Chapter 24
Rosings
Anne de Bourgh pulled her ponies to a halt and a moment later, two footmen jumped off the back. One ran up to the heads of the animals to keep them steady, while the other stepped up next to her to assist her from the phaeton.
She descended with reasonable grace and wrapped her scarf more securely around her neck, looking about with pleasure as the footman assisted her companion to the ground as well.
The vivid green sward was soft as velvet, the new fresh spring grass not yet grown into its later hardiness.
It was littered with a rainbow of colors, blues and purples and pinks and yellows, cowslips and primroses and anemones and crocuses and daisies, and more that Anne could not name.
She took a deep breath of the perfumed air, delighting in the balmy spring day.
A soft whisper of a breeze freshened her face and brought with it the delicate scent of apple blossoms. An orchard lay not far away, the slender twisted trees crowned with glorious blossoms in white and pink like maidens in their bridal array.
Another breeze blew playfully through the boughs, tossing a snowy rain of petals through the air to carpet the ground.
Anne adjusted her bonnet, relishing the sun on her shoulders and the wind on her face.
“Shall we go for a short walk, Miss de Bourgh?”
Anne turned toward Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who was smiling at her, and she said, “Yes, I would like that. Shall we walk over to the apple trees?”
“Yes, that sounds lovely,” Miss Bennet replied, turning a smiling look on the footmen. “We will be back in half an hour or so.”
Both men bobbed their heads, and Miss Bennet held out her arm toward Anne.
She took the arm gratefully. She had gone walking with her new friend four times in the last week and already was feeling substantially stronger, but she was thankful for Miss Bennet’s arm.
The pair walked slowly toward the orchard without talking, which Anne found gratifying. Miss Bennet was an excellent conversationalist, but unlike Lady Catherine, was also comfortable with silence.
When they reached the first apple tree, Anne pulled a branch down and took a long, rapturous sniff of the closest blossom.
“These flowers smell so beautifully,” she murmured.
Miss Bennet leaned near another blossom, inhaled deeply, and smiled. “They do. One of the many reasons I adore spring is because of all the lovely smells. But tell me about this orchard, Miss de Bourgh. Does it belong to the estate itself or to a tenant farmer or…”
“I do not know,” Anne admitted ruefully. “I have driven past this orchard many a time, but I have never thought to ask Lady Catherine about who manages it.”
“Shall we walk down that lane?” her companion suggested.
Anne began walking in tandem with Miss Bennet, who said, “I am not surprised that you know nothing in detail about this orchard. Lady Catherine is obviously concerned about your health, and perhaps that is why she is reluctant to speak about estate matters.”
“That may be part of it,” Anne conceded, “though I can tell that even in the few short days that we have walked together, I am feeling better. I think a larger part of her decision in that regard is that she wants to oversee Rosings without any argument, and the less I know, the better.”
Miss Bennet turned a sympathetic gaze on her. “I rather think you are right, though it is short sighted of her. After all, one day she will be gone, and you will be mistress of Rosings, with all the inherent responsibilities.”
“Ah, but by then she thinks I will be Mrs. Darcy, and she knows that my cousin is well able to manage Rosings without any assistance, or interference, from me.”
She realized that her tone was genuinely bitter, and she was not surprised when Miss Bennet stopped in her tracks and turned to look into her face.
“You are engaged to Mr. Darcy?” she asked.
Anne bit her lip, wrinkled her nose, and said, “Yes and no. It was a cradle engagement planned by our respective mothers. There have been no papers signed, and my cousin has not offered, but there is still an expectation that we will marry.”
Miss Bennet nodded and pulled her gently back into motion. For a minute, the pair continued to wander slowly between fragrant trees on either side of the lane, and then Miss Bennet said, “As you know, I met your cousin back in Hertfordshire while he was staying with his friend Bingley.”
Anne turned a curious gaze on her friend. “And? Do you like him?”
Miss Bennet’s rosebud lips twisted thoughtfully, and then she said, “The first day I laid eyes on him, he insulted my beauty, and I concluded that he was ridiculously proud and arrogant. But then a few weeks later, I happened upon him saving the life of a dog which was trapped in a creek, and after that, we got along rather better.”
Anne was so caught up by the first sentence that she did not really absorb the rest.
“He insulted your beauty?” she gasped. “Truly?”
“He did,” Elizabeth said with a chuckle.
“We had not yet met formally, but we were both at an assembly in Meryton, which is the village near Longbourn and Netherfield, and his friend Bingley was urging him to dance.
Bingley suggested he dance with me, as I was sitting out a dance because I had no partner, and your cousin said loudly that I was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him and that he was in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.
Anne gasped again, more loudly. “He said … oh, Miss Bennet, I am so very sorry. I know he dislikes dancing with strangers, but to say such a thing in your hearing! Please tell me that he apologized at some point.”
Her open distress caused Miss Bennet to reach out a comforting hand.
“He did not,” she said, “but I believe he does not know that I overheard him. Do not worry, Miss de Bourgh, I have quite forgiven him and think him a very decent gentleman who, like all of us, says silly things sometimes.”
Anne shook her head and began walking a little more quickly now.
“I simply cannot believe he could allow those words to cross his lips,” she huffed. “You are very beautiful, and if he thinks you merely tolerable, he must think me one of the ugliest creatures in all of England!”
“I am certain he does not,” Miss Bennet said hastily.
“I suspect that he was merely unhappy about being urged to dance with a stranger and lashed out unbecomingly. As I said, I think quite well of him now. He is intelligent and brave. Of course, the most important thing is your view of the matter. Do you wish to marry Mr. Darcy?”
Anne found herself walking faster still, though Miss Bennet easily kept pace with her.
After two minutes of furious thought, she stopped and looked into her friend’s face.
“No, I do not want to marry Darcy,” she said. “I like him as a cousin, but he is too quiet, and in any case, I doubt that I am healthy enough to carry a child. But if Darcy offers and I refuse, my mother will be furious, and I am afraid of her.”
When the last words had escaped her mouth, she quailed. She did not know Miss Bennet well, but it was obvious that she was a brave person and not inclined to be afraid of anyone.
To her surprise and relief, her companion promptly said, “I understand entirely. You love your mother, of course, and you have grown up under her dominance. However, given my admittedly limited knowledge of your cousin, I think you could be open with him. He is an honorable man, in spite of his penchant for hasty speeches in small assembly rooms, and I am confident he would never push you into an unwanted marriage. If you speak with him when you next see him, I believe he will not offer for you at all. ”
Anne considered this and then smiled a little. “I think you are correct. All right, I will tell him by the end of the week.”
“You are seeing him soon?”
“Oh yes, did you not know? Darcy comes every spring, and is expected to arrive in a few days.”
“I see.”
Anne frowned. “Do you mind him coming?”
Miss Bennet smiled. “No, not at all. In fact, I rather like the idea. Now, shall we turn around and begin walking back to the phaeton?”
***
Library
Rosings
Two Evenings Later
Lady Catherine rarely graced her own library, but it, like everywhere in Rosings, was maintained to her exacting standards.
It was immaculately dusted, the furniture in the best of repair, and the books in neatly ordered rows on their shelves.
Many of the volumes needed to be handled with care as they were quite old, added by Sir Lewis and his ancestors rather than Lady Catherine, who spent her money on exotic food and drink, and clothing, and furniture instead of books.
Darcy leaned back in a brown leather armchair, his eyes roaming idly over the shelves.
A volume of Marlowe’s plays hung negligently in his hands, the paper illuminated by the branching candelabra flickering behind him.
His mind dwelt not on Tamburlaine, however, but on the little parsonage not quite visible through the window next to him.
No friendly light gleamed in those dark windows to break the night, as all the inhabitants were likely fast asleep, including … her.
Miss Elizabeth was there. The knowledge sent a thrum through his very soul, like a plucked harp string.
Tomorrow was the long awaited day when he would see her again at last. It seemed like it had been an eternity since he had last seen her, but tomorrow he could at last soothe his aching heart.
Not a day had gone by these last months that he had not thought of her, missed her, and wished to hear her buoyant step, see her bright smile, and hear her cheerful voice.
Tomorrow. Darcy glanced at the clock, standing tall beside the fireplace where the face would catch the light. The hands both pointed upwards, the hour lacking but a few minutes until midnight. Almost today, then.