Chapter 14 Mistake #3
If you are wondering why I'm expressing these sentiments now, allow me to explain.
I may not have much time left, but you have a life ahead of you.
I am troubled that you might become a solitary and obstinate old woman once I'm gone.
I've always loved you, Mother, even if I never received it in return.
I implore you to comprehend the repercussions of your unyielding pursuit of control and power and how it shapes your own life.
When it comes to my own existence and the years I have thus far lived, I confess I have often contemplated its purpose.
The only merit of my presence has been in providing for individuals like Mrs. Armstrong, Mrs. Jenkinson, and the various physicians and apothecaries who have attended to me throughout my life.
For these six and twenty years, I have lived solely for their benefit.
Six and twenty years, Mother. I am a woman of six and twenty, and I find myself without a single friend.
Well, perhaps that's not entirely accurate.
I do have one friend, a girl of sixteen, whom I haven't seen in eight long years.
It was three years ago when Georgiana began writing to me.
Initially, her letters were timid and brief, asking about my well-being and sharing about her studies.
But as our correspondence progressed, we began to open up and confide in each other.
If you look at the flickering flames of the fireplace behind you, do you know what they consume?
They devour her letters to me, containing her personal thoughts and the difficulties she's faced, which she has shared with me.
I don't want anyone else to read them after I'm gone.
She's my only friend, and I hold her privacy dear.
Just know this, Georgiana always wished to come here with her brother and Richard.
But she's afraid of you. You make her uncomfortable, and I can understand why she feels that way.
If someone were to ask me what I desire before my time comes, I would express my longing to see Georgiana once more, just to catch a glimpse of how she has changed in these past eight years.
Consider this, dear Mother, I am a woman of six and twenty years with only one friend, a sixteen-year-old girl, and we've been apart for eight years.
Is it any wonder that I'm contemplating the purpose of my life?
Now, permit me to discuss your cherished topic, the prospect of my marriage to Darcy.
Neither Darcy nor I harboured any desire for such a union.
He seeks a lady who possesses intelligence, boldness, and conversational skills—a lady who can truly complement him.
I lack those qualities. I could scarcely engage in conversation with him for a mere five minutes.
Six months into our marriage, we would have despised each other.
Moreover, I have a suspicion that Darcy has already found the lady he intends to wed, although I remain uncertain as to why he has not made his intentions clear.
I was never a significant part of his life.
Regrettably, he refrained from spending time with me as a cousin, fearing that you would misconstrue our interactions.
He is an affectionate man, Mother. I missed out on his warmth as both a cousin and a brother, all because you wished for a different relationship between us.
Only Richard regarded me as a sister and cared for me, even though my heart yearned for something more with him.
Yes, I must confess, Mother, that I hold affection for Richard.
I had hoped for him to become my husband, until three years ago when Mr. Hawthorne informed me that I would never bear a child.
Since that day, I resolved to keep my love for him concealed.
Richard never viewed me in such a light.
He has always cared for me as a cousin and friend, but never more than that.
I have two more matters to share with you.
The first concerns Darcy and Georgiana. They lack a parent, Mother.
I have long sensed Georgiana's struggles because of this.
I shall not delve into specifics, but even with Darcy's brotherly love, he cannot fill the void of a mother in a young girl's life.
I understand her yearning for a maternal figure, as I have yearned for one myself.
It was your duty, Mother. You should have assumed the role of mother to them after Lady Anne's passing.
Unfortunately, you fell short in that regard as well.
The final matter I wish to address pertains to Rosings.
I am well aware that I should have assumed control of the estate upon reaching the age of five and twenty.
Yes, mother, I am acquainted with father's will.
I also understand that you desired me to marry Darcy, as you believed it would allow you to maintain control over Rosings, since Darcy was never going to stay away from Pemberley.
Many times throughout the past year, I contemplated exerting my authority and requesting that you relocate to the Dower House.
However, I hesitated, considering the hardships it would impose upon the tenants.
While you possess some knowledge of estate management, I am utterly ignorant in such matters.
I even contemplated transferring ownership of Rosings to Richard, enabling him to resign his commission and live as a gentleman.
Yet, I feared that it would only foster your disdain upon my passing.
I never wished for you to despise me, even if you never displayed affection towards me.
I hereby entrust Rosings to you, mother, without any conditions.
You are free to do as you please with it.
I have nothing else to convey. Mrs. Armstrong once informed me that I never slept in your bed.
Even as an infant, I was cared for by Mrs. Armstrong and slept beside her.
This may be my final night upon this earth, mother.
If you are willing to share this night with me, it shall grant me something to take back from this wretched life.
I do not compel you, but rather invite you to ponder upon it.
I am weary and I want to sleep. Thus, I shall retire for the night. ”
Lady Catherine
Lady Catherine observed her daughter's gradual attempt to recline, noting how Anne positioned herself on one side of the bed, leaving space for herself. She had one final question to ask of her daughter.
"Anne, there is one more matter I must inquire of you. Why did you withheld knowledge of your heart condition from me for two years?" she inquired.
"I refrained from informing you because I knew precisely what would ensue.
You would have embarked on a frantic search for apothecaries and physicians throughout the land, subjecting me to endless examinations and medicines.
I placed my trust in Mr. Hawthorne's judgement.
When he imparted the news that I have but a limited time left and no cure exists, I accepted it as truth.
I resolved to live out my remaining days on my own terms," Anne replied, reclining as she spoke.
No further queries remained. Lady Catherine acknowledged the truth in her daughter's words.
She would have traversed the country in pursuit of new physicians and remedies, inadvertently inflicting upon her daughter a life marred by suffering.
Mr. Hawthorne is considered one of the best physicians in this country.
She could understand why Anne decided to trust his words.
Lady Catherine sat in silence for a while.
Anne had already closed her eyes, though Lady Catherine remained uncertain if sleep had befallen her daughter.
After some time, she rose from her seat, paced slowly towards the door to secure it, extinguished the candle on the table, and then settled upon the side of the bed reserved for her.
At first, she maintained a slight distance from her daughter, but eventually summoned the courage to tenderly embrace her.
Lady Catherine spent the night tossing and turning, unable to find slumber. Anne slept. She never woke up again. She passed away before she could lay eyes upon her dear friend, Georgiana, who had finally mustered the courage to visit Rosings but arrived one night too late.
Sunday, May 17, 1812
Rosings Park, Kent
Darcy
Darcy cast a glance upon the tearful countenance of his sister, who clung to Richard.
He realized he might have erred by not departing the preceding evening.
Upon receiving the express concerning Anne's ailment, he had resolved to leave immediately.
However, Georgiana surprised him by expressing her wish to visit Anne.
Apprehensive about travelling with his sister after dusk, Darcy asked Richard to journey alone to Rosings.
Darcy and Georgiana commenced their journey only with the morning light.
Anne's funeral was scheduled for the following day.
Richard's parents, Uncle and Aunt Matlock, had departed to their estate in Scotland the week before and couldn't attend.
There was no one else to wait for. Under Richard's guidance, preparations for the funeral were already in progress by the time Darcy and Georgiana reached Rosings.
Darcy observed his aunt, seated in a small chair, her gaze fixed on the floor. She was not crying. Darcy recalled Mr. De Bourgh's funeral years ago, and even then, Aunt Catherine had not wept. She remained composed and resolute.
Aunt Catherine's demeanour had been peculiar since the morning.
The tenderness with which she regarded Georgiana was something Darcy couldn't recall ever witnessing from her.
Her usual seat, a grand, ostentatious throne-like chair, remained unoccupied today as she deliberately avoided it.
Uncharacteristically silent, she allowed Richard to direct the servants and Mr. Collins.
As he sat there, Darcy noticed Mrs. Collins entering the room to bid her final farewell to Anne.
She nodded at him before entering the chamber where Anne's body lay.
His thoughts immediately turned to her friend in Hertfordshire.
It would be some time before he could visit her now.
He had no intention of mourning for Anne for an extended period, perhaps only a month or two.
However, he might need to stay at Rosings to oversee the transition of the estate, as Anne had inherited it upon reaching the age of twenty-five.
The estate needed to be handed back to Aunt as the sole living relative.
His planned visit to Hertfordshire to court her would have to wait.