for the company of my cousin.” She smiled at his concession. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Would you accompany me?”
She paused before asking, “Can you walk?”
He shrugged. “If I have something strong to lean upon.”
Her arched brow was all the reply he was to receive until she swallowed her surprise and nodded.
“We will not go far. Just to the back garden. I would like to sit on the bench.”
“And I will have tea awaiting us upon our return.”
“And apple bread?”
She stopped and stared at him. “Apple bread? That is such a coincidence. I have only just discovered such a thing.”
“How extraordinary.” Extending his arm, he leant upon her shoulder. “Shall we?”
He was unsteady but she did believe he needed the fresh air and freedom a brief stroll could provide. His man hovered a few steps behind, and she had seen him flinch when Mr. Darcy had grasped her shoulder twice while walking from the house.
She thought it fortuitous that Charlotte had gone to call upon her parishioners, leaving Elizabeth alone—alone with this man who over a week before had professed both love and abhorrence in the same speech.
She was ashamed to remember how she had matched his vitriol with her own.
Her affront had not come from his opinions.
She had known he held them. Instead, it had vexed her he had not kept his opinions to himself.