Chapter 10
Anne clasped her hands in front of her and studied the stone step under her feet. She had never felt more mortified. If Mother had thought she could bully Darcy to her will by interrupting his wedding, she had forgotten Darcy’s character.
He bolted down the aisle, chased by thunderclouds, eyes flashing with lightning. Anne had never seen him so livid, and as quickly as she had peeked up, she cast her eyes down again.
She said nothing, hating how her silence lent her mother support when she was ashamed of her behavior. But what could she say to make her mother — or anyone else, for that matter — listen? Anne was as invisible as a carpet on the floor.
Darcy escorted Mother out, both of them brushing past Anne, neither sparing her so much as a glance. Worse than a carpet. She was stagnant air.
Miss Elizabeth turned in her seat, her eyes meeting Anne’s. Seeing her.
Anne’s cheeks burned. There was no accusation, no reprimand in Miss Elizabeth’s look.
To the contrary, there was kindness, and just as she had been struck with Miss Elizabeth’s bold confidence during her brief stay at Hunsford, Anne was again struck with the lady’s strength of character. She did not look away.
Anne envied her.
Wait. Miss Elizabeth was not standing in front of the vicar. And Darcy had already steered Mother out to the churchyard. Why was he not standing with his betrothed?
Anne blinked, not believing her own eyes. The vicar continued, forcing her to hear what her other senses doubted.
Nausea rippled in Anne’s stomach. Had Mother somehow succeeded in preventing Miss Elizabeth’s union to Darcy?
Dread chilled her to the bone. What had Mother done?
Mr. Collins approached, and Anne stepped out of the doorway to allow him to pass.
He bowed as he always did, his eyes fixed on the patroness on whom he doted.
They fed off each other’s vanity — he with his indelicately arranged, blatant compliments; she with her condescension on one so eager to praise her.
It was a pity. Anne thought highly of Mrs. Collins.
Charlotte was a sensible woman. She would be a good influence over her husband, if only he would allow her more consequence over him than he allowed The Great and Highly Esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
With a sigh, Annie joined the party hissing at each other beside her father’s carriage.
She suspected Mr. Collins’ presence signified he had greater devotion to his family than she had believed him to possess, but his easy abandon the moment her mother appeared only confirmed that he wished to reestablish himself in his patroness’ good graces.
Anne did not understand it. Mr. Collins’ living was secure. He need not kowtow to her mother’s every whim when only the Archbishop of Canterbury had the authority to strip him of his living … and then only after conviction of gross sin. Impossible.
Still, Anne hoped Mr. Collins would prove his character right then. Just once she would like to see someone stand up in opposition to her mother. Just as Miss Elizabeth had done.
Mother did not like to discuss it, but Anne remembered how infuriated she had been when she returned from Longbourn. Like a banshee in the night, making demands which did not belong to her to make on a young woman’s heart — a lady over which she held no influence or authority.
Mr. Collins bowed, his squeaking corset and unwanted presence interrupting Darcy and Mother’s verbal battle. “How extraordinary Her Ladyship should arrive when divine intervention has already interrupted that which most displeases her.”
Darcy looked fit to jab the clergyman squarely on the nose, but he had always possessed remarkable restraint.
Ignoring Mr. Collins, Darcy said, “I have never given you leave to suppose I would subject myself to your wishes. My father never supported your scheme. I wish to marry the young lady I love, and that young lady is Elizabeth Bennet. She is my choice.”
Mother narrowed her eyes at him, her nostrils flaring. “And yet you are out here speaking with me instead of inside marrying that insolent girl.” After all these months, she still would not address Elizabeth by her name.
Darcy ran his hand over his face. “She suffered an accident which has delayed our union.”
Anne gasped.
Mother snapped at her. “You had best wait in the coach, Anne.”
Anne did not budge. Could not move. Her shock was too great, her unexpressed concerns too heavy. She watched Darcy, praying he would explain.
“A blow to the head has given her temporary amnesia,” he said.
“Temporary?” Mother arched her brow, already calculating, scheming.
Darcy’s jaw clenched, and he spoke through his teeth. “Her mind is sound. She only suffered a minimal loss of her memory.”
“Minimal? How so?”
“She remembers almost everything.”
“Stop speaking so vaguely, Darcy. What or whom does she fail to remember?”
“She only lacks memory of me. However, I have every reason to hope she will recover soon.”
“She remembers everyone else?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone but you?” Mother gloated. She had been searching for a weakness, and she had found it. “That girl must not love you very much if she cannot remember you.”
Anne saw how deeply her mother’s cruelty pierced her cousin. She reached out to him but thought better of it. Mother would think more of it than Anne meant to express.
Darcy remained silent. Anne could think of nothing to say which might spare him from the pain inflicted upon him. And Mr. Collins was of no use at all.
With nobody to stop her, Mother continued, “This incident is proof of her low birth. She is not worthy of our family.”
Darcy seethed. “How dare you—”
“Her mind is as unsound as those of the rest of her family if she is so easily taken with an illness of the mind. That girl is bound for the asylum.”
Surely, she could not believe that! “No, Mama—”
“Hush, Anne! You will hold your tongue while I arrange your future.”
This was not the future she wanted at all. Anne turned to Darcy. He would fix this horrible situation. He fixed everything. She held her tongue and waited for him to put everything right.
He took a step toward the church. “You have traveled here for naught, Aunt. I must ask you to leave.”
Anne wanted nothing more.
Mother called after him. “I think not. It is plain to me that you are in sore need of my superior counsel and wise guidance.”
“Mama, he is right. We ought to go.”
Darcy continued walking, and Anne followed suit in the direction of the carriage. Only, her mother did not follow. Instead, she raised her voice. “Anne is fatigued and requires rest. I will take rooms at the Meryton Inn. It is my intention to stay there until we reach a satisfactory arrangement.”
That would never happen. She would never be satisfied until Darcy agreed to her scheme, and Darcy would never be happy without his Elizabeth. What a mess.
“Mr. Collins, has a doctor seen that girl yet?” Mother asked quietly, one eye on Darcy, who stood near the entrance, making certain they departed.
The clergyman nodded. “Longbourn does not boast a doctor as Hunsford does, Her Ladyship. Its residents must content themselves with nothing more than a simple apothecary, Mr. Jones.”
“He has not examined her, then?”
“No, though I saw him enter the church minutes before your arrival. I daresay he will see her as soon as the ceremony is done.”
“You will send him to me after he has seen her.”
Mr. Collins bowed. “Of course, I would be honored to be of service to—”
“You cannot know how helpful you have already been,” she said, leaving him to alight the carriage, a rare smile stretching her lips.
Anne did not know what to think. She liked Miss Elizabeth. She was not intimidated by her mother, as most were. As Anne was. Her forehead tightened. Now, that was not exactly correct. Anne was not intimidated by her mother. Just … tired. Worn.
And, right now, watching her mother smile, Anne was sorry. Sorry Miss Elizabeth was injured. Sorry to learn Darcy was not already married and no longer an option. Sorry because she knew that her mother would stop at nothing to prevent him from marrying the woman he loved.
Anne’s disappointment deepened — at circumstances beyond her control, but mostly in herself.
It was a good thing Patrick was not here to see her.
He would not approve of the woman she had become.
He certainly would never want her. He was probably married with several children of his own by now.
And happy. As happy as he deserved to be, which was a great deal.
Anne prayed that at least he was happier than she was.
Years of bound emotions loosened, stirring within her. Sadness she would very likely never achieve contentment, anger at herself for allowing it, and the smallest shard of hope. Not for herself. She was beyond that. But she would hope for Darcy and Miss Elizabeth … and Patrick.
Anne clenched her hands in her skirts. From that day forward, she refused to be a tool in her mother’s arsenal.
The bold thought overwhelmed her. Strong words for a weak woman. What could she do? Anne pondered the question, but even as the carriage jolted into motion, the wheels turning in her mind produced nothing. She was absolutely useless.