Chapter 7 #2
“Two weeks ago, Miss de Bough took a chill for no reason. She started coughing, violently at times. This past week, the coughing has been bringing up blood, often bright red. It is terribly disconcerting! When not coughing, the young mistress sleeps, day and night. She is resting now.”
As soon as Mrs. Jenkinson finished speaking, a harsh hacking cough came from the bedchamber. Mrs. Jenkinson rushed into the room and hurried to Miss de Bourgh, who was supporting herself on her elbow. Mr. Darcy followed into the room.
When Miss de Bourgh saw Mr. Darcy, she coughed even more violently. After what seemed like an eternity, the coughing subsided. Miss de Bourgh’s eyes were closed. To Darcy, she looked more dead than alive.
“Anne,” Mr. Darcy called out softly.
Miss de Bourgh opened her eyes and smiled softly. She whispered, “Darcy…” Even saying his name seemed to have exhausted his cousin.
“It is good to hear you calling me Anne again.” Her voice was extremely raspy from the coughing.
“Anne. Forgive me for keeping my distance. You know your mother would have taken the slightest show of intimacy as a sign to send out our wedding announcement.”
“But now, you do not mind?”
Mr. Darcy was stumped. How should he answer this question?
Now that you are dying, I do not mind marrying you?
“No need to answer. I know my fate. More often than not, I wish I were dead. If you marry me, Rosings will be saved, and mother will be too. Will you do it? It will not be for long.”
Mr. Darcy was relieved that he was spared the need to explain the conditions of this marriage.
What woman would want to hear that she was proposed to because she was not long for this earth, and the family could not lose her estate to another?
Fortunately for him, Anne had no illusions about this union being more than a business transaction.
This Anne, so open, frank, and discerning, was a far cry from the sullen, cross, and nearly mute young woman he had known all his life.
He regretted having maintained his aloofness so effectively and missed seeing this remarkable transformation.
Anne could never be mistress of an estate because of her health, but he would have cherished having an honest friendship with another cousin.
“Yes, Anne. Will you marry me? Besides keeping Rosings in the family, the marriage will allow me to make your days as peaceful and comfortable as I can.”
Anne turned her pale and gaunt face toward Darcy. She looked calm and resigned instead of elated, as a newly betrothed lady would.
“Darcy, thank you for not saying ‘your remaining days.’ Yes, I will marry you. I wish I could live away from mother for a time… and breathe free air…for however short a duration.”
Then the hacking cough began anew. Mr. Darcy squeezed Anne’s bony shoulder while Mrs. Jenkinson fussed with a clean handkerchief that would be stained crimson soon.
“Anne, I shall make the arrangements for the wedding. I am afraid it will be simple and very soon. In the meantime, if seeing the sea is your wish, perhaps we can plan a trip to Whitstable.”
“No! Not there! Brighton!” Anne said agitatedly between coughs.
“You will have your wish, but you must get better. Brighton is a long distance from here. You must be well enough to travel,” said Mr. Darcy soothingly.
Miss de Bourgh again coughed miserably. Instead of answering, she nodded vigorously and waved her cousin off.
Mr. Darcy turned and walked away. He was now betrothed. There was no doubt in his mind that if the wedding did not take place within a week, it might never happen.
Five days later, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Anne de Bourgh were married by special license.
He was so unprepared to marry that he had not brought a ring and had to use one of Anne’s.
Resignedly and dutifully, he said the marriage vows.
If the bride had said her vows, no one could hear even a word.
She was, however, clearly alive judging from her cough, and so it was considered done.
Lady Catherine was not pleased that her generous gifts to the Church could not induce His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, to come to Rosings to officiate, but in her relief about keeping Rosings, she did not quibble.
Mr. Darcy stayed to review the accounts.
The estate’s finances had slipped during his father’s illness, just like Pemberley’s.
After five years of his management, both estates had turned the corner.
He would invest future earnings in various industries, just as he did with Pemberley’s surplus.
Those investments were the ones bringing a handsome return to Pemberley.
His aunt would have a fit when she found out, but she could do nothing to stop him.
Even after the wedding, he frequently asked himself whether his decision to marry was sound.
It was unquestionable that Rosings, being in a southern county close to the sea and with a pleasant climate, was a desirable estate worth keeping in the family.
Somehow, this conclusion seemed irrelevant to his question.
Even though the marriage settlement stipulated that Lady Catherine should move to the dower house after the wedding, he did not enforce this clause, as he did not wish to separate his aunt from her daughter during Anne’s last days.
Lady Catherine had become calmer and less belligerent and arrogant now that her future was assured.
She even deferred to her nephew as master of Rosings.
Her sacrifice in marrying Sir Louis to gain Rosings was not in vain.