Chapter 10
When Lady Catherine was absent, Anne became quite another person. Darcy had observed the transformation more than once. The image of her at Matlock House, in her elegant court dress, lingered in his mind long after that morning.
Later, at dinner, they were seated beside one another, and, her mother not being present, she smiled at his attempts at wit.
Dressed in a gown chosen by Lady Wharton, with her hair arranged in a more becoming style and a faint touch of colour upon her cheeks and lips, she appeared delicate and truly pleasing.
He had not told Richard that, during their recent search for a wife, he had nearly persuaded himself that he had found one.
The young ladies of London had failed to impress him; even those who were undeniably pretty lacked a certain sincerity.
Brought up by their mothers to secure a husband from an early age, they had learned the art too well.
It was no longer a matter of feeling; for many, it had become a pursuit—a calculated chase.
Lady Grace had been an exception, as were a few others; but he could not marry a woman of sense and education without giving her his whole heart.
And that heart was already claimed by the lady who had once walked alone through the fields of Hertfordshire.
He forced himself to think that she was in the past. No matter how he still felt about Elizabeth, he had decided to marry Anne, although he profoundly disliked her obedient nature.
If she agreed to marry him, he wanted to take her to Pemberley and slowly lead her to discover love and freedom, certain that she would flourish in a different atmosphere when treated with reverence and loving benevolence.
Avoiding Bingley’s wedding was the best decision he could make—one that, hopefully, would put an end to his torment and open a brighter future at the same time. Charles was now happy, so he would forgive him, and their friendship would continue as before once he married Anne.
He had determined to speak to Anne, and to inform Lady Catherine only if—and only if—Anne’s answer were favourable.
He would not compel her into a marriage she did not desire.
Yet he had hoped she might see in such a union the means of attaining both freedom and happiness.
The recollection of that interview returned to him with unexpected lightness of heart…
When he arrived, he desired the servant to announce him to Miss de Bourgh alone.
She received him in the music-room, with Mrs Jenkinson, as usual, at her side.
They curtseyed, and the customary civilities were exchanged, but before they could be seated, Darcy gently requested that Mrs Jenkinson leave them.
The lady withdrew, not without displeasure, though she did not venture to oppose him. He was, after all, a near relation.
Anne appeared surprised, though not alarmed, and he admired her composure.
She was neatly dressed, with a delicate pearl necklace resting upon her slender neck, and looked every inch the lady.
He smiled with increasing confidence in his purpose.
She had not expected his visit, yet there was nothing disordered in her appearance, and he could not help wondering whether he had ever truly seen her before.
It seemed scarcely credible that she should have altered so much in so short a time.
Lady Catherine, he thought, must long have confined her within a kind of cold indifference; and the reflection strengthened his resolution.
Anne invited him to sit, with the faintest suggestion of a smile.
“Yes, cousin,” she said, “what may I do for you?”
There was a degree of curiosity in her manner, as it was perhaps the first time they had ever been alone together. Darcy had considered the wording of his proposal, but in the end resolved to be direct. He expected his aunt might interrupt them at any moment, and that he had little time.
“Cousin Anne,” he began, conscious of an unwonted nervousness—his last proposal having been far from successful—“I have come to ask for your hand in marriage.”
He looked at her steadily. Anne coloured, and her eyelashes trembled; yet, instead of hesitation, she met his gaze, and after scarcely a moment’s pause said, “Yes—yes, cousin, I shall marry you.”
Now it was his turn to be surprised. She spoke with a mixture of relief and decision, as though she perfectly understood his meaning. Her answer had been given in an instant.
He raised her hand to his lips; her lashes fluttered again. At that moment, Lady Catherine entered the room in great agitation.
“What behaviour is this, nephew, to call without informing me?”
“Good morning,” he said, bowing.
“What are you doing here, alone with Anne?” she demanded, in the same imperious tone.
“Allow me to explain. I came to request Cousin Anne’s hand.”
For once, Lady Catherine was struck speechless. She looked from her daughter to Darcy, and for a moment he thought she might oppose the match.
But when she recovered herself, she overwhelmed him with expressions of delight. She was enchanted.
“Why address her? It would have been sufficient to speak to me!” she exclaimed, almost beside herself with satisfaction.
Darcy turned towards Anne and again perceived how instantly her mother’s presence subdued her. The graceful composure he had admired seemed to vanish beneath Lady Catherine’s commanding manner. A feeling of compassion came over him, and he addressed his aunt with firmness.
“Pray, this is not a matter for you. It concerns only Anne and me.”
As Lady Catherine attempted to protest, he raised his hand to check her.
“From this moment, I shall be responsible for her. Anne is to be my wife, and I alone must decide for her.”
“Of course—of course,” Lady Catherine murmured. She was surprised, but not offended.
“You will continue to reside at Rosings and in your house in London, but you will see your daughter only at such times as may be convenient.”
If Lady Catherine had, for a moment, entertained hopes of interfering into their household, Darcy’s words effectively dispelled them. Yet her satisfaction at the match was so great that she was willing to accept any condition—for the present.
“We must inform my brother,” she said eagerly, “for Anne also requires his consent to marry.”
Darcy smiled. Lady Catherine was impatient to make the engagement public and to render any retreat impossible.
“Yes—we shall meet him, and the rest of the family, at Matlock next week.”
∞∞∞
As he had imagined, the most difficult person to convince was the colonel, whom he informed of his intentions before the rest of the family, on the very day he visited Anne and her mother.
“Do not look so concerned,” Darcy said. “Believe me, it was not done in haste. I have considered it for some time.”
“You said nothing to me because you knew I would try to dissuade you.”
“Probably, but she is my chance at a comfortable life.”
“I know a lady from Longbourn who could be your chance at a happier one.”
“Miss Elizabeth is the past,” he said; but his cousin—who knew him so well—could hear, beneath the words, the true sadness of his heart. Only time could determine when Miss Elizabeth would truly belong to the past for Darcy.
But once married that past would be buried forever.
In the end, the colonel thought that Anne might prove a good choice.
He began to observe her more closely and was indeed surprised at how much she seemed to have changed. Yet, like Darcy, he wondered whether she had truly improved, or whether they had simply not attended to her before.
She spoke little—as she always had—but there was now a softness in her expression.
More than once, he observed her casting glances in Darcy’s direction, which, after all, was a good sign.
Unfortunately, Darcy still regarded her with something closer to mild affection than to love or passion.
And he knew well how Darcy could look at a lady he loved, for he had seen him many times observing Miss Elizabeth in Kent.