Chapter Eleven #2
Miss Bennet occupied his thoughts next, a lady whose sweet temperament had not spared her from Bingley’s inconstancy.
Elizabeth’s earlier mention of her sister residing with family on Gracechurch Street presented an opportunity he could not ignore.
Two considerations compelled him to call upon her: the necessity of expressing his profound remorse for his interference between her and Bingley — a misdeed he now acknowledged with shame — and the obligation to inform her, should her affections remain engaged, of his erstwhile friend’s present pecuniary difficulties.
He could not bear to think of such a gentle creature yoked to a man whose debts might crush her delicate spirit.
Upon his return to Rosings, he discovered Lady Catherine deep in animated discourse with Mr. Collins.
Wielding the excuse of attending estate business, he made his escape to the library, a haven of peace smelling faintly of old leather and beeswax polish.
Sunlight slanted through the high windows, and he discovered his cousin Anne perched on a cushioned settee beneath rows of leather-bound volumes whose spines gleamed like gold.
Darcy claimed a chair near her and, with a tightening in his chest, began speaking of their rumoured engagement, and even though he loved her as a cherished member of his family, he did not wish to marry her.
He half-expected Anne to flush crimson and burst into tears at his firm refusal to form any kind of proposal. Instead, she collapsed against the couch’s velvet back, exhaling in audible relief. “At last,” she murmured. “I had begun to fear Mother’s fanciful assumptions would never be set aside.”
“You are not offended?” he asked in genuine surprise. “You have never said a word to the contrary.”
“Have you ever heard me utter a word in Mother’s presence?
She dominates every conversation, every thought…
every… everything! No one dares oppose her, and frankly, I am too tired to try.
You come here for your obligatory fortnight visit each spring, then vanish to your grand estate without so much as a thought for what I think, what I do, or whom I might see, though I see no one because of her.
Even Mrs. Jenkinson shuns me for fear Mother will wring every secret from her. ”
“I had no idea it was so difficult for you.”
“How could you? You never speak to me, nor do you look at me. I do not believe you could accurately describe me, if required. How do I take my tea? You have sat at the breakfast table with me for two weeks every year; you should know. Do I like clotted cream on my scone? In which hand do I hold my cards when Mother insists on whist? What do you know of me beyond my name?”
By now, Anne’s face was flushed, tears sliding down her cheeks. A pang of guilt struck Darcy like a physical blow. How could he have been so cruel as to subject his cousin to her mother’s machinations?
“Peace, Anne,” he murmured, offering his handkerchief. “I am ashamed that I have been so blind to your distress. I was so intent on denying your mother any advantage that I overlooked your suffering.”
“I bear you no great ill will,” she replied, dabbing her eyes. “Had you shown even a flicker of interest, Mother would have had the banns proclaimed before breakfast. My frustration lies with her, rather than you.”
“Then let us begin anew,” Darcy said earnestly. “I wish nothing more than to be your friend, and if you need anything – anything at all, Anne – pray tell me, and I will do my utmost to assist you.”
A throat cleared, causing both to start.
“Thank your lucky stars that it is I who discovered you two alone in the library,” remarked Fitzwilliam as he entered. His brow furrowed upon observing Anne’s tear-stained face. “What is this? What have you done, Darcy!”
“Nothing untoward, you have my word,” Darcy replied, his voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders. He glanced at his fragile cousin, who nodded slightly. “Anne and I have been discussing marriage.”
“What!” Fitzwilliam staggered back a step,
“Not between ourselves,” Darcy clarified. “Rather, about confronting Lady Catherine regarding her persistent delusion of our supposed engagement from infancy. Anne and I have no wish to bind our lives together.”
“Heaven be praised,” Fitzwilliam exclaimed, collapsing into the nearest chair. “I could not bear to see Anne become your bride...”
“Richard?” Anne’s voice drifted across the chamber, her eyes wide with newfound hope.
Abandoning his seat, Richard knelt before his fragile cousin, clasping her hands in his.
“I have loved you for so long, I cannot recall its beginning, and it has eaten me alive that you might one day become Mrs. Darcy.”
“Oh, Richard,” Anne whispered, a blush rising to her alabaster cheeks. “I love you as well, yet feared opposing Mother. What are we to do? She will never consent.”
“Anne, you have reached your majority,” Darcy reminded her.
“Your mother’s approval is unnecessary, and we do have an uncle who happens to be an archbishop.
I am certain if you and my dullard of a cousin wish, a license could be arranged.
I will aid you in distracting Lady Catherine, and once the deed is done, her reign of power comes to an end. ”
“What do you mean, her reign of power?”
“Are you unaware of your father’s wishes in his will?” Darcy’s dark eyes studied her with surprise.
“I was ten when Father died. Why?”
“You become the mistress of Rosings upon reaching five and twenty, or upon your marriage — whichever occurs first.”
His words hung in the air like a promise of freedom.
Anne’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Why was I kept in ignorance of this matter?”
“I cannot say.” Darcy’s gaze remained fixed on his frail cousin’s face. “You must address that question to your mother.”
“Richard,” she said, turning to her other cousin, whose military bearing seemed to soften under her gaze, “I wish to depart with you and Darcy on the morrow.”
Fitzwilliam’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you certain? You have not had time to give this proper consideration.”
“You forget,” Anne replied, her usually pallid cheeks now flushed with determination, “that I have had years to imagine how my life would unfold if I had more control, and have devised a strategy to secure Mother’s blessing.”
“She will oppose our union most vehemently,” Fitzwilliam remarked, his broad shoulders slumping slightly, his tone betraying his despondency.
“Trust in me,” Anne replied, pressing her lips to his hand before letting it go. “Heed my direction and offer no contradiction to anything I say.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” both of her cousins said in unison.
The trio departed the library’s sanctuary and proceeded down the long corridor to Lady Catherine’s parlour, where she remained seated, Mr. Collins having just left.
“Mother,” Anne announced as she entered the room, her voice stronger than it had been in years. “I have consented to my cousin’s marriage proposal, and we shall journey to London tomorrow to procure a special license and wed from Darcy’s town house.”
Lady Catherine’s face contorted with shock.
“Preposterous! Your constitution is far too fragile for travel. Darcy shall obtain the license, whereupon Mr. Collins will perform the ceremony upon his return to Kent.”
“No, Mother,” Anne countered, standing taller than her diminutive frame normally allowed, “I desire a London wedding and intend to accompany my future husband to his family estate to establish a foundation for our marriage.”
“Well!” Lady Catherine exclaimed with indignation, her elaborate lace mob cap quivering with each syllable. “If that is your preference, so be it, but might we postpone the journey briefly? Certain estate matters require my attention, preventing my immediate departure.”
Anne’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I do not recall extending an invitation for your attendance at my nuptials.”
“But… but, it is only proper that I witness the exchange of your vows.”
“Should you accompany us, I shall refuse to wed.” Anne’s firm tone cut through the air like a double-edged blade.
“Refuse to wed! Absurd! You shall marry, now that you have accepted his offer. I insist upon it.”
“Splendid, then I shall reunite with you in three months’ time, Mother. I bid you good day, as I have considerable preparations to make.”
With a dignified bearing that belied her years of illness, Anne turned and departed the parlour, leaving her bemused cousins to contend with the aftermath of an outraged Lady Catherine.
“What was your impression of our cousin’s handling of Lady Catherine?”
“She surprised me, and in a good way.”
“Are you certain you wish to go through with this, Richard? Your joint declaration of love is barely five hours old, and you already plan to marry by special license.”
“Tell me this, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam said, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. “If you ever fell in love with a woman, and she accepted your proposal, would you not want to start your life together immediately?”
Darcy was hit with a sense of longing so fierce; he thought his heart would burst. If Elizabeth had said yes to his bungled proposal, he absolutely would have pushed to marry sooner rather than later. He had no right to caution his cousin in this matter.
“I will stand by your side when you say your vows, and wish you happiness.”