Chapter 12
Friday, Full of Fits and Fury
Friday morning, Elizabeth slipped out of the house early, Mrs. Hopkins’s muffins in her pocket. Only a week ago, she had been dreading meeting Mr. Darcy after their humiliating confrontation. Now, she moved down the path as swiftly as possible without breaking into a run, eager to see him.
He was at the stream, seated on the bench with his back to her. Thinking she would attempt sneaking up on him again, she crept up behind him slowly and reached her hands out, covering his eyes. He immediately stiffened, and she leaned over his shoulder, whispering in his ear.
“Guess who?”
Before she knew what had happened, Mr. Darcy grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap, her legs hanging rather indecorously over his arm. She laughed gaily as he smiled down at her, and before she knew what had happened, he was kissing her as she sat sprawled across his lap.
When he pulled back, a rather satisfied look on his face, she said, “Wouldn’t you feel ridiculous if it had not been me behind you?”
Darcy smirked. “I knew it was you. I could smell muffins.”
Elizabeth laughed again and Darcy set her down so she could sit on the bench beside him. They ate muffins and spoke of silly nothings for a few minutes before Darcy stiffened, a grim look on his face.
“I must tell you something.”
“What is it?”
“I will speak with Lady Catherine this afternoon. I must tell her I am courting you and that I will never marry Anne.”
“Have you never told her that before?” she asked curiously.
“Once, a few years ago. She suddenly felt hot, and then began rambling about pains in her head and then her heart, and finally feigned a swoon. She remained in her bed for three days, pretending to be gravely ill and on her deathbed.”
“Pretending? I had no idea Lady Catherine was so good an actress.”
He gave her an eloquent look. “You would be surprised. I know she was perfectly well, but I have not wished to be subjected to more theatrics, so I have kept my peace. I never agree with her, and I have refused when she asks a direct question. That is probably why she has ceased asking them. Anyroad, the discussion should be had and it would be better in person. I will wait until just before dinner to minimize the chance that she may call on you at the parsonage.”
“Do you think she would?”
“I do not know, but I would not put it past her. She can be intractable when she wants something, and she has refused to accept bad news before.”
Elizabeth frowned in thought. “I must tell Charlotte. Lady Catherine could make life very unpleasant for them.”
“Yes, she very well may. I am sorry for that.”
“Do not be, Fitzwilliam. It is not your fault your aunt is a termagant.”
He almost laughed, then grimaced. “We will be outside the parsonage at nine tomorrow. Will you be ready?”
“Yes, of course! I am anxious to escape Lady Catherine’s wrath, though I do worry for Charlotte. Perhaps she will feel a sudden need to visit her mother!” she teased.
“It is not the worst idea. She could ride in the carriage with you and act as your chaperone.”
“So that you may ride in the carriage as well?”
“Of course. Would your aunt and uncle be willing to host her?”
“I am sure that they would, though I do not know if Charlotte would wish to go. She has responsibilities here, and there is Mr. Collins to think of.”
“Yes, well, it was just a thought.”
“Sweet man,” she said with a smile as she touched his face. “It was kind of you to consider my friend.”
He caught her hand and kissed it, and they continued to talk of busy nothings, interspersed with the kisses and touches expected of the newly in love—or those rapidly falling into it.
By the time Darcy re-entered Rosings, he was in excellent spirits. He checked with his valet that his things were packed and prepared, spoke with the grooms about his horse and the carriage being ready on the morrow, then sought out his cousin.
“Fitz, would you accompany me to speak to Anne?”
“Anne?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam incredulously. “Whatever for?”
“I intend to speak to our aunt today, and it is only courteous to speak to Anne first.”
“Ah, of course. Let us bell the cat, shall we?”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “Really Fitz. She is not that bad.” He led the way out the door and through the maze of Rosings’s corridors.
“To you, maybe. She thinks you may be her husband one day, so she has hidden her true nature. She has no such qualms with me.”
“Whatever are you talking of? Anne may be sickly, but she is hardly a harridan.”
“Ha! Shows what you know!” He gave his cousin a look. “I shall not spoil the surprise for you, Cousin. You may see for yourself.” He opened the door to Anne’s sitting room and gestured his cousin ahead of him with a grand flourish.
Darcy looked doubtfully at the colonel as he passed him. He settled on a small sofa next to Fitzwilliam. He did not wish for Anne to attempt to sit beside him. Soon, Miss de Bourgh entered the room, followed by her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson.
“It was good of you to send for me, Cousin,” she said.
Her voice was almost like a purr and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Colonel Fitzwilliam smirked at him and Darcy ignored it.
“Cousin, I must speak to you about something.” He scooted to the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees.
“Yes?” she said, her eyes taking on a gleam he could not be comfortable with.
Darcy sat up straighter. “I know your mother has often spoken of the two of us marrying, but I do not think you have ever wished it.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam made a squeaking noise next to him and Anne scooted further forward in her chair, nearly falling out of it in the process. “I would not say that exactly, Cousin.”
Darcy’s eyes widened comically. “You wouldn’t?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam elbowed him to continue.
“Well, regardless, you and I have never really spoken of it, and I thought it only right to inform you that I have begun a courtship with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Anne sat staring at him, her posture expectant and her eyes unblinking. “Come again?”
“I have asked Miss Bennet’s permission to court her and she has given it. I will speak to her father in a week’s time.”
“Her father?” Her voice was eerily high.
“Yes,” Darcy said slowly. “After a suitable period of courtship, I will make my proposals.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam elbowed him again and Darcy looked at him in confusion. Fitzwilliam was shaking his head and clamping his lips.
“You have chosen Miss Bennet? Over me? The daughter of an insignificant country squire over the daughter of a baronet?”
Darcy continued to look confused, so Fitzwilliam shook his head and took matters into his own hands. “Anne, Darcy is pursuing Miss Bennet. He will not be proposing to you, which leaves you free to accept other proposals. Is that not good news?”
Darcy looked at him oddly. Fitzwilliam was speaking to Anne as if she were a small child, not a grown woman of five and twenty.
Darcy was so preoccupied looking at Colonel Fitzwilliam that he did not realize his danger until Fitzwilliam cried out at the same time Darcy felt something sharp on his forehead.
“Good God, Anne! What are you doing?” cried the colonel.
Darcy looked about in confusion. Had she thrown something at him?
He looked to the floor and saw a small porcelain vase in several pieces.
Apparently, she had. He touched his head and his fingers came back wet and smeared with blood.
He was turning to face her and ask what on earth she was doing when he saw something from the corner of his eye and instinctually ducked.
This item was a porcelain shepherdess that grazed his shoulder.
“Look out!” cried Fitzwilliam.
Darcy ducked behind the sofa as his cousin continued throwing whatever she could get her hands on.
Figurines, vases, small sculptures, even Mrs. Jenkinson’s sampler, still in its hoop, were chucked at his head.
The room was utter chaos. Anne was screeching unintelligible words as she threw things at him, Mrs. Jenkinson was trying to calm her to no avail, and Darcy and the colonel were crouched on the floor behind the sofa, arms over their heads.
“What the devil?!” cried Darcy.
“I told you! She is not reasonable!”
“She is not sane!”
“That is a definite possibility.”
Mrs. Jenkinson was still trying to calm Anne and that lady was still screaming. All her words were not clear, but Darcy distinctly heard her say “give up Rosings” and “little nobody.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked about carefully. “Come,” he said to his cousin. He grabbed Darcy’s arm and walked in a crouch toward the door. Darcy wondered if this was how his cousin felt on campaign and quickly followed him.
Anne saw their progress and rushed to the mantle, taking the large vase filled with flowers and throwing it hard at the door.
It crashed above their heads with a loud shatter, and they were showered with dirty water and plant detritus.
Before she could lob anything more, the colonel opened the door and pushed his cousin out in front of him, closing it just in time to hear something heavy thump against the heavy oak and fall to the floor.
Darcy grimaced. Whatever it was, it sounded heavy and had not broken on impact. “That would have hurt,” he said acerbically.
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him as if he were the stupidest man on earth and they quickly made their way down the hall.
“Should we not tell Lady Catherine? Or the housekeeper? We cannot leave Mrs. Jenkinson on her own in there!” cried Darcy.
“Darcy, have you never wondered why Mrs. Jenkinson is so very large in comparison to her charge?”
Darcy was the picture of confusion. “No, why should I? Anne is a small woman. Anyone would look large next to her.”
“It might surprise you to know that Anne is not so small, you simply rarely see her standing up. She is nearly as tall as her mother.”
“What?”