Chapter 24 #2
He relished the peace, his aunt’s impatience notwithstanding.
At times his mind still filled with memories of cold, grueling marches and colder huddles in tents, shoveling down slop of indeterminate origin that was nonetheless eagerly welcomed because it was at least warm.
He looked across at the window, the elegant drapes hanging mostly shut, a sliver of darkness visible beyond them.
The glass pane was thick and clear with minimal distortion; the best that money could buy.
It sealed the fire’s heat in and the gloom and chill out, and Richard appreciated it.
“It is absurd that Darcy is not here,” Lady Catherine said for at least the tenth time since she and her retinue had arrived at Matlock House for the Christmas season. “Anne was looking forward to seeing him, I know.”
Anne, who was sitting near the fire, swathed in warm shawls, looked up in surprise at the sound of her name.
Richard contemplated her with affectionate pity.
Poor Anne had never been strong, and to his eye, she was growing even more frail with time.
She was no wife for Fitzwilliam Darcy, as she would be expected to provide an heir to the estates of Rosings and Pemberley, but naturally Lady Catherine, dazzled by images of two great houses united in one family, could not see the unmistakable truth.
Lady Matlock heaved a soft sigh and said in a placating tone, “I daresay he is staying in Hertfordshire for Georgiana’s sake. The air is better in the country…”
“Indeed it is, but I came to London for Christmas, with Anne, and the least that Darcy could do…”
To everyone’s relief, the lady’s diatribe was cut off by the entrance of the butler, who stepped a few feet within the door and said, “My lord, Colonel, I have an express for each of you.”
Father and son exchanged startled glances before moving forward to collect their letters while Lady Catherine exclaimed, “What is wrong? Has Viscount Reighton been in an accident?”
Lady Matlock gasped in alarm at these words, and Richard cast an angry look at his aunt and said, “This letter is from Darcy, so I am confident it has nothing to do with my elder brother.”
“Darcy wrote to me as well,” the earl remarked, and Lady Matlock relaxed noticeably.
“Well, what do they say? Is Darcy returning to Town?” Lady Catherine demanded, entirely unrepentant of alarming her sister by marriage.
“If you will allow us a moment to read, Sister,” the earl said irritably.
Richard carried his letter closer to a candelabra and lowered his eyes to the page.
Longbourn
26th December
Richard,
I am engaged to be married to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn! I daresay that comes as a great surprise, but I have been in love with Elizabeth for weeks, though I did not acknowledge it to myself because I was a dullard.
Fortunately, I came to my senses on Christmas Day, and we will marry by license soon. If your military duties allow, I hope you will come to our wedding so that you can meet my bride. She is wonderful, Richard; clever, diligent, and bright, and she fills me with joy.
Georgiana is not as excited as I am, because that would be impossible, but she does adore Elizabeth as well. More than that, she has formed a friendship with Elizabeth’s younger sisters; they are a lively bunch and have brought my dear sister out of her shell.
I will send you a letter when we have determined the date…
“What?!”
The bellow of incandescent rage from Richard’s left jerked the colonel’s attention away from this astonishing missive and toward Lady Catherine, who was staring at Lord Matlock, her eyes bulging.
“Darcy is engaged to a woman from Hertfordshire,” Matlock said in a colorless voice, apparently for the second time.
“Impossible!” Richard’s aunt roared. “Absolutely impossible! Darcy is engaged to Anne! You must have read it incorrectly!”
Matlock, who was looking mildly disturbed, sighed and handed over the letter to his sister.
Lady Catherine held the paper at arm’s length – she was, Richard knew, struggling to see well in her later years but had so far refused to wear spectacles – and turned so that the candlelight fell on the page.
Richard was able to read over his aunt’s shoulder; the letter from Darcy to Lord Matlock was shorter than his own and far less sweet.
Sir,
I have the honor of informing you that I am engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. We will be married within the next fortnight, though we have not yet chosen a date.
I have sent notices to all the London papers and the announcements will appear on 29th December.
Please give my greetings to my aunt and the rest of the family.
Sincerely,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Lady Catherine was now plum with fury, and she took the letter and tore it in two, and then four pieces, and strode over to the fire and threw the remnants into it, where they lit up, producing a brief flare which died away within seconds.
“Catherine, really!” the earl said indignantly. “You have no right…”
“Darcy has no right to throw over my daughter, Matlock!” the mistress of Rosings hissed. “He and Anne have been engaged since they were in their cradles.”
Richard glanced at Anne, who had turned her head away from her raging mother and toward the fire. He had no hope of placating Lady Catherine, who disdained him both because of his age and his position as a second son, but he could comfort Anne.
He took his place next to Anne, who turned a surprised, but obviously joyful face toward him, and he, after a moment of astonishment, found himself grinning at her.
“You are pleased?” he asked softly.
“Very pleased,” Anne murmured back. “I like Darcy well enough, but to marry him? To live in chilly Derbyshire? To be mistress of Pemberley? To attempt to bear a child given my poor health? Only Mother would think that was a good idea!”
“I am happy for you both, then,” Richard said, “though I fear that you will be forced to endure considerable grumbling in the next weeks.”
Anne looked at her mother, who was still railing at the earl, and said, “Far better for Darcy to break the nonexistent engagement than I, though you are correct, I will be listening to a great deal of complaining when we return to Rosings.”
Richard cast a thoughtful look at his father and aunt, and then shifted his gaze to Lady Matlock, who was sitting calmly, a placid expression on her face.
“Perhaps you would like to spend some weeks here in London with my mother?” he suggested.
“I doubt my mother will permit it,” Anne said wearily.
Richard, who knew that his female cousin was of age, bit back a sharp retort; Lady Catherine had no right to order her daughter around, but the habits of more than two decades were now set in stone.
“Allow me speak to my mother. Now that there is no hope that Darcy will marry you, perhaps Lady Catherine would be pleased by the thought of having you introduced to more of the ton.”
Anne considered this for a few seconds and then nodded. “Yes, that would be pleasant.”
He grinned at her approvingly; he was quite certain that much of Anne’s poor health lay at the feet of her mother.
Lady Catherine cosseted her only child and kept her well wrapped in lamb’s wool, and the colonel thought she would benefit from more fresh air and exercise and, perhaps, the care of a reputable physician here in Town.
“I will speak to my mother on the topic,” he promised.
“Thank you, Richard.”